
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4917955.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Nick_(Supernatural), Crowley, Ruby_(Supernatural), Benny
      Lafitte, Raphael, Azazel, Dean_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Unrelated_Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Bottom_Sam, Top_Dean,
      Inappropriate_touching, Alternate_Universe_-_Criminals, John_Winchester's
      A+_Parenting, Not_Related, Abuse, Trauma, Mentions_of_Child_Trafficking,
      Survivalist_Sam, injuries, Half-blind_Dean, Scared_Sam, smugglers,
      Criminal_Dean, Forced_crime, Drug_Smuggling, Weapon_Smuggling,
      Kidnapping, Virgin_Sam, First_Kiss, First_Date, First_Time, Falling_In
      Love, Violence, Near-Death_Experience, Initial_non-con, eventually
      consensual, Slow_Burn, Pervert_Dean, Possessive_bastard, Jealousy,
      Unhealthy_Obsession, Teasing, Angst_and_Fluff_and_Smut, Blowjobs,
      handjobs, Accidental_Drug_Use, Mile_High_Club, sort_of, Secrets, Denial,
      Humor, Dark_Sammy_for_a_bit, slight_S&M_at_one_point, Pain_Kink,
      Flogging, poppers, Making_Love, Happy_Ending
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-02 Completed: 2015-11-07 Chapters: 18/18 Words: 157455
****** X Marks The Spot ******
by ShadowBiscuit
Summary
     Sam Winchester has been preparing for the Apocalypse that John
     believed was inevitable for a long time. Did he ever get a say in it?
     Not really. Did he sometimes wonder if his father was delusional,
     suffering from a sort of delirium which he kept feeding to Sam, no
     matter his own beliefs? Definitely.
     Evidently, Sam wanted a normal life. He was only fourteen, and no
     teenager should be locked 24/7 in their house while trained to
     survive in scenarios that had a very low probability of ever
     occurring. But that didn't seem to bother his dad, who with his
     paranoid mentality, militarized Sam's life, giving him little to no
     chance at ever experiencing what "normal" was supposed to feel like.
     Then one night, his already strange life takes a turn for the worse
     when he gets kidnapped, plunged into the world of vile criminals, and
     if Sam thought he had it bad before...
     Well, he was in for a gruesome surprise.
     In which Sam is 14, Dean is 18, smugglers are apparently giant dicks,
     and they don't get along very well. At first, that is.
Notes
     This is the prologue. The real fun starts in the next chapter. <3
***** Hello, Cruel World *****
 
Going out with friends on weekends to watch a movie, to hang out in the park
and play soccer. Singing happy birthday and then running around the garden
while throwing cake at each other. Feeling the nervous pull in his stomach
while talking to a crush, friends teasing him while a group of girls giggle at
his blush. Leading a normal, overall uneventful life, filled with the everyday
struggles of a teenage boy.
Sam had given up on a life like that years ago.
Ever since his mother died and his dad snapped, life for Sam Winchester meant
constant training for what John believed to be inevitable. “Doomsday preppers”,
they called them. Sam liked the word “survivalist” more. It sounded less like
they were crazy, foaming from the mouth lunatics. Which they obviously weren’t.
At least not Sam.
Mary, his mother, died when he was just a baby, so he had no memories of the
better days, of a normal family life. He knew that they must have had one, long
ago, but anything even remotely normal flew right out the window the day their
house burned to the ground, along with any hopes of Sam leading an ordinary,
boring life. John was convinced that the world was filled to the brim with
evil, couldn’t go a day without reminding Sam how he needed to watch out
because whoever he’d meet would undoubtedly have a hidden agenda. Every living
thing had bad intentions, according to his dad, just itching to wrap their
putrid hands around their throats and squeeze, to rob them of money and life,
to cheat and betray and murder. Sam grew up listening to his dad’s ramblings,
brought up in rather interesting living conditions, and when he finally reached
the age when he could’ve gotten the chance to discover the big bad world John
was always talking about, the man decided to homeschool him instead.
They moved from one motel to the other for years, his dad always locking him in
the room whenever he went out for longer periods of times, and it wasn’t once
when he came back shitfaced in the dead of the night, sometimes even collapsing
as soon as he stepped into the room. Sam quickly learned how to behave like an
adult, his childhood ending as soon as he could walk and talk, John not wasting
any time and teaching him how to defend himself as soon as possible. And for a
while, that was fine. Sam was okay and satisfied with his life; that is, until
he found out just how wrong it truly was. Not knowing what else to do while
John was out but to watch the crappy TV shows on the motel televisions, he
slowly realized how many things were missing from his life, and when he asked
his dad why that was, the man gave him a whole speech about life and death,
about the strong and the weak, and how his son was not going to end up as prey
like the rest of “those blind sheep”. And no matter how many times he tried to
convince his dad to at least let him go to school or go for a short walk around
the motel, John always got angry, pointing fingers and accusing Sam of
weakness. Curiosity killed the cat, he said, but no amount of satisfaction was
going to bring him back if Sam was to venture out into the cruel world.
It was scary, all those threatening warnings truly managing to frighten Sam,
but at the same time, it only just made him that more curious about what was
going on out there. What could be that bad? He sometimes wondered if John
wasn’t just delusional, losing Sam’s mom driving him into dementia, and as the
years went by, he was more and more convinced that that was the case.
He had no idea what John did to earn money, but one day the moving around
stopped, and they settled down in a rather large house. That became their sort
of safe zone, and it wasn’t long before people began staring and talking, the
rumors of the “new prepper family” reaching Sam’s ears when he turned twelve
and John finally let him out of the house. He could only go grocery shopping
with his dad, the man refusing to let him out of his sight even for a moment,
but that was more than enough for Sam to overhear the hushed conversations and
notice the strange and pitying stares from the corner of his eye. When they
arrived home that day, he was quick to look up just what those words were
supposed to mean and, honestly, he wasn’t really surprised by their meaning.
John had turned their life into a constant preparation for some sort of
apocalypse, after all, even turning the house he bought for them into some
highly militarized shelter.
What used to be a cozy, two-storey house in a relatively quiet suburban area of
Lebanon, Kansas, had become a death machine to whoever dared to enter
uninvited. In a place such as this, and with all the rumors going on about
them, Sam honestly doubted that there was anyone brave and stupid enough to do
that, but he had to remember, his dad wasn’t only worried about robbers. He was
completely paranoid about everything—about the cars passing in front of the
house, the dogs that got too close, and even the temperature in the house.
Which was exactly why they had two panic rooms, one in the basement and another
in the attic, along with secret pantries that were filled with so much food and
other stuff it could have lasted them at least a year. And then there were the
hidden weapons, guns stashed away in couch cushions and stuck to the bottom of
kitchen drawers.
Sam knew how to fire a gun by the age of ten, learned which pressure points in
the human body were deadly before learning how much one plus one was, and by
the time he was fourteen, he could have killed someone in a matter of seconds.
Well, figuratively speaking, he could have. He never actually got to try, and
he was thankful for that. John did make him throw a few punches and kicks at
the punching bag they had in the basement, even sparred with him at least once
a day to keep Sam in shape, but he never asked him to catch a deer and strangle
it or something. Sam was glad that his dad wasn’t as delirious as to ask him to
murder someone because they were “surely filled with evil and just waiting for
the right moment to pounce” as he was pretty sure he couldn’t have done it. He
wasn’t a murderer, no matter how good he was at wielding a knife and shooting a
gun, how he could more or less stand his ground in a fight against John. He
wasn’t a big fan of blood either, or pain, nearly passing out several times
when he was learning how to stitch up his own wounds.
John had taught him how to survive, how to attack and defend, but so far, Sam
never felt the need to use any of his lethal talents. His days consisted of
both mental and physical trainings, of discipline and the ability to follow
orders, to know the difference between bravery and stupidity.
And Sam had to wonder if, down the years, his father hadn’t forgotten his own
lessons; especially the ones about pride and naivety.
People like them have become a popular subject on reality TV shows, Sam even
watching a few episodes of one, feeling a tiny bit relieved that they weren’t
the only ones like that. And so he wasn’t too surprised when one day there was
a knock on their door from a journalist who gave him and his dad an eager smile
and asked for an interview. John immediately refused, of course, the years long
paranoia and carefulness kicking in, but after the man offered them a
considerable amount of money for their cooperation, his father agreed. Not
right away—he asked for a few days to think it through—but finding no real
downside with a simple interview, he finally called the number the journalist
gave him and arranged a meeting for the next day.
Sam watched from the bottom of the stairs when the smiling man entered their
home and shook John’s hand. He wasn’t sure why, but he immediately got a bad
feeling from the journalist. The man had the looks of a villain instead of a
simple reporter, the immaculate black suit along with a black tie and shoes
just adding to the shady image. Even his voice seemed…off. Deep with a charming
British accent, the man sounded like some mafia boss, Sam unable to shake the
eerie feeling the journalist’s wicked air of mischief was giving off. He
wondered if maybe it was just John’s own paranoid behavior rubbing off on him,
and since he seriously didn’t want to turn into his dad, Sam decided to stop
worrying about the guy, ignoring the nervous ball of dread in the pit of his
stomach when he asked for a tour around the house.
When the man winked at him as he and his father walked past the staircase,
however, Sam couldn’t help but cringe.
John showed him around the house, explaining this and that, told him about how
efficient the panic rooms and the weapons hidden around the house were, though
did not reveal their location when asked about them, to Sam’s relief. And when
they shook hands and the journalist said his goodbyes, he let out a long sigh
and stopped chewing his nails, which he didn’t even realize he was doing until
the man left. This life was making him develop some nervous ticks, making him
worry that this constant anxiety would cause him to gain wrinkles, even though
he was only fourteen.
He was rather curious about the article, though, so he decided to check the
newspaper the man said was working for, at least its online version. After a
few days have passed and there was still no article, Sam was starting to get a
little suspicious, but immediately calmed himself with a quick breathing
exercise he knew usually worked, because he had promised himself he wouldn’t
get worked up over the little things, the kind of simple stuff that would have
had John climbing the walls, but not him. He had to stay the reasonable one in
this family, or else he could wave goodbye to the normal life he wished he’d
find once John was gone.
And when that very opportunity presented itself to Sam, instead of a better
life, he found himself dragged into a living nightmare.
 
***** Three Knee Deep *****
 
One week had passed since the journalist’s visit and Sam was just about to
forget the man and that dark look in his eyes, when it happened.
He was in his room, in the middle of reading one of his favorite books. Red
Dragon has caught his interest from the very first chapter, quickly becoming
one of those books he just couldn’t put down, and since his life wasn’t as busy
as any other fourteen year old kid’s, Sam decided to do just that. He holed up
in his room, only leaving when it was really necessary like eating, using the
bathroom, or training with his dad. It was already 1am and he knew he was
supposed to be sleeping, already yawning and needing to blink twice as much to
keep his dry and tired eyes open, but Will Graham was getting stabbed and Sam
was definitely not going to put the book down at such an exciting scene.
Feeling another yawn coming on, Sam groaned and closed his eyes, yawning with
his mouth hanging open like some majestic lion; however when he opened his eyes
again, the whole room was dark. The book in his hands disappeared in the
darkness, Sam feeling its smooth paper surface under his fingers but unable to
see it with his eyes, and as he glanced at the electric clock on his bedside
table, he couldn’t find the bright red numbers either.
A power outage.
He didn’t worry right away, as he knew that they had a backup generator. When
nothing happened after he waited a minute, his room still bathed in complete
and utter black, now then he began feeling the first signs of dread showing
themselves and prodding at his nerves, firing up and intensifying his senses.
Slowly crawling out of bed, he placed the book on what he hoped was the clock
on the table, then kept one arm extended in front of himself and the other
patting along the wall and furniture on his right while walking ahead, in hopes
of finding and reaching the door without tripping on something. When he felt
the cold steel against his skin as he wrapped his fingers around the handle,
Sam took one deep breath and held it in as he cautiously opened the door and
peeked out through the gap. The hallway was just as dark as his room—which was
the second door on top of the staircase—so he didn’t get any smarter by gazing
into the darkness. Sighing and deciding that maybe it was about time he behaved
like someone brought up by a fighter, he opened the door completely and
wandered out into the darkness and toward what he believed were the stairs.
This could have very well been a test made by John, he realized, one to test
his ability to react appropriately in unexpected situations such as this.
When he heard the low whispers and saw the bright rays of flashlights
penetrating the darkness, Sam was very quick to discard that idea.
He cursed inwardly, then did so again when he backed into a wall. Keeping his
eyes glued on the three figures with the lights, his heart sank when he
recognized one of them. It was the journalist guy, wearing the same black suit
as Sam had seen him in that day, all that darkness on him helping the man blend
in with his surroundings. So that’s why he never published the article—that man
just wanted to use the info he gathered to break into their house.
The sudden sounds of footsteps made Sam whip his head around, his eyes needing
a moment to get used to the darkness again after staring at the flashlights,
but instead of panic, he felt himself relax as he saw his dad walking up to
him. He had a shotgun in his hands, probably already loaded, and when he
stopped next to Sam, he raised a finger to his lips, signaling for him to keep
quiet. Sam wasn’t going to start screaming and give their location away to
whoever those people were downstairs, so he nodded, swallowing nervously as he
watched John disappear in the darkness as he headed toward the stairs.
He’s been trained for a moment like this his entire life, but Sam wasn’t taking
it as well as he had hoped he would if something like this ever happened. He
even forgot to get his butterfly knife that he had hidden under his pillow, and
that was number one on the long list of rules one must do if confronted with a
situation such as this. Disappointed in himself, he decided he wasn’t going to
stand idly by and just watch. No, he was Sam Winchester, and even though he
didn’t quite fancy the life John has forced on him, that didn’t mean he wasn’t
going to use what he knew when the situation asked for it. And three people
breaking into their home was certainly part of those scenarios any survivalist
was born prepared.
He tiptoed back to his room and grabbed the blade from under the pillow, then
was about to walk out of his room and go back to the stairs when he heard the
gunshots. Sam froze with his hand hovering above his door handle. Three
shots—two belonging to a larger weapon and one to a smaller one, maybe a
pistol. The other two had to be his dad, and the lack of any sound following
the shots was frightening Sam more and more as the seconds trickled by. Unable
to take it any longer, he tightened his grip on the butterfly knife and opened
the door, before creeping out into the hallway.
Then as he reached the stairs, he stopped again and crouched down just in time
for the searching beam of light to miss him and glide over his head, the people
downstairs flashing their lights around the room before turning to each other.
“So you’re sure about it?” a raspy, slightly southern accented voice asked,
obviously male, Sam curious but not daring to peek over the wooden railing at
the people talking no too far from his hiding spot.
A familiar voice snorted. “I don’t just imagine a kid. I still possess all of
my brain cells and, unlike with you, they’re still working. So yes, he’s got a
kid, and unless he’s suddenly become deaf over the past few days, I’m pretty
sure the gunshots have woken him by now.”
“Oh sorry for supposing you could make mistakes, your majesty.” The first voice
chuckled. “I guess I forgot just how much of a kiss-ass you are, too terrified
of the boss to ever do something wrong.”
“At least I’ve never lost important cargo and brought shame on us,” the
familiar voice hissed, bitter irritation audible in his tone.
“Brought shame? Do you want me to commit hara-kiri now? Would that please you,
you pompous swine?”
A third voice, also rather deep but much younger-sounding, hushed them angrily.
“Cut it out, you two! If the kid didn’t wake up from the gunshots, I’m sure
your childish bickering did the job,” the disembodied voice snapped, sighing in
frustration. “This is exactly why I didn’t wanna come. I swear I’m more of an
adult than the two of you combined.”
“Hey, this time I wasn’t the one who started it,” the voice Sam recognized as
the fake journalist complained, then after a moment of silence added, “Anyway,
I’m not dealing with him. I’m not good with kids. They break far too easy for
my liking.”
Another sigh from the younger one. “Then just get the stuff we came for. Make
yourself useful instead of whining. I’ll take care of the kid.”
That did not sound good, at all. Sam heard them as they dispersed, the color
draining from his face as the thumping sound of one of them climbing the stairs
reached his ears. Horror turned his limbs to solid rock, but the adrenaline
rush he was experiencing from the panic helped him scramble to his feet and
disappear in the hallway before the man reached the top of the stairway. He
only had his knife on him, and both panic rooms were way too far for him to
make it, but he remembered there being a gun in one of the couch cushions in
his dad’s room, so Sam quickly bolted for the door to his left.
His eyes had gotten used to the darkness by now, Sam easily navigating himself
as he slipped through the ajar door then closed it as quietly as he could,
before rushing over to the couch at the foot end of the bed. A fleeting thought
crossed his mind, suddenly realizing that ever since the gunshots, he couldn’t
see nor hear his dad, but he quickly squeezed his eyes shut and forced the
tears down. John didn’t teach him to get emotional, not when his life was on
the line. And anyway, his dad might have just been hiding somewhere, planning
on landing a surprise attack any second now. He’d then scold Sam for being a
coward and make him train twice as much, and he would be right to do so,
because Sam was crying and his hands were shaking because John was dead, no
matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.
Sniffing, he clasped a hand around his mouth as he gasped when he heard the
door to his room open. He didn’t have much time, Sam quickly wiping the
stubborn tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, then stabbed his
butterfly knife into one of the cushions and sliced it open, the sound ending
up louder than he’d expected. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was
feeling sick, the blade slipping out of his sweaty palms as he took a hold of
the gun freed from the cushion instead and turned toward the door behind him.
It was still closed, but it was only a matter of time before the man upstairs
would come looking for him here. Which was fine; Sam was prepared and he had a
gun, and this time, he knew he wouldn’t mind committing murder if it was to
avenge his father.
That being said, he still couldn’t stop his hands and knees from shaking as he
raised the gun and pointed it at the door, because damn it, all of this was too
much. Too sudden, and even though Sam has been trained to handle situations
like these, he never actually thought he’d have to defend himself, finding
himself in a kill or be killed scenario from one moment to the next. He stood
there, breathing as quietly as possible while keeping his eyes on the door and
listening, straining his ears for the smallest of sounds.
Then he didn’t have focus on the eerie silence anymore, as the man was talking.
“I know you’re here somewhere,” he said tauntingly from somewhere behind the
door, his voice hiding an alarming amount of danger and making Sam bite down on
his bottom lip to stop himself from letting out any frightened sounds. “Hiding
won’t get you anywhere, you know? Poor little daddy-o is already dead as a
doornail and is dirtying your living room’s carpet with his blood, and if you
don’t wanna end up like him, I suggest you be a good boy and come out
willingly.”
He could feel fresh tears welling up in his eyes at the mention of his father’s
death, but he quickly blinked them away and tightened his grip on the gun. This
wasn’t the time for mourning, but for revenge; for anger.
Getting angry while being blinded by a flashlight wasn’t that easy, though.
Sam gasped and raised a hand from the gun to cover his eyes as the door got
suddenly kicked open, the loud noise followed by the radiant light of the
flashlight as its wielder shined it straight into his face.
“There you are.” He heard the voice, but still couldn’t see who was speaking,
and as he backed into the couch while hearing the man advancing on him, Sam
felt horror filling his veins and he became frantic, blindly squeezing off a
shot and hoping it hit something.
The light was gone from his eyes and he heard the man hiss in what Sam hoped
was agonizing pain. Lowering the hand that was protecting his eyes from the
bright light, he got a good look at the man in front of him for the first time,
realizing that it wasn’t a man he was looking at, but just a boy. Several years
older than Sam, but still a boy; and when he glared with his one gleaming
emerald eye at him, the other one hidden by some sort of black eyepatch, Sam
felt the blood in his veins turn to ice.
“Son of a bitch,” the boy growled, Sam’s eyes widening as he pulled out a
machete and snarled at him. “Nearly fucking shot my leg, you little shit.”
“G-Get away from me or next time I won’t miss!” he exclaimed, his voice coming
out much weaker than he hoped as he aimed the gun at the other’s chest, the way
the boy’s snarl twisted into a sneer really not making him think of any happy
thoughts.
“You just try, I dare you. But then you better not miss again, because if you
do, I’ll be breaking both of your arms in a way they’ll never be able to heal
properly, make a cripple out of you,” he threatened lowly as he flashed the
light up and down Sam’s body, his much smaller and skinnier than the boy’s
grinning at him like some psychopath.
That gave him an idea, and Sam swallowed down the lump in his throat, willing
his body to move as he took a tentative step to the side and toward the knife
he dropped not too long ago. Keeping the gun aimed at the other, he slowly
crouched down, waiting for the boy to realize what he was doing, and when he
finally did and began closing the distance between them with long strides, Sam
chose that moment to shoot.
He gasped and winced in pain as the gun got brutally kicked out of his hand
before he could’ve pulled the trigger, but managed to get a hold of the knife
before the boy grabbed a fistful of his hair with the hand holding the
flashlight and yanked him to his feet. Cursing Sam as he pressed the sharp side
of the machete against the skin on his throat, the boy leaned in his face then
let out a sharp cry as Sam jabbed his own blade in his shoulder, then landed a
vicious kick to his kneecap when the boy’s hold on his hair wavered. He was
smaller and seemingly much feebler than the other male, but Sam was also agile
and strong, even if that didn’t show on his relatively skinny body. So it was
the easiest thing in the world for him to slip out of the boy’s grasp and dart
out of the room, immediately regretting not collecting the gun that got knocked
out of his hand but not having time to go back and get it, that becoming
evident when he heard the shout of fury coming from the room.
Running to the stairs, he thought about going down and leaving the house, but
was quick to discard that idea when he saw the beam of a flashlight growing
rapidly as someone walked to the stairs, probably alarmed by the screaming.
That wasn’t good news, not at all, leaving Sam with no choice but to go back
the way he came from and hopefully reach to attic with the panic room in it,
before anyone else reached him.
He rushed back, passing his dad’s room just in time before the boy came
marching out, Sam panting heavily and forcing his legs to move faster when he
realized that bastard was running after him. Ripping the door to the attic
open, he took two steps at a time while climbing the stairs, but once he
reached the top, his heart sank. The panic room had several locks on it and his
pursuer was nearly in the attic as well, much faster than Sam had anticipated.
He wouldn’t have time to get in the room, instead successfully leading himself
to a dead end, but this couldn’t be the end. No, he refused to give up, swiftly
scanning the dark attic and, not having neither time nor the luxury to be
picky, he sprinted to a wardrobe they used to keep winter coats in and hid
inside, crouching down into a ball and pressing his hands against his mouth,
breathing as silently as possible.
Then he even stopped that, not daring to move or breathe, to even blink as he
heard the floorboards creak under the boy’s weight when he walked into the
attic, seeing the thin light of the flashlight through the gap of the closet
doors as it illuminated the tiny specks of dust swirling in confusion, their
slumber disturbed as the boy paced around the room.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the boy drawled in a sing-song voice,
the creepy sound sending a terrified shiver down Sam’s spine and making his
breath hitch. That wasn’t the best reaction he could’ve had, as when the air
thick with dust entered his lungs so suddenly, he had to grit his teeth to stop
himself from coughing, his hands trembling from the effort as he pressed them
harder against his mouth. His shoulders and whole body began shaking with
sudden spasms as he fought the coughing fit, his eyes tearing up in both
frustration and desperation.
When it finally died down, Sam let out a slow, ragged exhale, focusing for a
moment on calming down before looking out the narrow gap again. But when he
did, he couldn’t stop the sudden and violent coughs that escaped him as he
gasped loudly; because instead of the attic, all Sam saw upon peering through
the gap was one curious and wide, piercing eyeball staring right at him.
“Got you now,” the boy sneered as he yanked open the doors and grabbed Sam by
his arm, dragging him out of the safety of the wardrobe and into the attic. He
thrashed and screamed, no use in staying silent anymore, his heart hammering in
his chest as he began hyperventilating, panting and crying and kicking and
clawing. The boy was still much taller and stronger than him, though, and
managed to pin him down to the floor, but all that did was drive Sam further
into a frenzy.
“No, no! Get off me, you psycho pirate!” he screamed, too scared to remember
his training as he punched blindly at the boy looming over him. Sam managed to
slug him once in the jaw before the other let out a pissed-off growl and
grabbed his wrists, moving them above his head and keeping them there with one
hand, using the other to raise the machete to his throat. And this time he
didn’t just threaten Sam with it; he pressed the cold blade hard against the
burning skin and made a thin cut, Sam hissing at the pain of it and breaking
out in cold sweat as he felt his own warm blood trickling down his neck.
The boy just shook his head, laughing at his misery. “Oh, you can thank
yourself for this, kiddo. You really shouldn’t have run from me,” he whispered
as he leaned dangerously close, Sam’s eyes wide and his vision blurry from
tears. But even like that, he could see the boy’s sharp features, the scar on
his cheek that disappeared under the eyepatch, that one penetrating eye glowing
with something dark and impossibly wicked, and when he leaned even closer,
those strangely soft lips brushing against the shell of Sam’s ear, his breath
hitched. “You know, you’re…kind of pretty when you’re shaking like this.”
Sam’s eyes went plate-sized and he immediately stopped trembling, the shock of
those words turning his whole body rigid and making his stomach lurch. Never in
his life has he ever felt such intense fear, such heart stopping terror, but as
this boy pulled away from his ear and narrowed his eye, watching him like a
hungry predator with a deadly weapon pressed into Sam’s skin, he couldn’t stop
the wretched sobs that escaped him. It was pathetic, he knew that, as at least
Sam of all people should have had the guts to go up against a maniac like the
one hovering above him, but what fuelled his anger and his will to survive was
immediately put out and turned to meager ashes by this boy’s firm hands,
leaving Sam exasperated and petrified.
And the sadistic boy just laughed, his lips curling into a wide grin as he slid
the blade of the machete across another part of Sam’s throat and made a new
cut. “Why don’t you try begging for your life? I bet you’d be really good at
it, maybe even convince me to let you go.”
Sam sniffed, blinking up at the grinning boy, then frowned and gathered every
last bit of courage he had left. “How about you go and fuck yourself instead?”
he hissed, knowing full well that the boy was just toying with him and that
begging wouldn’t get him anywhere, and he refused to give this whacko the
satisfaction of watching him throw whatever remained of his dignity away.
“Good, I hoped you’d refuse,” he stated, tightening his grip on Sam’s wrists as
his one eye glanced from the other’s eyes to his lips. “I like them feisty.”
He then moved the machete away from Sam’s throat and began slowly sliding it
down his heaving chest, Sam starting to shake again as he watched the sharp
blade with wide, panic-stricken eyes.
“Hey, what the bloody Hell is taking so long?” an annoyed rumble of a voice
yelled from the bottom of the stairs leading to the attic, halting the boy’s
movements.
He sighed, reluctantly withdrawing both his hands from Sam, who quickly glanced
at the panic room not too far from them. However it seemed he wasn’t too
discreet about doing so, as in the next moment, he felt a powerful hand seize
his arm and jerk him to his feet, Sam groaning in pain and then immediately
shutting up as the machete was, yet again, pressed against his throat.
“Walk,” the boy barked as he moved forward, giving Sam a harsh shove and nearly
making him trip and fall right into the blade held to his skin. “And don’t you
even think about running, or I’ll chop your pretty little legs off.”
Sam did as he was told, not really wanting to know it the boy was bluffing or
was seriously considering butchering him, slowly moving one leg after the
other, walking faster when he felt the hand around his arm tighten
threateningly. They made their way down the stairs, meeting up with the
remaining two men waiting there, Sam clenching his jaw to stop himself from
reacting when the one he recognized as the fake journalist glared down at him.
“What is this?” he demanded, shifting his glaring eyes from Sam to the boy
behind him.
“Pretty sure it’s called a human boy.” Sam heard his chuckle coming from
behind, the derisive smirk clearly audible in his voice.
“You know that is not what I meant,” the man spat, narrowing his eyes as he
flashed the light up and down Sam’s body, then shook his head. “We weren’t
supposed to take hostages, Dean. The boss isn’t going to be happy about this.”
The boy, whose name was apparently Dean, snorted. “The boss, the boss. It’s
always about the boss with you. I didn’t kill the kid, so what? Murder isn’t
all there is to life, and especially to our job; or did you forget that?”
The man’s eyes twitched, his lips curling into a snarl as he opened his mouth
to say something, but the other one next to him raised a hand to silence him
and stepped forward. “He’s right, you know?” the third man said, Sam getting a
good look at him for the first time in the luminous light of the three
flashlights. He had short brown hair hidden under a black fatigue cap, and
beard, his pair of electric blue eyes as he stared at Sam sending an uneasy
chill down his spine. “The kid doesn’t look half bad. We could get some good
money out of him.”
Feeling the dread in his stomach grow and expand, Sam closed his shaking hands
into fists as he watched the other man roll his eyes. “I still think shutting
him up with a gun is a better idea, but I guess there’s just no arguing with
the two of you. I swear, sometimes I feel like I’m leading a conversation with
two brick walls,” he complained, before walking past them, only pausing to look
back over his shoulder and raise an eyebrow at them. “So? Come on, bring the
kid. We need the boss’s approval if you want to sell him.”
“You heard him,” Dean said from behind him, nudging him with his knee. “Get a
move on.”
He wanted to run so bad. Sam thought of jumping over the railing as they
reached the staircase, then of tripping the boy as they walked downstairs, but
with the menacing blade refusing to leave his throat no matter how he twisted
his head and tried to ease away from the machete’s alarming presence, his hopes
of escaping quickly turned from little to non-existent. And when he got pushed
out the front door and saw one of the men stuffing a severed arm into a large,
black garbage bag, he couldn’t control his nausea anymore and doubled over,
emptying his stomach on the grass.
“Damn it Crowley, couldn’t you get rid of the body before we brought out the
kid?” he heard Dean’s frustrated voice grumble, two other voices joining the
first and talking about something, but Sam wasn’t listening anymore.
They killed his father, chopped him up like some meat at the butcher’s, and now
they were planning on selling him. Sam liked to think of himself as a
relatively strong person, compared to the rest of the kids his age, but this
was too much. His knees shook and then buckled, Sam falling to the ground as he
finally let the shock of what was happening to him take over. Tears dribbled
from his eyes, looking like a complete wreck as snot escaped his nose and
joined the saliva slowly trickling past his twisted lips, Sam heaving and
sobbing in misery. The sorrow and the terror had him wailing like some baby,
but he couldn’t care how pathetic he looked, the strong emotions clouding his
mind and draining every last bit of strength from his limbs.
“Somebody shut him up already!” someone shouted, Sam didn’t know who and didn’t
care. The hand around his arm that had disappeared when he collapsed to the
ground was suddenly back, tugging him to his feet, and the rough action snapped
something in Sam and he lashed out, howling in fury and anguish as he turned
around and kneed the boy in the groin, before darting past a black van parked
in their garden.
He had no place in mind as he ran, just running blindly and wanting to get away
from those lunatics. Their angry shouts echoed behind him as Sam reached the
streets and took a left, running down the sidewalk and not daring to look back.
They could be chasing him or not, he didn’t know and wasn’t in the mood of
knowing either, too busy ducking under low branches and climbing over fences,
running around the neighborhood in the most complicated way possible. Nobody
was awake, judging from the lack of light in windows, the streets eerily silent
with the only sound being Sam’s harsh panting and the dull thumps of his bare
feet hitting the cold pavement. The moon was high in the starry sky, its full
form illuminating the streets like one brilliant spotlight, following and
aiding Sam wherever he went.
He thought about screaming, shouting for help, but he was too afraid his
panicked yells would give away his position not only to his possible saviors,
but to his captors as well. So he wasn’t going to risk it, instead just running
and hiding and praying for them to give up on Sam, to call it a day or
something and just leave.
Then he heard the sound of a car driving with too much speed for it to be one
of the residents, Sam’s heart nearly stopping when he realized the deep rumble
of the engine was growing louder and coming his way.
This time risking a glance over his shoulder, his eyes widened as he saw the
headlights of the black van penetrating the darkness of the street Sam was
running in. He quickly glanced around, spotting a shrub fence not too far from
him, and didn’t hesitate as he dove right into it, crawling to the other side
and then sitting with his back pressed into the bushes. He remained completely
motionless, taking long and deep breaths as he tried to control his breathing,
then immediately quieted down as he heard the car reaching his hiding spot,
faint rays from the headlights piercing through the thick, small leaves of the
hedge and casting its shadow over the wall in front of Sam.
He held his breath, turning his head to the side as he carefully listened to
the sound of the car slowing down, reaching him before passing the bushes. But
just when Sam thought that the threat was finally gone, that he was safe, he
heard the car stop, its engine shutting off not too far from him, and he knew
he was screwed. The car doors opened, but Sam didn’t dare look, already knowing
without needing to see that the men were coming his way, probably holding guns
loaded with bullets meant for him. But that didn’t mean he should just sit
there patiently and wait for his fate, to bite the bullet willingly. Sam needed
to keep running, then continue even after his lungs and legs were burning, he
needed to save himself, refusing to accept death by the hands of these vicious
men.
So he got on his knees before getting in a crouching position, slowly backing
away from where the car had stopped, ready to jump to his feet and run at a
moment’s notice. He couldn’t hear footsteps, but since he didn’t have
superhuman hearing, that didn’t mean anything. The men have gotten out of the
car, that much he knew for sure, and he honestly doubted that they were just
standing idly by, waiting for Sam to climb into the van like an obedient
victim. Well, Sam was anything but that, bent on making these assholes’ lives a
nightmare by running around, not quite ready to give up on this cat and mouse
chase yet. If they wanted him, they sure as hell would have to work their asses
off, Sam smirking to himself at his own deviousness.
He continued backing away, all the while keeping his eyes trained forward,
making sure that nobody was popping out of the shadows and into his field of
vision, but Sam had to realize that was wishful thinking, as in the next
moment, that was exactly what happened. He froze in the crouching position he
was, one hand against the shrubs and the other braced on the cold, rough
asphalt under him, his eyes widening in disbelief as the black suited man named
Crowley stepped onto the sidewalk and flashed him a crooked grin. He stood
where the shrub fence ended, Sam cursing himself for picking a hiding spot with
two openings, realization stabbing him like an icy dagger as he spun around
just in time to see as two legs blocked the other escape route, the other man
placing his hands on his hips and winking at him when Sam lifted his head to
gape at him.
“Remember us?” the man said tauntingly, chuckling when Sam tried to back away
but fell on his ass instead. He was trapped with a wall on his right and the
bushes on his left, and the men blocking the only two exits in front and behind
him.
“Just leave me alone!” he yelled, quickly scrambling to his feet and taking a
step back at the same time as the man took one forward.
“Sorry pal, but no can do,” he stated with a shrug, before moving again, taking
slow but long steps toward Sam, who was already backing the hell away from the
guy. Then he remembered that there was another threat behind him, quickly
risking a glance back over his shoulder and watching in dread as the other man
began his advance on him as well.
He was going to get caught like this, Sam knew that, but what was he supposed
to do? He could try crawling through the bushes again, but the man in front of
him was way too close and the one behind was getting closer too, and there was
no way he’d make it to the other side in time without getting his legs grabbed
by at least one of them. Aside from that, there was really nothing he could do,
unless he tried going for reckless and rush the man in front of him in a
hopeless attempt to knock him over. But he saw no weapons in his hands, not
remembering noticing one in Crowley’s hands either, so as long as he didn’t get
grabbed and was fast, there was a slim chance he could, maybe, make it.
Sam took one look at the man’s muscular, strong-looking arms, and then
immediately discarded that idea, deciding to go for the relatively safer option
and lunged at the bushes next to him.
He felt no hands grasping at his legs as he plunged into the greenery, or when
he climbed out on the other side, a wave of victorious relief rushing through
his body as he got up from his hands and knees, and looked out into the street.
It took him a moment to notice the figure walking up to him, but when he did,
Sam couldn’t stop the yelp that escaped him when he came face to face with
Dean’s glaring emerald eye.
“Hey there,” he said as a smirk spread across his face, Sam barely having any
time to react before the boy’s right hand shot up and grabbed a fistful of his
long hair, pulling him closer and then keeping him in place as the boy’s other
hand pressed something against his mouth.
The cloth had a sickeningly sweet smell, it filling his nostrils when Sam
gasped, immediately regretting doing so as soon as he felt a thick, heavy and
syrupy daze descend and spread across his body, turning his limbs to jelly in a
matter of seconds. Realizing that he just inhaled some sort of drug, presumably
chloroform, he stopped breathing and began clawing at Dean’s hands, but the
damage had been done. It was already too late, his eyelids feeling strangely
heavy and his frantic hands sliding from the boy’s arms, Sam trying so hard but
failing at staying on his feet.
“That’s it, take some nice, deep breaths,” Dean purred encouragingly as he
lowered him to the ground, Sam falling into the boy’s arms and starting to
breathe again, as he could only hold his breath for so long. He blinked lazily,
then just closed his eyes and stopped fighting, suddenly forgetting the reason
why he should resist the warm embrace of the body pressed against him in the
first place.
His mind was swimming with incoherent thoughts as sleep slowly overtook him,
and the last thing Sam heard before the darkness swallowed him up completely
was the low sound of someone laughing.
 
***** Buck Rogers Time *****
Chapter Notes
     Buckle up, because here come the long chapters!
 
He awoke with a killer headache and a searing pain in his hands.
Groaning, Sam frowned when the sound got muffled, then his eyes flew open in
shock as he realized he couldn’t even open his mouth. He blinked around
himself, staring into the darkness with wide eyes and feeling his stomach drop
as the realization that he was in the back of the van hit him.
The car wasn’t moving so they must have either stopped somewhere or reached
their destination, Sam really hoping for it not to be the latter. He tried
sitting up, which wasn’t that easy with his ankles bound together with what he
guessed was duct-tape, the same material that was keeping his aching wrists
behind his back and was sticking to his mouth and shutting him up. After a
while of wriggling around like a mentally challenged caterpillar, Sam was
finally sitting and leaning against the side of the van, grunting silently at
the pain in his arm sockets. He wasn’t sure how long he’s been out, but judging
from how sore his arms felt, it must have been more than an hour.
He grimaced as he peeled his tongue away from where it was stuck to the roof of
his mouth, feeling incredibly thirsty and in high need of some painkillers.
Damn, his head was pulsing with pain and even his eyes were hurting, feeling
dry and stinging when he kept them open for too long.
Well, this wasn’t good. Not good at all. Sam wasn’t feeling like he was going
to break down and cry anymore, the shock and sorrow of losing his dad and
getting kidnapped already gone. He was scared shitless though, the silence in
the van and the anticipation just fuelling his fear and driving his mind into
overload, his sadistic brain concocting the sickest scenarios, laying out all
the worst possible outcomes of his situation and leaving no place for happy
endings whatsoever. The fact that he wasn’t dead yet was relieving and
worrisome at the same time, especially when taking into consideration what the
men said before. Sam was pretty sure it was something about selling him, and
while he didn’t know if that meant selling his organs or his whole body, and in
what way, he knew it couldn’t mean anything friendly.
He sat there in silence for a long while, waiting for his eyes to get used to
the darkness, and when they did, Sam gazed around the inside of the van, but he
didn’t get any smarter. It was completely empty, save for a ragged blanket on
the side opposite of Sam, and what appeared to be a first aid kit in the right
corner. Looking to his left and to the front of the van, he noticed a large
wire screen separating the back from the front, making Sam wonder how many
people have tried to claw their captors’ eyeballs out before they decided to
mount the wire and turn the back of the van into a makeshift cage. He thought
about squirming over to the first aid kit and using some on his neck, as the
wounds from the machete were burning uncomfortably, but since his hands were
tied behind his back, he honestly doubted that getting to the box would have
been of any use.
So, seeing no other option aside from waiting for his demise, Sam took a deep
breath through his nose and tilted his head back, closing his eyes and
listening to the nothing in the air. Seconds, and then minutes trickled by like
that, Sam fidgeting from time to time as he sat in the gradually more and more
painful position, his legs and back beginning to hurt from it. He stayed like
that until he couldn’t take the nagging discomfort, and tried lying down on his
side without toppling over, letting out a small sigh when he lowered himself
and pulled up his knees. Then the arm he was lying on started hurting, and Sam
was tempted to start whining in frustration.
He didn’t have to, though, not sure if he felt relieved or nervous when after a
few more minutes of silence, he heard someone at the rear door of the van.
Quickly wiggling into a more or less sitting position, he watched as the doors
opened, revealing the third and only man whose name he didn’t know.
“You’re wanted, sleeping beauty,” the man said with a grin, letting go of the
doors to reach inside the van, but Sam raised his legs and kicked the man’s
hands away before he could’ve taken a hold of him. Sam narrowed his eyes at
him, daring him to touch his legs, the man sighing and raising his hands in
surrender. “Don’t make this harder for the both of us, please.” He raised his
eyebrows at the bound kid expectantly, Sam mumbling something very nasty in
return, his creative curses unfortunately muffled by the tape on his mouth. But
his glaring eyes suddenly turned round and nervous when he saw the man pull out
a gun and aim it at him. “I didn’t want to do this, but you’re forcing my
hands, kid. Now get out of the car.”
Sam hesitated for only a moment before slowly squirming over to the open doors
of the van, letting his legs dangle over the edge and pausing in his movements
when he noticed the hunting knife in the man’s other hand.
Sensing Sam’s unease, he glanced from the blade in his hand to the silent boy,
before flashing him a smile. “No worries, I’m not skinning you. But I might cut
you if you start moving around, so I suggest you stay still,” he said, keeping
the gun pointed at Sam’s head as he hooked the blade under the duct-tape
encircling his ankles and cut it away with a few brutal slashes. “There, much
better, isn’t it?”
Sam jumped out of the van and onto his feet, nearly losing his balance as his
knees gave way under him, but a rough hand on his already aching biceps kept
him upright. Then they were walking, Sam noticing the first signs of sunrise as
he glanced around his new surroundings. All he saw were trees and a vast meadow
to his right, and of course the huge-ass warehouse towering before him like a
giant. He gulped down his unease as they walked the short distance from the car
to a large metal sliding door, the man letting go of him to take a hold of the
small depression in the door and pull.
The gravel under his feet gave way to solid cement as Sam stepped inside the
warehouse, which looked more like some sort of cozy shelter. Not far from him
was a ping-pong table and at the end of the large room was some sort of
makeshift living room, with a flat screen TV, a dark purple couch facing it,
and two comfortable looking armchairs of the same color on each side. Above the
television was a wide, half oval window made up of many tiny rectangular ones,
all stained and in need of a good polishing. And on both his right and left
side were industrial-looking steel stairs leading to the same kind of steel
catwalks, supported by several metal pillars protruding from the floor and
merging with the railings on the side of the catwalks, before reaching their
final destination in the raised ceiling.
He would have been impressed if this didn’t happen to be his kidnappers’
hideout, but since it was, Sam ducked his head and let his bangs fall in front
of his eyes as he was taken to a room in the far right corner, hidden behind
one of the only two doors on that side.
As he entered the room, it felt like he’d just stepped into a completely
different world, one filled with warm colors and thick, plush chairs. He gaped
around in awe, taking in the sight that reminded him of a psychiatrist’s office
from one of the TV shows he’d seen a few months ago. The floor under his feet
was made up of dark wooden planks; that is, when it wasn’t covered by a very
beige and very soft-looking fur rug. The walls were of a deep shade of red and
had several paintings, smaller bookshelves and potted plants mounted on them,
in exception of one wall, which was fully covered by one great bookshelf. And
in front of that bookshelf was a wooden desk, behind which sat a man who Sam
had no doubt was someone important, his suspicions proving correct when the man
next to him holstered his gun and stepped forward.
“Here he is, boss,” he said, motioning to Sam, who really wasn’t feeling like
moving, especially not when the man sitting behind the desk looked up from the
papers he was going through and beckoned to him.
After receiving a painful jab in his back, he reluctantly wandered over to the
boss man, trying not to stare too much when he smiled at him. “Come on, no need
to be shy,” he said reassuringly, but this fake act wasn’t going to work on
Sam. He made sure to show that by glaring at the man as he stopped before the
desk, though it was kind of hard to keep his threatening looks up with the guy
tilting his head and smiling at him like that. “Ah, right. I’m sure you must be
really thirsty by now. Do take a seat, please.” The man nodded toward the brown
chair next to Sam, before looking at the man still standing in the doorway and
waving a hand to Sam. “Take the tapes off.”
He looked back and watched as the man headed over to him, hissing in pain as
the tape over his mouth was suddenly and too violently ripped off, then
flinching when he felt the cold blade of the man’s hunting knife press into his
wrist as he cut the rest of the binds away.
“Thank you, Benny,” the boss said with no real emotion in his voice, Benny
giving him a brief nod before moving away from the desk, but not leaving the
room. Sam tried his best to ignore the intent pairs of eyes on him as he
lowered his own and focused on rubbing his aching wrists and numb shoulders,
pulling a face when he felt something pop. God, he was feeling like an eighty
years old grandpa.
He kept staring at his shoes, even when he heard the man at the desk fumble
with something, his body betraying him as he felt an intense thirst when he
heard liquid being poured into a glass. Hesitantly raising his gaze, Sam chewed
on his lower lip as he noticed the glass filled with water on the desk, the man
chuckling at his reaction and pushing it across the wooden surface, tempting
the boy.
“It’s fine, it isn’t poisoned. Just water,” he said, pouring some in another
glass and drinking it in front of Sam, before flashing him a persuading smile.
“See?”
Really not wanting to fall for such a simple trick, but feeling too damn
thirsty to care right now, Sam carefully took a hold of the glass and raised it
to his lips, smelling its content before taking a small sip. It tasted like
water, so he quickly downed the whole thing, the soothing liquid feeling
heavenly against his parched throat. When he put the glass back on the desk,
Sam glanced warily at the comfortable looking chair next to him, but decided to
stay standing instead, not wanting to seem too cooperative. He played with the
hem of his shirt, looking around the room in silence while the man sitting in
his own chair leaned forward on his elbows and regarded Sam with curious eyes,
the anxious boy meeting his gaze after a painstaking amount of time.
No wonder this guy was named the boss—he couldn’t have looked the part more
even if he tried. With a pair of mysterious, icy blue eyes, short and messy
light brown hair, and the faint stubble, not to mention the whole “I am evil”
aura he was giving off, the man looked like he was born to bring pain and
suffering into the world. And if his looks wouldn’t have been convincing
enough, his way-too-polite voice with the well hidden, but just barely audible
menace in it, had Sam shuddering in sudden dread and taking a step back,
feeling like he was having a staring contest with the Devil himself.
“You’re Sam, right?” he said with that same eerily polite smile. “My name is
Nick. I heard you caused my men quite the trouble. So tell me, Sam…” The man
placed his hands on the table and stood up, leaning forward and looking
straight into Sam’s eyes. “Were you worth all that trouble?”
He blinked at Nick, speechless for a moment, then just when he gathered enough
courage to open his mouth, the man was speaking again.
Glancing at Benny still standing not far from them, he pulled back from the
desk and motioned to Sam. “Strip him.”
His eyes going comically wide in record time, Sam turned toward the smirking
man closing in on him and backed away, gasping when he fell into the chair
behind him and not having enough time to stand up before Benny reached him, and
it wasn’t long before he felt the man’s large hands on him, lifting his shirt
and trying to pull it over his head. Sam panicked, hugging himself and kicking
at the man, immediately regretting doing so when he saw the glint of the knife,
then felt the blade nick his skin as Benny slid it under his shirt and began
shredding his clothes.
“No, please! Stop it!” he cried, however gave up on moving in fear of getting
himself cut somewhere important. So he just sat there in the chair, watching in
horror as his shirt disappeared, then gripped the armrests so tight his
knuckles turned white when his pants got tugged down, followed by his
underwear. He immediately pressed his thighs together and covered his lower
regions with his hands, trembling in both fear and the way the cold air ghosted
over his naked skin and made goosebumps appear all across his body.
“Now now, don’t cover yourself,” Nick coaxed him, the amount of tenderness in
his voice pissing Sam off. “Come on, stand up and let me see you.”
“Like hell I’m going to move from this chair!” he snarled, trying to fold his
body together as he bent forward and bared his teeth at the smirking man behind
the desk.
“I see Dean wasn’t joking about your fighting spirit.” Nick chuckled, the smile
suddenly fading from his face as he waved a hand to Sam while glancing at
Benny, the man turning to him and ripping his hands away from his crotch.
“Let go, you fucking pedophile!” Sam shouted, then cried out as a piercing pain
shot up from his arms as they got twisted behind his back, Benny hauling him
out of the chair and yanking his head back by his hair.
His scalp was really starting to hurt from all the hair tugging he was getting.
Sam stood there panting, gritting his teeth in a strange mix of embarrassment,
irritation and persistent horror as Nick walked around the desk before stopping
in front of him. He trailed his eyes down the boy’s body, Sam unable to take it
and feeling the blush creep onto his cheeks when the man’s gaze lingered on his
crotch, quickly averting his eyes and staring at the chair instead. Then his
breath hitched and every single muscle in his body tensed as he felt Nick’s
fingers on his waist, Sam squeezing his eyes shut and staying completely
motionless until the digits disappeared and the hold on both his arms and hair
weakened.
“You were right not to kill him,” he heard Nick say, Sam slowly opening his
eyes and pulling his hands out of Benny’s grasp to cover himself again, before
glancing nervously from one man to another.
“Right? A pretty face and body like that could get us a lot of money in the sex
industry,” Benny stated excitedly, Sam forgetting to breathe as those words
sank in.
“Yes, it could. Good job,” Nick praised the man, those two speaking as if Sam
wasn’t right there next to them, hearing everything they were saying and
freaking the hell out. So that’s what they meant when they talked about selling
him. The thought of sex slavery did cross his mind, of course it did, but he
was quick at discarding and forgetting all about it; apparently too quick.
Scanning the floor for any remains of his clothes that were still wearable, Sam
gave up after a moment and looked up at Nick instead, his glare weak and his
breathing uneven, but damn it, he wasn’t going to just roll with this. “You
can’t just sell me like I’m some sort of…some sort of object! People will be
looking for me!”
That was a blatant lie, obviously. The only person that ever cared about him
and would have come searching for him was dead in some black plastic bag.
Nobody would miss him or even notice his absence, not even their neighbors. He
was truly alone in this world now, the realization of that just making Sam more
desperate, since what did he have to lose, really?
“Actually, we can,” instead of the boss, Benny answered him, the man grinning
down at him as Sam scowled. “That’s what we do. Child trafficking isn’t really
one of our favorite, but whatever brings food to the table.”
“We’re smugglers,” Nick continued, “just everyday faces in the crowds, working
in the shadows without ever leaving a trace of our existence or our work
behind. We only steal things people wouldn’t miss or, if yes, would only
realize they were gone when it’s far too late to do anything about it. We cover
our tracks and never leave any witnesses behind. And you’re here right now,
Sam, because you are one of these very objects that nobody would give a single
shit about if they disappeared from the face of the earth. If you ask me, you
should be grateful that you’re not dead.”
“Grateful?!” he exclaimed incredulously, his voice rising an octave and his
hands shaking as he glowered sourly at the man. “You must be kidding me! You
say I’m gonna get sold off to work as some sort of sex toy, and you want me to
feel grateful for that? H-How fucked up is your brain?!” Sam growled, as in he
literally growled at Nick, a wild fire burning in his eyes as all his self-
preservation flew right out the window, the furious boy snarling at the amused-
looking man. “I’d rather die than be used like that! I would welcome death over
that anytime, and I don’t care what you do to me, how much you hurt me or try
to break me, because I am never going to let you sell me to some filthy
bureaucratic pigs! I will take my own life before letting that happen!”
The strong emotions were turning his heart into a drum on steroids, his pulse
skyrocketing and his breathing quickening until he was panting like he just
finished running the whole length of The Great Wall of China, Sam feeling
extremely on edge and ready to pounce at anything or anyone.
Nick watched him for the longest moment, studying Sam’s face with his curious
eyes, before leaning against the desk and looking at Benny. “Give him your
jacket. And the knife.”
Frowning, the man hesitated only a second before doing as he was told,
shrugging out of his jacket and handing it over to Sam, who might have felt a
bit confused, but wasn’t going to refuse the offered article of clothing. He
quickly pulled it on and zipped it up, surprised that it was actually big
enough to cover his crotch, the bottom of the warm jacket even brushing his
thighs. He hoped that was only because the jacket was big and not because he
was tiny, as Sam had a bit of a height complex that he usually tried not to
think of.
When Benny extended his hand with the knife in it, its hilt facing Sam, he
glanced at Nick and gave him a questioning look, but when the man just smiled,
Sam concluded that he wasn’t going to get tackled to the ground if he took the
weapon. So he took a hold of it, then turned it in his hands before tightening
his grip on the leather shaft, not sure what to make of the situation but not
really hating it.
“You say you’re ready to die,” Nick said, his voice piercing the silence heavy
with tension in the air. “I want to see you prove it to me. From what I gather,
you’re capable of fighting for yourself. You injured one of my men and nearly
managed to escape. So go ahead—fascinate me, Sam.”
He was about to ask just what Nick meant by that, when Benny stepped forward
and raised his fists in a way that meant a great deal of pain if Sam wasn’t
going to dodge in time. Thankfully, his reflexes were still as good as he
remembered, Sam stumbling backward as one of the man’s fists shot forward, then
quickly moved behind the chair, putting it between him and Benny, who paused to
roll the sleeves of his shirt up before flashing a sly grin at him. Then as if
following an unheard command, the man grabbed the chair and threw it out of the
way, then lunged at Sam. Caught slightly off-guard, he let Benny get a hold of
his wrist, but feeling his survival instincts kicking in, Sam immediately began
slashing at the other’s arm, swiftly yanking his wrist out of the man’s grasp
before crouching down and landing a brutal kick to one of his knees.
“You little—” Benny hissed, grabbing at thin air as Sam rolled out of the way,
but then he was quickly losing his balance and falling on his ass when the
pissed man pulled the rug out from under his feet. He closed the distance
between them with two long steps, stomping down on Sam’s ankle when he tried to
crawl away, the boy crying out as a burning pain shot up from his leg. Then
Benny was wrapping his hands around his throat, squeezing his already hurting
and abused neck between his fingers, Sam gasping and panicking for a moment
before remembering that he had a knife, which he hurriedly used to do something
very risky. He lifted it to his own neck and then plunged it into Benny’s hand,
and even though he could feel the tip of the blade cutting into his skin, Sam
didn’t mind because that just meant that he succeeded in piercing the man’s
hand.
Screaming in pain, Benny backed away; Sam immediately pulling out the knife
from the howling man’s hand when he withdrew the heavily bleeding appendage,
then moved the blade shining in crimson to the man’s thigh and buried it in his
flesh in a swift in and out movement, Sam disappearing from in front of Benny
before he could have reacted. Quite impressed by how he was doing so far, he
let his sudden pride get the better of him as he stood up and grinned at the
man, quickly regretting his decision when the other backhanded him so goddamn
hard that Sam found himself on the floor again, his head spinning from the
impact. Then he was gasping and it was his turn to scream as he received a
horrible kick to his ribs, realizing with a bone-chilling feeling that the
knife had been knocked out of his hand when he fell, now lying just out of
arm’s reach from him.
Noticing the ownerless blade at approximately the same time as he did, Benny
quickly dove for it, unfortunately faster than him, and even though Sam’s
fingertips were nearly brushing the knife’s hilt, the man brought down his foot
on his hand, Sam pretty sure he heard an audible crunch over his own scream of
pain. With the blade belonging to Benny now, Sam had no choice but to use the
lessons he learned from John, wheezing and wincing as he scurried away and
jumped to his feet, turning around just in time to see the man reaching for
him. Quickly taking a step back and managing not to trip over his own feet, Sam
waited until Benny got close enough, raising the knife and ready to strike, but
moments before he could have stabbed the unmoving boy, Sam lifted his leg and
did something that resembled a roundhouse kick, hitting the man in the waist.
That distracted him just long enough for Sam to clench his good hand, curling
his index finger while the rest remained folded inward, then wasted no time as
he shot forward and jabbed the bony part of his curved finger right into the
hollow of the man’s throat.
Benny made a strangled sound, his eyes going wide as he slapped his hands over
his throat, clawing at it as if he had trouble breathing, the blade slipping
out from between his fingers as he kept on gasping and choking. Stepping on the
knife on the floor and pulling it toward himself, Sam kept his eyes on the man
while crouching down and picking it up, an odd smirk tugging at the corner of
his lips as he raised it, but before he could have thrust it into the softer
part of Benny’s temple, he heard a slow clapping sound.
Turning his head toward the sound, Sam watched as the boss kept on clapping for
a long moment, before flashing a wide, relatively satisfied-looking smile at
the boy. “That was impressive. I wasn’t expecting you to put up such a good
show, Sam. Truly, I am positively surprised.”
Sam lowered the knife in his hand, looking from one man to the other. Benny had
stopped sounding like some cat about to throw up a hairball, now walking around
the room and rearranging the furniture that had toppled over during their
little fight, and Nick was still leaning against his desk, looking ever so
nonchalant with a pleased smile plastered across his face.
“So…what?” Sam asked after a while, not liking where the silence was going.
“Will you let me go now?”
Nick chuckled, shaking his head. “No, of course not,” he answered matter-of-
factly, and Sam instinctively tightened his hold on the hunting knife. “But I
must say, I like your spunk. Really much so. Selling you off would be such a
waste of great potential, don’t you think?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer to that, so he didn’t. Instead, Sam just frowned
at the man and took a step back, being as discreet about it as possible as to
not cause any suspicion. He still had the knife and he would be damned if he
wasn’t going to use it first chance he got. They really shouldn’t have given a
scared, and therefore unpredictable, kid a knife. Really not a smart move; but
Sam wasn’t complaining.
“What are you thinking, boss?” Benny asked after he was done turning the room
back into a presentable state, flopping down into the plush chair and wincing
silently as he wrapped a piece of fabric he got who knows where around his
punctured hand.
Nick took a deep breath, held it in for a moment as he pursed his lips in
thought, then let it out. “First of all, stop bleeding on my chair,” he said,
shooting a warning look at the man and his still bleeding thigh, Benny
immediately jumping to his feet and pulling a face at the pain the rapid action
caused him. Nodding in approval, Nick then looked at Sam, flashing him one of
those annoying smiles. “I’m willing to give you a choice. An offer. You can try
and keep fighting us, threatening us with your death as we sell you to the sex
industry. Evidently, we’d pump you so full of drugs that you wouldn’t be able
to go through with any of your brave little threats; but then again, that’s
just option number one. Option number two is you working for us.”
“Do what now?” Sam blurted, not sure if he heard that right. He blinked
incredulously at the man, but he didn’t seem like he was joking, seriously
offering him a job.
“Work for us,” he repeated, shrugging as if offering a job to someone he
previously threatened to sell off to sex slavery was something he did on a
daily basis. And maybe that was exactly the case. “I’d say that would be a much
smarter and a less…painful choice.”
Sam opened and closed his mouth, still in quite a bit of shock, then forced his
head to stop spinning and fixed the man with a glare he hoped looked
intimidating. “You’re serious?” he asked, and when Nick just nodded, Sam felt
his shoulders slouch. “You’re serious. I’m fourteen years old and I don’t know
the first thing about being a criminal, much less as smuggler, or whatever your
guys are! How do you expect me to work for you? And why would I? You…your men
killed my father.”
“Well, I never said that you have to. I am not forcing your hand here, merely
offering you a choice. And do not be mistaken,” Nick said, narrowing his eyes
at him and, for the first time since Sam laid eyes on the man, he looked like a
real criminal boss, “we are not good people. Yes, my men murdered your father,
and they did so in cold blood. And you’ll just have to accept that, because
that’s just the kind of world we live in, the kind you live in now. So do not
mistake my offer for kindness, Sam. I’m a man who likes bringing hidden
potential to the surface, but if you were to refuse the job, I wouldn’t lose
sleep from selling you in a heartbeat. It’s your choice, but know this—whatever
you choose, your life will never be the same again.”
Staying silent for the longest moment, Sam thought. He had no idea what kind of
work Nick had in mind for him, but it couldn’t be anything harmless and
friendly, he knew that much. And Sam was still more or less under shock, only
some hours passing since he went from reading in his warm bed to standing in
nothing but a jacket in a murderous gang’s den. How was he supposed to make a
rational decision like this? Still, if he thought about it hard enough and
considered all the pros and cons, the choice wasn’t that difficult. One door
opened to a whole world of rape and his possible death, while the other turned
him into a juvenile delinquent, a criminal. Both were horrible, Sam preferring
a third option, but there wasn’t one. Nick was right when he said that his life
would change, Sam not seeing another option aside from these two laid out in
front of him. He swallowed nervously, feeling the pressure get to him.
He didn’t want to choose. He wanted to go home and hide under his blanket,
wanted to wake up from this sadistic dream. But no, it was time for Sam to
accept that this living nightmare was his life now. He couldn’t close his eyes
and wake up in his bed, no matter how much he wished otherwise. He needed to
chose, and he needed to do it now, the choice being one of the hardest but, at
the same time, easiest decisions he had to make in his entire life.
Glancing around the room, before looking down at the knife in his hand, Sam
sighed and felt as if something, some tiny part of him, died inside. Then he
raised his gaze to Nick, and nodded. “Alright. I accept your offer. I… I will
work for you.”
“Perfect!” He clasped his hands together, a broad smile spreading across his
face as he pushed himself away from his desk, then turned to address the other
adult in the room. “Benny, take him to your room for now. I will prepare
everything for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Sam asked, suddenly afraid that he just made a huge mistake.
Giving him a reassuring look, Nick said, “Yes, you will start as soon as
possible. Your size and agility could come in handy for a job we already had
planned for tomorrow, so I think it’d be a good idea to let you join our mules.
Agreed?”
“Could I refuse…?”
“No, not really,” he stated with a smile. “I’ll let Benny explain the basics of
what your job as our newest mule will be, then we’ll go over the details
tomorrow. Until then, try not to cause too much trouble. I really wouldn’t like
for you to turn into damaged goods before we’d even have the chance to try you
out.”
Trying not to shudder too visibly at the man’s warning, Sam gave him a brisk
nod, before his eyes caught movement to his right. Benny stepped up to him, not
looking that smug or cheery anymore what with the bleeding wounds left there by
Sam, though the boy himself was having a hard time keeping a straight face with
the pulsing pain in his hand, ankle, and his side. He really hoped that none of
his ribs were broken, but since he wasn’t howling in pain each time he took a
breath, he guessed he was fine.
“Come on, bud, it’s time to get educated,” he said, snatching his knife out
from Sam’s hand and pocketing it with a contemptuous half-smile. Sam hoped he
would get to hang onto it for a while longer, but unfortunately, that obviously
didn’t seem like it was going to happen.
He let the man guide him out of Nick’s office, Sam glancing back over his
shoulder before leaving the room and looking at the man sitting in his large
chair and going back to glaring at the jumble of papers on his desk. Then the
door shut behind him and they were back in the vast space of the warehouse,
lacking any posh decoration, the depressingly gray surfaces darkening Sam’s
already crappy mood.
It seemed that while they were in Nick’s office, though, the warehouse had
gained a new living specimen, because as Sam followed Benny to the staircase on
the left and opposite to the boss’s—who was now Sam’s boss as well—office, he
noticed someone sitting in one of the two sofas near the television. Another
adult by the looks of it, with chocolate dark skin and a buzz cut, seemingly in
the middle of reading a book.
Following his curious gaze, Benny stopped at the bottom of the staircase and
smirked. “That’s Raphael. He’s a real serious sorta guy, so you better not rub
him the wrong way. Breaking fingers comes easier to him than opening bottles,”
he explained. “Though that’s true to all of us.”
“Uh…” was all Sam said, liking this place and the people filled with it less
and less. He kept his eyes on Raphael for a while longer, but when the man just
continued reading without any sign of him planning on acknowledging Sam’s
existence, he looked back to Benny and fidgeted a bit.
The man let out a small chuckle, before motioning for Sam to follow as he
climbed the stairs, their steps a series of uncomfortably loud echoes as their
feet hit the steel surface. Once reaching the top, Sam noticed three doors at
approximately the same distance from each other, all looking freshly painted
over with white, which was a striking contrast to the dark gray brick walls
surrounding them and the whole interior of the warehouse. Benny walked over to
the door in the middle, waiting until Sam was standing next to him before
opening it. And again, it looked like the room behind the door didn’t belong to
the warehouse, but rather to some modern flat.
It was larger than Sam had expected, the size of a big living room, and as he
walked further into the room, he realized that there was even more to it. The
floor beneath his bare feet was made of black, wooden tiles, though the walls
didn’t change, remaining the same dark brick with the exception of the wide
wall opposite of the door, that one littered with the same kind of chain of
rectangular windows as the one he saw above the TV. They were much cleaner than
the other, the view crystal clear through the glass. There was a round, navy
blue carpet in the middle of the room, Sam curling his toes in the surprisingly
soft fabric when he stepped on it and took in all the furniture around the
room. A single bed on the left, next to some shelves with either books or
little trinkets on them, then a light brown clothes cupboard with several
drawers at the bottom on the right, on top of which, if Sam’s eyes weren’t
playing tricks on him, was an orange and white lifebelt.
“Cozy, ain’t it?” he heard Benny’s voice from behind him as he walked over to
the windows, slowly raising his hands and pressing his palms against the cool
glass. From here, Sam could see the vast, green and deep golden meadow
stretching away toward the forest surrounding it like a thick protective ring,
the leafy rows of trees disappearing behind the warehouse and probably
continuing for a few more miles. And while as he glanced to the right, all he
could see was the green wall of nature, when he trailed his gaze to the other
side, Sam couldn’t help but notice how a road managed to separate the world of
flora from that of civilization. The smooth asphalt road snaked alongside a
long ditch at the edge of the meadow, a series of houses emerging at the other
side of the lane, and suddenly, Sam had hope.
He agreed to work for Nick and his people, for now. It didn’t mean that he was
just going to roll over and do their bidding, obedient as ever. No, Sam had a
hidden agenda, promising himself to escape first chance he got, and for the
first time in a long time, he felt at luck. Those houses might just be his
golden ticket to freedom and, hopefully, a quick call to the police, which
would result in the arrest of his captors.
Lost in the thoughts of his eager escape, Sam flinched when he felt a hand on
his shoulder, nearly knocking his head against the window as he turned around
and stared up at Benny. “I’m sure you have loads of questions, and I also have
quite some stuff in need of explaining, so what do you say we get started?” He
raised an eyebrow, nodding to the bed, but Sam remained where he was, not
really feeling like sitting on someone’s bed who had ripped his clothes off not
that long ago.
“Can I use the bathroom first?” he asked, both wanting to stall for time and
needing to go. He was actually surprised that he hadn’t pissed himself in fear
before, forever thankful to his strong bladder for saving him from a really
embarrassing situation and some probable trauma.
Benny regarded him with obvious suspicion, but then just nodded and pointed at
a door not far from the wardrobe. “Go ahead. Oh, and don’t you even think about
closing the door,” he said, grinning when Sam’s eyes widened. “Can’t have you
doing something naughty while I’m not looking.”
“I’m just going to use the toilet; you really don’t need to keep watch over
me,” he muttered, but knew immediately that he was fighting a losing battle
from the look on Benny’s face.
Shaking his head, the man took a step back, finally leaving Sam’s personal
space. “Sorry kid.” He lifted his hands innocently, Sam sighing and walking
past him to the door leading to the bathroom.
Once inside, he was reluctant to keep the door open, especially when Benny
followed him and leaned against the door frame, watching his every move. The
man seeing him naked was one thing, Sam could still more or less recover from
that, but him watching as he peed? Hell no. But it wasn’t like he could lock
the door with Benny standing in the way like that, Sam having no choice but let
his dignity take another blow to the gut as he wandered over to the porcelain
toilet, stopping in front of it and gripping the hem of the jacket with
slightly shaking hands. At least the toilet was facing the door, so he had his
back to Benny; but when he lifted the jacket and stepped closer to the toilet,
immediately feeling the man’s burning eyes on his back and bare ass, Sam
decided that, nope, he wasn’t grateful to the toilet’s position after all.
It took him a while to relax and empty his bladder, the sound of his urine
hitting the water way too loud in the awkward silence, and by the time he was
finished and reached over to flush the toilet, his whole face and neck was
burning, surely resembling the color of a tomato. Then he walked over to the
sink, lowering his head and letting his hair shield a part of his eyes from
Benny’s intrusive gaze, Sam looking everywhere but the man. Washing his hands
and making sure he took his sweet time while doing so, he noticed his
reflection in the mirror above the faucet, his eyes going slightly wide and his
lips parting in surprise.
Man, he looked like crap.
His eyes were red from crying and his face was alarmingly pale as his blush
disappeared, his dark, chestnut locks that just reached his shoulders at the
back now a messy nest on top of his head. And then there was his neck, the
abused skin there in a pretty bad condition. Blood was smeared along the
wounds, which were thin and not as long as Sam had feared, that much was true,
but as he cleaned them with some water, they still stung painfully. Then as he
was cleaning them, he also noticed the bruises on his hand; the one Benny had
stepped on. A discolored line ran beneath his wet knuckles, dark and nasty,
though thankfully it didn’t hurt, Sam only wincing in pain when he
experimentally pressed down on it.
He stalled for as long as he could, having no choice but to stop the flow of
the cooling water as he heard Benny clear his throat rather impatiently.
Turning back to the man, Sam reluctantly walked out of the bathroom with his
eyes cast down, refusing to meet the other’s intense stare.
“So, feeling ready to have a chat now?” Benny asked with a grin audible in his
voice, Sam raising his gaze as the man strolled over to his bed and sat down,
patting the empty spot next to him and flashing the boy an expectant look.
Stopping a few feet away from the bed, he shook his head. “No thanks. But sure,
let’s talk… I guess.”
Benny sighed. “Hey, no need to look that terrified,” he said, and when Sam
frowned at him, he rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself, then.” He leaned back on
his hands, watching the boy who was quickly growing uneasy in the sudden
silence, then raised his eyebrows at him. “So tell me, what do you want to
know? Ask away.”
Sam had tons of questions in mind, but he decided to go with the simplest one
first. “You’re smugglers? What exactly does that mean?”
“Well, just as the name suggests, we smuggle stuff. Move guns and drugs,
sometimes people, from one place to another. All of that illegally, of course,”
he explained.
“And then you sell it?” Sam asked, finding himself starting to get curious.
“Are there people that hire you for that?”
Smiling, he nodded. “Yeah. You see, Nick is the boss of our little gang, but he
isn’t our employer. We have many of those, as we are kind of…famous in this
sort of business. We get the job done, cleanly and quietly, and then the money
rolls in. We don’t exactly sell the stuff we smuggle across borders and other
places; we usually just get paid to get them to their destination in one
piece.”
“How many of you guys are there…?”
“Five; six if we count Nick,” Benny said. “We used to be seven, but Adam had a
little bit of an accident a few months back. Poor guy got his brains blown out
after a job went south… Anyway, you’ve met most of the crew. There’s me,
obviously, then Raphael, Nick, Crowley—the one with that stupid black suit
glued to his body—and Dean. Oh, and Ruby. She’s the only one you haven’t seen
yet.”
Sam shuddered, the memory that popped into his head from hearing one of those
names unnerving him. “Uh… Dean? Is that the eyepatch guy?”
Benny surprised him by chuckling, before leaning forward and flashing him a
cryptic smirk. “Yeah, that’s him. Our youngest member; but even though the
boy’s only eighteen, he’s the best among us. Kid’s got a talent for all that
spy shit…and murder.”
His eyes widened. “Did he…?”
“No, he wasn’t the one who killed your dad,” he said, his smile suddenly
turning somewhat bitter. “That was me.”
“Y-You?” Sam gritted his teeth, clenching his hands into fists, finding it a
bit hard not to just lunge at the man and wrap his fingers around his throat.
“I’m glad I got to beat you up, then. Shame I didn’t kill you.”
“Hah, yeah, I would imagine you’d be. And about that, the boss man was right,
you know?” His leisurely smile was back as he changed the subject, Sam not
minding. It kind of made him believe the man was scared of him, which probably
wasn’t the case, but he could always hope. Hope, and plot revenge toward this
asshole. “You really kicked my ass back there, more so than I would have
expected from someone your size.”
Glancing down at the bloody stain on Benny’s pants, Sam couldn’t help but let a
slight smirk cross his face. “Hope that taught you not to ever judge a book by
its cover.”
The man let out a short laugh, his smile widening into a grin. “Yeah, it sure
did,” he said, then suddenly all fun and amusement was gone from his face,
Benny furrowing his brow as he leaned on his elbows, which he moved to his
knees. “Now, joking aside, we need to talk about tomorrow; your role in
particular.”
Sam felt a tight knot in his stomach at the mention of his first job, becoming
anxious and chewing on his lower lip as he frowned at the man. “I’m supposed to
be a mule, but I don’t even know what that is.”
“Ah, right.” Benny nodded, flashing him a thin smile. “Well, it’s certainly not
the animal. A mule is just one of the many nicknames and slangs we give
couriers, people we employ to play it safe. The risk of getting caught is
always there, no matter how good you are, so using mules to smuggle the goods
across borders saves us a lot of trouble.”
“Aren’t you afraid they would reveal your identity to the police if they get
caught, though?” Sam asked, a plan already forming in his head.
Benny shook his head. “We never meet face to face when hiring a courier. You’re
an exception. Which means,” he said, his voice low and deep all of a sudden,
“that you should know, if you do end up getting busted, ratting us out isn’t an
option. We know people, more than you could ever imagine, and I would
personally make sure that they’d find your mutilated corpse before you’d get
the chance to sing.”
The aforementioned plan he was thinking of got discarded in an instant, Sam
trying not to let his surprise show on his face and resisting the urge to back
away from the serious-looking man. “Okay, I understand,” he said with the most
confident voice he could muster, then felt the tension in his shoulders leave
when the threatening glint disappeared from Benny’s eyes, the man smiling
again.
“As long as you do, we’re golden,” he stated, then straightened up and patted
his knees excitedly. “Moving on, let me tell you about tomorrow.” Benny’s smile
grew at the look of discomfort Sam gave him, clasping his hands together and
interlocking his fingers before continuing. “First off, whenever we use one or
several mules for a job, we ourselves never show up, so you’ll be on your own.
Well, on your own with two other mules. You don’t have to worry, though—the job
is fairly simple, nothing you couldn’t handle as a first timer. All you need to
do is smuggle some drugs across the Mexican border. I don’t really know the
details of the job, but I do know that you’ll be using a car… Which means that
you’ll probably gonna have to swallow.”
“Have to do…what?” Sam asked, not actually sure he wanted to know the answer.
Benny chuckled. “No need to look so spooked; it’s not as bad as it sounds. You
see, there are two ways we let our couriers transport the goods. The first is
by attaching them to the body, a method usually used when the chances of the
mules undergoing an inspection is low. But since you’ll go by car, having the
few tons of drugs stuck to your body would be too risky. So this is when method
number two comes in, which is swallowing. You’ll have to hide the stuff not on,
but inside your body. And before you ask, yeah—getting it out is done with a
thorough visit to the men’s room.”
“Oh my god…” He couldn’t stop himself, his mouth already moving before his mind
registered he was speaking, but Sam didn’t care how shocked he must have been
looking. He was too busy gaping at Benny, the man simply grinning and surely
enjoying the alarm etched onto the boy’s face. “But how? I don’t get it, it’s…
Couldn’t swallowing drugs kill me?”
“Sure it could,” Benny stated with a shrug. “But as long as the balloons don’t
rip, you’ll be just fine.”
“Balloons?”
“Yeah, we need something to put the drugs in and keep them clean, after all.
You won’t be swallowing the drug itself, but little balloons filled with the
stuff,” he explained, looking all satisfied with himself when he was done.
That piece of information didn’t bring any sort of relief to Sam, though. Quite
the contrary; he was having a hard time keeping his cool, a bit surprised he
didn’t start freaking out yet. So his job was to swallow little packets of some
sort of drug, then literally shit them out. Perfect, Sam was looking forward to
working for these madmen more and more. He was already thinking of the worst
case scenario, nervously playing with his fingers as he imagined those balloons
or whatnot ripping and filling his system with so much of the stuff he’d die of
drug overdose.
Noticing his agitation, Benny reached out and patted his arm with more force
than necessary. “Hey, those things don’t rip that easily, you know? As long as
you don’t start doing barrel rolls or receive some heavy blows to the stomach,
those little packages will remain nice and sealed in your belly,” he said
somewhat reassuringly, poking Sam’s abdomen and causing the more than a little
anxious boy to back away, this time not even trying to stop himself.
“Uh, y-yeah, okay.” Sam faked a thin lipped smile, not knowing what to do with
his own hands so he just let them hang aimlessly at his sides as he stared at a
random spot on the bed. He was seriously dreading tomorrow now.
“Alright then,” Benny said, suddenly standing up from the bed, “so any more
questions, or are we good?”
He couldn’t come up with anything right now, and since he knew that asking the
man if he could go on a stroll outside would probably not be welcomed nicely,
Sam shook his head.
“Fantastic.” Flashing a quick smile his way, Benny turned away and walked over
to the door leading back into the large interior of the warehouse, halting when
he reached it and looking back at Sam. “Hey, you hungry? I can’t really let you
out of this room, you see, but I can bring up some food if you want.”
Frowning, Sam moved a hand to his stomach. The thought of food hadn’t even
crossed his mind ever since this freak show of a nightmare started, but now
that Benny mentioned it, he was feeling a bit peckish. And no matter how
uncomfortable the thought of accepting food from these people made him feel,
Sam knew he couldn’t starve himself forever, so after a long silence, he forced
the words out of his suddenly dry mouth.
“Yes… Thank you,” he said, hoping that maybe if he was polite enough, they
wouldn’t hurt him that bad when he’d try to escape. Because the plan to run to
the nearest building first chance he got might have been put on hold, but it
was still going to happen. He had already promised that to himself, rather
risking getting caught than rotting away in here.
“Alright,” came Benny’s answer, the man nodding with a slight smile as he
opened the door. “Stay put then, will you?” he said, though with him locking
the door as soon as he disappeared behind it, Sam didn’t think he really had
any other choice.
He thought of looking for a weapon while Benny was gone, but aside from a razor
in the bathroom and something that looked like a stick with four horizontal
blades on it, he couldn’t find anything useful. The razor was way too tiny and
the weird stick thing was painfully obvious, so after a few more minutes of
searching, Sam gave up on obtaining anything he could use to inflict some pain
on the man, especially when he heard the door being unlocked.
Benny returned with a plate in his hands, on which sat a surprisingly edible-
looking sandwich, Sam hesitating only a moment before taking the glass plate
when it was offered to him. It tasted good, Sam not noticing any signs of it
being poisoned so he quickly wolfed it down, licking his lips and picking up
the leftover crumbs from the plate when he was done.
“Damn kid, you’re like a vacuum.” Benny laughed, ruffling Sam’s hair as he took
the empty plate from his hands and put it on the dark oak bedside table.
Shuddering and quickly fixing his hair, Sam scooted away when the man joined
him on the bed, but thankfully he didn’t try to follow him. He did keep his
eyes on the uneasy boy for a lot longer Sam would have liked, but then he was
looking away, whatever that weird moment was gone, Benny moving away from the
bed and walking back to the door.
“Get some sleep,” he suggested, those being his last words before he left Sam
alone in the room yet again. Honestly doubting that that was going to happen
anytime soon, he decided to just sit there quietly for a while, letting himself
get lost in his thoughts.
Sitting on the bed and leaning against the slightly uncomfortable brick wall
behind his back, Sam wondered if he was going to die. Not just from the job,
though he couldn’t deny that the possibility of his untimely death did increase
now that he had to start swallowing drugs. So while that also made his stomach
lurch in a nauseating anxiety, what really worried him was his future in
general. No matter what he chose to do, his imminent death was always hanging
thick and threatening in the air, the reaper breathing down his neck whether he
chose to stay or escape. And while he knew that staying wasn’t even supposed to
be an option, he had to realize that running away might cost him more than
staying put. Sam didn’t want to die. He threw threats of taking his own life
here and there, convincing both himself and Nick that he was serious, but now
that the panic and the anger had died down in him, Sam wasn’t so sure anymore.
He didn’t know if he could even do it, in the first place; if he was brave
enough to slit his own throat when push came to shove. The idea scared him more
than he’d liked to admit, and he could feel the tears of frustration well up in
his eyes, Sam quickly squeezing them shut and willing them away. He didn’t want
to cry, even if the situation was pretty much asking for it.
Once he had more or less calmed down, Sam took a deep breath, letting it out as
a shaky sigh as he tilted his head back and gazed up at the ceiling. He let his
eyes follow the metal air duct that stretched across one of the corners,
wishing he could pull a James Bond kind of stunt and escape through one, but
then shook his head and smiled to himself. It was a sad, bitter smile, filled
with all his worries and hopelessness, quickly disappearing from his face.
Deciding that it was no use getting himself worked up, such forlorn thoughts a
one-way road leading to depression, he ran his hand through his shaggy hair and
sighed again. For now, he’d just focus on surviving the job, worrying about
things one step at a time. Yeah, that would work, was a much better idea than
breaking down in tears and wallowing in self-pity.
“Alright Sam Winchester, you can do this,” he muttered, nodding to himself and
already feeling a bit better. He had already proved it to himself that he could
stand his own in a fight, so kicking the rest of the gang’s butts should be
child’s play. Slowly but surely, that’s how he was going to carry out his
escape plan, maybe even play along and gain their trust before striking.
And then he was smiling again, this time for real, because he knew that his
plan was going to work. It had to work, Sam refusing to think of anything
negative now, already excited for the next few days in a way, couldn’t wait to
carry out his ingenious plan.
It was time for him to act like a real survivalist, the kind his father raised
him to be.
 
***** Swallow Your Pride *****
 
Turns out, when they said the job would be tomorrow, they really just meant
later today.
Sam thought he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep, not remembering when he laid
down on Benny’s bed and fell asleep, but when got shaken away by the man’s hand
on his shoulder, he knew he must have gotten some shut-eye. He didn’t really
feel like it, though, now feeling even more tired than before, and having some
trouble keeping his eyes open as he watched Benny place a stack of clothes on
the foot end of the bed.
“Here, got these for you,” he said, stepping away from the bed and motioning to
the clothes. “Hope they fit.”
Sitting up and letting the blanket—which he also had no clue how it got on
him—fall into his lap, Sam regarded the clothes suspiciously, before looking up
at Benny. “Thanks…I guess.”
The man nodded. “You’ll get more if the job goes well. Now, you’ve got ten
minutes to get dressed, maybe take a shower if you’re quick, then I’ll be back
to take you to Nick. He’s got a few things in need of explaining before we drop
you off at the car.”
It took a moment for those words and their meaning to sink in Sam’s tired mind,
but when they did, he was kicking off the blanket and climbing out of the bed,
staring at Benny with slightly wide eyes. “Wait, what? I have to do it now?!”
“Well, yeah,” he stated with a shrug, a half-smile stretching his lips. “So you
better not screw up.”
Blinking incredulously, Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Benny was already
heading back to the door, telling him to hurry up before locking it behind
himself.
He gaped at the white door for a second, then shifted his eyes to the pile on
the bed instead, walking over to the clothes and picking up the shirt on top of
the pile. It was a red and blue checked shirt, and sure enough, it seemed to
match his size. Under it was a pair of blue jeans and black boxer briefs, along
with black socks and gray walking shoes on the floor. Sam glanced from the
clothes to the jacket hanging from his body, and he couldn’t deny that he was
rather relieved that he would finally get to wear some normal clothes instead
of someone’s way too big jacket. So without hesitation, he unzipped the jacket
and tossed it on the bed, reaching for the boxers when he paused. Casting a
glance at the door leading to the bathroom, he wondered if he should take a
quick shower like Benny had suggested, and when he raised one of his arms and
smelled himself, Sam pulled a face and decided that, yep, he definitely needed
that shower.
Gathering the clothes and the shoes in his arms, he shuffled over to the door,
opening it with his elbow, then placed them on the lid of a laundry bin, before
shutting the door. There was no lock on it, so he made sure to be as fast as
possible when he turned on the shower and grabbed the body wash, thankful that
Benny had a great taste in hygiene products. He thought of washing his hair as
well, but that would have taken extra time, so Sam settled for rubbing the
minty liquid soap across his skin instead, hissing a bit when he cleaned his
neck. He parted his lips and stuck out his tongue, letting the water droplets
land on the wet flesh, then opened his mouth wider and rinsed his mouth. Then
when he was done washing his body, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a
fluffy-looking towel hanging from a steel rack, drying himself as best he
could, before pulling on his new black boxers.
He was in the middle of buttoning his pants when the door to the bathroom
opened, Sam stifling the surprised yelp that threatened to escape him when he
looked up and saw Benny standing in the doorway. He had a dark green jacket in
his hands, Sam barely managing to catch it when the man threw it at him.
“You ready?” he asked from the still half-naked boy, who quickly pulled on his
shirt along with the jacket he received, then stepped into the shoes with the
soft socks already on his feet, before nodding. “Great, then follow me.”
Sam did as he was told, walking out of the bathroom and after Benny. They left
the room behind, its silence quickly falling away as they stopped on the
catwalk, sounds of loud conversations bouncing off the walls of the vast
interior of the warehouse. Looking around while Benny busied himself with
locking the door behind them, Sam wandered over to the railing and wrapped his
fingers around the cool steel, gazing down into the makeshift living room of
the large building. The sounds came from the television, which was turned on
and in the middle of showing a fight between a man and a woman, the latter
angry and accusing the man with some rather nasty stuff. He also noticed two
people sitting on the couch facing the flat screen TV, Sam immediately
recognizing one of them as Crowley from his full-on black attire, but needing
to lean forward and squint to get a better look at the other one.
Then that person must have felt Sam’s eyes on him, because in the next moment
he was looking up, their eyes meeting, and Sam felt the blood drain from his
face. It was Dean, the boy that had managed to scare the living hell out of
him, and even now, as he watched the other’s lips curl into a mischievous grin,
he could feel his heart rate go from normal to crazy in a matter of seconds. He
swallowed nervously, the boy’s eye that wasn’t covered by the black eyepatch
burning a hole in his face, Sam unable to take his intense gaze after a while
and quickly turning away, finding Benny watching him with a smirk when he did.
“Scary pirate, ain’t he?” the man joked, his smirk turning into an amused
chuckle when Sam shuddered.
“What’s with the eyepatch?” he asked curiously and more than a little uneasily,
not daring to look back at the boy he just knew was still watching him.
Benny shook his head. “That’s a story for another day, kid. Just know that Dean
there doesn’t really need that other eye of his anymore,” he said, then turned
around and began walking down the stairs, leaving Sam to follow him, which he
did after a moment.
They walked outside, going out the same sliding door they used when Benny
brought him inside. Sam blinked rapidly before narrowing his eyes aching from
the sudden brightness outside, noticing several black vans that he must have
missed before, all parked near the door with the exception of one, which was
waiting for them at the far right. Nick stood next to the open doors of the
car, flashing Sam a small smile as they walked over to join him.
“How are you feeling, Sam? Excited?” he asked when they were all standing next
to the car, Sam starting to feel the first signs of fear when he saw Benny give
him a brief two-finger salute before just walking back to the warehouse and
leaving him alone with Nick.
Looking back at his boss, he didn’t even try to appear confident as he said,
“Not really.”
Still smiling, Nick reached over and patted his shoulder. “Don’t let your
emotions get the better of you, young Skywalker,” he said, before pulling his
hand away and fishing a white latex glove out of his pants pocket, Sam frowning
at the thing when he held it up. “So I know that Benny told you most of what’s
going to go down today, but let me break down the details for you. This car
will drop you off at a spot where you’ll meet the two other couriers. There
will be another car waiting for the three of you there, filled with your fake
passports and the drugs,” Nick explained, then shook the glove in his hand.
“The cocaine will be inside the fingers of some latex gloves like this, which
have been cut off and sealed. There’s also a map in the car, the public toilet
you’ll have to use marked there in red. And really, all you need to do is
swallow as many of those little latex balloons as you can, then once they’re
out, wash them and put them in the plastic bag waiting in the toilet tank. Not
that complicated, right?”
Sam wanted to laugh and tell the man to do it himself if he thought it wasn’t
so bad, but not feeling like getting strangled for a stupid comment, he just
nodded.
“Great. Well, good luck.” The man stepped out of the way and motioned toward
the passenger seat, its door open and inviting Sam in. He really didn’t want to
climb into the van, but having no other options, he reluctantly made his way to
the door and took a seat. He barely had time to get a look at the driver, a
middle-aged man with a scruffy beard and a dirty blue cap, before a burlap sack
got thrown over his head. Sam gasped in shock, immediately going to claw at the
hands securing the bag around his neck, but then stopped when he heard Nick’s
voice coming inches away from him. “Relax, this is just precaution. Can’t let
you know where we are, after all.”
He was pretty sure that a simple blindfold would have been just as useful as a
freaking sack, but instead of voicing his opinion, he just grunted and let Nick
adjust the hessian bag until he was satisfied. Then he heard the sounds of the
door getting shut and the engine starting, Sam feeling his nervousness growing
and multiplying when the car began moving. He gulped nervously, twiddling some
stray strings of the coarse material between his fingers with one hand, the
other clenched tightly in his lap, his nails digging into his sweaty palm and
helping to calm him down, but just a bit. He couldn’t see anything aside from
the brown sack in front of his eyes, only the sunlight managing to pass through
the thick burlap, illuminating it before letting it fall back into the shadows
each time the glaring sun appeared and disappeared from behind tall buildings.
Sam couldn’t distract himself by listening to anything, either, as not only was
the radio quiet as a church mouse, but the van was driving silently as well,
seemingly trying to make as little noise as possible on purpose. And then
things took a turn for the worse when the dense, musty smell of the bag became
too much for Sam’s nose and he sneezed; in the bag. Without the ability to blow
his nose.
Yes, things were really looking perfect.
When they finally stopped, after a painstaking amount of time, wiping his nose
on the sleeve of his jacket was the first thing Sam did as soon as the sack was
removed from his head. It was quite disgusting, but he couldn’t see any tissues
in the car, and he wasn’t about to ask for one from the guy who looked like
some drunk trucker that spent his Friday afternoons playing whack-a-mole with
humans instead of moles.
“Walk to that car. Don’t wander… I’ll be watchin’”, the man said in a gruff
voice, pointing at a white hatchback sitting alone in a large parking lot not
far from where they stopped.
Nodding, Sam opened the door and quickly left the van, relieved to be out of
the uncomfortably warm enclosed space. He then began walking toward the other
car already waiting for him, glancing from side to side and feeling his nerves
go into a frenzy the closer he got to it. Muttering a silent mantra in his
head, Sam peeked through the windows once he had reached the car, then walked
around it once, but found nothing and no one. He was about to go back to the
van still parked by the edge of the parking lot when another van—this one a
brilliant silver—pulled up next to the open area, its sliding door revealing
two men the age of young adults.
He stood still as he watched them stroll over to the hatchback. They exchanged
a look, before scowling down at Sam, the man with brown dreadlocks folding his
arms and stepping forward. “Really? A kid?”
Trying not to be offended but failing horribly, Sam returned their frowns,
glaring at them both. “You’ve got a problem with my age?” he snarled, pleased
to see when the man backed away with his hands held up in mock surrender.
“No, whatever. As long as you don’t screw up, I wouldn’t care even if you were
a toddler,” he remarked, then turned to the other guy, who had tanned skin,
short blond hair and strikingly amber eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You said it,” the man agreed, his voice carrying a slight Brazilian accent,
before fishing out what appeared to be car keys from his pocket and popping the
trunk open. Inside were two black plastic baskets, one of them small and
holding three paper envelopes, and the other much bigger and filled with the
drug.
“Pablo Fernández,” dreadlock guy read aloud from the passport he pulled out
from one of the envelopes, before putting it back and handing it over to the
other man. Then he did the same with the remaining two, Sam taking and opening
the envelope that got shoved into his hands.
Furrowing his brow, he stared at his own picture on the passport, wondering how
the hell they managed to find one, then realized that those people had broken
in his home which happened to possess some of his pictures along with his ID
card, so yeah, maybe it shouldn’t have been that surprising. Then he couldn’t
help but groan when he saw the name they gave him. He never liked the name
Charlie.
“So what did you guys get?” the man who was now Pablo asked as he stuffed the
envelope in the inner pocket of his jacket.
“Bernard Bates. What kind of shitty name is that?” dreadlock Bernard grumbled.
“I’m Charlie Holt,” Sam mentioned, sliding his own envelope filled with his new
identity in his pocket, then felt a wave of dreadful anxiety when he looked
back at the car and saw the men reaching into the other basket, pulling out one
little balloon after the other and just swallowing them like it was the easiest
thing in the world.
He waited for the longest moment, his body frozen and nailed to the ground,
until he noticed one of the men giving him a questioning look; so Sam forced
his limbs to move, to move closer to the truck and pick up a balloon from the
pile. It wasn’t big, only filled with a small amount of cocaine, but it was way
larger than your average pill and Sam had no idea how he was supposed to
swallow it without chocking. Those two made it seem so easy, but he had trouble
getting simple painkillers down his throat, and he always had water aiding him
with those. Still, he couldn’t just wait for these men to take care of all of
them, as apparently Nick made sure to pack enough of the damned balloons so
that a third person’s stomach would be essential.
He really, really didn’t want to do it though.
Opening his mouth, Sam did his best to calm down and think happy thoughts as he
lowered the balloon on his tongue, then closed his eyes and swallowed. And then
he immediately began choking. His eyes flew open and he doubled over, spitting
the thing out, which tore as he accidentally stepped on it.
Heaving and still gagging, he slowly raised his eyes to find Pablo and Bernard
giving him a strange look, the latter just shaking his head. “Nice, that one’s
coming out of your paycheck,” he said, then sighed and picked up another drug
filled balloon. “Look, you need to put it to the very back of your throat, let
it drop and swallow like that,” he explained, tilting his head back and pushing
his hand in his mouth, Sam cringing when all his fingers disappeared, then
reappeared without the tiny bag between them. “See?”
“O-Okay…” he mumbled, still feeling like there was something stuck in his
throat and really not liking it, but picked up another balloon nonetheless,
because he had to get at least one inside him. Following Bernard’s example, Sam
took a deep breath and tilted his head back, opening his mouth wide and placing
the latex ball as far back as possible, then let go of it and swallowed
instantly afterward. His eyes widened and he felt the drug as it slid down his
gullet, felt it until it went all the way down, shuddering at the odd and just
disturbing sensation. He was surprised how easily it went down, though, now
capable of swallowing them much faster and easier than before.
In the end, he managed to swallow eight of them, while the other two had at
least twice as many of the stuff sitting snugly in the stomach. Fortunately,
they didn’t seem to mind, even going as far as competing against each other to
see who could get the most balloons down. Sam wasn’t sure that was a good idea,
or even safe, but he didn’t say anything, just glad that he didn’t have to
force any more of the weird tasting latex down.
“Alright, you get in the trunk,” Bernard told him after all the drug was gone,
motioning to the large space in the back of the car. “It’s a two-door car, but
you should be able to squeeze in there, right?”
“Yeah, it’s…big enough, yeah,” Sam said with a nod, then moved the now empty
baskets out of the way before climbing in the trunk, looking back just in time
to see the lid close and get locked behind him.
He couldn’t feel them in his stomach like he thought he would. The balloons, he
thought they would make him feel like he ate too much, like his belly was
filled with way too much food, that it would maybe even make it look boated.
But none of that was happening, and it wasn’t even hurting, which was the least
he expected. It felt unnaturally normal, but that wasn’t going to fool him. Sam
knew it was there, even if he couldn’t feel it, knew that his stomach was
filled with drugs hidden in latex that could rip and tear at any moment,
killing him.
So he stayed put, moved as little as possible after kneeling down at the front
of the trunk and placing his hands on the seats, watching as Pablo slid behind
the steering wheel and Bernard flopped down into the passenger seat,
immediately leaning forward and opening the glovebox. He pulled out a map,
probably the one Nick told Sam about, and unfolded it, before showing it to the
other man while tapping his index finger on the red X drawn on the paper.
Pablo nodded his understanding. “That should take us a few hours. Buckle up,”
he said with a small smirk, then started the engine and drove out of the
parking lot.
Sam stayed in his kneeling position until his legs began to feel numb, so he
sat down with his back pressed into the front seats after a while, frowning as
he felt like millions of tiny evil bees were stinging his legs as he stretched
them. He was thankful when he heard the low tune of the radio, which soon
became louder as someone turned up the volume, but Sam didn’t mind. Listening
to music was thousand times better than sitting in silence, after all. He moved
a hand to his stomach and clutched it nervously, then decided to stop thinking
and worrying, and just gazed out of the rear window instead. Feeling the rumble
of the car driving where he sat, Sam watched as they left other cars behind,
big and small buildings gradually falling away to reveal wider and longer
roads, and then they were on a highway, Sam watching as the view from the
window changed each time they took a turn to the left or right. After a while,
he got bored of the rainbow sea of cars and just closed his eyes, folding his
hands on his lap and trying to relax, to let the music turn into a lullaby. He
was still tired, barely getting a few hours of shut-eye, so it wasn’t long
before he could feel himself drifting off to sleep, going in and out of
consciousness when the car made large turns, nearly succeeding in knocking Sam
off-balance each and every time. He never found himself sprawled across the
floor though, always waking up before he could’ve faceplanted the carpeted
floor of the trunk, but after one really close call, he decided to just lie
down and curl into a ball on the floor instead.
He slept through the drive, only getting woken up once when they stopped for a
piss break, however Sam just waved them off, mumbled something
incomprehensible, then was closing his eyes and going back to sleep.
Thankfully, he didn’t have any nightmares, sleeping dreamlessly until the very
moment he couldn’t anymore, because a hand was shaking him awake again, Sam
about to give a piece of his mind to whoever dared to wake him, when he noticed
where they were.
Pushing himself into a sitting position, Sam looked out the windows,
immediately feeling the anxiety that had died down while he was asleep showing
its claws, scratching away at his insides and making it pretty hard to breathe
normally. The car had stopped, was standing in line along with hundreds of
other ones, all waiting in front of the wide building that was the border,
yellow and white columns separating some of the serpentine lines. Sam counted
five cars in front of them, then they were moving and there were only four
left, his pulse drumming in his ear as the cars kept falling away.
“Okay, so the story is that me and Pablo there are friends,” Bernard explained
as he turned back in his seat to look at Sam, who hoped he didn’t look as
freaked as he felt. “And we’re taking you to my sister, who’s your mom. Her
name is Cindy. I like the name Cindy.”
“Why, are they gonna ask us questions?” Sam asked worriedly, not expecting he’d
have to rehearse some sort of family act too.
The man shook his head. “Not always, but it’s best to be prepared.”
“Alright guys, quiet,” Pablo said suddenly, flashing them a warning look.
“We’re here.”
Sam gripped the front seats as he leaned forward, his eyes widening slightly as
they pulled up next to the security cabin, in which stood two inspectors, both
wearing a black police uniform and not looking as friendly as Sam had hoped.
“Good morning agents,” Pablo said after he rolled down the window, smiling as
he took out the envelope, Bernard doing to same, so Sam quickly reached into
his pocket and pulled out the thick paper as well, handing it over to one of
the inspectors over Pablo’s shoulder.
“Morning.” The officer flipped through the passports and other identification
items in his hands, his eyes never leaving the papers as he asked, “Where to?”
“Torreón,” Bernard announced with a wide smile, then quickly added, “to visit
my sister.”
The inspector’s eyes flicked up for a moment as he studied each and every one
of them. “Sister? That’s nice.”
He then went back to looking through their papers, Sam wondering where the
other agent had gone off to when he heard a noise from behind, his head
whipping around and the boy swallowing nervously when he saw the missing
inspector standing behind the car, tapping on the window.
“Would you mind if we checked the trunk?” the officer at the open window asked
from Pablo, his voice neutral but his eyes suspicious, making Sam wonder if
their act was that transparent, that horribly bad.
“Sure thing,” Pablo agreed right away, handing over the keys to the man, who in
turn gave it to the other inspector when he walked over to him.
Sam then watched as the border agent strode back to the trunk and opened it,
giving the man an unsure smile when they made eye contact. He checked the two
empty baskets, then pressed down on several parts of the carpet before finally
withdrawing and locking the door, Sam only letting out the breath he didn’t
even realize he was holding in once the man was gone.
Then Bernard began coughing uncontrollably.
“Everything okay?” the officer at the window asked with a frown, Pablo quickly
flashing him a smile before patting the coughing man’s shoulder.
“Yeah, he’s fine. Just allergic to dust,” he said dismissingly and with a small
laugh, his smile wavering when Bernard made some gagging sounds.
“He doesn’t seem to be fine to me,” the man said, raising his eyebrows as he
watched them, and Sam knew that was his cue to freaking do something.
So he pulled out the puppy eyes he hadn’t used in a while, trying to sound as
worried as he felt, while leaning forward and shaking the man’s shoulder.
“Uncle Bernard?! Are you okay? Uncle, please!”
“I knew we should have cleaned the car before going on an hours long trip,”
Pablo exclaimed, joining in on the act, and it seemed to be working.
The two inspectors exchanged a glance, then looked at the swarm of cars still
waiting behind them, before handing the envelopes back through the window. “Get
him someplace with air,” one of them suggested, then walked back into the cabin
and pushed a button, making the red and white barrier gate slowly rise in front
of them.
“Yeah, thanks!” Pablo stepped on the gas as soon as the barrier was high
enough, shooting through the border and cursing as he raised the window.
“What’s wrong with him?” Sam asked, his voice wavering and panicked because no
human was supposed to look that purple. Bernard was gagging harshly, clutching
and clawing as his throat as his eyes bulged, tears streaming from them and
saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth, the man looking like he was
going to kick the bucket any second now.
“Well what do you think?!” he shouted, Sam nearly tumbling sideways when the
man took a sharp right, flooring the gas pedal. “This fucktard must have eaten
something before swallowing the drugs, and now he’s in deep shit. Fuck, some of
them must’ve ripped.”
“What? But then he’s going to die! Shouldn’t we do something?” he asked
franticly, honestly not having any idea what to do in a situation like this,
aside from worrying his ass off while Bernard was looking more and more like
that sparkling vampire from Twilight.
Pablo shook his head. “Guy’s already dead meat,” he said, then was cursing
again when Bernard began throwing up. He veered the car to the right and
stopped it at the side of the road, pushing Bernard out, the man falling out of
the car and continuing his heaving and vomiting on the asphalt.
Sam watched with wide eyes as he emptied his stomach, and just as Pablo said,
while there were some balloons that seemed to be still intact in the pile of
vomit, most of them were torn and missing considerable amount of their
contents. He reflexively moved a hand to his own stomach, glad he didn’t eat
anything before, but now as he watched Bernard throw up, his body shaken by
violent spasms, Sam wasn’t feeling all that positive about his own well being.
“Fuck,” he heard Pablo’s low growl, blinking at the man when he pulled the
passenger door closed and just drove off, leaving Bernard behind.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Sam demanded, grabbing at the man’s arm, but he
elbowed the boy in the face, sending him falling back on his ass.
“He was gonna get us busted, kid! He threw up the damn package! We can’t let
the cops find us there, next to a guy lying in his own vomit,” he yelled,
driving like a maniac. “And anyway, he was already a goner. We couldn’t have
done anything, he’s gonna die of overdose no matter what.”
“But…” Sam rubbed his face, a deep frown etched onto his forehead as he crawled
back and dug his nails in the seats. “Leaving him there like that… It’s just
inhuman.”
Glancing at him through the rear-view mirror, Pablo narrowing his eyes and
said, “Well we ain’t saints here. We’re smuggling drugs in our bodies for
money, if you wouldn’t have noticed.”
Not willingly, Sam would have liked to say, but remained silent instead,
slumping down and leaning against the seats instead. He didn’t particularly
like Bernard, or whatever his real name was, but he was still a person, a human
being. He hadn’t done anything wrong to Sam, and while he might have been a bad
guy, he didn’t deserve to go like that. Alone, at the side of some road… That
made him wonder if that was what would happen to him too, if he was to screw
up. If Nick and his men were to get bored of him, would they beat him up and
leave him in a ditch, to die a slow and miserable death? Or would they just
sell him like they initially wanted?
They drove in complete silence for the rest of the road, Pablo parking in front
of the public toilet marked on the map when they finally reached it.
“I’ll go first,” he stated as he turned around to look at Sam, who just nodded
and watched as the man climbed out of the car, before walking over to the
building and disappearing behind one of the two doors.
He looked around the empty parking lot, save for their and another car parked
not far from the building, wondering who was supposed to collect the drugs they
would quite literally shit out, but didn’t have to look for long. A man sitting
behind the wheel in the only other car was staring right at him, his eyes dark
and cold, and he just couldn’t have looked more like a criminal even if he
tried. Sighing, Sam gave him his best glare, before sitting back down and
poking his stomach. How was he supposed to do this? Was he supposed to
just…force it all out? Cringing and grimacing at the thought, he tried not to
worry too much, as it was making his stomach lurch, and he really didn’t want
to end up like Bernard.
“Your turn,” Pablo said suddenly as he opened the door, nearly making Sam gasp.
Damn, he really needed to calm his nerves.
Getting out of the car, he stood in place for a second, fighting an inner
battle before turning to the man now sitting in the car. “How do you…uh, do
it?”
Pablo raised an eyebrow. “Really? Just do what you usually do when you take a
shit. It’s not that complicated.”
“Okay,” he said with a sigh, scratching the back of his head, then bit down on
the inside of his cheek and willed his legs to start moving.
Sam walked to the building, painted white but spotted and gray at several
places, swallowing thickly as he grabbed the handle to the men’s toilet and
opened the blue door. There was only one toilet in the small space, curiosity
getting the better of him as Sam shuffled closer and lifted the lid of the
tank, pulling a face when he saw the plastic bag floating in the water, filled
with the balloons that—fortunately for Sam’s eyes and memory—have already been
cleaned. He placed the lid back, then glanced around, before taking a deep
breath and pulling down his pants and underwear, feeling extremely
uncomfortable and more than a bit scared.
The next few moments were agonizing. Sam was a hundred percent sure that those
were the longest and worst ten minutes of his entire life.
When he was done, and after washing his hands four times with an excessive
amount of soap, he waddled back to the car and refused to speak when Pablo
asked him how it went with a grin on his face, the jerk. They drove back to the
border, this time taking a different one a few kilometers from the one they
used to get to Mexico. Sam had always wanted to visit the country, however he
never imagined that once he’d get the chance to do it, his visit would consist
in him taking a dump and then going back to the US right after. It was rather
annoying, Sam doing something close to sulking on the drive back, then stopped
and just erased the memory from his head altogether, deciding that if he didn’t
want to be scarred even more, pretending that the previous few hours never
happened was his best and only option.
He couldn’t fall asleep this time, instead just playing with his fake ID card,
ripping the paper envelope to tiny pieces and rolling them into balls, then
fooling around with those in utter boredom. Pablo tried to talk to him twice,
but Sam really wasn’t in the mood. He has always been the silent type anyway,
as it wasn’t like John ever let him socialize with other kids. He had no
friends before, and he was sure as hell that he wasn’t going to start making
some now, especially not when the only friend materials were sadistic criminals
and the people working for them. And the only boy who was still relatively
young was a complete psycho, Sam unable to stop the shiver that ran down his
spine from the simple thought of Dean, the boy’s eye and wicked grin still
haunting and managing to frighten him.
They stopped at a convenience store before reaching the parking lot, Pablo
surprising him with the considerate action of buying him a bottle of water,
which Sam accepted eagerly and quickly downed half of its content in one go. He
didn’t even realize how thirsty he was until he saw the bottle, but the smooth,
cool water as it filled his dry mouth and calmed his slightly aching stomach
was undoubtedly a feeling he missed and welcomed with open arms. Then he heard
the man talking on the phone, telling whoever was on the other end of the line
that they were back and ready to be “collected”, and as expected, after a few
more minutes of driving, Sam recognized the buildings that led to the open
parking lot as he gazed out the window, soon feeling the car pull to a stop.
Pablo removed the key from the ignition and shut off the engine, before turning
back and flashing a quick smirk at him. “You’re on your own now, kid. Was this
your first time?”
Hesitating for a moment, Sam nodded. “Yeah,” he mumbled. And hopefully the
last, he added inwardly.
“Well, for a first-timer, you weren’t that bad,” the man said and gave Sam’s
arm a somewhat playful punch, then opened the door and climbed out of the car,
before walking to the rear and lifting the lid of the trunk.
“Thanks?” Sam crawled to the back, jumping out of the trunk once reaching the
edge, and then dusted off his pants. He wasn’t sure if he should consider that
a good or a bad thing, if being more or less good at this smuggling stuff was
something he should feel happy about. He guessed that no, this wasn’t like that
one time he managed to finish a thick book in only one day and then felt
incredibly proud of himself. So to at least not seem rude—though he wasn’t sure
why he should appear good-natured to the man—he made his lips curl into
something that resembled a thin smile, then looked away and scanned the still
empty parking lot.
He didn’t have to wait long before the same black van that brought him here
appeared around the corner and rolled to a stop not far from them, just by the
raised sidewalk which served as a makeshift boundary to the parking lot. Loving
the idea of just leaving both cars behind and running the hell away, but that
option proving to be obviously impossible, Sam took a few reluctant steps
toward the van waiting for him, before glancing back over his shoulder.
“Go,” Pablo told him, nodding to the black van as he folded his arms and leaned
against the car. “I’ll wait for my own ride.”
Sam was hesitant, but he couldn’t stall forever. Letting out a silent and kind
of uneven sigh, he made his way to the van and took his place in the passenger
seat after yanking the door open. Once inside, the burlap sack that he really
didn’t miss got thrown into his lap, the blue capped driver grunting out an
order that Sam guessed meant he should put it on. It felt like he was
kidnapping himself as he pulled the bag over his head, inhaling its heavy musty
stench immediately making him cough and regret breathing altogether.
Yeah, he really didn’t miss this.
The drive back seemed shorter, the car stopping much sooner than he’d have
wanted. He needed more time, but when he heard the dreadful sound as the gravel
crunched under rubber wheels, then as the car keys clinked as they got turned
and withdrawn from the ignition, it became evident that it was once again time
to move, to come face to face with his least favorite people in the world.
He waited with removing the sack from his head until someone opened the door to
his seat, Sam quickly taking a deep breath once that evil material was gone.
Then he saw Crowley of all people walking toward him, immediately feeling like
some bodybuilder was doing push-ups on his stomach, it tensing and tightening
until he thought he might follow Bernard’s example and throw up.
Still drenched in complete black, the man shot him a look that held a creative
mix of contempt and boastfulness, then simply turned on his heel and motioned
for Sam to follow. “Boss man wants to see you,” he said as they walked through
the open door, Sam not seeing anyone in the makeshift and giant living room as
they entered the warehouse.
He hid his hands in his jacket pocket, ducking his head and hoping that maybe
if he seemed as small as possible, Crowley would forget he was here and Sam
could make his brave and heroic escape. But that wasn’t going to happen, and
his heart sank when Nick came strolling out one of the doors, flashing him a
wide grin that certainly did not promise anything nice and sweet.
“Sam! Come, let’s sit and talk,” he said and beckoned to the boy, walking over
to the purple sofa and sitting in the middle, only scooting a bit to the right
when Sam reached the furniture as well. Pulling his hands out of his pockets,
he placed them on the edge of the couch cushion as he sat as far away from the
man as possible, his thigh pressing against the armrest. He stared at his knees
for a long moment, then raised his gaze to Nick when he asked, “So, how did it
go?”
Sam scratched at the soft cotton fabric of the couch with his nails in
nervousness. “I thought you’d know, since you’re the boss…” he said, not
meaning for it to sound so scornful, and feeling the sharp tug of apprehension
as the man smiled, but instead of jumping at his throat, Nick just shook his
head.
“The man I had stationed outside the public toilet called me. He told me that
only you and one of the other couriers went inside, and when he checked the
tank, a considerable amount of drugs was missing,” he said, his smile
disappearing, and Sam gulped. “But while I do know that, I’d like to hear your
explanation. What happened? Where are the rest of the drugs, Sam?”
“We… The man, the one with dreadlocks, he got sick,” he began, feeling
insignificant and weak under Nick’s intent, dangerous gaze. “He threw up some
of the package and they were ruined. They tore and he…he was dying, but then we
drove away and I don’t know, he might be still alive, but I don’t think so
because the drugs were inside him and he swallowed so many, and—”
“Slow down.” Nick’s deep and stern voice snapped Sam out of his frenzy, and he
immediately stopped babbling, his teeth clanking audibly as he quickly closed
his mouth. “Where is he now?”
“We left him. On the side of the road, after we passed the border,” he answered
hesitantly, wincing inwardly when Nick glared at him.
“You left him?” he reproached, and Sam nodded. “Do you remember the exact
spot?”
He thought for a moment, frowning, and then nodded again. “It was around the
third exit, next to a big white and brown building.”
Nick released a long sigh as he pulled out his phone, then began barking
commands into the device, his voice shifting between alarmingly polite with a
sharp edge to it and angry, yelling irritably at the person on the other end of
the line. When he was done and slid the phone back into his pocket, Nick turned
to Sam, watching him for a pretty uncomfortable amount of time, the boy
clenching his jaw in order to stop himself from reacting. Then he closed his
eyes, rubbing them like that, and then asked, “Whose decision was to leave
him?”
Sam wasn’t a tattletale, at least he didn’t think of himself as one. That being
said, he also wasn’t going to take the blame for something he didn’t do, for
someone he didn’t even know, who might have made a practical decision when they
left Bernard, but still let a human being continue suffering at the side of
some dirty road.
So he only felt a small amount of shame when he said, “Pablo. I mean the other
man… I don’t know what his real name is.”
“And why didn’t you stop him?” Nick inquired.
“I tried, at first. But it all happened so fast and he hit me, and then we were
already driving away and I couldn’t do anything.” Great, now he was coming up
with excuses.
The man nodded, then was silent for a long moment before talking again. “I
can’t believe that you were the only one who didn’t make any grave mistakes
from the three of you. You know, those two men were what you’d call
‘professionals’. They have both done this many times before, and now one of
them is probably dead, and the other will be soon, too,” he said with a small
sigh, leaning back in the couch while Sam pressed further into the curved
armrest, wishing he could merge with it. “But you, a newbie, did a better work
that those two combined. Tell me, how many balloons have you swallowed?”
He wasn’t sure if the amount was impressive or pathetic, knowing how the other
couriers took in way more than him, but he hoped it was the former. “Eight,” he
stated, thankfully not seeing any glints of disappointment in the man’s eyes as
he watched Sam.
“I see. Not bad, but could have done better,” he said, but Sam was okay with
that. He was okay with the middle ground; anything that didn’t involve getting
humiliated. Then he wasn’t that okay anymore, because Nick was talking again,
and his next words made him forget that humans needed to breathe in order to
survive. “Well, I’m pleased. Very much so, actually. But since using you as a
mule might prove to be too…risky, with you knowing not only my name, but my
face, I think you’ll be getting a fast promotion.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, dreading the answer. What kind of promotion
could someone like this man be possibly thinking of? Whatever it was, there
couldn’t be anything better about it, not in this sort of context.
“Well, let’s see,” Nick said, a smile creeping back onto his face. “First off,
you have already proved that you can defend yourself, that you can fight when
you have to. Your size and agility is just a bonus. You didn’t screw up on your
first job, which is where the majority of people make horrible and stupid
mistakes. Then there’s the fact that you aren’t really a mule, as those get
paid and have no idea how we look like. They have also never been to our base,
live in their own homes. You don’t have a home, and we can’t let you leave,
either. So the only logical decision I can think of, after taking all of these
facts into consideration, is that you should live here. And since only my men
do that…I’m willing to give you a position as a real smuggler. A seat at the
big boys’ table.”
Sam thought he had the right for a few moments of silence as he let that sink
in, because Nick did not just offer to convert him into an actual, full-blown
smuggler.
Oh god he did, didn’t he?
He obviously wasn’t going to accept the man’s generous offer. Hell no. It was
bad enough that he had to work as a courier for him, this one job he did
already leaving him with some emotional traumas he’d have to suppress for the
rest of his life. He didn’t need more of this crap, didn’t want to find out the
kind of jobs he’d have to do as a smuggler. Nick’s penetrating blue eyes were
staring a hole through him, though, and Sam was breaking out in cold sweat,
torn between just going with the flow and accepting it, and flat-out refusing.
Deciding to use a safer approach, he cleared his throat and hesitantly met the
man’s icy gaze. “Can I say no…?”
Nick shrugged. “Sure you can,” he said, Sam feeling a weight being lifted from
his shoulders, then it all came crashing back down as the man added, “I’d just
have to kill you then.”
“Oh,” he remarked smartly. Well of course, Sam should have known that was
coming. Join the dark side or die, as per usual.
“You must understand, we have no other choice,” Nick said, sounding too
understanding for Sam’s liking. “You know too much. Way too much. So you either
get fully converted, no matter your age, which would make sure that you
wouldn’t be able to rat us out, or we silence you in another way. And despite
your threats of taking your own life, I doubt you’d choose death over my offer.
Am I right?”
He didn’t want to say yes, to give his consent to this Devil, but…really, what
else could he do? Nick would kill him, there was no doubting that. Sam would
end up dead in a ditch unless he accepted the malicious offer, but then there
would be no turning back. Once he’d commit several crimes, he couldn’t just
tell the police that they forced him to do it all, especially if he’d end up
killing someone. God, he really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But he had to
accept that, really, he didn’t have a choice here. Because Nick was right—Sam
didn’t want to die. Just like he expected, all those threats were empty. He was
too much of a coward to go through with it, and he hated himself for that,
despised himself for being so damn weak, because he just simply couldn’t.
The only hope he had left was that maybe he could escape before they’d make him
do something he’d never want to, but for that, he’d need to wait for the right
moment and execute some heavy-duty ninja tricks without getting spotted, which
didn’t sound easy. But anyway, he could worry about his future escape later.
Right now, he had bigger things to concern himself with, for example agreeing
to a new and very much unwanted life.
Swallowing around the nervous lump in his throat, and since it’s not like he
had any other option at this point, Sam nodded with downcast eyes. “You’re
right…”
“So is that a yes?” Nick asked eagerly.
Without looking up, Sam said, “Yes.”
“Good,” he heard the man’s satisfied answer, heard as he clapped his hands
together, then felt a hand grab and squeeze his shoulder, Sam looking up at the
sudden touch. “I’m glad I won’t have to kill you, Sam. I really am,” he said,
then turned his head to look at something behind Sam, the boy following his
gaze and feeling himself shudder as he noticed Crowley standing next to the
wall.
Was that guy here the whole time?
“Crowley, take him to Adam’s empty room, will you?” Nick said, removing his
hand from Sam’s shoulder as he got up and walked back to the same door he came
out of before. “It will be the kid’s from now on.”
“Are you sure about this, boss?” Crowley asked with an unsure smile, glancing
from Sam to Nick. “I mean he is just a kid. Might slow us down.”
The boss stopped in front of him, staring at the shorter man and raising his
eyebrows. “Do you know me as someone who makes mistakes?”
“No,” he said right away, shaking his head. “No, no of course not. That’s not
what I meant.”
“Well whatever you meant, don’t,” Nick said, his voice low and relatively
toneless, aside from the hidden danger in it, which Crowley must have sensed
because he was backing away and nodding rapidly.
“Yeah, of course, sorry,” he gabbled, waiting until the man continued toward
the door and disappeared behind it, before turning to Sam, who was still
sitting on the sofa and would have much rather stayed right there than follow
Crowley, but when he shot him a warning glare, he reluctantly peeled himself
away from the soft cushions. “Walk faster,” Crowley barked as they took the
stairs on the right.
Sam walked before the man, continuing once he reached the catwalk, but when he
heard Crowley’s footsteps come to a halt, he turned around and saw him standing
in front of the first door, the set of doors on this side of the warehouse
painted the same white as the ones on the other. He wandered back just as the
man opened the door which apparently wasn’t locked, only pushing it open but
not going inside.
“So I suppose this is yours now,” he mentioned as Sam stepped into the room.
It was the same size as Benny’s room, with the same series of windows running
across the wall facing the entrance and the same door that presumably led to
the bathroom, though instead of being on the right, this one was situated on
the left side. Aside from those, the rest was different. Instead of wood, the
floor was completely carpeted, save for a small rectangular, white tiled area
at the door. Sam guessed that was where the shoes came off, but right now he
was busy looking around to remove them. The thin but soft, berber carpet was a
rather pretty match to the charcoal gray brick walls, with its deep indigo blue
color. The bed covers were blue as well, at least the polka dots at the bottom
of the white blanket, and the sides of the pillow, were a dark turquoise. The
single bed itself was pushed against the right wall, on which was a wide,
rectangular black shelf, filled with books and an empty snow globe. Right
behind the headboard, and sandwiched between the windowed wall and the bed, was
a beige wardrobe with a vertical mirror on one of its doors. Opposite it,
against the wall on the left, was a wide chest of the same beige drawers, on
top of which lay a great amount of dust, along with a digital clock with sky
blue numbers, a transparent vase filled with colorful rocks, and a patterned
tissue box.
Walking across the room, Sam quickly grabbed some of the latches on the window
and turned them, opening as many as he could and sighing once he felt the
slight, cool draft caress his skin and waft his silky hair. Then when he turned
back, he found Crowley still standing outside, the man’s dark eyes studying the
room before locking with Sam’s.
“The wardrobe is empty, and so are the drawers. Aside from Adam’s books and
some stuff in the bathroom, there ain’t anything of his here, so you go ahead
and get cozy,” he said, a wicked smirk crossing his face as he narrowed his
eyes. “But not too cozy. I have a feeling you won’t last long.”
Sam knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, but now that he was officially one of
these assholes, he decided to give acting a bit more like a man a try. “How
about you stop threatening me? I mean if you want to fight me, go ahead; though
I doubt Nick would be happy once you’ll go crying back to him,” he sneered,
glad his voice didn’t waver and remained nice and sharp, dripping with venom as
he glared at the man.
Crowley scoffed. “Oh, you think you could kick my ass, kid? I know what you
did, how you managed to land a few pathetic hits on Benny, but that buffoon is
nothing compared to me. You really wouldn’t want to fight me,” he told Sam, the
smirk on his face turning into a grin. “I might accidentally snap that brittle
neck of yours.”
“And yet, all you do is bark, but never bite.” Sam raised an eyebrow at the
suddenly glaring man, then realized that maybe he shouldn’t have said that as
Crowley began closing in on him with bloodthirst in his eyes.
But then he stopped in the middle of the room, Sam already standing with his
back pressed into the windows and wondering how quick he could land a brutal
kick to the man’s nuts; however he never got to find out, because Crowley was
clenching and unclenching his fists before turning around and marching back to
the door.
Pausing in the doorway, he looked back over his shoulder and shot a fiery glare
at Sam. “Making me into an enemy isn’t a smart choice. Don’t continue like
this, or we’ll really have a problem…”
And then he was gone, shutting the door behind himself and leaving Sam alone in
the room. In his room.
He stood still for a while, just watching the door for any signs of it opening
and letting another unwanted visitor in, but when nothing happened, he let out
a sigh and walked over to the drawers.
“Great,” he mumbled to himself, trailing his index finger across the surface of
the furniture, the digit coming off dusty as he raised it to his eyes. Wiping
his finger on his pants, Sam pulled out a tissue from the box on top of the
chest and dusted it off, looking for a bin once he was done, but of course
there wasn’t any. He didn’t really want to start littering already, so he
walked to the bathroom, planning on simply flushing the dirty tissue.
Crowley was right, he noted inwardly, as he walked into the bathroom. It didn’t
take long for him to find the light switch that was right next to the door, and
once the room was bathed in the fluorescent light coming from the lamps on the
ceiling and above the mirror, he immediately spotted a steel bin under the
sink. Quickly discarding the tissue in it as he stepped on its small pedal and
raised the lid, Sam looked around the room and at the many hygiene products
scattered in it. The hand soap looked usable and smelled great, the mouthwash
was half empty but seemed like it could come in handy, and neither the body
wash nor the shampoo was disgusting, so in all things considered, he got
himself a good room. He obviously wasn’t going to use the towels, though. Not
until they got properly washed, which reminded him of how he rubbed Benny’s
towel across his skin without a second thought before, drawing a revolted
shudder from him. He really hoped he wasn’t going to catch anything from that.
He walked out of the bathroom and over to the bed, stroking the smooth surface
of the blanket before climbing on top of it. Standing on his knees, he reached
up and took off the object that fascinated him the most ever since he noticed
it on the shelf, trapped between the thick books. He sat down, placing the
pillow behind his back as he leaned against the wall, then kicked his shoes off
and crossed his legs as he studied the snow globe in his hands. He has seen
trinkets like this before, usually in the TV when the characters visited
souvenir shops, but they were always filled with something. A building, a cozy
gingerbread house, trees or a snowman—anything. This one only had the liquid
and the fake snow inside, completely hollow and devoid of any ornaments.
Sam turned it in his hands, but there was nothing written on the bottom or
around it either. Wondering why someone would have an empty snow globe in their
room, he shook the object, watching as the tiny white flakes jumped to life,
surging up and then swirling around wildly, before slowly sinking to the bottom
of their glass cage, asleep once again. He suddenly had a thought, comparing
himself to the snow. How they, no matter how much they tried, how many times
their world got turned upside down by an outside force, could never escape
their prison; how they didn’t really belong anywhere, lost in an empty globe
instead of the usual ones with a country’s name towering inside the dome. Like
Sam, they had no real home, just constantly drifting in hopes of finding a
place to belong, reaching out to freedom that was so close, yet so far away,
stopped over and over again by an invisible wall whenever they got close
enough.
Blinking and shaking his head, Sam let out a deep sigh and put the snow globe
on the bed. It was true—he didn’t really have a home anymore. He couldn’t
possibly call this room his, or this warehouse his new home. It would never be
like that, and he would never really belong with these people, or become a part
of their world. He could try, he could fake it and pretend all he wanted, but
he would never really be able to fit in here. Not like he could do it anywhere
else, what with the slight antisocial disorder he had going for him thanks to
John.
And now thinking of his dad, his dead father, he was feeling sad again.
Great; he wondered if his mind and heart were doing this on purpose, deciding
to lead some twisted sadomasochistic lifestyle without Sam’s consent.
Groaning, he rubbed his temples. He was too young for this distressing shit,
and he really didn’t want to start getting wrinkles. So he grabbed the globe
and stuffed it back into the shelf, then stayed on his knees for a bit as he
trailed his fingers along the book covers, glad that Adam was a bookworm. He
wondered which one to try first, humming to himself as he let his eyes glide
across the hardcovers, then felt a small smile curl his lips when he spotted a
Stephen King book. He quickly tugged it out, flopping back on the bed and
grinning as he opened the book on the first page. It was the second book of The
Shining, this one called Doctor Sleep, and Sam couldn’t have been happier to
have found this, because he’s been wanting to read it so much ever since he
finished the first one.
Before he could have even finished reading the first page, he heard the door to
the room open, startling a relaxed Sam so much that he nearly yelped as he
slammed the book shut.
Benny raised his eyebrows at the boy, smiling at his reaction, then quickly
scanned the room with a pair of curious, dark blue eyes, before looking back at
Sam. “I see you found the books. Getting familiar with your new room, huh? Like
it?”
He pressed his fingers into the cover and gave the man a brisk nod. “Yeah, it’s
nice.”
“Glad you think so,” he said, then pushed the door all the way open and pointed
with his thumb behind his back. “We just had lunch. Want some?”
“Um…” He hesitated, glancing at the clock on the drawers and, sure enough, it
was already half past one in the afternoon. But he wasn’t feeling hungry, the
thought of food actually making him sick right now, as his stomach was still
aching, the bottle of water helping a bit, but not completely. Courtesy of the
latex balloons, he guessed. So he shook his head and pulled his knees up to his
chest, looking back at Benny through his bangs. “No, thanks. I’m not really
hungry.”
“Suit yourself then,” the man said with a shrug, then took a quick look back
over his shoulder, his smile reappearing when their eyes met again. “Well, if
you do get hungry, the kitchen is the second door to the left. Just facing
Nick’s office, you can’t miss it.”
Sam nodded. “Alright, I’ll…make sure to remember that,” he promised, if only to
know where to look for future meals. He wasn’t sure he’d eat anything today,
but he also wasn’t going to starve himself.
“Okay. See you when I do.” Benny winked at him, his low chuckle muffled as he
closed the door.
So, alone again, he tried not to think of how the rest of the day, or for that
matter his whole freaking future, would go. Instead, he went back to the book,
letting it pull him into its world and make Sam forget all about his own
worries, as he left his life behind and turned into the main character of the
papers between his hands, if only for a few hours…
 
***** Big Bad Wolf *****
 
Three hours later, and he was already starving.
He continued reading the book, was halfway through it, when he heard and felt
his stomach rumble. Pulling a face, he shifted positions, tried lying on it or
sitting hunched over while reading. And it did work, for a while. The words
distracted him from his growing hunger, Sam beginning to regret turning Benny’s
offer down, and when even the freaking main character from the book started
eating, well from there it was a one-way road to food. Images of all sorts of
meals filled his head, Sam cursing himself as his mind went wild, shoving one
mouthwatering image in his face after the other, and he was losing it.
Still, for some reason, he really didn’t want to get out the safety of his
room. His stomach kept growling persistently, screaming to be fed, but Sam
refused. He’d just have a big breakfast tomorrow, stuff himself full of food
then, but for now, he was going to remain in the only place he felt relatively
at ease.
However that wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped, not with hunger constantly raking
its sharp claws down Sam’s stomach, growling like a famished beast.
After those first few hours of unrelenting, horrible hunger, he reached a stage
where he wasn’t even hungry anymore. That blissful feeling lasted for about one
hour before it all came rushing back, now twice as intense and unbearable than
before, and Sam just couldn’t take it anymore. So he gave up on trying to
suppress his hunger and on his stubborn mission to stay in the room for as long
as possible, and crawled out of the bed, tossing the forgotten book somewhere
on the mattress before putting his shoes on.
He glanced at the clock and sighed. It was 6pm, so someone might still be
downstairs, maybe even lurking around in the kitchen, and Sam really didn’t
want to run into anyone right now; or ever, really. He couldn’t avoid them
forever, he knew that, especially now that he was living here under the same
roof with everyone. But hope died last, and as he made his way to the door,
turning the handle as slowly and quietly as possible, he couldn’t stop the sigh
of relief when he peeked out and saw no one. He was met with complete silence,
one that became eerie the more time passed with Sam just staring into the
warehouse and waiting, making sure that nobody was about to come marching out
through one of those doors.
When it became evident that he was alone, he shimmied through the partially
opened door and silently closed it behind himself, wincing when he walked a few
steps down the catwalk, the sound of his feet meeting the steel surface loud
and bouncing off the walls. Furrowing his brow as he concentrated, Sam moved
slowly, first lowering his heel to the ground before letting the rest of his
foot join, his toes curling as he gradually made his way down the stairs, even
slowing his breathing as he descended with the majestic speed of a turtle. Once
at the bottom, he leaned against the railing and took a deep breath, trying to
calm his poor heart that was going through a bit of a meltdown. He felt like
some secret agent like this, sneaking around a compound filled with criminals,
the thought bringing the smallest of smiles to his lips.
Gazing into the darkness, it took him a moment to spot the door Benny was
talking about. Taking a second to make sure that he hadn’t gained an audience,
Sam headed toward the door, careful not to bump into the ping pong table in the
middle of the room or, with his luck, trip over his own two feet. He still
wasn’t sure what the table was doing here, but he guessed even evil masterminds
had to entertain themselves somehow.
He reached the kitchen door without any difficulties, stopping in front of it
as realization hit him. Nobody was here, watching him. Nobody would know if he
took another door, for example the one leading outside. They wouldn’t realize
he was gone until it was too late, until Sam would be far away from this
wretched place and sipping hot cocoa from a police station mug with a security
blanket draped over his shoulders.
Taking a step back, his eyes darted left and right while his hands began
trembling from the sudden rush of excitement. He clenched them into fists and
tried to calm the shaking as he turned around; but only managed to take two
more steps before he heard a door opening. Gasping silently and nearly jumping
out of his skin, he panicked and spun around, finding shelter in the kitchen as
he jerked the door open before slamming it shut once inside. He was already
regretting being so damn loud, but he wasn’t thinking right then, panting and
leaning with his back against the door while feeling like there was a whole
national circus performing in his body, his stomach doing somersaults and his
heart hammering in his chest like a dozen of galloping horses.
He waited like that, waited for a long moment with his eyes shut and the only
sound reaching his ears being his heavy breathing, then finally peeled himself
away from the door and ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh. It
didn’t seem like whoever was out there planned on coming after him, Sam
immensely glad for that, though disappointed that he couldn’t carry out his
escape plan. Ah well, at least he made it to the kitchen, deciding to make use
of his situation and look for some food while in here.
The room was wide, containing both the kitchen and the dining room, the two
only separated by a single step leading to the elevated kitchen. Finding the
light switch after some blind searching, Sam made a small appreciative sound
when he noticed the antique glass chandelier hanging above the dining table,
which was made of carved wood, a deep and inviting brown that matched the
chocolate brown walls. They weren’t made of brick this time, their surface
smooth as he ran his fingers down the wall nearest him, before walking to the
kitchen part of the room. It was nice and simple, with a dark gray fridge, a
sink and a built-in dishwasher, the counters along the wall faced by some more
of their kind, those lining up along the small portion of the step and
containing several drawers.
He walked to the fridge, opening it and licking his lips when he noticed the
rectangular dish, getting on his tiptoes as he pulled it out and placed it on
one of the counters next to the sink. Removing the tinfoil from on top of it,
he grinned. He loved lasagna. Quickly searching the kitchen for a plate and
cutlery, he put them next to the dish once located, and was about to cut a
piece for himself when what he thought he managed to avoid happened.
The door opened and Sam’s eyes widened, feeling a chill spread through his
body. Great, of course they heard him, why wouldn’t they? Reluctantly, he put
the knife down and turned around, expecting to find Nick or Benny at the door,
maybe even a grumbling Crowley.
What he did not expect was seeing Dean leaning against the doorway, watching
him.
Sam’s mouth fell open and his eyes must have resembled that of a fish’s, he had
them open so wide. Crap, anyone but him. Sam would take Crowley any day over
this guy, couldn’t tolerate his presence, but as he watched the boy take a few
steps inside before closing the door behind him, Sam realized he didn’t really
have another choice. Being alone in a room with this person was going to be a
nightmare, Sam already feeling as his palms began sweating even though not even
a minute had passed.
“Out for a late snack?” Dean said teasingly, a sly smirk crossing his face as
he closed in on him, Sam feeling the hard edge of the counter press against his
waist as he backed into it.
“None of your business,” he spat, but the fierce act he was going for wasn’t
really working with his voice coming out weak, much more insecure than he would
have wanted.
“Oh yeah?” The boy’s smirk twisted and turned into a grin, his one eye glowing
with something malicious as he slowly closed the distance between them, and
before Sam realized, they were standing inches away from each other, the boy
blatantly breaching his personal space without a second thought. “Because now,
since you’re one of us, I think knowing what you’re up to is exactly what I
should be doing.”
“I’m just trying to eat…” Sam muttered, whatever speck of bravery he thought he
had left gone in an instant, crushed and turned to dust under Dean’s piercing
gaze. Then just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, the situation turned
even more uncomfortable when the boy placed his hands on the counter behind
Sam, and leaned forward, way too goddamn close, forcing the younger boy to bend
his body backward and away from the predator leering at him.
“Hmm…” Dean watched him for a long time, Sam becoming fidgety but unable to
move, before lowering his one eye to look at the other’s body in a way that
wasn’t normal, couldn’t possibly normal. “I hope you’re not thinking of
running,” he warned lowly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we didn’t sell you. A
bit surprised, because such a pretty face could have been worth a lot, but I
don’t mind. However if you do try to slip past our fingers, little mouse…then I
won’t hesitate to sink my claws in you.”
Sam was trembling. He was fucking shaking like he was stuck in some sort of
freezer, but instead of cold, his body was burning. It was on fire, confused
flames licking at his skin and heating his face up when Dean ran his tongue
across those lush lips, and Sam suddenly couldn’t remember his name.
“I-I won’t,” he stuttered miserably, barely daring to breathe as he forced the
words past his lips, his knuckles whitening with the force he was gripping the
edge of the counter he was pressed into. “I won’t run, I swear I won’t.”
White teeth flashed as Dean’s grin widened, Sam freezing to a marble statue
when the boy raised a hand to his chin, lifting it to reveal the wounds on his
throat, then used the fingers on his other hand to caress them, the light
touches making Sam shiver.
“I wouldn’t mind if you would,” he purred, leaning close to the quivering boy’s
ear, Dean’s warm breath as it ghosted over his skin too much, and Sam closed
his eyes in terror. “The prize after a chase is so much sweeter, after all. I
bet you’d be nice and juicy for me, too, Sammy…”
He gritted his teeth to stop the whimper that was threatening to escape him,
his breath stuck in his throat and his eyes fluttering open, quickly going wide
again when he felt Dean’s soft lips against his ear, then on the area beneath
it, before they moved down his neck, setting Sam’s sensitive skin on fire
wherever they touched him.
“I’m not… Don’t call…” He trailed off, unable to even speak anymore. “Don’t
call me Sammy,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper now, but quickly rising
an octave as he made a small, squeaking sort of sound when he felt Dean kissing
the spot where his neck met his shoulder, before finally, finally withdrawing.
He pulled away from the panting boy and flashed him a devious grin. “Sure
thing. Whatever you say, Sammy,” he said tauntingly, ruffling and making a mess
of Sam’s hair.
He was scared, afraid to move, but hearing that nickname from this asshole was
what fuelled him to move his hand behind his back and pat around the counter,
searching for the knife. Something in the boy made him into a coward, his voice
sucking out all the energy from Sam’s limbs and soul and he really didn’t like
it. His reactions were off, seriously messed up, but no matter how much this
boy frightened him, he knew he had to do something, if only to prove it to
himself that he was still capable of defending himself; that he still had some
balls between his legs.
So when he wrapped his fingers around the wooden handle of the knife and
watched as Dean turned around, ready to walk out of the room, he only hesitated
for a brief moment before stepping up behind the boy and raising the knife.
Before he could’ve made a nice little cut on the boy’s shoulder, though, Dean
was turning around and knocking the knife out of Sam’s hand, the younger boy
gasping in surprise when the other grabbed him by his throat and slammed his
body into the fridge. He pressed himself close, literally growling at Sam, who
decided it was okay to freak out now, and did just that, clawing and kicking at
the boy and desperately trying to free himself.
“Wrong move, kiddo,” Dean hissed threateningly, his voice suddenly deep and
rough and fucking terrifying. He tightened his hold on Sam’s throat, cutting
off his air, and this time he couldn’t stop the weak little whimper that
escaped him as horror coursed through his veins. “Do you want to get punished?
Is that what you want?” Dean tilted his head and narrowed his glaring eye,
completely ignoring as Sam’s nails scratched at his hand and legs kicked at
him. He just leaned closer, their foreheads nearly touching as he whispered,
“Bending you over my knee and spankin’ your ass raw, would you like that?”
Tears welled up in Sam’s wide, frantic eyes, and he quickly shook his head,
however could already hear his pulse in his ears, his whole face red and numb
from the blood stuck there, and he was choking as Dean strangled him, close to
crushing his windpipe. But he didn’t kill him, thankfully releasing his throat
in the last moment and letting Sam fall to the floor, his knees too weak to
support him any longer. He coughed, sniffing and blinking back the tears,
unable to look up at the boy who he knew was standing before him, saw his feet
from where he was sitting on the cold floor.
“Let that be your warning not to ever do something so stupid again,” he heard
Dean say, then walk out of the room, leaving Sam alone.
He raised his shaking hands to his throat, wincing as he touched the wounds
that were bleeding again. Having some trouble with swallowing, he took deep but
ragged breaths, continuing it until he felt more or less at ease. He sat on the
floor, not caring how the cold tiles made him shiver through his clothes, and
leaned back against the fridge, quickly rubbing his eyes to get rid of any
obstinate tears that were trying to make their great escape.
Well, crap. He really screwed up, big time. Trying to land a surprise attack on
Dean wasn’t that bright of an idea after all. What was he thinking? Did he
seriously believe that he could overpower someone who was not only older and
stronger than him, but also a psycho killer? God, he was such an idiot, but at
that time it really seemed like a good idea. Maybe he could have even succeeded
if only he’d have been faster and quieter, sneaky like a fox and agile like a
cat. Instead he was more like an elephant, obvious and clumsy, getting
manhandled by the boy so easily it was pathetic. His neck was still aching, and
he was positive he’d have some finger shaped bruises on his skin by tomorrow, a
nice touch to the wounds on his throat.
He did more bad than good, now the word fear not even close to describing how
he felt toward the boy. He wasn’t actually sure how he felt, but he sure as
hell wasn’t going to become friends with him. Dean had threatened him with
horrible things too many times, promised some downright dirty stuff, and it
made Sam scared not only for his life, but… No, that couldn’t happen. Dean was
crazy, a complete sadist and kind of a pervert, sure, but he wouldn’t go that
far, would he? He wouldn’t…rape Sam, would he?
Quickly shaking his head, Sam forced the thoughts out of his mind. He was
thinking of the very worst case scenarios, as always, his mind going wild with
impossible outcomes, and he was getting worked up for nothing. Dean kissed his
shoulder and teased him, that much was true, but Sam honestly doubted that the
boy would go too far. He was just a simple psychopath playing with his newest
toy, Sam hating that role but unable to do anything about it. At least not yet.
He wasn’t going to stay here forever, but while he was, he certainly did not
plan on enduring that asshole’s teasing without putting up a fight. He would
have to work on his reaction time, though. Also, maybe he should try not acting
like he was scared shitless whenever Dean looked at him.
Yep, he should definitely start with that.
Sam sighed. “Okay, let’s do this,” he mumbled, getting to his feet and fixing
the nest of a hair on top of his head, before walking back to the empty plate
and finally filling it with some delicious lasagna. He then found a microwave
fairly quickly, tapped his foot impatiently while waiting for it to heat up,
then was sitting at the dining table and stuffing his face in a matter of
seconds.
Damn, he was hungry.
Eating made him forget the previous ten minutes, the only proof they ever
happened being the dull ache in his neck. After he was done and had quite
literally licked the plate clean, not bothering with manners since he was alone
anyway, he put everything in the dishwasher and drank some water to wash it all
down. Full and with his nerves back to normal, he made sure that Dean was
nowhere to be seen before sneaking back to his room, where he began searching
for a key. He knew there should be one, as Benny had one for his room too,
feeling a bit stupid for only remembering that now; but when he found the key
in the vase, on top of the rocks, he didn’t care because now he could keep out
any unwanted visitors. Which was everyone, really.
So that’s what he did. He locked the door, the sound as the key turned in the
lock making Sam smile, then walked into the bathroom and poked the towels. He
really wanted to take a shower, but already made up his mind that he’d wait
until he had fresh towels. But then again, if he was going to catch something,
then he already did when he used Benny’s towel on a whim, so really, what did
he have to lose?
Nodding to himself, he closed the bathroom door and began undressing, eager to
finally be able to wash his hair. It was the little things that counted, right?
                                       —
 
Sam Winchester’s Great Escape—attempt number two.
After showering and using the mouthwash as makeshift toothpaste, he finished
the book. It took him a few more hours, but since he was a quick reader, he
found himself reading the last few sentences only four hours later. When he was
done, Sam put the book back on the shelf, tempted to just start another one,
but flopped down on the bed instead, suddenly feeling tired. Wanting and
needing to just forget that day’s events, Sam unbuttoned his shirt and folded
it as neatly as possible before placing it on the floor, then hid under the
blanket and hoped for sleep to claim him as fast as possible.
It was when he woke up some time later and glanced tiredly at the clock, that
he noticed the opportunity that was hanging in front of him like a plump meat
on a hook.
It was three in the morning, so there was no way that anyone was awake; not
even Dean. At least that’s what he was hoping for as he hesitantly climbed out
of the bed and threw his shirt on, not bothering with shoes as he knew how much
noise they could make. He could already feel the nervous lump in his throat as
he approached the door, now regretting locking it. Pulling a face as he turned
the key and unlocked the door rather audibly, he pocketed the key and then
waited.
He stood impossibly still and just waited, listening with his ear pressed
against the hard wood. Was he willing to risk this? This was the best time to
get out of this hellhole, to run like a chicken with its head missing, but the
danger of getting caught remained. And while it didn’t really matter who’d
catch him in the act, as Sam was pretty sure that they would all kill or beat
the crap out of him, he hoped with all his mind that he wouldn’t see a certain
black eyepatched boy once he reached the door leading to freedom. He really
didn’t feel like finding out if his threats were empty or very much real. And
undoubtedly painful.
After some more minutes of waiting silently, Sam steeled himself and opened the
door. This time his steps were much quieter, the socks on his feet softening
the sounds as he crept down the stairs. However it was also darker, the
downside of trying to escape in the middle of the night being that he could
barely see his hands when he raised them to his face. The moonlight that
penetrated the warehouse through the large window helped, so at least he didn’t
trip and go plummeting down the stairs like some ragdoll, plus keeping one hand
on the railing while extending the other in front of him also kept him from
falling. When he felt the hard cement under his feet instead of the steel
steps, he moved closer to the brick wall, keeping close to it as he gradually
and cautiously made his way to the door.
Once there, he stopped. Swallowing nervously, he raised a clammy hand to the
sliding door and pressed it against the cool, metal surface, hoping that would
help calm him down a little. When that did not happen, he let out a silent sigh
and patted around until he found the depression in the door, before hooking his
fingers around the edge and pulling.
A thin ray of moonlight entered the room as soon as the door began moving, the
clear light growing and expanding as he continued pulling the rather heavy
door. It protested loudly while moving under Sam’s hands, the boy cursing and
giving up after a while, satisfied with the narrow gap he created for himself.
It was just big enough for him to be able to slip through it, and he already
had his head and half a shoulder on the other side, when he noticed the woman.
“Well, this is interesting,” she remarked in amusement, Sam turning his head to
look at her so fast that he knocked the back of his skull against the solid
doorframe, the action drawing a pained sound from him.
Why did the world hate him, just why?
He quickly pulled back and into the building, having approximately three
seconds to collect himself before the door was sliding all the way open,
bathing the inside of the room with moonlight and casting a shadow over the
woman’s face, who stood with her back to the light. She flashed a smirk at him,
taking a step forward at the same time as Sam took one back, his mind in
overdrive as it was trying to come up with an excuse, and quick.
“Uh, I wasn’t— this isn’t what it looks like,” he blurted, even though it was
exactly what it looked like. He didn’t sound too convincing, even to his own
ears, so he tried again. “I wasn’t trying to run.” Right, because that’s so
much better. God, he really needed to work on his lying abilities while under
stress.
The woman walked further inside the building, the faint light that came from
the window allowing Sam to get a look at her features. A thick curtain of brown
hair so dark it seemed black cascaded down her shoulders, the wavy locks
reaching her breasts which were hid by a gray shirt and a leather jacket, her
legs enclosed by tight blue jeans. Her doe eyes narrowed dangerously, espresso
brown orbs seemingly staring right into Sam’s soul and very being, her smiling
lips stretching wider and holding something mischievous as she put her hands on
her hips.
“Is that so?” She raised her eyebrows at him, giving him a quick once-over
before glancing back over her shoulder at the open door. “You were just going
out to get some fresh air, right? At three in the morning.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he insisted. He had already started down the road of lies;
he wasn’t going to turn back now. But the amused look on the woman’s face told
Sam that his efforts were useless, because she wasn’t buying any of it.
Then she surprised him by patting his head and flashing a more friendly smile
at him. “It’s fine, don’t piss yourself because of me. You’re Sam, right?” she
asked, and he nodded after a second. “Aha, thought so. Heard a lot about you
from Nick. I’m Ruby, by the way, nice to meet you…and to have you as one of us.
Finally life around here might just be more fun with you around.”
Frowning, Sam had a swarm of questions in his mind, but settled on just asking
one for the moment. “It’s fine?”
“Yeah, kid!” she said with a small laugh and a wink. “I won’t be your big bad
wolf. I didn’t see anything. Heck, you’re not even here right now. You’re in
your room, sleeping…right?”
He couldn’t believe his luck, tried not to let it get to him too much as he
nodded jerkily, the surprise of how kind she was making Sam uncertain about
what to do next. They stood in silence for a while, the woman giving him an
expectant look, and it took him a moment to realize what those suggestive eyes
meant.
Muttering a low “Thanks”, Sam took one last look at the smiling woman before
ducking his head and shuffling back to the stairs, climbing them quickly and
locking the door once he was back in his room.
He just got away with being caught while trying to escape, and he didn’t know
if he should either laugh from relief, or collapse on the floor from shock.
Both options seemed tempting, so he chose to do them both, slowly sliding down
the door and raising his shaking hands to his head, while grinning
incredulously. He was extremely confused, not sure what the hell just happened,
but he wasn’t bleeding out on a plastic sheet yet, so he guessed he was safe.
Well, as safe as one could get in a building full of criminals.
So attempt number two was a bust as well. That sucked, Sam certainly not glad
to be back in this room, but he also couldn’t deny he preferred it here than
the torture chamber these guys surely had hidden somewhere behind those doors.
That woman, Ruby, helped him. Well, at first she freaked him out and Sam was
sure that that was it, that he’d be gutted by a brunette Catwoman, but it
turned out fine. More than fine; Ruby was even willing to go as far as to
pretend that nothing happened. He couldn’t be sure that she’d stick to her
words and won’t run straight to Nick though, but she seemed genuine enough.
Still, she was a smuggler, so Sam wasn’t going to start trusting her just
because they exchanged a few sentences and she hadn’t threatened him in either
one of them.
He sat on the floor—which he realized he has been doing a lot of lately—for a
long while hoping that nobody would come knocking at his door, but as the
minutes trickled by and still nobody came, he decided that he was in the clear.
Sam got to his feet with the speed of a sloth, then didn’t even bother with
removing his shirt this time and just climbed back into the bed. Too much had
happened to him and his mind was too exhausted, needing some time to recharge.
He could just reflect on everything later; for now, he was going to let sleep
take him in its arms and render him unconscious.
 
***** Hungry Hungry Hippos *****
 
Two days.
They let him “relax” for the impressive amount of two days before capturing and
forcing him to carry out a job with them.
A real, dangerous smuggling job.
Sam obviously spent those two relatively peaceful days locked away in his room,
only going out when he got hungry or thirsty, and only letting anyone in when
they came bearing gifts—such as fresh towels, a toothbrush, and clothes. Nick
didn’t like him spending all of his time holing up in the room, but since they
didn’t really need him for anything important, he let Sam have the space and
alone time he needed, only suggesting to spend a bit more time outside whenever
they accidentally crossed paths. And each time, Sam refused and scurried back
in the safety of the room as soon as possible, sometimes even bringing whole
bottles of water with himself so he wouldn’t have to leave as frequently.
He also met others, and while they surely weren’t going to become anything
close to friends, Sam had found Ruby to be the least of an asshole in the whole
group. She stayed true to her word, keeping his late night activity a secret,
and always greeted him with a smile. Not the kind of smile he usually—if not
all the goddamn time—got from the men of the gang, which were either derisive,
malevolent, or disturbingly cunning. No, her smile was surprisingly genuine,
nice and more or less friendly save for the times it looked devilish, but only
in a mischievous and playful way. At least Sam hoped that was the case. Anyway,
she was the only person who was nice to him from the start, and while that made
him rather suspicious, he couldn’t deny that he was also glad. Not happy, never
happy, but it felt good to not have a constant knot in his stomach whenever she
talked to him or they made eye contact.
That couldn’t be said about the rest of the people Sam was locked in together
with. Raphael was still a complete mystery to him, the man not even willing to
speak to him when they met on the catwalk, his room apparently right next to
Sam’s. He didn’t mind though, as that merely meant one less thing for him to
worry about. He did, however, mind the fact that the third room on his side
belonged to none other than Dean, the boy nearly giving him a heart attack when
he came waltzing out of the room right before Sam could’ve entered his. They
had a brief staring contest; Dean’s face immediately going dark and only just
adding to Sam’s shock. He ran into his room and locked the door before the
other could’ve done or said anything, naively believing he got away, but then
heard the boy knocking and trying to coax him out like some wolf from a fairy
tale.
He refused to leave his room for hours after that.
He also didn’t try to escape, a bit too traumatized still from getting caught.
It ended well for him, but that was only because it was Ruby who saw him. He
didn’t want to find out what the others would do to him if they’d catch him.
So, needing a bit of time before he’d have the guts to try another escape plan,
he spent his time reading and doing a good job at not socializing, grateful to
whoever this Adam guy was for having good books.
With those two days being uneventful, he was looking forward to a quiet and
peaceful third day, when there was a knock on his door.
Sam was lying on the bed, his arms getting tired from holding the book he was
currently reading, when he heard the three, loud knocks. He was so immersed in
the story, though, that he accidentally let go of it, the sudden knocks
surprising him and resulting in the book landing right on his face. Grumbling,
he shoved the leather bookmark he found on the shelf into the book and closed
it, before climbing out of bed and making his way to the door.
“Vacation time is over, kiddo.” He heard Dean’s voice before he saw him as he
opened the door, immediately changing his mind and trying to push it closed,
but the boy forced his foot in the gap and gave the wood a hard shove. Sam
stumbled back, his eyes wide then narrowing as he glared at the other standing
in the doorway, looking nonchalant as ever.
“What are you doing here? What do you want?” he demanded, not expecting this
guy to be the first one he’d see today. He hoped he wouldn’t get to see him at
all, actually, but here he was, fortunately only standing in the doorway and
not coming inside yet.
“Aw, no need to be so hostile,” Dean said with a chuckle. “What have I ever
done to you?” Sam gaped at him, but the boy was obviously using sarcasm, not
waiting for an answer before continuing. “There’s a job and we need you. And
since you’ve been stuck in this room for a while, someone needed to come and
drag you out, so I volunteered. Aren’t I the best?”
Not having a solid wall separating him from the smirking boy made him uneasy,
that much was true; but Sam nearly forgot all about that when he realized what
Dean just said. “Wait…a job? What kind of job?”
“Well, we thought of breaking into a zoo and setting all the cuddly animals
free,” he deadpanned, before rolling his eyes and grinning. “What do you think?
We’re gonna get some guns across the border.”
“You don’t need me for that,” Sam stated as if he knew that for a fact, which
he obviously did not.
Dean raised an eyebrow, now taking a step into the room, Sam wanting to back
the hell away but finding himself unable to move his legs. “Really? Why, thanks
for believing in us, but I must insist you come with us. You’ve been in here
long enough, and now it’s time you joined us for real. You know, make yourself
useful.”
Sam shook his head, determined to not do anything along the lines of joining
them. “I can help in other ways too, no? I don’t necessarily have to commit a
crime.”
“Oh, grow up,” Dean groaned, then began slowly closing the distance between
them, Sam finally willing his body to move and using this newfound strength to
back away from the boy whose demeanor screamed danger. “What were you expecting
when you accepted becoming a smuggler? Hugs and puppies? No, Sam, there ain’t
no other ways someone like you could help. The only reason you’re still
breathing is because we need you for jobs, so don’t try to ruin this
arrangement by pussing out like some pathetic little infant.”
Dean sneered down at him, successfully backing him into the windows. He placed
his palms on the glass on either side of Sam’s head, pretty much trapping him
in place, and this really wasn’t good. The younger boy clenched his hands into
fists, tempted to slug this jerk in the face, but he wasn’t going to make the
same mistake twice. He couldn’t land a hit on this boy when he had his back to
him, so how was he supposed to hurt him like this, with Dean looming over him
like an evil Big Ben? Plus, he was kind of right. Sam hoped this day would
never come, but knew that he couldn’t run from it forever. Refusing was out of
the question at this point, so really, why was he even trying? What for? To get
his head shouted off for being an “obstinate, ungrateful little shit”?
Sighing, he looked away from the boy. “Yeah…sorry,” he muttered lowly, hating
to apologize but not really seeing another way around the problem he created
for himself. Apologizing is what mature people do, anyway, right?
Dean, on the other hand, didn’t seem like he wanted to take a mature approach
to the situation.
“What’s that?” he asked teasingly, leaning closer and tilting his head with a
sly smirk on his face. “I don’t think I heard you, could you repeat that a bit
louder?”
Sam’s eyelid twitched as he looked back at the boy, gritting his teeth and
feeling a snarl form on his lips. But instead of snapping at him, he remained
as calm as possible as he said the next words. “I said I’m sorry, okay? I’ll
come with you and do the job, so…”
“So what?” Dean taunted him, leaning alarmingly close, and Sam quickly put his
hands on the boy’s chest to push him away.
“So get away from me,” he hissed, pressing the heel of his hands into the
other’s shirt as he tried to gain some distance between the two of them, but
Dean was like a damned stone statue, refusing to move no matter how much Sam
pushed.
“How rude,” the boy purred, then suddenly he was grabbing Sam’s wrists and
pressing them against the window, the cold glass contrasting with Dean’s
burning hands wrapped around his skin. “I don’t feel the love, Sammy.”
“Let. Go.” Sam snarled up at the boy, masking his fear with anger, but he never
seemed to be able to lie to this person. Dean saw right through his act, the
smug grin that spread across his face sending a chill down Sam’s spine and
making him wish the other would just move already, because this was really
uncomfortable and his heart was beginning to speed up again.
“Maybe…” Dean whispered, finding his ear and nudging his hair out of the way
with his nose. “If you ask me nicely.”
He teasingly blew a soft puff of air into Sam’s ear, the younger boy’s eyes
widening before he squeezed them shut, his breaths coming out ragged and weak.
Crap, why? Why did this happen every single time? Why couldn’t he behave
normally and shove Dean away, instead of feeling like the strength got sucked
out of his limbs? Nobody had done anything like this to him before, and Sam was
fucking terrified, not only from the boy but from his own body’s reaction, the
way something inside him was reaching out, afraid but curious flames licking at
his skin wherever Dean touched him.
However he needed Dean to get away from him, or else his knees might give out
and he was going to collapse; so he opened his mouth and forced himself to
speak. “Please…please let go,” he panted, and his eyes flew open because when
the hell did he start panting?
“Good boy,” Dean praised, his voice deep with something Sam couldn’t recognize,
and pulled away. He let go of the other’s wrists and took a few steps back,
licking his lips. “Now that wasn’t that hard, was it?”
Sam didn’t answer, too busy clutching at his chest in hopes of slowing down his
heartbeat, and staring at a random spot on the carpet, refusing to look back at
that pervert. He did have to raise his gaze at one point, the silence that
followed too much for him to handle after a while, and when he did, Sam’s
uncertain eyes were met with Dean’s smiling one.
“Calmed down yet?” the boy asked, the grin Sam was expecting replaced by a
faint smile, something he wasn’t used to seeing on such a wicked individual.
He let out a small sigh and nodded, pushing himself away from the window and
bending one arm to grab at his own elbow nervously, digging his fingers in his
flesh.
“Great, then let’s not make the others wait any longer,” he said, beckoning Sam
as he walked out of the room, pausing at the door and waiting for him to catch
up, before continuing. Sam closed the door and followed Dean down the stairs
silently, ignoring the thoughts that kept prodding him, shoving them to the
very back of his mind and deciding to worry about them later. Right now, he
supposed he should focus on the people in the warehouse instead, in the middle
of stacking several weapons on the ping pong table, along with bags filled with
the sort of equipment Sam had no idea what they were for.
“Finally!” Benny exclaimed after he looked up from loading a pistol and spotted
them walking over to join him. He smiled at Sam, then looked at Dean, his smile
slowly curling into a grin. “I thought I wouldn’t get to see you two for a few
hours.”
Chuckling, Dean shook his head. “Tempting, but no. This job is more important
than…other things,” he said, casting a quick glance at Sam, who might have had
no idea what the hell they were talking about, but chose to live in blissful
oblivion instead of finding out.
“What are we going to do?” he found himself asking out of the blue, the amount
of guns and other things on the table unnerving him.
Benny flashed him an excited smile, then quickly looked at the other boy.
“Dean, why don’t you get me the cables from the armory while I break today down
for our padawan?” he suggested, pointing at the open door by the left
staircase. It was the only other door on that side, aside from the kitchen and
the rooms upstairs, and as Sam craned his neck to get a look at what was
inside, he wasn’t sure if he was even surprised when he noticed a freaking RPG
mounted on a wire screen wall.
“Sure,” the boy answered and was gone in an instant, walking and disappearing
in the room which was the armory. Sam was learning more and more about his new
home, but he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, making him wonder just what
could lie behind door number four. Yeah, nope—he was curious, but maybe not
that curious.
Benny waited until Dean was gone before he turned to the table, motioning at
the mess while looking at Sam. “Do you know what these are?”
Scratching his cheek, he stepped closer to the table and took a better look at
the clutter of weapons. Most were in foam cushions, lying snuggly in what he
first thought were simple gun cases, but now that he noticed the metal handles
on them, realized they were briefcases. Most were filled with guns Sam
recognized as submachine and machine guns, while others held row upon row of
bullets, both small and massive, some glinting in a strange silver color. There
were also two duffel bags on one corner of the table, but he could only see
some black helmets and something round and metallic sticking out of the bags.
He thought for a moment, trying to remember what John had taught him, then
nodded and began reciting names. “That one’s an MP5,” he said, pointing at a
black submachine gun in one of the suitcases, “and that’s an MG4. That one over
there is a TAR-21 and…this one is…” Sam frowned, glancing from the weapon to
Benny. “An AG36. It’s a grenade launcher.”
“Amazing,” the man said with a wide smile, seeming impressed. “I didn’t expect
for you to know them by heart like that.”
Sam shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit proud. “I know quite a lot about guns,” he
stated and watched as Benny picked up the gun he was loading not long ago,
weighting it in his hand, before holding it out for Sam.
“And this?” he asked, Sam knowing the answer ever since he laid eyes on the
stainless steel gun with its black leather grip.
“A Beretta M9.”
“Right on,” Benny said and winked at him, then stared at the gun in his hand
for a second before holstering it. “And we’ll be taking these guns across the
border, however not by car. We do things…a bit differently.”
Sam was about to ask just what exactly he meant by that, when Dean came
strolling back to the table with a long, rolled up steel cable in his hands,
then tossed it on top of one of the duffel bags with a huff.
“Damn, this thing is heavy,” he grumbled and stretched his back, his joints
popping audibly to what the boy let out a pleased sigh.
“It might be, but we’re needing it,” Benny remarked, before turning his head
back to Sam, who was feeling a tad bit confused. “So where was I? Oh right.
Yeah, so since the amount of stuff we usually smuggle makes it impossible for
us to use cars, we have come up with loads of other methods. Like this time,
we’re going to use this cable”—he nodded to the braided wires on the duffel—“to
go over the wall, and bring the guns with us.”
“Go over the wall?” Sam scowled at the man. “You mean like, climb over?”
Instead of Benny, it was the boy who answered, flashing a devious grin at him
as he said, “More like slide over.”
“Slide? What—” he began, but then remembered noticing the helmets in the bags,
and the penny dropped, Sam understanding what they were talking about. “Oh,” he
said and studied the metal object he couldn’t identify before. Yep, it was
definitely a carabiner. He might actually get to do something cool for once,
though maybe he shouldn’t get his hopes up, as however fun this might’ve
looked, it was also a part of some probably extremely dangerous plan.
“Alright, well if all’s clear, then let’s go,” Dean said, moving closer to the
table and starting to close the briefcases, but Sam wasn’t ready at all, so he
quickly searched his mind for a question, anything.
“Who’s coming? Will it only be the three of us?” he asked quickly, Dean
completely ignoring him as he took a hold of the closed briefcases and lifted
them off the table, before taking them outside.
Benny answered him, however he was also starting to follow the boy’s example,
zipping one of the duffel bags after stuffing the cable in it while he spoke.
“No, Raphael’s coming too. Well, he’s already on the way,” he said, then turned
completely to look at Sam and flashed him a smirk. “He will be waiting on the
other end of the wall, helping out until we’ve joined him. Now, help us load
the car, will you?”
He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and walked out after Dean, Sam only
allowed to enjoy a few seconds of alone time before the boy was back,
presumably for the rest of the briefcases. Sam quickly spun around and began
busying himself with the first thing that came under his hand, which happened
to be the other duffel bag.
“Won’t that be a bit heavy for you, kiddo?” Dean asked teasingly from next to
him, and yeah, it would probably be a bit too much for him, but since Sam had
already closed it, looking like someone who knew what he was doing, he didn’t
want to seem like an idiot by just giving up.
So he scoffed, feigning confidence. “No, I’m perfectly capable of handling it.
I’m not a kid anymore,” he stated, gripping the polyester webbing handles as he
pulled the bag toward himself and off the table.
Then grunted when it fell to the ground, bringing his hands with it.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean snickered, then began laughing when, after Sam
shot him a glare, he tried lifting the bag, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how
much he kept tugging at it.
“Shut up!” he growled, feeling his dignity shattering to pieces as he kicked
the bag, then grabbed a briefcase instead, giving up on that evil thing sitting
on the ground. “How about you take it, then? Do something useful instead of
just laughing there.”
“Aw sorry, did I hurt the missy’s feelings?” Dean cocked an eyebrow mockingly,
and Sam was really tempted to hurl the case in his hands at the boy’s face.
Really, really tempted.
“Boys, why don’t you stop flirting and take something to the car instead?”
Benny’s sudden voice caught his attention, Sam nodding and shooting a quick
glare Dean’s way before taking the briefcase he picked up outside.
That boy was such an ass. On a scale from one to ten, Sam would have given him
an eleven, then maybe even add a few zeros behind it for good measure. He
grumbled under his breath as he walked over to the van parked near the sliding
door, with its rear doors hanging open invitingly. Putting the metal briefcase
next the few ones already in the car, he was about to go back into the
warehouse when he saw Benny striding out, shooing him away with the hand that
wasn’t holding three more cases.
“We’ve got everything. Get in the car,” the man told him, Sam stepping aside
and letting him pass, then watching as he filled the van.
“Are we going right now?” he asked carefully, glancing up at the bright blue
sky, having to shield his eyes from the glaring sun that irradiated the meadow
and the houses, shining down at everything wherever Sam looked. “Wouldn’t doing
it in broad daylight be a bit too risky?”
“That’s why we’re doing it at night,” he heard Dean say from behind him.
Turning around, he saw the boy carrying the same duffel bag that had so cruelly
betrayed Sam, but was looking like it was light as a feather on Dean’s
shoulder. “The drive to the border we’ll be taking is gonna be long, some good
nine hours. So don’t worry, the sun will go down and you’ll be able to fulfill
your lifelong dream of playing Batman,” the boy said tauntingly, grinning like
a possum eating a sweet potato.
Sam snarled, glaring daggers at the self-satisfied looking boy, then flipped
him off to make sure Dean understood just how much he wasn’t appreciating his
witty comments. Without the boy looking like some hungry and bloodthirsty wolf,
backing him into corners and trying to strangle him, Sam wasn’t feeling that
scared of him anymore. He was still edgy and a little afraid, of course he was,
but with the way Dean kept teasing and mocking him like that, his annoyance
quickly surpassed any feelings of fear.
“Would you quit bickering like an old married couple and just get in the car
already?” Benny sighed, shutting the rear doors once Dean put the duffel
inside, then walked to the driver’s side and opened the door, not even waiting
for an answer before disappearing in the car.
“You heard the man,” Dean said with a shrug, opening the passenger side door,
but when Sam walked over to join him, the boy looked at him and raised his
eyebrows questioningly. “What? Wanna sit on my lap?”
Sam blinked up at him incredulously. “What? No, why would I?” he asked in
confusion, which was about when he realized that there were only two seats in
the car. Well yes, it wasn’t a passenger van, plus he’d already seen the inside
of one when he was locked in it not more than a few days ago. It even had the
same wire mesh separating the front from the back, Sam realizing with a sigh
that he would probably have to be the one to get squished in the back.
“Well, I wouldn’t know. You might be into that…” Dean grinned, and Sam had to
stop himself from flinching.
“Yeah uh, no thanks,” he said, quickly shaking his head and opening the sliding
door. Making sure not to trip over any of the briefcases, he climbed inside,
hearing the door closing behind him as soon as all of his body parts were
safely in the van.
“Everyone ready?” Benny asked once Dean was in the car as well, looking back
over his shoulder to glance at Sam through the wire screen. “You don’t need to
use the toilet, right?”
“You’re asking me that now?” Sam gaped at him, curling his fingers in the small
holes of his new, makeshift cage.
“Well, do you?”
“No,” he stated, though guessed that it wouldn’t really have mattered, because
they probably would’ve told him to just keep it in until they took a break or
something. Thankfully, he really didn’t have to pee yet, though he was feeling
a bit hungry as it was already lunchtime and he barely had any breakfast, but
he wasn’t going to mention that. He was going to be a strong warrior and take
it. Well, for as long as he could.
“Good. Then Sam Winchester,” Benny said with a broad smile, “welcome to your
very first job as a real smuggler. Don’t let us down, kid.”
Not sure how or what to answer to that, as he sure as hell wasn’t feeling even
half as excited as Benny looked, he just nodded and sat down, leaning back
against the wire and extending his legs. Why, oh why wouldn’t they let him sit
in a chair for once? He just knew he was going to get leg cramps like this,
unable to stifle his frustrated groan when he remembered how Dean said the
drive would take nine hours. And there weren’t even any windows back here, so
Sam wouldn’t even be able to distract himself by looking out the glass at other
cars and whatnot.
Oh yes, he knew this was going to be a fun ride.
                                       —
He didn’t have a watch on him, so when he asked for the time and realized that
only two hours have passed, Sam felt like whining.
He tried sitting cross-legged or on his knees, lying on his back or side, but
no matter what kind of position he chose, it always ended up becoming
uncomfortable after a while. The floor of the van wasn’t carpeted, the hard
plastic it was made of rendering it completely impossible for Sam to sit still
for more than an hour. And sometimes, in those rare moments when he laid down
and closed his eyes, finding a position that wasn’t hurting yet, a sharp turn
always managed to knock some of the briefcases over, resulting in them
attacking a peaceful Sam.
Now, too, he was rubbing his jaw after it collided with the solid steel. No
matter how many times he pushed those damned briefcases away, they just kept
coming back, so now he decided to rearrange the duffels and make them form a
wall, keeping him safe from the vicious cases’ onslaught. He leaned back
against the wire with a sigh, raising one knee to his chest while extending the
other leg, then rested his chin on his knee, listening to the conversation
going on in the front.
“All I’m saying is that we’re on time, so those few minutes wouldn’t really
matter,” Dean said, and Sam heard the other man groan.
Dean has been trying to persuade Benny to stop and let them grab some grub,
because he was “starving and needing my daily dose of something greasy and
unhealthy”. But the man was having none of it, shutting Dean up over and over
again, and now the boy was becoming so frustrated his voice resembled
suspiciously a sulking kid’s.
“How many, just how many goddamn times do I have to tell you to wait a bit
longer?” Benny asked in irritation. “You’re the only one here who’s hungry, and
I’m not stopping just for that!” he declared sternly, then before Dean could’ve
whined some more, Sam’s eardrums nearly exploded as the man suddenly turned up
the volume, the loud music blasting from the stereo and successfully drowning
the other’s voice out.
Sam smirked to himself. Serves that jerk right. He could’ve starved to death
for all Sam cared; at least the world would be rid of one of the many viruses
inhabiting it, just one less criminal to worry about. Then he wasn’t all that
happy anymore as he felt a finger jabbing at the back of his head, Sam turning
around to find the boy poking at him through one of the many holes in the mesh.
“Hey, you’re hungry too, right?” Dean asked, it sounding more like an order
than a question, and wiggled his finger closer, trying to poke him again, but
Sam was quick to move away from the insistent digit.
And while he was actually starting to feel a bit hungry, he chose to listen to
the little devil on his shoulder instead, grinning inwardly as his raised his
eyebrows at the boy. “Nope, not at all,” he lied, enjoying the way Dean’s
shoulders slouched. Then his eye narrowed and he grabbed the wire screen, Sam
not particularly scared of him this time thanks to the wire wall between them
that protected him from the annoyed male.
“Yes you are. You’re just lying, aren’t you? Little shit, doing it on purpose…”
Dean growled, and the intimidating glint in his strikingly green eye would have
no doubt worked, if not for the mesh that Sam was more and more grateful for.
So he just shrugged, this time letting the grin show on his face as he wiggled
away from the makeshift fence, putting some more distance between the two of
them just in case. “Sorry about that. Guess you’ll just have to starve. What a
shame.”
Baring his teeth at him, Dean tightened his hold on the wires. “Really? You
wanna play tough guy now? Just wait until this thing’s gone from between us,
see how funny you’ll be then,” he hissed threateningly, and Sam’s stomach
dropped. Crap, he didn’t think of that. He let himself get carried away,
enjoying Dean’s suffering way too much, and completely forgot about the
consequences. Oh god, he hoped he wouldn’t beat him up.
Who was he kidding; the boy was probably going to choke some sense into him,
like the last time Sam did something stupid.
Looking away from Dean, he scurried over to the duffel bags and chose the
lighter one out of the two to serve as his new pillow, Sam hopefully not ending
up stabbing his eyeballs out by accident. He laid down and, after a while,
found a relatively soft spot where he could lay his head, letting out a pleased
sigh when nothing hard and sharp decided to give his skull a not-so-friendly
little poke. Using the bag as a pillow was much better than the cold and hard
floor, and he could feel himself relax right away, not even minding the loud
music as he closed his eyes.
Some more hours passed like this, with Sam finally taking something that
could’ve been called a nap, and Benny turning the volume down after a while,
presumably when he was certain that Dean had learned his lesson and wouldn’t
start throwing a hissy fit. Then just when Sam was about to fall asleep, his
body heavy like stone and feeling his mind drifting into unconsciousness, the
van pulled to a stop and the doors opened loudly, startling him awake.
Rubbing his eyes, he got into a sitting position and watched as the door on the
side of the van slid open, Sam squinting into the sudden light until his eyes
got used to it and then feeling all the sleep leave his body and mind when he
realized the person standing outside was Dean.
He looked like he was about to say something, but then Benny walked up to him
and pointed at the building next to which the van was parked. “I checked and
there aren’t any cops nearby, but don’t take half an hour ordering, capiche?”
he told Dean, who nodded before looking back at Sam and extending a hand toward
him.
“Wanna get out of your carriage, princess?” he said teasingly, offering his
hand for Sam to take, but the younger boy remained in the van and looked at
Benny instead.
“Can’t he go alone?” he asked hopefully, as the least time he spent with Dean,
the safer he was. He really didn’t want to return to the warehouse with some
teeth and an ear missing.
But the man shook his head. “Someone needs to keep watch on you, and I’ll be
busy having my eyes on the cargo to babysit you. No, you’ll go with Dean, and I
suggest you do it fast because we don’t have much time to waste. We’re on a
schedule, boys.”
He glanced between the two males, then just gave up and climbed out of the van,
batting Dean’s hand away when he tried to help him. Benny slid the door closed,
then instead of a wallet, he took out a whole stack of bills, the money kept in
place by a rubber band.
He took a hold of some and pulled them out, before handing them over to Dean
and nodding toward the building. “Hurry up.”
“Don’t worry. If anything, I’ll scare my way to the front,” the boy said with a
small grin as he tapped his eyepatch, then quickly pocketed the money before
turning to Sam. “Come on then, kiddo.”
He narrowed his eyes at the boy as they began walking. “You know, last time I
checked, you were like eighteen or something. So you don’t get to call me
that,” he pointed out, annoyed. “Can’t you call me by my name? Or—or you know
what? Just stop talking to me altogether.”
Dean rolled his eye. “Nothing works for you, does it? Always complaining,
bitchy about everything; boohoo. Anyway, I might be eighteen, but that also
means that I’m older than you,” he stated with a smirk. “So that gives me every
right to call you kiddo, kiddo.”
“It does not when you’re a kid too!” Sam protested, hoping he didn’t sound like
some whining kid himself. God, this boy brought out the worst in him.
“Oh, I’m not a kid,” Dean said, his voice suddenly low and somewhat playful as
he glanced down at his own body, before locking eyes with Sam and grinning.
“Not at all.”
Blinking and scowling at the other, it took Sam approximately five seconds to
get what he was talking about, but when he did, he could feel his cheeks flush
in discomfort and maybe a bit of embarrassment. “Yeah, okay, I don’t wanna
know,” he muttered, then quickly grabbed the door handle now that they’ve
finally reached the building, and turned it.
There weren’t that many people in the fast food restaurant, an information Sam
was really glad to note as it meant less time with this weirdo. The smell of
fries and oil hit him first, followed by the confusing sound of chatter, of
ongoing conversations between the costumers sitting in booths with bright red
seats, or those standing in line and explaining how many extra bacon they
wanted in their burgers. And while this must have been a completely ordinary
sight to everyone, it was all new for Sam. He had only seen restaurants like
this through television programs, this being the very first time he set foot in
a real one, and it was pretty impressive. The smell was overbearing and the
noise could get a bit annoying after some time, and when he walked the floor
was sticky under his feet at some places, but it was still a sight to behold
for him, something new and interesting.
While he was busy discovering his surroundings, Dean had already joined the
shortest line, and by the time Sam was done feeling mesmerized and walked over
to the boy, he was talking to the employee on the other side of the counter.
“And can I get that in large? Like double bacon, double cheese?” Dean asked
with an innocent smile on his face, the woman he was talking to frowning in
confusion, but then nodding.
“Sure. Would you like fries with that?” she asked in return, visibly trying not
to stare at the boy’s eyepatch.
“Oh yeah. One of those large chili-cheese fries, please,” he said, his eager
smile growing when he looked down at Sam, who was wondering how Dean wasn’t
rolling like a bowling ball on his belly yet instead of walking from all of
this food he was ingesting. “What do you want?”
Sam looked up at the menu hanging from the ceiling, deep in thought. This would
most probably be the first and last time he’d get to eat food from a place such
as this one, so he wanted to choose wisely. After a few moments of silence, he
settled on a simple double cheeseburger. You could never go wrong with an oldie
but goodie.
“A double cheeseburger, no fries,” he said, then after noticing something from
the corner of his eye, added, “and an iced green tea.”
The woman nodded and while Dean paid for their orders, Sam looked
absentmindedly at the special offers and discounts hanging from walls, reading
them as he waited. His attention was soon caught by the sudden commotion to his
left, Sam leaning away from the counter to get a better look at what was going
on. A man—most of his hair gone but still managing to sport a rather long
beard—was yelling at an employee behind the counter, slamming his plate full of
food down on the hard surface and ranting like a maniac.
“Have you failed math class? Do you even know how many fingers I’m holding up?”
he sputtered, raising a hand with four fingers extended. “Four, you moron! Four
means four, not three and a half! And when I ask for four stripes of bacon, I
expect to be eating exactly four of them!”
“Sir, I can assure you that we have put four in your burger,” the guy who
couldn’t have been more than twenty said, a bit taken aback but trying to keep
his cool, which wasn’t that easy with a man about to Hulk out shouting at him.
“Maybe you just accidentally ate it?”
Sam winced silently when the man pounded his fist on the counter, fat veins
bulging in his neck and temple as he leaned forward. “Do you take me for a
fool, boy?! I didn’t fucking eat it, you lowbred little shit! Where’s your
boss? I demand to—”
“Nah, I’m pretty sure that a pig like you wouldn’t even realize if it’d swallow
a whole barn,” Dean spat all of a sudden, Sam gaping at the smirking boy and
wondering if he’d completely lost his mind. Weren’t they supposed to keep a low
profile or something?
“What did you just say to me?!” The man turned to face Dean, his face red from
anger and his fists shaking from the force he was clenching them. Swallowing
nervously, Sam took a step back just in case, feeling like he should probably
warn Dean not to do anything that stupid, but it was obvious that no matter
what he’d say to him, the boy was bent on pissing off the already infuriated
man.
“Oh sorry, could you not understand me?” Dean raised an eyebrow at the man, his
smirk widening and turning into a grin. “Guess human speech is just too
complicated for your kind, huh?”
“Watch your fucking mouth, Blackbeard, or pretty soon you won’t have one!” he
growled threateningly, taking a step toward Dean, who just stood in place and
kept grinning at the fuming man.
“Why, will you eat that too?” he asked, then before the man could have lunged
at him, Dean stepped aside and punched him so hard that he doubled over, before
simply falling to his knees on the floor. “Oink oink, mate.”
The man glared up at him with bloodshot eyes. “Y-You little…!”
Then Dean slugged him in the face, breaking his nose, and suddenly the man was
quiet again.
“Damn it, stop,” Sam hissed, glancing around the room full of people staring at
them, some in awe or panic, while others seemed like they would be happy to
join in on the fight.
Dean just shrugged, turning away from the man on the floor and picking up the
bags of food that had materialized on the counter in front of them. “Thanks,”
he told the woman, who was looking at him with wide eyes, then gave her a
flirtatious wink before shoving one of the bags in Sam’s hands and walking out
of the building.
Once they were both outside and walking back to the car with quick, long
strides, Sam shot him a glare. “What the hell was that for?”
“Cool, wasn’t I?” Dean asked, flashing him a smug grin. “The day’s hero.”
Sam snorted, unable to believe that the boy just referred to himself as a
bloody hero. “I’m not the professional here, but I really don’t think that was
a great idea. You don’t just beat random people up whenever you like it, even
if they are being jerks.”
“You’re right,” he said, nodding as they reached the car, “you’re not the
professional one. So your opinion is invalid.”
Frustrated, Sam glared at the back of Dean’s head as he opened the passenger
seat door, but said nothing. He wasn’t going to start an argument over
something like that, especially not with someone who behaved like a damn five
years old, obstinate and a complete jerk when things didn’t go his way. So he
just slid his door open and climbed in the van, hoping that Dean’s little
outburst of questionable heroism wouldn’t come back and bite them in the ass.
Or maybe it should. That would teach that idiot a lesson, maybe even open up an
opportunity for Sam to disappear while they weren’t looking.
“What took you so long?” Benny asked as Dean handed one of the bags over to
him. “Did you order a whole elephant?”
“No, but he beat one up,” Sam muttered, letting the words fall from his lips
before he could have had the time to think them over, to stop them.
“What?” the man demanded, looking from Sam to Dean.
The boy froze in his seat, turning his head to glare menacingly at Sam, who
gave him a rather awkward and innocent smile. Oops.
Rolling his eye, Dean shook his head. “It was nothing. Just gave an asshole
what he deserved, that’s all,” he said nonchalantly.
“Well I really hope so,” was all Benny said, letting out a tired sigh, then
stretched and shifted in his seat, before starting the ignition. “Alright, give
the kid his food and let’s get a going. We’ve wasted enough time already.”
“Actually…” Dean began, glancing back at Sam and he really didn’t like the look
in the boy’s eye. “I think I’ll keep our little rookie company.”
“What?” Sam blurted, his eyes widening as he watched Dean hop out of his seat
and slam the door shut, then open and close the sliding door on the side of the
van as he crawled inside the large compartment area.
“As long as you don’t get food or other stuff all over the cargo, you two can
have fun back there,” Benny said indifferently, something in his voice making
Sam shudder, then the car was moving and they were on the road again, however
this time he was sure that he wasn’t going to get anything even remotely close
to rest.
At least not while trapped in an enclosed space with an animal.
Sam slid back until he was pressed into the left side of the van, pulling up
his knees and trying to appear as small as possible while watching Dean with
cautious eyes. The boy was sitting cross-legged not far from him, checking the
bags, then casually hurled one of them at Sam, who barely had time to catch it
in mid-air before it could’ve smashed him in the face.
“Aw yeah, come to papa,” Dean mumbled as he pulled out the burger he ordered,
which was giant. It really looked like they shoved a whole cow in that burger,
Sam gaping at the boy when he simply opened his mouth wide and stuffed like
half of the food inside.
“What are you…?” Sam blinked incredulously at the other, then furrowed his brow
when Dean tried to speak with his mouth full. Not particularly curious about
the boy’s surely unimportant answer, he opened his own bag and unwrapped the
paper from around his cheeseburger, making a silent sound of appreciation when
the food entered his mouth. Yeah, okay, so maybe he was starving after all.
“First of all,” he heard Dean say when the boy was done chewing, “hungry. All
thanks to you, I might add. Also, I love burgers and I’ve never let their size
stop me before, and today won’t be the day I’ll be defeated.”
“You say that like that burger has some sort of vendetta against you,” Sam
mentioned between bites of his own food, only managing to relax a bit.
“Sometimes it feels like it,” Dean said with a smirk, licking his lips as he
pulled out a fry, a string of melted cheese connecting it to the rest of the
fried slices of potatoes as he raised it to his lips and popped it in his
mouth.
Sam pulled a face and went back to destroying his own burger. He never liked
fries; they were always too greasy and oily for him, and the ones Dean bought
looked even worse, all gooey and disgusting from the excessive amount of cheese
on them.
It seemed like Dean had noticed the look on his face, though, because in the
next moment he was moving closer, Sam raising his gaze from his food to frown
at the suddenly sly-looking boy. “What?” he asked when the other stopped in
front of him, kneeling as he placed the bag with his half-eaten burger in it on
the floor, and raising the paper box filled with the fries as if presenting it
to Sam.
“Want some?” Dean picket up a cheese coated fry and wiggled it between his
fingers, chuckling when Sam made a disgusted face and shook his head.
“Hell no,” he said while moving a bit to the side. “There’s a reason why I
didn’t get any fries. Get that thing away from me.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t bite,” Dean teased him, crawling after Sam before
grabbing his knee with his free hand after he put the box next to the bag,
keeping the younger boy in place.
“Well I won’t either,” Sam stated, trying to kick the boy, but suddenly Dean
spread his legs with a violent push to his knee and crawled between them. His
eyes widening at the sudden closeness, Sam stared at the other, speechless for
the longest moment as Dean grinned at him wickedly, his free hand sliding up
from where it gripped his knee all the way up to his face.
“C’mon Sammy,” Dean said, using a low and somewhat hypnotic tone as he cupped
Sam’s chin and lifted that stupid fry to his lips, poking his bottom lip with
it. “Open up wide for me.”
He tried to move his head, but as soon as he did, Dean’s hand was there to take
a hold of his jaw, his hold immediately tightening as his fingers dug into the
nervous boy’s skin. Damn, he was doing it again. Why couldn’t he go a day
without harassing Sam? Was it really that freaking hard for Dean not to touch
him, to leave him alone for at least a few hours? Sam gritted his teeth,
refusing to open his mouth even though he knew he should. It would be over way
faster that way, but he didn’t want to give this boy the satisfaction of seeing
him behave obediently. Which he knew was kinda stupid because he had already
been humiliated by Dean before, but still, he just couldn’t.
So he narrowed his eyes, putting up a determined and ballsy front as he glared
at Dean, hoping he would get bored and give up, but knowing the boy, that
probably wasn’t going to happen.
“It’s just a fry,” Dean continued, “it won’t hurt you like I will if you don’t
open your mouth right now.”
The look in his eye said he was serious. Dean would seriously beat him up over
something like this, and that realization sent a terrified chill down Sam’s
spine. He thought he was doing well, slowly getting used to the boy’s weird,
aggressive and scary behavior, but no. No, Sam was still the same, his own body
betraying him as his hands shook where they were clenched into fists at his
sides, his eyes slightly wide and losing the glare in them as he parted his
lips and let Dean push the fry past them, into his mouth. He watched Sam,
didn’t take his one eye off him as the younger boy chewed on the food while
keeping a relatively straight face, then smirked when he swallowed it down.
“Good, wasn’t it?” he asked with that devious smirk etched onto his face, but
Sam didn’t answer, averting his eyes and just glad that it was over. But his
relief was too quick, way too goddamn quick; because then Dean was raising his
fingers that held the fry between them a few seconds ago to Sam’s lips, leaning
closer and whispering, “Now lick them clean.”
“W-What?” he asked in shock, couldn’t stop his surprised voice even if he
wanted to. No way he heard Dean right, no, Sam must have imagined it because
there was no way the boy just told him to…
“You heard me,” Dean purred, tapping his index finger against Sam’s lips. “I
want you to take them in your mouth and clean ‘em with your tongue, Sammy.”
Okay, yeah—Dean has definitely gone nuts.
“No,” he refused immediately, ready to bite off any finger that tried to get
inside his mouth.
The boy chuckled, low and something else not quite right, and squeezed Sam’s
jaw tighter. “I’ve gotta do everything by force with you, don’t I?”
He would have wanted to say something, maybe tell Dean to go fuck himself, but
didn’t open his mouth in fear of accidentally granting access to it. He stayed
silent, shooting a weak glare at the boy and clenching his jaw as hard as he
could; but then Dean’s fingertips sank into his skin and it hurt, damn it hurt,
and Sam made a small sound and squeezed his eyes shut, trying so hard to keep
his mouth closed, but it hurt.
He gasped as two fingers got shoved into his mouth when Dean forced his jaw
apart, eyes wide and staring at the boy. He tried to bite down on the merciless
digits, but Dean was keeping his jaw open, digging his fingers between his
teeth as he squeezed his jaw, so when Sam tried to close his mouth all he
managed to achieve was to bite the inside of his cheek, which wasn’t all that
pleasant, so he gave up. Then he was trembling in frustration and making
protesting sounds as the fingers played with his tongue, poking and circling
and sliding alongside it, sometimes making him gag when they slipped too far
back.
And then Dean was talking and suddenly, Sam’s whole face was burning.
“Such sweet sounds you’re making for me, so wet and dirty,” he whispered
deeply, biting down on his lower lip while watching, as if mesmerized, as his
fingers slipped in and out of Sam’s mouth when he began moving them back and
forth. “Does it taste good, Sammy? Why don’t you try licking them by yourself?”
He hoped so bad it wasn’t a whimper he made, but knowing his luck, it most
probably was. Lowering his panicked eyes, he quickly regretted doing so when he
saw Dean’s fingers glistening with saliva as they moved in his mouth. He
shuddered, trying to somehow push the fingers out with his tongue but it
obviously didn’t work, Sam actually just making things worse as the effort
caused some of his saliva to trickle down his chin. It was too much, the sound
of the slip and slide of the digits around his wet flesh making him want to
just start sobbing from utter embarrassment. The initial salty taste from them
was gone, now just tasting like skin, like a pair of fucking fingers in his
mouth, and Sam couldn’t do anything about it, the hopelessness mixed with the
humiliation and embarrassment driving him into a frenzy.
His previously frozen body—stiff and tense from shock and all the other
emotions forming a whirlpool in his mind—moved, Sam forcing his shaking hands
to grab Dean’s wrists and yank the fingers out of his mouth. He sank his nails
deep in the other’s flesh, writhing and shaking his head, this newfound energy
helping him to knee Dean in the side before kicking him away and crawling to
the very end of the van, climbing over the duffel bags and briefcases like a
frantic animal.
He wiped his chin and mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, panting heavily as he
squatted down behind one of the briefcases and watched Dean from there. He
watched as the boy groaned while rubbing his side, then wiped his wet fingers
on his pants before sitting down with his back leaned against the wire screen,
facing Sam and flashing a twisted grin at the shocked boy.
“You’re so much fun,” he said with a laugh, then picked up his neglected bag
and box of food, and just went back to eating as if nothing happened.
Sam’s food was there too, on the floor not far from Dean, but hell no was he
going to go back there for probably the rest of the ride. He wasn’t going to
move from this spot, leave the safety of the duffel wall, not even if he was
going to get hungry again.
He turned around and sat down with his back to Dean, the sight alone of the boy
making him want to punch something—preferably him. Poking his tongue out, he
grimaced. He really wanted to drink some of the iced tea to get rid of the
taste of Dean’s fingers, but that wasn’t going to happen.
The hell was that? No, seriously, what the hell? Sam ruffled his hair and
hugged his knees to his chest, trying real hard not to think about the past few
minutes. He failed, the memories floating in front of his mind’s eyes and
making him cringe. He gripped the denim of his pants and rested his forehead on
his knees. Okay, so Dean was an even bigger pervert than he thought. That was
fine, really, as long as he didn’t pester Sam. But he did, it seeming as if the
boy’s newest mission in life was to make him as uncomfortable as possible with
all his teasing and harassing. And Sam needed to do something about it. He
couldn’t keep on just taking it, too afraid to even react because Dean scared
him. He needed to put up a fight, damn it, not surrender and let that…that one-
eyed freak toy with him as if he had every right to it.
Also, he needed to stop getting so worked up each time something like this
happened. He was over-thinking everything and it was starting to take a toll on
his mental state.
God, this was so confusing. He was confusing himself for no reason, with all
these confusing thoughts and emotions that made everything just so…confusing.
Groaning, he let himself fall to his side, curling into a ball and using his
arm as a makeshift pillow. Whatever, there was no use worrying about Dean now.
Or ever, really. Sam shouldn’t even waste his precious time worrying over
someone like that. He was just a big tease, a complete asshole, who Sam swore
to himself he was going to beat up once. He wasn’t sure when exactly, but he
planned on making the boy get a taste of his own medicine, real soon.
For now, he was just going to ignore him and plan for revenge, which was a dish
served cold, after all.
 
***** A First Time For Everything *****
 
A few more hours, and they arrived at their destination.
To his surprise, after around half an hour of silent treatment, Dean threw
Sam’s food and drink over to him. It was a considerate action, the boy’s smile
when Sam looked at him even holding the possibility to be mistaken with
friendly, but he wasn’t going to be fooled. So he just huffed and finished both
his food and drink with his back still turned toward Dean.
His annoyance died down, however did not disappear, by the time the car
stopped.
“Alright happy campers, we’re here,” he heard Benny say before he saw him
sliding the door open and beckoning to both of them. “Let’s do this.”
“About time,” Dean grumbled as he got out of the van, soon followed by Sam, who
then looked about himself curiously.
Just as Dean said, the sun had set and was now replaced by the moon, its half-
crescent shape high in the black, starless sky and illuminating the border with
its weak rays of light. The van was parked next to a large building, not too
far from the solid cement wall that was the border, and Sam wondered if they
really were going to use a zip line to cross it.
“So…how are we supposed to do this?” he asked nervously, ripping his gaze from
the cement giant to look at Benny instead, who had taken out one of the wider
briefcases from the van and was now placing it on the ground, opening it and
pulling out what Sam was pretty sure was a sniper rifle.
“Well, first we’ve gotta take care of the guards,” the man said as he screwed a
silencer on the gun, before standing up and walking over to Sam. “And for that,
we’ll need a decoy.”
“That’ll be me,” Dean stated, flashing a mischievous grin at them as he slowly
made his way over to the corner of the building. He peeked out from behind the
wall, nodded, then looked back over his shoulder and motioned for Benny to join
him. The man did and, curiosity getting the better of him, Sam followed him.
They stopped next to Dean, the boy tapping Sam’s shoulder to get his attention,
then pointed at something behind the building.
“Look,” he said, stepping aside to let the other get a proper look, “we’ll be
taking that.”
Sam shuffled closer, hugging the wall as he peered around the corner. A good
hundred feet from them was a security watchtower, right next to the border. It
was really high, with many sets of stairs leading to the top, the small cabin
there bathed in light coming from inside. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw
a shape move in the cabin, so he squinted and strained his eyes, and sure
enough, after some moments of waiting and watching carefully, the guard inside
moved, this time joined by another.
Withdrawing from the wall, Sam looked at the smugglers. “How many are there?”
“Only those two,” Benny answered, taking Sam’s place at the corner and getting
down on one knee. He then looked back at Dean and nodded to the tower.
“Alright, do it.”
“Do what?” Sam asked, really not liking not knowing things beforehand.
The boy winked at him. “Magic,” he said with a grandiose bow, before backing
away and into the open. He then turned around and began limping, Sam watching
with a frown on his face as Dean made some small grunting sounds while
performing a rather amusing dying swan act.
They merely had to wait for maybe a minute or two before the guards noticed
him. A bright light was shone on the suffering boy, and Sam crouched down next
to Benny to watch as one of the guards exited the cabin and moved over to the
telescope standing on the edge of the wooden balcony. He gazed into it,
probably curious what that wriggling thing on the ground—as Dean had decided to
pretend he was suddenly having a seizure, however looking more like a rabid
caterpillar than a sick person—was, and Benny chose that moment to place the
butt of the rifle on his shoulder and take aim.
Sam’s eyes widened, the realization of what was about to happen sinking in, and
he barely had time to look away before he heard the muffled sound of the weapon
firing.
He stared at the ground, not wanting to watch as Benny murdered the poor
guards, but not seeing didn’t mean he lost his hearing as well. It all happened
so fast, he didn’t have time to clasp his hands over his ears to stop the
sounds of shouting and the dull thud that he was pretty sure belonged to the
guard’s body hitting the ground. Then there was more shouting, followed by the
sound of glass breaking and some more gunshots, and then nothing. The silence
made Sam slowly and hesitantly raise his gaze to Benny, who was already
standing up and grabbing his arm, dragging him to his feet as well.
“Come on, we need to hurry,” the man told him, before pulling Sam back to the
van and throwing the sniper rifle in the back. He took a hold of two of the
briefcases and shoved them against the slightly confused boy’s chest, then
picked up one of the duffel bags and threw it over his shoulder.
Making sure that the cases didn’t fall out of his hands, Sam backed away from
the van just as Dean jogged over to join them. “Couldn’t you have, maybe,
avoided shooting the damned glass?” he said with an irritated frown on his
face, going to grab some of the briefcases and the other duffel bag.
“Did your other eye fail to function too? Dean, the guy was about to call it
in,” Benny contended as he took out the rest of the cases and then shut the
backdoors. He turned toward Dean and gave him a stern look. “If I wouldn’t have
shot him, we’d all be knee deep in shit right now.”
Dean kept staring at the man for a short moment, then let out some sort a mix
of a grunt and a sigh as he turned around. “Fine, whatever. Let’s hope the
sound didn’t alert anyone,” he grumbled and began marching toward the
watchtower with long and rapid steps, casting a brief glance at Sam’s way when
he walked past him. “What are you standing around for? Hurry your ass up!” he
barked, and Sam didn’t need to be asked twice.
He gripped the cold handles tighter, feeling his nervousness growing with each
step he took toward the watchtower. It only got worse when his eyes caught a
glimpse of something sprawled on the ground near the tower, his stomach
churning and Sam feeling himself go a bit weak at the knees when he realized it
was one of the guards. And the closer they got, the more clearly he could see
the body—the pool of blood spreading around its head, the way its limbs were
twisted like a wooden puppet’s, the hole in its forehead, and those unfocused
eyes, open and staring at nothing anymore. He was dead, making Sam remember
just who these people he had joined were.
Murderers, cold-blooded and uncaring, the sort that Sam always loved reading
about, but despised in real life. This life wasn’t meant for him, he knew that
from the very start, but now as he walked past the cooling corpse of a man who
was still alive just a few minutes ago, he was even more certain that he
wouldn’t survive a life like this. A life of a smuggler, killing innocents here
and there whenever it was convenient. No, he wouldn’t be able to take that,
already feeling sick to his stomach and suddenly the fear was back. Because it
was so easy to pretend, to forget who these people were while they were in the
warehouse and acted more or less normal, but now? Out in the world, taking
lives as if it was the most normal thing to do? Sam was beginning to feel the
first signs of horror creep back into him, now that he had finally forgotten
about it.
But getting scared now was pointless. He took a deep breath, let the fresh
outside air fill his lungs and forced himself to calm down. He could freak out
after the mission, but right now he had bigger fish to fry.
For example getting to the top of the watchtower without fainting.
“God, how far does this thing go…?” he asked quietly, his hands hurting from
the effort he was gripping the metal handles. They were going up the stairs
now, first Dean, then Sam, and bringing up the rear was Benny. And he was
trying to look ahead most of the time, as whenever he looked down, all he saw
was the long and growing drop through the gridded stairs, but that wasn’t such
an easy thing to do with Sam nearly tripping every time he looked away from his
feet. And then the wind began picking up as they neared the top, and Sam hated
his life.
“Not far, come on,” he heard Dean say from in front of him, his voice slightly
hushed by a gust of chilly wind. Sure enough, after a few more turns of
ascending stairs, they were finally at the top, the wooden floorboards creaking
under their feet as they gathered on the balcony, but Sam wasn’t feeling any
safer. If anything, it was worse up here; and when they walked into the cabin
where it was nice and a bit warmer, his relief was pretty short lived as he
noticed the second dead guard lying on the floor and surrounded by tiny glass
shards.
Immediately ripping his gaze from the corpse and looking anywhere but the limp
body not too far from him, Sam glanced around the cabin. It was filled with
machines he couldn’t recognize, aside from the wide radio set taking up half of
the space at one of the walls and what he was pretty sure was a fax machine.
There were also some computers in one corner, and a big screen with a green
circle in it, beeping each time a narrow line that was constantly moving glided
across some dots, making Sam wonder how the guards didn’t notice them sooner if
they even had a freaking radar.
“Alright, you guys go to the other side,” Benny said, his voice piercing the
sudden silence that had descended on the room.
Dean nodded and walked back to the door, pausing just while he raised an
eyebrow at Sam and flashed him a cocky grin. “You comin’ or what?”
Sam looked from one male to the other, before putting down the briefcases next
to the pile where Benny and Dean already had placed theirs, and nodded. “Uh
yeah, I am,” he muttered as he reluctantly left the cabin, his heart
immediately hammering like a school bell in his chest and threatening to go
AWOL on him as soon as he was back on the balcony. He didn’t even know he had a
fear of heights, but now that he did, he really, really wanted to get off this
tower and maybe run as far away from it as possible.
The balcony had a wider area where the door to the cabin was, but it also
snaked around the small room, a narrow wooden path running along the cabin
walls with some rather unsteady-looking railings on the side. And of course,
they had to use the aforementioned wooden path of nightmares to get to the
other side, Sam not even daring to touch the surely wobbly rails and just
pressing close to the wall as they walked around the cabin. Once on the other
side, he noticed that Benny had opened one of the windows on this side and was
now in the middle of securing something to the ceiling.
“Pretty cool, right?” He suddenly heard Dean’s voice from next to him, Sam
slowly turning to look at him while pressing his back close to the wall, really
not feeling like moving from this spot.
“If you’re talking about the weather, then sure. If you’re talking about the
situation?” Sam let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. “Nope.”
Dean chuckled and moved closer to him, Sam tensing then leaning away when the
boy petted his head. “Come on, when do you ever get to do something like this?”
he asked, grinning excitedly as he pointed at the border in front of them.
“It’s like we’re in an action movie.”
Well, Sam certainly couldn’t argue with that. He gazed out into the darkness
and at the large and solid wall of the border not far from them. It was
actually only a few feet from this side of the watchtower, a bit lower than the
cabin but still high enough to seem imposing. That made him wonder how they
were supposed to get over it, as they couldn’t possibly jump it without
breaking at least both their legs, maybe even their necks. Then he remembered
that they were going to use a cable, but that wasn’t making much sense either,
because for them to zip line their way across the border, they’d need another
building conveniently placed on the other side, and aside from a run-down
structure some good forty feet from them, there was nothing they could’ve used.
Swallowing nervously and hoping, really hoping that his suspicions wouldn’t
prove to be correct, Sam extended an arm and pointed at the smaller building on
their far right. “We’re not going use that, are we…?”
But Dean’s smirk crushed all of his hopes, the boy just nodding and looking
real pleased with himself when Sam’s shoulders slouched in defeat. “Yep, we
are. It will be a long and pretty steep ride down to the other side, but don’t
worry,” he said, his one eye never leaving the other’s face as he winked. “I’ll
catch you.”
“I think I’ll just fall to my death instead, thanks,” Sam mumbled and eased
away from the boy, folding his arms when Dean just laughed.
“Alright, this beauty’s ready to go,” Benny said as he popped his head through
the open window and threw the cable that was now connected to the ceiling onto
the balcony, then handed something that looked like a grappling hook with a
small piece of rope to Dean.
When the boy saw Sam frowning, he raised the hook and the cable and flashed him
a smile. “We need to get the cable to the other side somehow. Don’t worry, it
might not look like it,” he said as he slipped the rope in a hole at the end of
the thick cable and then did the same thing to the hole at the base of the
hook, “but it’s sturdy.”
Sam had his doubts about that as he watched Dean tie the grappling hook on the
end of the cable, then his jaw fell open and he gaped at the boy when he hopped
on the open window and used it to climb onto the roof of the cabin in the blink
of an eye.
“The hell is he doing?” Sam asked in awe, unable to see Dean anymore but
noticing how the cable was being pulled up to the roof.
Benny, who was still inside the cabin and watching the ascent of the cable from
there, shrugged. “Trying to be a smartass. I told him we’d need that grappling
hook shooter to get the cable across, but no, he insisted on doing it by
himself,” the man said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Show-off.”
“Huh…” Sam made sure to keep his hands on the wall as he backed away a bit, but
still couldn’t see what was going on up there on the roof. He could hear the
whizz of something being spun in the air after a while though, then suddenly
the cable was flying through the air, Sam whipping his head around to watch it
soar past the border wall and barely reach the building on the other side. He
squinted and strained his eyes, watching as the grappling hook clonked against
the roof of the building then nearly slid off the edge, but a dark figure
suddenly shot out from behind the roof door and grabbed it before it could’ve
fallen.
The cable was then being pulled and stretched tight, presumably getting
attached to something on the other building. Dean jumped down from the roof
with a loud thud, Sam cringing when the boy’s feet hit the wood, relieved that
idiot didn’t make the whole balcony collapse under them thanks to his daring
little stunt.
“So, what now?” Sam asked, then took a few steps back as Benny began tossing
the briefcases and the duffels through the window, Dean catching and lowering
them gently to the ground each time.
“Now,” Benny said, or more like grunted as then he himself climbed out through
the window, which wasn’t such a majestic sight, Sam actually having to stifle a
laugh, “we’ll slide across the border like a bunch of ninjas.”
“But how are we supposed to take the weapons with us?” He frowned, feeling a
bit confused again, because he just couldn’t see how they were supposed to
carry some briefcases full of guns or bullets without plummeting to the ground
below.
Benny crouched down and unzipped one of the duffel bags, before pulling out a
series of what Sam believed were climbing equipments. “Easy,” he stated with a
wide smile as he looked back at him. “We’ll simply attach them to our bodies.”
Sam blinked at the man. “Ah, right. Of course,” he said, not liking the sound
of that, not one bit. He stayed where he was for now, just watching as the man
pulled on a harness and fastened it around his thighs and hips, then his chest,
before putting on one of the black helmets from the duffel bags. One thick
strap hung from the front, with what looked like a pulley at the end, and there
were several carabiners on each side of the harness.
By the time he realized that maybe he should start gearing up as well, both
Benny and Dean were fully equipped, looking like a pair of mountain climbers
ready to go climb the Everest. Taking a step toward them, then stopping as an
especially strong gust of wind blew his hair in his face, successfully blinding
him, Sam swatted at the stubborn strands until he could see again, nearly
making a sound when he noticed Benny standing right in front of him.
But instead of doing something surely horrible as he was expecting, or maybe
laugh at him, the man surprised him by reaching under his shirt and detaching
the holster with the gun in it, before handing it over to Sam. “Listen, kid,”
Benny began, his expression serious and his tone warning as he looked straight
into the other’s surprised eyes, “this job can go either way. It can be a
massive success, or a complete failure. But that is true to each and every job,
and that’s why we need to make sure that everyone is safe and is able to help
out when the need arises. So that’s why I’m giving you this. I trust you know
how to use it?”
Sam looked down at the gun in his hands and nodded.
“Good,” the man said, returning Sam’s nod, then secured the holster with the
Beretta to the other’s belt before stepping back and smirking. “Of course if
you try to shoot any of us, we’ll kill you.”
“Of course,” he repeated, patting the gun at his side, feeling its weight as it
hung from his belt. He hoped that they would let him keep it, and maybe later,
when none of them would expect it, Sam could try and use it on one of them. It
was a good idea, but unfortunately that’s all it was—an idea. He was confident
in his shooting skills, but not as confident as to risk going on a shooting
spree, so the gun was useless. Still, the fact that Benny trusted him enough to
give him a loaded weapon was something, a sort of progress, and Sam would make
sure to take advantage of that in the future.
Pulling his hand away from the gun, Sam cleared his throat and slowly made his
way to the bags, pulling out a harness and wondering how on earth he was
supposed to put that thing on. He stepped into it and pulled it on, tugging on
it, then was about to start groaning in frustration, when Dean suddenly stepped
in front of him and fastened the straps around his thighs.
Furrowing his brow, Sam let his hands fall to his side and glared at the boy.
“I could’ve done it by myself.”
“Maybe, but I don’t feel like waiting for you to figure out how a simple
harness works,” Dean commented, flashing him a smirk as he fixed the rest of
the equipment, then bent down and picked up a helmet before placing it on Sam’s
head and fastening it around the sulking boy’s chin. “There. See? Much faster
than you monkeying with the straps.”
He rolled his eyes, pushing the boy’s meddlesome hands away with an annoyed
sigh, then backed away until he was by the wall again, not really fancying
staying by the edge for too long, not even if it had railings keeping people
from falling. Well, a fat lot of good they did for the dead guard lying on the
ground, Sam shuddering at the memory and quickly distracting himself by
watching as Benny closed the duffel bags and flung one of them over his
shoulder, then picked up a briefcase and clasped two carabiners around the
handle, securing it to the harness. He did the same to another one, connecting
that one to the carabiners on his other side, before walking over to the cable
and hooking the trolley up to it.
When he was done, he made sure to grin at both boys and then give them a thumbs
up as he said, “Well, wish me luck!” The man then grabbed the railing with one,
and the trolley with another hand, threw his legs over the unstable metal as he
sat down on it, then took a hold of the harness strap that connected him to the
trolley and the cable, and pushed himself away from the balcony.
Benny slid really goddamn fast. He was picking up speed all the way down, Sam
not even thinking as he rushed to the rails and grabbed them, as he leaned
forward with his eyes wide and watching as the man whooshed through the air,
accompanied by the rather loud sound of metal against metal. The cable dipped
and bent with the man’s weight, but thankfully didn’t snap nor rip away from
the ceiling or wherever it was attached to on the other building. Then after a
few seconds, the sound was gone and he couldn’t see Benny anymore, and just
when he was about to panic that maybe the guy has turned into a human pancake,
he saw three brief flashes of light coming from the building.
“That’s my cue,” Dean said from behind him, Sam looking back at him with still
slightly wide eyes.
“Wait, am I supposed to go last?” he asked anxiously, suddenly feeling nauseous
and dizzy, not really in the mood to go through with this anymore, not at all.
“What if something happens? What if I get stuck? What if I won’t know how to
put this thing on the cable and it slips and—”
“Hey, relax. Nothing’s gonna happen,” they boy assured, stepping closer to Sam
and placing a hand on his shoulder, but that wasn’t helping one bit.
Shaking his head, he shrugged Dean’s hand off and looked down from the harness
on his body to the building in the distance, the knot in his throat swelling,
and great, now he was frozen in place from fear.
“I… I can’t. It’s too steep,” he babbled, chewing on his lower lip as he turned
his head away from the boy, tightening his grip on the rails with downcast
eyes. God, he was such a kid, letting this get to him, but he felt like he’s
been doused with a bucket of icy water, his limbs turning to shimmering, solid
ice and unwilling to move.
He heard Dean’s sigh, then felt a firm hand cupping his jaw and turning his
head back to face him, and suddenly he was gazing into the boy’s sharp eye,
which was so impossibly green, as if that single orb held a whole forest in it,
still gleaming with something mysterious even in the darkness of the night.
“You can, and you will,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that sent a strange
shiver down Sam’s back. “We won’t fail this job, screw it up because you can’t
bring yourself to do something so fucking simple. I don’t care how scary it
looks, Sammy. You’re gonna do it, or if not, I’ll swear I’ll make you regret
it.”
Sam pressed his lips together, holding his breath as he stared at the boy, just
kept staring for a moment, and when he was sure his voice wasn’t going to fail
him and humiliate him in the process, he nodded. “Yeah, okay. I got it, I’ll do
it,” he said, his low voice close to, but not quite, a whisper.
The corner of Dean’s lips twitched, then slowly curled into a crooked grin.
“Great. Love it when we agree on something,” he remarked with a small chuckle,
before pulling away from Sam and moving over to the cable.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Sam stepped away from the railing and took a deep
breath, successfully calming his rapid pulse. Stupid Dean with his stupid
threats. Sam wouldn’t have chickened out—it might have looked like he would,
plus he was still feeling kinda terrified of sliding down on that potentially
deadly thing, but everyone with a normally working brain and a healthy level of
self-preservation would have freaked out at least a bit. Still, even he was
aware of the fact that he couldn’t just turn on his heel and stroll away from
the tower, no matter how much he desperately wished to. So he was going to do
this, of course he was… He just needed a bit of time to panic beforehand, have
an inner monologue and make up some motivational speeches, before actually
getting down to business.
Dean had already attached the trolley to the cable and had the other duffel on
his shoulder, along with some briefcases that were hanging from his hips, ready
to take off, when he turned to look at Sam.
“Oh right, I almost forgot,” he said all of a sudden, quickly motioning for the
other boy to come closer.
Suspiciously, Sam took cautious steps as he walked over to Dean and scowled up
at him. “What?” he asked, stopping next to him, and then he didn’t even have
time to pull away or react whatsoever before the boy grabbed him by the back of
his neck and yanked him into a kiss.
Sam’s brain needed a few seconds to catch on, and his eyes widened so much that
they hurt when he finally realized what the hell was happening. Then the kiss
was over before he could’ve pushed Dean away, the boy licking his lips and
flashing a lecherous grin at him when he let go and pulled away by himself.
“For the ride,” the boy said with a wink, and then he was gone, jumping over
the railing and sliding down the cable before disappearing in the darkness.
And Sam just stood there, completely dumbfounded and speechless, because that
asshole did not just steal his first kiss.
He stared ahead at nothing in particular, his whole face burning like it just
got shoved into an oven, only managing to snap out of his daze when he saw the
three flashes of light coming from the building, signaling for him that it was
okay to get going. He wasn’t really capable of doing anything right now,
though, let alone perform some dangerous Mission: Impossible crap.
Oh god, Dean kissed him.
It was a quick, closed-mouth kiss, but a kiss nonetheless, and Sam’s hand was
slightly trembling when he raised his fingers to his lips. They were soft. He
remembered Dean’s lips on his, and they were soft. Kinda aggressive, as the boy
quite literally crushed their lips together when he pulled Sam into the kiss,
but they weren’t dry like a raisin, or small and weird. Well fine, they were
weird, very freaking weird—but also big and full and…so soft.
And disgusting.
Sam unconsciously licked his lips, then realized what he was doing and quickly
wiped it with the back of his hand. That was his first kiss, and he had to
share it with a guy. No, not even share, because that jerk just went and took
it from him, without any consent from Sam. He felt a bit queasy, and there was
also this odd tingling sensation which he couldn’t quite identify, but anyway
that was so wrong and just so revolting that he seriously needed a few moments
to just calm down and stop shuddering, because just ew.
Then he sighed and wandered over to the cable, feeling the nervousness as it
came back and tried tugging him away from the dangerous-looking cable, but Sam
stilled himself. He clenched his fists, then opened them and shook his hands,
stretching his back and taking deep breaths.
“Okay, let’s do this. You can do this, it’s easy,” he muttered as he grabbed
the cable and pulled it down, before getting on his tiptoes and snapping the
rather heavy trolley over it. Then he cursed under his breath and suffered for
a good moment to disconnect it and quickly attach the remaining two briefcases
to the carabiners on his harness, before walking back to the cable and putting
that damn trolley on it again.
When that was done, he swallowed thickly and gripped the strap connecting him
to the cable with one hand, using the other to balance himself as he climbed
over the railing. It squeaked under him, and Sam gasped when his fingers nearly
slipped, but managed to steady himself just in time. He let go of the strap and
used both his hands as he turned around and stood on the other side of the
railing, facing the wall of the border, and as he glanced down, he immediately
broke out in cold sweat, which just made his fingers even more slippery.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Sam was heaving in panic, his arms shaking. “Shit, just
jump, oh god, just close your eyes and jump!”
He whined and clenched his jaw hard, then took a deep breath and let go of the
metal, his hands shooting up to grab at the harness strap, and then he was
falling, sliding forward and gaining speed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he nearly
hit his feet against the wall when he glided above it, but since he was doing a
good job at curling into a ball from fear, he didn’t have to worry about his
ankles breaking. He did open his eyes after a while though, unable to keep them
closed when he began slowly turning in place. He panicked and kicked with his
legs, hoping to turn back toward the building, but all he achieved with that
was to move himself further away from it, now sliding with his back to his
destination, and he felt like sobbing in frustration. Instead of wailing like a
baby, he started cursing and wiggling, then cursed some more when his body
began bouncing up and down thanks to his frantic movements, Sam now sure that
the cable was going to snap and he was going to fall.
He was going to break his neck and it would hurt, but not as much as colliding
with the hard ground, maybe shatter his skull and break every single bone in
his pathetic little body.
He was hyperventilating, going into total hysterics, then cried out in shock
when his back hit something hard. He first thought, was sure that he slammed
into the building and that he was now stuck, but then suddenly there were two
arms wrapping around him and pulling him tight against the thing against his
back, something warm and not as solid as a building wall was supposed to be.
“Told ya I’d catch you,” Dean whispered in his ear from behind, which was
around when Sam’s shoulders began shaking, not even caring who the boy was as
he leaned into the tight hug, just glad and immensely relieved that he was
still alive and not a red smudge on a wall.
He let Dean do everything—let the boy detach him from the cable and take the
briefcases from him, then pull off his helmet and remove the harness from
around his body. Sam stood still while the other got rid of all the equipment,
watched as they got shoved back in the duffel with a bit unfocused eyes, and
when he managed to calm down as much as he could, he looked around the roof of
the building.
It was dark and no flashlights were on, supposedly not to draw any attention to
them, but his eyes were getting used to the lack of light quickly. There was a
door in the small wall emerging from the middle of the roof, the cable wedged
securely in it in a way it wouldn’t slip out. Raphael was in the middle of
tugging the cable with the hook out, letting it fall from his hands and slide
down the building once it was out. Benny and Dean were lifting a long ladder
and taking it to the side of the roof, before carefully lowering and propping
it against the vertical wall. The duffel bags and briefcases lay in a heap next
to the door, Sam wondering why they weren’t just using that to get down from
the building instead of a ladder, but then realized that maybe they weren’t as
alone as he thought. Maybe there were people under their feet, going on about
their lives without the slightest knowledge of what was going on above their
heads, on this roof, and so maybe it would be a good idea to keep it that way.
That made him curious about their location and he looked around, gazed far out
into the darkness, but couldn’t see much aside from the border wall behind him.
No trees, no buildings whatsoever—there was nothing on this side, as if the
wall wasn’t separating two countries but more like two completely different
worlds, one belonging to edifices, of a life of asphalt and cement, and the
other flooded by dry land and nature, by sandy washes and desert vegetation.
The night air was still cold, though, no matter the change in surroundings, and
Sam even found himself needing to rub his arms to keep himself warm, his closed
jacket not really helping.
After a while of silence, of nobody talking and each of them busying themselves
with a task of their own, Sam decided to voice his curious questions, but
instead of going to Benny or Dean, he walked over to Raphael. He hadn’t talked
to him yet, and even though the man seemed a bit intimidating, honestly, who in
this crew didn’t?
Raphael was looking out at the vast land surrounding them through a pair of
binoculars as Sam stopped next to him, waiting until the man lowered the device
before asking, “Where are we?”
He stared at Sam for a second, his gaze hard but unreadable. “Mexico,” he
stated the obvious, then added, “on top of one of the many homeless shelters
running along the border.”
“A homeless shelter…?” Sam furrowed his brow as he tried to remember how the
building looked like from the cabin. It was run-down and not that big, with
glassless windows and yeah, he could imagine this being a shelter, but it was
still odd. “Why here?” he asked, motioning to the wall’s direction. “Why would
they build a shelter at the border? Wouldn’t that just encourage trespassing?”
“They didn’t build it with the thought of creating a shelter in their mind. The
homeless simply took it,” he explained as he slid the binocular back in its
case. “It was supposed to be like that security watchtower on the other side.
It was meant for the guards, at first. But there was a shooting some years
back, killing and injuring many officers along with civilians, and the
government didn’t feel like fixing the damages. So the building stayed like
this, vacant and soon claimed by vegetation and some wild, wandering animals.
Then it became a shelter for those that had no home, those that tried to cross
the border but failed. There aren’t many homeless in the building, as it has no
water or electricity, but since it has a roof and four walls, it’s good enough
for a few days.”
“How many are here now?” Sam asked, suddenly very aware of the people in the
building under his feet.
“I counted six when I scanned the area.”
Sam nodded, then was frowning again. “Wait, so there are no guards on this side
anymore?”
“Not permanently,” Raphael answered. “But they do patrol around this area, so I
suggest we hurry up.”
“Oh, right,” he agreed and stepped out of the way to let the man past, watching
as he walked over to the ladder, testing it with his foot before climbing down.
He wandered over to the edge of the building and looked down, then wished he
hadn’t. It wasn’t a long drop, thank god, but it still looked painful. Very
painful. He really hoped that the ladder wouldn’t chose that exact moment when
Sam would step on it to break and give way under his feet.
“Alright,” he suddenly heard Benny say, Sam turning toward the man who was
looking at him and Dean, “once I’m down, I want you boys to throw the stuff.
We’ll catch them, so don’t worry about that, but try not to aim for my head,
okay?”
“Gotcha,” Dean confirmed with a sly smile, the man just rolling his eyes and
shaking his head before moving over to the ladder and beginning to climb down.
While he was going down, Sam and Dean headed toward the pile of briefcases and
bags and picked up a few of them, then brought them over to the ladder, waiting
for Benny to reach the ground. And while they stood there in silence, Sam tried
to ignore the boy’s gaze. It was like a heavy weight on his skin, Sam’s whole
being sensing Dean’s eye on him, just watching, staring like he was intent on
burning a hole in every inch of his body.
“Would you stop?” he blurted after a while, unable to take it anymore.
“Stop what?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows at the younger boy when he shot
him a glare.
“You know what,” Sam hissed, suddenly feeling even more annoyed when the other
grinned.
“So now I’m not even allowed to look at you?” The boy chuckled, taking a step
toward Sam. “Is this what I get for spoiling you?”
He blinked, eyes widening incredulously then narrowing in irritation.
“Spoiling? When did you ever do that? If anything, you keep harassing me, Dean!
You even…even…” he mumbled, not wanting to say it out loud, as that would make
it real, too real.
Dean seemed to be bent on making him say the word, though, as he was leaning
forward and getting down to Sam’s level, tilting his head and feigning
curiosity. “Hmm? Even what, Sammy?”
Cheeks suddenly on fire, he averted his eyes and backed away. “Nothin’,
shuddup.”
Before Dean could’ve teased him some more, they heard Benny’s voice coming from
below. “Get the cargo moving, boys!” he shouted as quietly as possible, and
when Sam tentatively gazed back, he saw Dean moving away from him and tossing
the briefcases down to the men waiting on the ground.
Sighing, Sam followed suit and walked between the stack and the ladder, letting
the cases fall and land in either Benny’s or Raphael’s hands. This was his life
now; he would just have to endure Dean’s constant harassment. Great, Sam was
overjoyed. He worked fast, reluctantly helping the boy when it was time to drop
the duffel bags and secretly wishing that the other would just trip, lose his
balance and fall from the roof. It wouldn’t have killed him, Sam was pretty
sure, so he wasn’t exactly thinking any murderous thoughts. Just some really,
very painful ones.
“Alright, hurry up!” he heard Raphael’s voice urging, and this time it was
louder, his voice carrying a hint of impatience, and not the good kind.
He let Dean go first, though it wasn’t like he had much choice. The boy
practically forced himself forward, not even giving Sam the time to get close
to the ladder before he was already on it, flashing a quick smirk at him and
turning around, then he was climbing down. Sam didn’t want to stay on the roof
for too long, so he waited until there was enough space at the top of the
ladder before he was crouching down, ready to start his descent down the
ladder.
It was as he put his foot on the first step when the real shouting began.
“Fuck, come on, climb faster!” Benny was yelling hurriedly now, successfully
making Sam panic and wonder if they got busted or something.
Everything became clear when he turned his head around to look back over his
shoulder, and noticed the car coming their way, fast. It was stirring up and
leaving a cloud of dust behind itself as it drove toward the building with
alarming speed, the blazing headlights making it impossible for Sam to see who
was driving, or how many people were in the car, which now that it was getting
closer, he realized was a large jeep.
Dean cursed under him and began climbing faster, while Benny and Raphael were
hoarding the briefcases into another van parked right next to the building.
Sam’s fingers tightened on the rusty ladder, every second he waited while the
boy climbed seeming like minutes, painstakingly slow. The car was really close
now, and getting even closer, and he had no idea how they were supposed to
escape now. They would get arrested, oh god Sam would have to go to jail, and
he hasn’t even done anything. Well, nothing he really gave his consent to,
nothing he wanted to do.
These panicked thoughts swirled through his mind as he went down, the ladder
seemingly stretching away forever, but then all of the nightmares about jail
and electric chairs halted and dispersed as the first bullet hit the wall
inches away from where he was standing on the ladder.
“Shit, they’re shooting at us!” Benny backed away from the van and then he and
the other man were running into the building through the open doorway, taking
cover from the sudden gunshots and, after a brief moment, returning fire.
And Sam was just hanging from a ladder in the middle of a fucking shootout.
Finally reaching them, the car skidded to a stop, and four uniformed men jumped
out, not even waiting until their feet hit the ground before opening fire. Sam
yelped as a bulled whizzed past his ear and another ricocheted from the ladder.
Raphael and Benny were taking care of the guards, though, managing to kill one
and injure another in less than a minute, but that wasn’t enough. Glancing
down, he watched as Dean struggled with the steps, climbing even faster now,
and just as the passing thought that it was a miracle that none of them were
bleeding yet crossed Sam’s mind, the boy under him cried out as a bullet
entered his shoulder, then fell. His eyes widened as he stared down at Dean,
who was now groaning and cursing loudly on the ground, trying to scramble to
his feet, but one of the guards or officers, or whoever these merciless people
were, was already stomping over to the boy, raising his gun and pointing it at
the figure on the ground.
Sam was still high enough to go back. He could climb up to safety, hide out on
top of the roof until it was over. He certainly wasn’t going to keep going
down, not with the murderous men waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder.
And he was still new to all this, his heart not really taking the situation
well as it was beating so damn fast Sam was pretty sure it would bail on him,
or simply stop, give up from the amount of fear he was experiencing right now.
It felt like time slowed down, stopped as he stood on the ladder, his mind
working overtime and going into overdrive as he thought, tried to decide what
to do. Run or fight? Hide, or risk a bullet to the head and end up like that
guard at the watchtower? Which one? Damn it, what was he supposed to do?!
His hands trembled, his palm slippery with sweat as he tightened his hold on
the ladder, holding on with that one hand as he used the other to swiftly reach
for the gun in the holster. Pulling it out all the while wondering if this was
worth it, if risking his life for that asshole on the ground was really worth
it, he disengaged the safety on the gun and turned sideways on the ladder,
quickly aiming at the man walking toward Dean. He didn’t think, couldn’t bring
himself to think about what he was about to do as he did it, and then he pulled
the trigger.
The bullet hit the ground next to the man, Sam missing his chest. He didn’t
kill him, but at least managed to draw his attention away from Dean—which also
meant that the man was now raising his gun at Sam, looking angry as hell.
Cursing, he went all out, survival a bit more important at the moment than
murder. He squeezed off several more shots, hitting the man once in his arm
that was holding the gun—successfully making him drop it—and once in his chest,
which sent him staggering back. The gun didn’t get knocked out of his hand
before he could’ve hit Sam, though, but thankfully the bullet merely grazed his
side. That did not mean that it didn’t hurt like a motherfucker, Sam grunting
in pain as he felt his skin getting torn by the fast projectile.
The man fell to the ground after either Benny or Raphael shot him in the face,
dead, and Dean managed to finally stand up. He looked a bit dazed and was
limping, blood trickling out from under his leather jacket and down his pants.
And Sam felt relieved, if only just a bit, then his eyes widened as he saw the
fourth and last man still standing, saw him go up behind Dean just as the boy
turned around. He ducked and landed a brutal kick to the man’s shin, but then
was kneeling on the ground after the furious man punched him in the gut. He was
going to shoot Dean, didn’t even seem fazed when a shot rang out from inside
the building and he got hit in the shoulder, just kept his aim on the boy and—
Sam’s eyes widened and he felt the blood drain from his face when he pulled his
own gun’s trigger, hearing the sound of the hammer hitting an empty chamber.
Not having enough time to come up with something else, he hurled the gun at the
man. It hit him in the head pretty loudly, which was nice; but the effort and
force Sam used to throw the weapon made him lean forward, way too forward, and
then suddenly his fingers were slipping. He gasped, turning back and
frantically trying to get a hold of the ladder, but it was too late. His hand
already slipped and he began falling, the ground coming up quick to meet him,
and this really wasn’t good because he was turning and falling head first, and
fuck, he was falling!
The pain was brief, as the darkness was there to pounce on him and drag him
down, Sam vaguely aware of someone shouting his name before he gave in and lost
consciousness.
 
***** Cat And Mouse *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
He had a dream. Well no, it was more like a nightmare.
Just like most dreams, this one wasn’t making any sense either. Sam didn’t know
where he was, but the house felt strangely familiar. He wondered why. Then
suddenly he was in a room on fire, but his initial panic died down after he
realized that the flames couldn’t hurt him, weren’t burning him. Something
landed on his cheek, and when he wiped it away, his fingers came away bloody.
The last thing he remembered was looking up at the ceiling and seeing a large
smudge of crimson blood.
Groaning in pain, Sam shifted where he lay on something soft. His eyes
fluttered open and he blinked away the last memories of the dream, reality
suddenly pulling him back. He frowned, then stopped when he realized that just
made his already aching head hurt more, so then he decided to just close his
eyes again and go back to sleep.
But then he suddenly remembered what happened and his eyes flew open again.
He remembered he fell. He was certain that he did, he let go of that damn
ladder and dropped like some ragdoll. But what happened after? No matter how
much he tried, he couldn’t remember; but as he finally looked about himself, he
had a pretty good idea why he couldn’t recall anything. 
He was lying in something that looked a lot like a hospital bed, but he wasn’t
going to get his hopes up. He knew he wasn’t in an actual hospital, as those
wouldn’t allow weapons in their patients’ rooms, and there was a gun lying on
one of the counters, no mistaking it. Pulling himself up a bit so that he was
leaning on his elbows, he studied his surroundings. He was in a smaller room,
its floor and walls made of white tiles, except for what Sam was pretty sure
was a light blue curtain behind him. There was a line of counters, drawers, and
cabinets running along one of the walls and continuing until the middle of the
one opposite Sam, filled with all sorts of pills and medical-looking stuff.
Aside from the bed he was half-lying, half-sitting on, there were three more in
the room, two with their headboards against the left wall, and one to his
right, only a few feet away from him. The sheets on that one were all messed
up, and so was the pillow, as if someone had been lying on them, so Sam guessed
he wasn’t the only one needing medical attention.
That made him wonder why he lost consciousness. Did he really hit his head that
hard? Raising a curious hand to his head, he felt his fingers brushing against
something thin and cottony, some sort of cloth that went around his head, Sam
wincing when his fingers reached the back of his skull. If he needed bandages
for his head, then it surely couldn’t have been a nice fall, and since now his
head was hurting even more, he was positive that he managed to land in a way
that left a bleeding gash on it.
He checked the rest of his body, which was feeling rather sore and also hurting
here and there. He had another bandage on his side, this one attached to his
skin with medical tapes, and even though he was kind of curious how big of a
wound the bullet made in his flesh, he didn’t feel like ripping the bandage off
just to find out, and maybe regret it. Noticing that, by the way, his jacket
was gone and his shirt had been unbuttoned, Sam removed the blanket from his
body and checked if he at least still had his pants, and sighed in relief when
he saw them still on him. His shoes were gone too, though, but he didn’t really
care about them.
Just as he was wondering who bandaged him up, he heard a rustle coming from the
other side of the curtain. Craning his neck, Sam turned in the bed and looked
for a shadow moving behind the thin veil, but couldn’t see anything. He thought
about calling out, but he honestly doubted he’d be happy to see anyone who came
through that curtain, unless it was a police officer telling him that he was
fine and ready to go home.
What home, though…?
“Hey, you’re up.” Sam snapped back to reality at the sudden voice coming from
next to his bed. He blinked up at the boy who was moving the curtain out of the
way as he stepped inside of the makeshift hospital room, stopping next to Sam’s
bed and giving him a half-smile. “I was starting to get worried you’d be out
forever, sleeping beauty.”
He frowned, rubbing his temple with his thumb. “How long have I been out?” he
asked, then suddenly as if a dam broke in his brain, his mind was filling with
question, so many Sam couldn’t keep them in. “What happened? How did I get back
here? Who were those men? When—”
“Whoa, slow down,” Dean said with a small chuckle, then moved to the bed next
to his and sat down, facing Sam. It was only then that he realized the boy was
only in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white tank top, one of its straps
hanging from Dean’s shoulder and revealing a wound there. It was too small to
be the gunshot wound, also seeming like it was made a few days ago, and for
some reason Sam couldn’t take his eyes off it.
He didn’t know how long he must have been staring before he lifted his gaze to
Dean’s face, but when he did, the boy was grinning at him smugly, Sam suddenly
feeling incredibly embarrassed and looking away, quickly clearing his throat.
“U-Uh, so, what exactly happened?” he asked, still not making eye contact with
the other.
“Well, after you fell and blacked out, we killed the remaining guard. Yeah,
those were security guards. Not the friendliest kind, but those types exist
too, unfortunately for us,” he explained with a sigh. “Then we split up, Benny
taking the car with the weapons to the place where we were supposed to drop it
off, while Raphael and I brought you back to the warehouse.”
“How did you come back? Across the border, I mean…” Sam looked back at Dean
now, curious.
The boy met his eyes and smiled. “Wasn’t easy. We had to use the cable to climb
up the wall, since it was still attached to the cabin, and having to drag you
along just made that already hard task harder. But thankfully you’re kinda
light, so it was pretty easy carrying you around.”
Oh great, so Dean had to carry him like some pirate version of a knight in
shining armor.
“You were sleeping for some good six hours,” the boy continued, “while the rest
of us got rid of the bodies. Well, no… Benny did that. Raphael explained what
happened to Nick, and I took care of you.”
“Took care of me?” Sam frowned at him.
Dean nodded. “Yep, bandaged you up and all,” he said, tilting his head slightly
to the side as his smile widened into a grin and his eye darkened, slowly
moving from Sam’s face down to his exposed chest. “And I ain’t a nurse, but I
think I did a pretty good job.”
Sam, realizing what the other was looking at, quickly grabbed for the blanket,
but the sudden movement made him wince, so he just flopped back against the
bed’s headrest and began buttoning his shirt. His fingers worked fast, his
shirt covering his bare chest in a matter of seconds, and when he finally
shifted his gaze back to Dean, he saw him leaning back on his hands and still
grinning.
Then he heard the bed creak as the boy stood up and walked over to him, Sam
immediately tensing and then moving away when Dean sat down on the side of his
bed, placing a bent leg on the mattress as he turned around to look at him.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, surprising Sam with the genuine concern in his
voice. It could have been faked, of course it could, but he couldn’t think of a
reason why Dean would try to fake kindness, so for now, he chose to believe he
honestly cared. Maybe.
He trailed his fingers along the bandage on the back of his head, careful this
time, all the while looking at a random spot on his jeans. “My head feels as if
an elephant had trampled over it, and my body’s pretty sore, especially my
right hand. I forgot how powerful of a recoil a semiautomatic has,” he said,
feeling a bit nervous and awkward for some reason, then slowly raised his eyes
to look at Dean, and fine, maybe he was a little bit concerned for the boy as
well. “What about you? One of them got you in the shoulder, right?”
Dean let out a short sigh while smiling, easing back a bit as he took a hold of
the hem of his top and pulled it over his head, Sam noticing how that made him
twist his face in pain and visibly clench his jaw, but the boy didn’t let it
stop him. He turned around, revealing a similar bandage as the one Sam had on
his side, however this one was on Dean’s shoulder and was a bit bigger.
“Got Ruby to pull the bullet out a few hours ago,” Dean told him as he looked
back over his shoulder to glance at him. “It’s better now, but that might be
just the pain meds.” He turned back, and it actually caused Sam some physical
effort not to stare. The boy in front of him might have been a jerk and all,
but he had a great body. As in the toned chest, broad shoulders, strong-looking
biceps, and almost fully developed six-pack kind of great body. The same sort
of light freckles were dusting his chest as the ones on his cheeks, some
darker, while others nearly disappeared in the soft honey color of the boy’s
tanned skin. Sam always dreamed of having a body like that when he grew up,
when he’d reach Dean’s age, and he felt himself getting jealous, suddenly
curious if the skin was as soft and warm as it looked.
Dean’s low chuckle made him realize just what exactly he was doing, staring
openly at the boy’s naked skin. His breath actually hitched and his eyes
widened, quickly looking back at the other’s face, but then he wished he
hadn’t.
“You know your eyes might fall out if you stare too hard, Sammy,” the boy
purred, slowly and almost lazily crawling on the bed, and took a hold of Sam’s
waist when he tried to back further away, maybe even just jump out of the bed
and make a run for it.
He felt all of his muscles tense up as Dean used both hands to pull him down,
lower him completely into the bed, and then he took a breath and kept it in,
unable to let it out while the other hovered over him. Then he was leaning in,
moving a hand to cup Sam’s cheek, but he quickly shook his head and tilted it
to the side, away from the suddenly way too close boy.
“What?” Dean’s hot breath against his skin as he ran his lush lips along Sam’s
exposed neck made him shiver, and crap, he couldn’t move anymore, his breathing
shallow, soft trembles of nervousness and something else rippling through his
body. “You’re acting like you’ve never been kissed before,” the boy whispered
against the skin beneath his ear, while the hand on his skin slid down, a
finger teasingly dipping in the hollow of his throat.
Sam bit down on his bottom lip and made a small sound, maybe a whimper, maybe
not. He had to push Dean away, but what he said was annoying him. Never kissed
before? Of course he hadn’t—Dean was the first, the one who forced his lips on
Sam’s, forcefully taking what never belonged to him.
It was that feeling of exasperation that made him open his mouth, made them
form words, no matter how quiet they were. “I haven’t…”
That stopped Dean, making him pull back and look at Sam with a slightly wide,
surprised eye. “Wait, what?” he asked, and the younger boy could pinpoint the
exact moment realization sank in and Dean understood. “You’re telling me that
was your first kiss?” He stared at him, stunned.
Sam felt himself blush even more, unconsciously licking his lips as he averted
his eyes. “W-Well yeah, it was. Why’s that so shocking…?”
He waited for a long moment, but when the other still didn’t answer, he slowly
looked back at him, immediately feeling like some miserable, cornered prey.
Dean was grinning wickedly, his eye glinting with something dark and
dominating, the boy looking dangerously pleased in a way.
“I thought that someone like you would have at least kissed before, but if you
haven’t even done that…” Dean’s voice trailed off as he let his eye roam Sam’s
body, licking his lips hungrily and making the other boy become extremely aware
of every little move he made, every breath he took under that one penetrating
and all-seeing eye. Then he gasped and stared up at the ceiling with wide,
terrified eyes when Dean suddenly dropped back to his neck, but instead of
there, Sam felt a wet tongue on his ear. “Then I’ll be taking each and every
single one of your firsts, Sammy,” he whispered, before flicking his earlobe
with the warm flesh, then began playfully nibbling on it, successfully driving
Sam mad.
He whimpered, now was a hundred percent sure that the soft, weak sound that
escaped his lips was a whimper, and arched his back, tilting his head back and
closing his eyes; however the sharp pain shooting down from the back of his
head as he did that brought him back to his senses, Sam suddenly realizing what
he was doing, and immediately freaked.
“Stop!” he whined, really, he would have only been lying to himself if he
thought he shouted the word as he shoved Dean away. The boy didn’t really
protest, just letting out an amused laugh as he got off the bed and licked his
lips, watching as Sam sat up and backed completely into the headboard, pressing
his back into the metal until it hurt. “Why can’t you just leave me alone
already?!” Sam demanded, hugging himself and feeling strangely weak, the
confusing and persistent heat that was melting him from the inside out refusing
to go away.
“Why?” Dean raised an eyebrow at him, then threw his head back as he let out
another laugh. “It’s simple,” he said after he was done, striding back to Sam’s
bed and grabbing the headrest. “Because I don’t want to. Because I feel like
touching you, because it’s fun and your reactions are simply priceless.”
Blinking incredulously, Sam glowered at him. “Those aren’t even close to good
reasons!”
Dean just shrugged. “They are for me,” he stated, then kept his gaze on Sam for
such a long moment he thought to boy was trying to murder him with his piercing
eye or something, but then he was talking again, this time using the same
genuine voice he’d heard him use before. “Hey I…never said thanks, did I?”
“Huh?” Sam asked in confusion, didn’t know what Dean was talking about, though
he wasn’t sure what that weirdo boy was going on about like half the time, so
it wasn’t that much of a surprise.
“Well, you sorta saved my life. Twice in a row,” he said, then furrowed his
brow as he looked at the bandage wrapped around Sam’s head. “And nearly broke
your neck.”
“I didn’t fall from the ladder for you,” he scoffed, crossing his arms in front
of his chest. “And it’s not like I had another choice. I wasn’t saving you, but
myself,” Sam lied, wasn’t completely sure why he was lying, but for some reason
couldn’t stand the thought of Dean knowing the truth, that he did indeed risk
his life for him. Even he wasn’t sure why he did that in the first place, so he
really didn’t need Dean finding out and turning even more smug and unbearable
than he already was.
The boy smiled down at him, a smile that quickly turned into a grin as he
patted Sam’s shoulder, then pulled away and picked up his shirt from the bed,
putting it back on. “Sure,” was all he said, winking at the annoyed boy on the
bed as he walked to the curtains, but just before disappearing behind the thin
drapes, he paused and added, “thank you.”
And Sam would have never admitted it to himself, but those words made him feel
a brief happiness, the kind he hadn’t felt in days.
That vanished fairly quickly though, replaced by a cocktail of emotions that
just confused him. Deciding on only focusing on the feelings he recognized and
knew very well, Sam let out a frustrated sigh, then shivered at the memory of
something soft and wet, something so very warm against his ear. He shook his
head, wiping his ear with the sleeve of his shirt, then laid back down on the
bed, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over his head.
Okay, so Dean just threatened to honest-to-god sexually assault him.
Well, okay fine, that was kind of an exaggeration. But he said he would take
all of Sam’s firsts, which basically translated to…what? That he would take him
on his first date? Or be the one to…
Sam’s eyes widened as an image flashed before his eyes, an image of two naked
bodies, and then he was covering his face and groaning, feeling like heat was
literally radiating from inside him or something. God, it really did seem that
Dean was bent on traumatizing him for life, subjecting him to his relentless
teasing that apparently knew no boundaries. These days the boy was always the
reason for his worries. Sam wasn’t thinking about the situation he was in, of a
way to escape and gain freedom, but about the next time he’d be forced to see
Dean and that sly grin that was seemingly stuck on his face. And that wasn’t
good. He couldn’t spend his days being nervous because of someone like him,
damn it. There were so many other things he needed to consider, like how he
nearly murdered someone today, even that because of Dean. No matter what, it
was always because of Dean, for Dean, thanks to Dean, Dean everywhere—and Sam
was seriously starting to lose it.
Yep, it was time he avoided the hell out of that jerk.
Taking a nice, long and deep breath, he made up his mind and removed the
blanket from his head, though not his body. He didn’t feel like leaving this
room yet, plus he was still feeling somewhat drowsy and weak, lying in bed for
a couple more minutes seeming like a perfect idea to him right now.
Those couple of minutes quickly turned into an hour, but by then Sam felt
slightly better. His head was still hurting, the wound a dull ache on the back
of his skull, and his side did too whenever he twisted and turned his body too
much, but he would live.
He slowly and very carefully climbed out of the bed and put on his shoes, then
after taking one last glance around the room, he parted the curtains and
stepped into a completely different room. Well, the floor and the walls were
still the same, but it’s what filled this part of the room which differed from
the makeshift little hospital behind him. One of the walls were lined up with
washing machines, while another one had several drying racks situated next to
it, with some clothes—along with what Sam was pretty sure was Dean’s
shirt—hanging from them. In the middle of the room were two wooden benches,
parallel to each other, and hey look, there was his jacket. He made his way to
one of the benches and pulled on his moss green jacket, tugging it tightly
around himself as he wandered over to the door. If he was correct in his
theory, then he was quite certain that this was the fourth door on the ground
floor, the one on the right wall and probably facing what Sam discovered not
long ago to be the armory.
That helped him make up a battle plan, decide what to do once he was out of the
room. He was going to go out and quickly get to the stairs above him, then with
the speed of sound, he was going to dart toward his door and lock himself in
his room. Perfect plan, since he wasn’t feeling like mingling with anyone right
now, though really, when was he? Steeling his resolve, Sam went over the plan
once again in his head before opening the door. Everything went smoothly and he
even nearly got to the stairs, but of course, someone just had to call out his
name and force him to stop.
Shifting his gaze from the inviting door of his room to the man walking up to
him, Sam felt a sudden dread rise in him. It was Nick, and he had one of those
smiles plastered across his face, the kind that really creeped Sam out.
The man stopped in front of him and nodded to the bandage on his head. “Had
quite an impressive fall, haven’t you?”
Sam shrugged, suddenly uneasy, then realized that maybe he should say
something. “It wasn’t that bad…” he said, then slid his hands in his pants
pockets and averted his eyes, because he has successfully managed to create an
awkward silence. It was a talent.
“How modest,” Nick said finally, making Sam look back at him, then leaned
against the railing with a low chuckle. “You know, you don’t have to be. You
should feel proud about what happened, about what you did. I certainly am.”
He didn’t know what to answer to that, so he didn’t.
While the man waited for an answer that Sam wasn’t going to give him, someone
had come out of a room and was staring at them. He could feel it, and when he
cast a quick glance to his left, the previous dread inside him became stronger,
turned into a powerful wave that came crashing over him when he saw Dean
standing by the sofa, looking eager to come over as soon as Nick was gone.
That made him want the man to never leave, and suddenly he was talking, had so
much to say. “Um, I just did what everyone else would’ve, it’s really nothing,”
he babbled, swallowing anxiously as he forced himself to keep his eyes on Nick,
to keep looking at him instead of the wolf he knew was still staring at him,
ready to pounce.
Nick smiled again, stepping closer to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, but
Sam wasn’t soothed by the touch at all, his muscles tensing up instead. “You
could have ran, Sam. You could have done so many things, but chose to pull out
the gun and behave like one of us, like a real smuggler,” he said, slightly
tightening his hold on the boy’s shoulder and looking right at him, his gaze so
intent and piercing it made Sam forget about Dean altogether, feeling like now
he couldn’t look away from the man even if he wanted to. “I appreciate that,
and would like to see you continue like that. Do not disappoint me.”
“I-I won’t.” Sam was nodding instinctively, and couldn’t help but let out a
silent sigh when the strangely heavy weight of Nick’s hand was gone from his
shoulder.
“Glad to hear that,” the man stated, returning the other’s nod, then just
walked past him, Sam turning around to watch him exit the warehouse and
wondering where he could be going. Probably some criminal business, he thought,
then as he turned back, he nearly freaking yelped when he saw Dean heading over
to him with long strides.
Nope.
Sam spun around like a ballerina and used the railing to pull himself up the
stairs faster, quite literally sprinting up the steps and watching as the boy
stopped and shot him an annoyed look.
“Sam, come on,” Dean groaned, grabbing the metal bar and smirking up at Sam,
who was already at the top of the stairs. “You can’t run from me forever, you
know.”
He frowned, huffing. “Watch me!” he snarled, then quickly flipped the boy off
for good measure, before turning his back to him and yanking his door open.
Quickly locking himself inside, Sam closed his eyes and sighed in relief. He
felt a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he imagined how
disappointed Dean will be when he’d prove him wrong. Can’t run forever? Well,
challenge accepted. He was already planning on ignoring and avoiding the boy,
but now he was certain that he’d do just that. He could be sneaky and cunning
when he wanted to, and he was pretty sure that if he tried hard enough, if he’d
really give it his all, then he might not even have to cross paths with that
bastard ever again. The thought alone made him excited and happy, Sam looking
forward to the next few Dean-less days.
He had to stay true to his word and do it, do this, for so many reasons; but
most of all, because he was terrified to even imagine what would happen if Dean
ever managed to get his hands on him again…
                                       —
 
He was a true born ninja for sure.
That day, after he locked the door, Sam took a quick shower while making sure
not to get any water on his bandages, which was a much harder task than he
expected, but he still managed to succeed after a long time. When he was done
with that and got into some fresh clothes, he went back to reading, finishing
the newest book he found. It was about a man sucked into the world of monsters
and hunters, Sam immediately falling in love with the story from the very first
sentence. He just reached the point where two MCB agents visited the main
character in the hospital, threatening him with a gun, when he both heard and
felt his stomach growl.
Groaning, he got up from the bed and opened his door, scanning the perimeter of
the warehouse in search for any pirates, and when none were found, he stalked
to the kitchen. He did meet Benny and Ruby in there, and had a brief
conversation with them, a bit surprised when he found himself laughing at a
story the woman told him, before grabbing some food and going back to his room.
He brought enough to last him for that day, plus some bottled water, so after
his visit to the kitchen, he didn’t leave his room.
That was day one.
Day two and three proved to be a bit more risky, with some close calls Sam
barely escaped from. He never left his room for socializing purposes, only when
he ran out of food or water, but when his head began itching and bothering him,
he knew it was time to change the bandages. He could only see Raphael sunk in
one of the armchairs when he peered through the ajar door, however right before
he could’ve stepped out onto the catwalk, he saw Dean emerging from the kitchen
and flopping into the sofa, before turning on the TV. Wondering if he should
risk it, Sam kept his eyes on the boy for a long moment, then decided that,
fuck it, the medical room was right under him, he could totally make it.
So he slipped his shoes off and closed the door behind himself as silently as
possible, then crept down the stairs in a crouching position, always on the
lookout and ready to shush anyone who tried to give him away. Once before the
door leading to the washing-medical room combo, he turned the handle
painstakingly slowly, watching the unsuspecting boy as he slipped inside like a
skillful snake, then hurriedly changed the bandages on his head and side,
pulling a face when he saw just how nasty the wound there was. It had also been
stitched, but it didn’t look like Sam needed to remove them yet, so he
just—gently—slapped on some bandages and was out of the room before Dean
could’ve noticed him. He did, right as Sam was opening the door to his room,
the younger boy unable to stop himself from flashing the other a smug grin
before shutting the door behind himself.
Later that day, he needed to leave again, this time because he had successfully
managed to spill his water. Sam facepalmed himself, unable to believe his level
of clumsiness, and while there was still some water left in the bottle, he was
thirsty and finished it rather fast. He chose to wait until nightfall before
venturing out again, keeping his growing thirst at bay by focusing on reading.
When it was dark enough and he couldn’t hear anyone playing table tennis
anymore, he shuffled down the stairs with bare feet and in his pajamas, rather
quickly regretting his decision when he began shivering from the cold cement
under his feet, the skin there freezing and sending violent chills all across
Sam’s body. He tried walking on his tiptoes, which helped, but only a little,
and swiftly grabbed a one liter bottle.
When he was going back to his room, he noticed Dean leaning against his door
and smirking down at him.
“Hey there,” the boy drawled, a complacent smirk crossing his face as he slowly
went down the stairs, while Sam was cursing and hugging the bottle to his chest
as he scurried over to the sofa.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping or something?” Sam asked, glaring daggers at the boy
when he stopped on the other side of the sofa. “You know showing up at night
like this is creepy. You’re creepy.”
Dean chuckled, taking careful steps around the furniture between them, Sam
immediately moving too and putting back the distance the boy was trying to
close. “Look at the pot calling the kettle black. I don’t see you sleeping in
your room, do I?”
“Yeah well, I have a reason,” he asserted, tightening his hold on the bottle as
they circled around the sofa, slowly while never breaking eye contact. “What’s
yours?”
“You,” Dean purred, suddenly stopping and climbing over the couch, grabbing at
Sam. Eyes widening in surprise, he backed away at warp speed, nearly tripping
over his own two feet, then spun on his heel and bolted for the stairs. He
could hear the boy running after him, but thankfully he was faster and reached
the top of the stairs just as Dean began climbing them, then in his panic
induced state, Sam only thought of survival as he let go of the bottle and
watched as it bounced down the steel steps, halting the other’s ascent.
He flashed a self-satisfied grin at Dean, then when he saw the pissed off look
on his face, Sam gulped and patted at the brick wall until he felt the smooth
surface of the door, rapidly disappearing behind it. Once he made sure he
locked the door, he listened to the boy walking upstairs and doing something in
front of his room, before his steps moved off to the right, gradually turning
quieter before stopping completely.
Sam waited more than ten minutes before he opened the door and found the
discarded bottle of water in front of his room.
Next time he emerged, the boy was once again nowhere to be found, which
couldn’t have been said about Ruby who, when Sam made a beeline to the kitchen
while trying real hard to appear invisible, caught him and wouldn’t leave him
alone until he played a round of table tennis with her. He couldn’t really
refuse, plus the faster he succumbed to the woman’s nagging, the sooner he’d be
back in his room, so he picked up the small, round bat with a sigh and hit the
surprisingly light ball. After several failed attempts where he couldn’t get
the damn thing past the net, they finally managed to play a very short game,
Sam actually having a bit of fun by the end of it.
He was about to turn around and head to the kitchen, when he saw the door to
Dean’s room opening. The boy walked out and strolled over to the stairs,
raising his arms above his head and stretching, fortunately not seeming to
notice Sam yet. That could’ve changed any second, though, so he improvised and
knelt down, crawling under the freaking ping pong table and hiding there. He
held his breath and folded his body, hoping that Ruby would be a good sport and
not give him away.
When Dean sat down on the sofa without even a glance at the table, Sam let
himself relax, but only a little. Getting from under the table to the kitchen,
then from there back to his room wouldn’t be easy, but since he was awesome, he
could do it.
Then he bumped his head into the edge of the table, loudly, and could hear his
hopes getting crushed to pieces.
He was prepared to run as soon as Dean looked back, but found that he didn’t
have to. He watched, stunned, as Ruby winked at him and walked over to the boy
on the couch, sitting down next to him and starting up a conversation, as if
distracting him. When Sam realized that she was indeed distracting Dean for his
behalf, he quickly scrambled to his feet and sneaked into the kitchen, grabbed
what he needed, then was halfway up the stairs when the boy finally noticed
him. He cursed and tried to sit up, but Ruby actually grabbed him and shouted
for Sam to run, that and the baffled look on Dean’s face making him laugh out
loud.
The day after that he didn’t leave the room at all, and when he came out the
one following that, Dean wasn’t there to bother him.
As he lay in bed now, Sam wondered how many days have passed since he’s been
forced to live here. He couldn’t have been sure, but he counted a week. A week
since these people dragged him out of his home and killed his dad. That sudden
and dark thought made him realize that he’d spent the last few days just
running around and hiding from Dean, sometimes even having a brief chat with
Ruby or Benny and, when he wasn’t slumped in a chair, even Raphael.
“What the hell…” Sam sighed, rubbing his face. He was supposed to focus on
escaping, thinking of a way of giving them the slip, not start socializing.
Instead of his biggest worry being not to be seen by Dean, he should be coming
up with another plan, his previous one an obvious failure. The great escape
number three, which had to work, had to be perfect, as he couldn’t afford
another mistake. Third time’s the charm, right?
Still, how? And should he, really? Where would he run? Sam had no real home
anymore, so even if he could somehow manage to get away and be collected by the
authorities, wouldn’t they just put him in an orphanage? He didn’t want that,
could guess what happened to those kids who were too old to get adopted. He’d
just end up on the streets and maybe even have resort to theft, becoming the
very thing he was trying to run from here. It seemed as if every road was
leading to that very result, to him becoming a delinquent, no matter how
desperately Sam wished otherwise.
But then what was he supposed to do? Just…give up on living a normal life
whatsoever and accept these people as his new family? Seriously? No, no way. He
couldn’t do that. They could never become family. A woman who was kind to him
but still a criminal, the man who killed his father, a man who hated him and
would have loved to beat him up, another who was the boss of a criminal gang,
someone who was quiet but certainly deadly, and a boy who had already kissed
him and seemed ready to do much more. How could he ever call that a family?
What a joke. Sure, life after escaping might not be as bright and cheerful as
Sam might expect, but it sure as hell would beat this.
Sitting up in bed, he squinted into the darkness to look at the clock. It was
half past midnight, a time when some of the group might still be awake, but
usually the whole warehouse was asleep by two in the morning. He shifted and
threw his legs over the side of the bed, planting his bare feet on the soft
carpeted floor as he sat there, thinking. He was already in his pajamas—which
consisted of a pair of comfortable dark blue checkered pants and a matching
shirt—ready to sleep, but now his mind was fully awake and concocting up one
scenario after another. Maybe now, he could actually escape. Should he go for
it, though? If he got caught…
Well, he’d just have to make sure not to get caught.
Which meant he couldn’t leave through the front door. He really shouldn’t, as
the risk of being spotted was way too high there, plus he’d already learned
from his previous mistake. Alright, so not the door. But then where? Fly out
though the window?
Sam gripped the mattress as he thought, tried to remember the layout of the
warehouse, but it was no use. There were no other doors leading outside, at
least none that he knew of, and unless he possessed the ability the pass
through walls all of a sudden, Sam was stuck. He stood up from the bed and
waddled over to the door, unlocking it and peeking out. There was nobody in the
large living room thing, but that didn’t mean that no one was awake in their
rooms, ready to come barging out at any sound. Sighing silently, he closed the
door, locked it and walked back to the bed, about to just flop back down and
give up, when an idea struck him.
It was stupid, very dangerous, but it might just be daring enough to work.
Sam quickly moved over to the series of windows. They were all small, but so
was he, and if he tried hard enough, he was positive he could squeeze his body
through one of them. He opened one of the bottom windows and looked out, before
dropping his gaze to the ground and immediately feeling nauseous. It wasn’t as
high as the cabin on top of the watchtower, but it sure as hell was high enough
to scare the crap out of Sam and make him feel sick. He was not climbing down
from here or jumping out the window, unless he planned on falling to his death,
this time surely breaking his neck and a lot more. He’d just have to lower
himself with something, and as he turned around and walked to his bed, he
really hoped his blanket and the sheets would be long enough.
After he removed all of the sheets from the bed, which now looked pretty much
like a mess, he began tying them together. He even used the cover from his
pillow, just to add a few more centimeters that just might save his legs from
getting broken. When that was done, Sam looked down at his masterpiece, getting
second thoughts. Would it be long enough? Would he even make it? And then what?
But then he shook his head and buried his face in his hands, waiting until he
calmed down before taking a deep breath and picking up the makeshift rope. He
was going to do this, no buts. When he stepped in front of the window, he
wondered where to tie the sheets, as he needed something sturdy and capable of
withstanding his weight, but he couldn’t find anything. He could’ve tied it
around one of the bed’s legs, but that was too far away, and Sam needed as much
of the sheets as he possible. There was also the possibility of securing it to
one of the window handles, but those looked like they could easily break with
Sam’s weight clinging to them. He didn’t really have any other options, though,
so he reluctantly tied one end around the metal handle, making a double knot
just to be sure and tightening it as much as he could.
When he was more or less certain that the knot wasn’t going to come untied and
was strong enough, he picked up the sheets and tossed them out of the window,
watching them fall and then stop. He pulled a face when he leaned out and saw
how there was still some space left between the bottom of the sheets and the
ground, but fortunately it didn’t seem that long of a drop. If his hands
wouldn’t slip and if he could make it to the very bottom, and let go of the
sheets then, he could actually land safely and with all of his limbs intact.
Now all he needed to do was climb down, which wasn’t that easy with his fear of
heights.
“Alright,” he told himself, sucking in deep breaths and letting the chilly
night air fill his lungs with oxygen and his body with courage. “Alright, you
can do this. Just climb, it’s easy, child’s play…”
Sam gripped the window frame as he looked down, trying to muster the strength
to at least will his body to move. He wouldn’t escape any faster by just
standing there, being scared, so after muttering a silent prayer to whoever was
listening, he grabbed the sheets and held onto them tightly as he carefully
climbed out the window, wincing when he bumped his head against the hard frame.
He nearly slipped once, his heart stopping when he thought he was going to
fall, then when he was finally on the other side, his arms began trembling from
horror and the effort supporting himself took. His legs were just dangling
aimlessly under him, the sheets slipping and sliding between his feet each time
he tried to wrap his frantic limbs around them, realizing that maybe he
should’ve tied some knots on the sheets before. Ah well, too late now.
His palms were sweaty and he nearly gasped when he slid down on the sheets a
bit, the skin on his palms now burning. He managed to trap the fabric—which was
constantly being blown left and right by the small gusts of wind—between his
feet, then forced himself to move, very carefully letting up on the hold he had
on the sheets to lower himself. Inch by inch, he climbed down the sheets, and
then suddenly there weren’t any more of it by his feet, Sam now trying to press
them against the wall and lean back a little, using the sheets to sort of walk
backwards down the building. Then when he could already see the bottom of the
sheets, he gripped them tighter than ever, straining his muscles as he held his
breath and let his legs fall and body dangle—and then he slipped.
This time he did gasp and let out a small cry as he fell to the ground and onto
his ass. Groaning, he sat up, then winced. Yep, now his ass hurt. And legs too,
as they were the first things that hit the ground, but buckled from the weight
of his body. Still, he wasn’t in that much pain, and as he looked up, he saw
that the sheets weren’t even that far away. He couldn’t reach them, not even
when he got on his tiptoes after finally standing up, or when he jumped with
his arm extended, but it wasn’t that high. Not being able to reach it meant
that there was no going back now, though, so he had no choice but to commit to
the plan. Quickly looking around until he spotted the road and the swarm of
houses on the other side, Sam pressed against the wall and guardedly made his
way to the front of the warehouse, peeking out from behind the corner, but not
seeing anyone.
Now came the hard part. Should he run, or take it slow? Running would get him
to safety much faster, but sneaking to the road might be a better idea. Who
knew what kind of traps or security they had set up around the warehouse? For
all he knew, there could be some sort of minefield under the gravel path
leading to the road, that path just a decoy for those who didn’t know better.
No, that was just stupid. Sam was getting too worked up, which was
understandable, but he needed to stay rational here. So he would run, get as
much distance between him and this place as fast as possible, and never look
back. It’s not like he would miss it here, miss anyone, so when his chest
tightened for a brief moment, he was sure that it wasn’t because of doubt. It
couldn’t have been.
He scanned the meadow and the road one last time, before darting out from
behind the wall and running like the wind. Running on gravel made him wish he
would have put on some shoes, or at least some socks, the way the tiny rocks
dug into the soles of his feet and clung to his skin rather painful and
uncomfortable, Sam gritting his teeth at each step but pushing on. He wouldn’t
let some pain stop him, not now, not when he got this far. But then he reached
the road, the smooth asphalt under his feet drawing a sigh of relief out of
him, and he quickly bent down to remove the stubborn pebbles that were still
stickling to his skin. However as he raised his leg, he noticed his shadow
growing, which shouldn’t have been possible because the moonlight wasn’t that
strong, not as intense as a pair of headlights…
Sam’s eyes widened, and now he knew exactly what those animals felt, the reason
they stopped and stared each time they were caught in the headlight. The car
came to a screeching halt not far from him, Sam recognizing it immediately and
feeling like throwing up, because it was a fucking black van and he couldn’t
believe that this was happening.
And then it all just got so much worse when the person that came striding out
of the car happened to be none other than Crowley.
“You can’t be serious!” the man exclaimed, shaking his head as he laughed at
him. “Are you fucking kidding me? Running away? Really?”
Sam took two steps back, his hands beginning to shake, watching as the man
clenched his own into fists and began walking toward him. His body stayed still
like a statue, as if his legs were being weighted down by giant boulders, then
as if something snapped inside him, he was suddenly dashing toward the houses,
eyes wide open as his heart pounded frantically in his chest and only speeding
up and pumping even more adrenaline through him when he heard Crowley shouting
after him.
“Come back here, you little piece of shit!” he hollered, and after a while Sam
could hear the car driving, coming his way.
Oh god, Crowley was going to run him over.
He made sure to get off the road as soon as possible, running downhill on a
sidewalk and looking for a fence he could jump over, this chase reminding him
of the time they kidnapped him. This time, however, he wouldn’t just get put to
sleep. Or if yes, it would probably be forever. So he ran for his life, his
bare feet slamming against the pavement and his lungs burning as he panted
heavily, gradually going into hysterics, then looked back around his shoulder
just in time to see the van as it veered to the side and sped up, really trying
to run him over.
Shocked, Sam managed to jump out of the car’s way in the last moment, landing
painfully on his shoulder and cursing these damn houses for not having a garden
or an area that cars couldn’t get to. He pulled himself up on his elbows,
hissing when he realized that there was a hole in his shirt and that he had
grazed one of his elbows, then when he heard the car stop and its door open, he
began crawling, not even caring how that looked because he just needed to get
away from that man. First crawling madly on his hands and knees, then
scrambling to his feet to continue his flight, Sam barely took three steps
forward before he felt a hand grabbing his hair, and he was crying out in pain
as he got shoved to his knees, then face-first onto the ground.
“You bitch,” Crowley spat as he pressed a knee into the small of his back to
keep him down, but Sam wouldn’t stay still. He thrashed around and writhed
hopelessly, desperately trying to turn around or get away, but all he achieved
with that was to get his head bashed against the hard asphalt until he would
finally stop moving.
“Get off! Let go, don’t—” he growled weakly, tried to speak as blood gathered
in his mouth, his forehead and the back of his head pulsing with a horrible
pain, and he was pretty sure that his nose was bleeding, though he didn’t think
it was broken.
Crowley yanked on his hair, and Sam let out a scream. “You try to run and then
you want me to let you go?” the man scoffed and let out a raspy chuckle,
suddenly letting go of the injured boy’s head with a brutal shove to fumble
with something. “Oh, but this is good. It’s fine, because I’ve been waiting to
do this for a while, and now finally, you’re giving me a perfect excuse.”
When he heard the familiar click of a belt, Sam tried to turn around again,
feeling as tears of panic and frustration built up in his eyes, pressuring for
release. He only managed to twist his head to look back at Crowley, who flashed
him a murderous and insane grin, snapping his belt and slipping it around the
boy’s throat before he could’ve done anything. Sam’s eyes widened and his tears
escaped as he clawed at the leather biting into his skin, listening to the
man’s laugh as he tightened the belt around his neck, lifting Sam up and making
him lean back as he strangled him. He choked and tried speaking, maybe
screaming or even begging, but nothing came out, only pathetic little gagging
sounds managing to slip past his lips now and then. He didn’t want to die, oh
god, he’d rather stay in that damned warehouse full of smugglers than this,
than getting strangled to death with a freaking belt. But no matter how much he
tried tugging on the leather, how desperately he tried to curl his fingers
under it and lessen the pressure, Crowley was pulling on it too hard and with
so much force it wasn’t long before Sam could feel himself weaken.
His bulging eyes were slowly closing, his air cut off and a heavy cloud
descending on his mind, his hands trembling and then falling limply to the
ground, and his ears were ringing, everything sounding so far away, so distant…
“What the fuck are you doing?!?”
The pressure around his throat lessened, and suddenly the belt was gone. Sam
slumped to the ground, coughing and gasping and heaving, his whole body weak
and jolting when heard the amount of rage dripping from the voice that let out
a sudden yell.
“You fucking lay a finger on him again, and they’ll be needing tiny plastic
bags to collect the remains of your body!” the person whose voice Sam
recognized as Dean’s bellowed, followed by the sound of footsteps. “And I
swear, if you tell Nick that he tried to run, they won’t even need those
bags—I’ll turn your body into fucking dust, got me?”
“You’re insane,” Crowley hissed, but as Sam finally managed to gather his
strength to lean on his elbows and look up, wiping the blood from his nose, he
saw the man slowly backing toward the van. “Protecting this kid, is it really
worth it? He tried to run, Dean! You’re seriously willing to just ignore
that?!”
Dean glared at him, so hatefully it made Sam afraid. “No, of course not. But
I’ll be the one taking care of him, not you. He’s my responsibility from now
on,” he growled deeply, a low and dangerous rumble in his throat, “and if I
ever see you even look at him, I’ll break every single bone in your body. I
will, Crowley. You know I will.”
Shaking his head, the man stopped when he reached the car. “You really have
lost it. Fucking gone nuts. But you know what? Whatever, I don’t care. I won’t
tell anyone, won’t touch your precious little toy, but if he escapes, I will be
the one to tell the boss and watch you burn. Literally.”
“Yeah sure, knock yourself out,” the boy snarled. “Now get the hell out of
here.”
“Whatever,” Crowley repeated, tossing his belt into the car before walking
around it and getting inside, Sam and Dean watching as he drove away,
presumably back to the warehouse.
Once the car was out of sight and they were alone, Dean turned to look at him,
his glare just as intense—if not even darker—than when he was looking at
Crowley, and Sam was shaking again. He hoped he managed to avoid getting killed
tonight, but maybe his relief came too quick. Dean did say he would personally
take care of him, and now as those words sunk in, he couldn’t help but let out
a pitiful little sound, quickly sitting up and trying to crawl away, all the
while keeping his eyes on the furious boy. He didn’t say anything, was silent
as the grave as he closed in on Sam, who was only getting more freaked out by
the silence, hyperventilating and tears streaming down his face when Dean
finally reached him and hauled him to his feet.
“No!” Sam shrieked, kicking and clawing as the boy dragged him to one of the
houses, then slammed him against the wall. “No, please, god no! Sorry, I’m so
sorry, I won’t run again, please! Please, please don’t kill me, Dean please!”
“Heard that lie already, not interested,” Dean growled through gritted teeth,
visibly trying to keep his anger under control as he pinned the crying boy’s
arms over his head and shoved a knee between his thighs, keeping him in place.
“I really hate it when people lie to my face, Sam. I really fucking do.”
He sniffed, letting his head fall as his shoulders shook with small sobs. “S-
Sorry, I’m sorry…” he stuttered with a whimper, not knowing what else to do
aside from apologizing and unable to meet the other’s gaze, which he knew must
have been filled with rage, with bloodlust.
“Yeah, you said that already,” the boy snarled as he leaned closer, using one
hand to keep Sam’s above his head, while moving the other to grab a hold of his
jaw and lift his chin. Sam blinked the tears away, staring up at Dean from
behind his bangs and feeling completely hopeless, his breaths coming out weak
and ragged, then catching in his throat when the other narrowed his eye,
closing the distance between them even more. “You’ve really made me angry, you
know.”
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Sam stammered, “I…I-I…”
Dean’s hold on his jaw tightened, shutting him up. “You see, Sammy,” he purred,
pausing to lean in and run the tip of his tongue along a bruise on the
trembling boy’s forehead, making him gasp, then was back and watching him
keenly, “I wouldn’t have cared before. Crowley could have fucked you up and
snapped your neck, and I wouldn’t have given a single shit. But now? Oh, now…
Now I refuse to let you run, let you leave. You are not going anywhere, kiddo,
because this is your home. You know that too, right? You have nowhere else to
go, but here, with me. In my arms…”
He tilted Sam’s head further and slid his thumb over his bottom lip, the
younger boy finding it hard to breathe or blink, to move whatsoever as Dean
pressed down on his lip and opened his mouth, and then suddenly his eyes were
widening in shock as he felt something else press against his lips, something
much softer than a thumb. Dean held his head in place as he kissed him, and
this time it wasn’t a chaste or brief kiss. It was deep and hard, the boy
opening his mouth and licking along Sam’s lips, forcing his tongue into the
other’s mouth when he gasped. Completely frozen, with his breath stuck in his
chest and his eyes painfully wide, his body continuously assaulted by tiny and
quick waves of warmth, making him tremble uncontrollably, Sam needed a few
moments to process what was going on, but when he finally realized that Dean
was kissing him, it was already too late to do anything.
Sam was too confused, unable to think or focus on anything else aside from
those amazing lips on his, that probing and greedy tongue which was in the
middle of discovering his mouth, licking into it and sliding against Sam’s own
tongue, making him whine. His eyes gradually fluttered shut, and he was
suddenly feeling weak, the long and passionate kiss clouding his mind with a
sweet, honeyed haze, the way Dean’s lips moved against his, his teeth nibbling
on his lower lip before swiping his tongue over the swollen flesh, the way he
growled into the kiss each time he pressed closer, deepening it impossibly
more, made Sam lose it completely.
He wasn’t thinking when he opened his mouth further and kissed the boy back,
slowly and tentatively at first, then much more desperately, letting out small
and muffled moans as they kissed hotly, Sam’s knees soon giving way under him,
and if not for Dean’s hold on his wrists, he would have surely collapsed.
When the boy finally pulled back and stopped kissing him breathless, Sam
quickly went back to panting, looking at Dean through half lidded eyes and
licking his already wet, kiss bitten lips.
“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groaned, letting go of his wrists to grab at his hips, Sam
immediately wrapping his arms around the boy’s neck and holding on for dear
life. Then he was moaning again, the weak sounds not muffled this time as he
leaned his head back with his mouth open, those miserable sounds along with
tiny gasps leaving him as Dean began kissing and licking down his neck, setting
his body on fire.
And then his eyes flew open and he whimpered loudly as the boy pressed his
thigh against the bulge in Sam’s pants, his face flushing in intense
embarrassment and something else, because he had a freaking erection.
Dean obviously noticing it too, let out a deep chuckle and then rubbed his
thigh against the trembling boy’s clothed erection, all the while teasing his
neck and shoulder, kissing and licking, sucking and biting at every inch of
skin there. Sam moved his head and craned his neck, baring it for the boy, his
fingers curling into Dean’s jacket and sinking into the black leather, then he
was desperately bucking into the other’s thigh, needing more of this new but
addicting feeling.
“D-Dean…” he breathed, trying to say something, but couldn’t remember how to
talk anymore, especially when he felt a cold hand slip under his shirt and play
with the burning skin there, Sam instinctively arching his back and leaning
into the touch, not even giving a shit that his head was hurting, this strange
pleasure so much stronger than pain. He moaned softly, electric shivers running
up and down his spine, making the hair on his arms and back of his neck stand
on end, Dean’s fingers on his chest, as they caressed him lightly but so
possessively at the same time making goosebumps break out on every inch of skin
he touched. A persistent and powerful warmth was pooling in his belly and
spreading through him, warming and making his blood boil with a hot and heavy
passion, and it was so new and so much, Sam was becoming dizzy.
Dean bit down on the spot where his neck met his shoulder, making him moan a
bit louder. “Damn, so sweet, taste so good Sammy,” the boy mouthed against his
skin, and suddenly Sam’s breath hitched as his shirt got quite literally torn
open, buttons flying and dropping to the ground. Dean licked his lips like a
famished beast, flashing him a fiery and desirous look before leaning down and
licking from Sam’s bellybutton, all the way up to his throat, drawing a
surprised and high-pitched cry from him, and that was it. He couldn’t take it
anymore, and his hands slipped from the other’s jacket, all the strength
leaving Sam as his legs buckled under him and he fell to the ground.
He sat there, panting heavily and trembling uncontrollably, staring ahead with
wide eyes, then pulled up his legs and pressed his back into the wall behind
him when Dean kneeled down in front of him, leaning forward and placing his
hands on either side of Sam.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, the shimmering pool of seaweed green orb making
Sam think he was staring into the ocean, could drown in it any day, it eclipsed
by Dean’s dilated pupil as he stared deep into the other’s eyes. “And don’t you
ever think I’m letting you leave.”
Sam was too stunned to say anything, so he just nodded jerkily, his nails
sinking into his knees when Dean moved closer and cupped his chin, the placed a
soft kiss on his lips. Then another, and then another, and then he squeezed his
eyes shut as the boy just kept kissing him over and over again, until Sam
unconsciously parted his lips, after which Dean stopped and gave him one deep
and lingering kiss, before finally pulling away. He flashed a satisfied-looking
smirk at him, then stood up and extended a helping hand toward Sam which, after
a moment of hesitation, he took. Getting to his feet, Sam tried to actually
stay upright and not collapse again, as he was still feeling a bit weak, while
he closed his shirt as much as he could, using the buttons on it which weren’t
scattered across the sidewalk.
He took in a shaky breath, glancing up at Dean and seeing him grinning like a
kid on Christmas morning, then tried real hard not to think about how that made
Sam the present.
“Come on, let’s go back before anyone else notices you’re gone,” the boy
suggested, and Sam nodded, then cleared his throat and gave a shot at talking.
“Yeah, good idea…” he mumbled, glad his voice didn’t break, though it was still
quiet and pretty weak, but hey, it was something.
Dean chuckled and ruffled the other’s hair lightly, in a way that didn’t hurt
any of Sam’s wounds, then began walking back to the warehouse with a rather
perplexed boy shuffling behind him.
Sam was cold and burning hot at the same time, all kinds of thoughts floating
and racing around in his head, but one thing was pretty darn clear. He and Dean
just made out, kissed in a way he had only read about before, and instead of
the disgust he anticipated, it felt good. Not even good, it was amazing, made
him forget about everything while the boy’s lips were on his, or on his neck,
while those firm hands touched him, fingers trailed up and down his skin. He
didn’t want to admit it to himself, but this wasn’t nothing anymore. He
couldn’t ignore it, not like before, because he clearly enjoyed kissing Dean.
Yeah, denial didn’t really work when he was attracted to the boy.
It was surprising. Sam was pretty appalled and confused by his reaction, by his
own body’s needs, but he couldn’t pretend that he hated Dean anymore. Did he
scare him still? Hell yes he did. The boy was some psycho criminal, a huge
pervert, and that dangerous air around him did manage to frighten Sam even now.
But his heart wasn’t racing from fear only, not anymore. It felt like his own
body was betraying him, living a life of its own; because Dean was a bad person
and Sam shouldn’t be attracted to him in such a way, shouldn’t let the other
touch him. He especially shouldn’t be enjoying it, his face heating up again as
he remembered the sounds he made, how that boy made him moan and close his eyes
in pleasure, hang onto the other like some pathetic little kid. But the reality
of the situation was that he didn’t mind it anymore—all those touches he
despised and feared, they are still making him nervous but also something else.
He wouldn’t go as far to say he craved them now, but he didn’t feel like
pushing Dean away, not after what just happened.
Also, Sam didn’t love him. He liked the kiss, yes; he wasn’t sure he was ready
to accept the fact that kissing and being kissed by an older boy was something
he found enjoyable, but that was the truth and it happened. All these
“feelings” were purely physical, though. Well, he didn’t think Dean was a
complete jerk anymore, that much was true, but he was still an ass. Just an ass
that happened to be pretty good at kissing and turning Sam on.
Speaking of which, he still had an erection.
He wasn’t a complete saint. He had jerked off before to porn and some pictures,
all of them straight by the way, so this wasn’t the first time he popped a
boner. But it was, however, the first time he got an erection thanks to stimuli
from someone else, from someone touching him in such an intimate way. The fact
that he had no underwear on, only the rather thin pair of pajama pants, might
have been one of the many reasons as to why he got hard so quickly, too. Plus
all the rubbing and kissing, yeah. And now he couldn’t calm down, at least his
lower regions certainly weren’t able to relax, Sam waddling uncomfortably after
Dean and taking deep breaths, concentrating on the chilly air as it caressed
his skin and made him shiver, trying to will that goddamn boner away already.
And it took a while, but he did manage to calm down completely in the end,
entering his room without a tent in his pants.
He wasn’t alone, though. Dean followed him inside, stopping after a few steps
and letting out a low whistle.
“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he nodded toward the open window, the
sheets still tied around a handle and hanging from it. “I think you might have
watched a bit too many spy movies, Sam.”
Quickly making his way to the windows, Sam pulled up the sheets and tossed them
onto the floor, before closing the window. He then turned around and frowned at
the other, pretty sure that his own face was still resembling the shade of a
tomato. “It’s not like I had another choice, okay? And anyway, it worked, so
shut up.”
Dean chuckled, grinning at him. “Worked, huh?” he taunted, his grin widening as
Sam’s frown deepened. “Doesn’t really look like it did to me, I’ve gotta say.”
“It would have, if not for that lunatic…” Sam huffed, averting his gaze from
the way too cocky-looking boy and playing awkwardly with the hem of his shirt,
gripping the fabric tightly as he listened to Dean’s growing steps as he walked
over to him.
“Hey,” he said rather quietly, using his fingers to lightly turn the other’s
face toward him, Sam giving in and looking at him again. Dean smiled when their
eyes met, and used his other hand to tuck a few strands of hair behind the
younger boy’s ear. “Promise me you won’t do it again. Really promise me, I
don’t want any more lies.”
Sam bit down on the inside of his cheek as he thought, as he looked into the
other’s eye, full of genuine emotions, and he knew he wasn’t lying when he
said, “I promise, Dean. I won’t ever run again. You were right, I… There’s
nowhere I could go, no place I could call home anymore, so why even try…”
“You do have a home,” the boy pointed out, furrowing his brow slightly and
stroking Sam’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “It’s here, with us. I know you
don’t like it, I know, but this place accepts you, Sam.”
He watched as Dean’s eye searched for something in his, maybe defeat or
acceptance. Sam was silent, not sure how or what to answer. He knew he couldn’t
run anymore, but now that he was more or less sure that he’d stay, could he
really do it? Could he really blend in and accept these people? His life would
change completely without the plan to escape, without the possibility of a
normal life. What would happen to him now that he’d given up on that future?
It scared him, the sudden realization that his dream for an everyday life was
gone, fully out of reach now and never to be his, making him unable to utter a
word and stealing his voice, Sam not so sure he could survive here anymore.
And Dean must have seen it, sensed it somehow, because in the next moment he
leaned down and placed a tender kiss on the other’s forehead. “It’ll be okay; I
won’t let anything happen to you, not anymore. Nobody dares to harm what’s
mine, after all.”
That made Sam stare at the boy, blinking with slightly wide eyes. “H-Hey I
never actually agreed to that. I mean it’s not like…we’re not…” His voice
trailed off, and great, he was blushing again. Why did Dean always have to make
him feel like some virgin girl?
Well, he was a virgin…
Dean just laughed, a low and kinda nice sound, and shook his head. “No we’re
not,” he said, then winked and added, “yet.”
Sam opened and closed his mouth, struggling with words as he tried to protest,
but Dean was already pulling away and walking back to the door. Once he reached
it, he stopped and gave the other a half-smile. “Sweet dreams,” he purred,
before taking a hold of the handle and closing the door behind himself as he
walked out, leaving Sam alone in the room, just standing next to the window and
blinking at the door.
He stayed there for the longest moment, wondering if all of this really did
just happened, then ran his hands through his hair with a sigh, immediately
wincing as he touched the wounds. Alright, for now he needed to clean up a bit.
Reluctantly, he knelt down, pulling a face because he was pretty sure he had
managed to bruise his knees too, and proceeded to untie the sheets, then fix
his bed. When that was done and he was ready to just lie back down and let his
mind shut off, Sam caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror mounted on
the wardrobe, and cringed.
Wow, he looked like crap. Sam slowly wandered over to the mirror and looked
himself over, and no wonder he was hurting all over—he was covered in wounds,
many of them bleeding. His forehead was grazed and bloody near his temple, and
when he raised a hand and trailed his index finger along his nose, it hurt, but
not too badly. His nose wasn’t bleeding and didn’t look like it was broken,
either, so he was thankful for that; however his neck was in a horrible
condition, a belt shaped bruise already forming around his throat. But as he
leaned closer, as he took a step toward the mirror, Sam noticed something else
too. There were the cuts on his skin that were already healing but not
disappearing, the horizontal bruise, and next to it, some more. Other sort of
bruises, some small while others were slightly bigger, but all of them were
dark, a deep red color with a bit of purple. Puzzled, he pressed a finger
against the closest one to his shoulder, but it didn’t hurt like he expected.
It felt weird, and there was definitely a dull ache there if he pressed too
hard, though that could’ve been just because of the force he used and not the
bruise itself.
He looked at them for a long time, wondering what could have possibly done
that, then as if a light bulb appeared above his head, Sam suddenly got it.
Then immediately felt his face flush, because those were hickeys and, holy
crap, Dean really went all out.
Clutching his neck as if the marks would disappear like that, he ran to the
bathroom and looked for some band-aids. He needed to cover them up somehow, as
that idiot managed to leave the hickeys in some pretty freaking obvious places,
and it’s not like he had any turtlenecks to hide them behind. But when, to his
surprise, he did actually find some plain band-aids, his hopes to avoid some
rather embarrassing situations got crushed, because no way were they going to
fit. They were too small, compared to some of the hickeys, just enough to cover
most of a mark’s width, but not all of it. Damn it, was Dean trying to mark him
as his property or something? Why not just stick a sign on his forehead that
read “Mine” and just be done with it? Not like he really belonged to the boy,
but anything was better than these…love bites or what.
Sam let out a defeated sigh, holding onto the edge of the sink as he lowered
his head, strands of his messy chestnut hair falling in front of his face, his
closed eyes. This night has been weird, turned completely upside down, into
chaos. It was supposed to end with him escaping, with him leaving this place
behind, but instead, here he was—back in the cell that was his room. It wasn’t
a prison anymore, though, was it? That’s what it was supposed to be, what it’s
been all this time, but now that Sam had screwed up his very last chance at
leaving, it was home. Dean was right, this was his home now, whether he liked
it or not. And he’d just have to accept it, stop trying to escape, stop
complaining and whining, because it was still better than some orphanage or the
streets. Yeah, they were all bad, but aside from the people here, the warehouse
itself was pretty neat. And maybe not everyone was so horrible… Maybe.
As long as they didn’t try to murder him like Crowley did, he was quite
positive he could actually do this. Sure, he had no idea what the future held,
how everything would turn out after this, the kind of life waiting for him
still a mystery. But he liked mysteries, and no matter how bad it would get, he
at least always had the memory of his father with him, and something else,
someone else who he just might be able to count on from now on.
 
Chapter End Notes
     So that was a long chapter. Hope you enjoyed it, because, you see...
     I won't be here for a few days, so I can't post new chapters. Sorry,
     I know! But it's only a few days, I promise, and look, I posted such
     a long chapter for you guys! Please don't throw tomatoes at me!
     Love you all! <3
***** Sweet Mistake *****
Chapter Notes
     I am so, so sorry for the delay. You can all thank a certain SOMEONE
     for it. (You know who you are)
     But now I'm back, the story is back, and please do enjoy it!
 
That night, he took a nice and long shower, picked up some more bandages from
downstairs, and then slept like a baby. Like a hibernating baby bear, to be
more specific.
He was in such a deep, dreamless sleep, that he only managed to wake up after
hearing someone shout his name. At first he thought he was still dreaming, but
when he realized that whoever was shouting was also knocking on his door, it
became pretty clear that, nope, he was wide awake now.
Then he was sitting up and nearly tripping on the sheets as he jumped out of
the bed, because the voice behind the door belonged to Nick, and that couldn’t
mean anything good.
“Sam?” Nick’s knocks quickly turned to thuds, every sound sending dread
coursing through Sam’s veins. What if he knew? Why else would he be knocking on
his door as if they were being attacked by some massive dragon, other than the
fact that that asshole Crowley told him everything? Or maybe even Dean. Maybe
the boy was lying to him all along, maybe this was his plan from the start,
maybe…
No, he was panicking. There were hundreds of reasons as to why the man would be
banging on his door—he glanced at the clock on top of the drawers—at eight in
the morning. Surely, it wasn’t as bad as Sam thought. God, he hoped it wasn’t.
Whatever the reason was behind the morning call, he couldn’t just stand there,
unable to move a muscle or utter a word. He needed to at least let Nick know
that he was awake, because while the bangs on the door sounded like they meant
trouble, the man’s voice didn’t sound too aggressive. Loud, yes, but not what a
murderous maniac would sound like. Though Nick always managed to keep his voice
kind and honeyed, the sort that was too polite, making him completely
unpredictable.
Damn it, he was screwed.
“Yeah, I’m awake!” he yelled back, because it’s not like he could’ve swan dived
out the window again, not after what happened.
The knocking stopped, and he heard a sigh. “Finally,” Nick said, sounding
relieved. “A heavy sleeper, aren’t you?” There was a pause, one lasting
probably a few seconds, but which seemed like an eternity to Sam. “Well, come
on downstairs. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
He listened to the man’s disappearing footsteps, only relaxing his shoulders
when he was sure that he was alone again. A surprise? That couldn’t mean
anything great, at least not coming from Nick. He really hoped it didn’t
involve things like, say, a rope needed for public executions. No, that was
stupid, they wouldn’t execute him like in those mafia movies, come on.
They’d probably just slash his throat and be done with it.
Sam shook his head. He needed to stop thinking of the worst case scenario right
away, stop being so pessimistic. Which, in a place full of people who could
snap his neck in a split second, wasn’t as easy as it seemed, but he was
trying. Sighing, he could only hope that the surprise Nick was talking about
was indeed something nice and worth getting out of bed for, the only way
finding that out being by just going downstairs as he was told. So he quickly
made his bed and changed into something more presentable than his pajamas,
picking a simple pair of black jeans, along with a matching blue and black
checkered shirt—yes, he liked flannel and squares—then put on his shoes and
fluffed his hair a bit. Standing in front of the mirror on his wardrobe, he
made sure to button the shirt all the way up, then even popped its collar,
unfolding it in order to hide the hickeys which, unfortunately, did not chose
to disappear overnight. He looked a bit stupid like that, with the collar
facing upward against his neck, but it was still better than letting everyone
see the pretty damn visible marks on his skin. He’d have to remind himself
later to give Dean an earful about them, that bastard deserving a good beating
for what he did to his neck. Maybe Sam could even catch him off guard, this
time managing to get a punch in before getting strangled or worse.
Anyway, that was a plan for the future. For now, he needed to survive whatever
this surprise was supposed to be.
He unlocked the door, keeping his tight hold on the handle as he peered out and
down into the room below, instantly feeling a bit confused when he saw nearly
everyone there. They were gathered around the couch, some leaning against it
while others were just sitting on its comfortable cushions. The only person
missing was Crowley—aside from his absence, the whole gang was seemingly
waiting for him. That made him even more wary of what was coming, but the
opportunity to just nope out of the situation and get back inside his room
quickly ceased to exist when he made eye contact with Nick, who was standing in
the middle of the vast room.
That eerie smile was back on his face as soon as they locked eyes. “Sam! Come
on, I think you’re going to like this,” the man said, beckoning to him.
Reluctantly, Sam swallowed and closed the door behind himself, then went down
the stairs before walking over to the boss. “What’re they doing here…?” he
asked, nodding toward the group by the couch and deliberately not looking at
Dean. He didn’t have to look to know the boy was staring at him, and Sam didn’t
feel like getting molested by that one eye right now, thank you very much.
Nick raised his eyebrows, glancing at the men and one woman, then let out a
small chuckle. “Oh, they’re just curious. I haven’t told them about the job
either, and since it’ll be your first, they can’t wait to know which one I’m
assigning to you.”
“What?” Sam blurted, really not liking the sound of that, then quickly cleared
his throat and tried to sound a bit less scared. “What job?”
“Your very first job,” Nick explained, then added with a smile, “one you’ll do
all by yourself.”
Oh no.
“Alone? Are you…” His voice trailed off, but he wasn’t going to panic, he
couldn’t let Nick of all people let him see get all jittery. “I don’t think I’m
ready for that.”
“Ah, of course you’d say that,” the man said, shaking his head. “But don’t
worry, you are. It won’t be a hard one, I wouldn’t give you a job you’d be
destined to fail. No, I picked one that should work just fine…if you do
everything the way you’re supposed to, that is.”
That still didn’t reassure him one bit. Working for smugglers, as a smuggler
was bad in itself, but now he had to do a job alone? How the hell was he
supposed to pull that off? He’d have no one to rely on, and if it involved
climbing across a roof or performing some hardcore James Bond stunts, then he
was surely going to break something. Fall and fail, that’s what he’d do, not
succeed.
But maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. He didn’t even know what the job was, so he
shouldn’t mourn himself yet, right?
“So…what am I supposed to do?” he finally asked, forced the words out of his
mouth.
“Yeah, tell us already,” Ruby chimed in from the sofa, turning around on her
knees to look at Nick, then gave Sam a wink. “We’re dying to know how you’re
planning on making the poor kid’s life miserable.”
The man rolled his eyes. “That’s enough. I’m only letting you listen in because
you begged, remember? Don’t make me regret my decision,” he said, all smile
gone from his voice, before turning back to Sam. “Now then, it’s simple.
Nothing to worry about. You’ll just have to take some heroin to France. By
taking a plane, obviously.”
No, it was definitely bad.
“Giving him a plane job already?” Benny laughed, shaking his head. “Poor kid.”
“He’ll survive,” Raphael remarked with a shrug, before going back to doing
whatever he was doing on the laptop in his lap.
Ruby raised an eyebrow at Nick, but stayed silent instead and just flopped back
onto the sofa with a sigh.
Dean, however, pushed himself away from where he was leaning against the sofa
and walked over to them, and this time, Sam did look at him. The boy had his
face fixed in a steady frown, his steps as he strode over seeming somewhat
purposeful, and when he stopped next to them, he stood near Sam in a way that
could even be mistaken to protective.
He looked at Nick with one questioning eye, the frown that wrinkled his
forehead never leaving his face. “Are you sure about this, boss? I mean he did
just join us recently. Giving him a job like that… It could be a mistake. He
could screw up.”
It was Sam’s turn to frown now. He thought Dean was going to help him out, but
apparently he was becoming too naïve, because that was certainly not the case.
Sure, he was scared and quite positive that if they’d make him do this, he
would probably end up screwing it all up, so Dean was right, but he didn’t get
to say stuff like that. And in a way, that jerk’s comment was kind of starting
to make him reconsider his thoughts on this job, wanting to accept it just to
prove him wrong.
He didn’t get to voice his opinion, though, as Nick was smiling again and
crossing his arms in front of his chest, raising his eyebrows at the boy. “Are
you saying I’m one to make mistakes, Dean? That I don’t know when one of my men
is ready for something or not?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, obviously,” Dean stated, raising his hands. “It’s
just… He’s still a kid, so wouldn’t it be odd for him to travel on a plane
alone?”
“Kids younger than him go alone, and you know that too,” he pointed out. “And I
won’t make him carry full packets of powdered heroin. He’d never get through
security like that.” Probably noticing Sam’s uneasy, but slightly curious gaze
on him, Nick paused, then looked at him with a serious expression. It gave him
the creeps, this side of the man reminding him just who he was, and it was hard
to decide which Nick was the most terrifying—the polite, smiling but borderline
murderous one, or this grim and serious one, looking like he could go for your
throat in a heartbeat. “You will be transporting the heroin by masking it as
candy. Just what a fourteen year old would have on himself, something that
wouldn’t raise much attention. The hard candy will be filled with liquid
heroin, making it easier for the costumers to extract it. It’s not actually
meant to be eaten like a candy, merely transported as one. But you needn’t
worry about that. All you need to do is take the bag of ‘candy’ through the
airport, onto the plane, and then drop it off in a motel in France. I’ll give
you all the documents and other papers with some more details, like where to
find the motel, in a short while, but really, this is it. This is the job. Do
you think you can handle it, Sam?”
He wasn’t sure. The part with him needing to do it alone was rather off putting
and made him question if his acting skill were good enough, but now that Nick
explained what he’d really have to do… Well, it didn’t sound too complicated.
Much easier than he would have thought, actually, so it might work. He might be
able to do it without messing up and getting busted. Yeah, he could do this.
After all his failures, he needed to somehow regain his self-confidence, and
maybe this job would help with that.
So he steeled his resolve and nodded, feeling for the first time in a long time
that he could actually do something, be like those characters he always dreamed
of becoming. However instead of a super spy agent, he would be a smuggler, but
as long as he was alone with nobody there to remind him of what he was doing
was illegal, a crime that could make him end up in prison, he could always
pretend.
“I can. I’ll do it,” he said as confidently as he possibly could, though
keeping his eyes locked with Nick’s intent and penetrating ones was already a
battle on its own.
The man smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but apparently not
everyone was as happy with Sam’s final decision as him.
“No,” Dean stated, shooting a glare at Sam that kind of surprised him, before
looking back at Nick, his frown deepening. “I’ll go with him.”
“I don’t need you,” Sam snapped, stepping away from the boy to put some
distance between the two of them, and returned his glare, starting to feel a
bit pissed off. “I can do it alone, you really don’t need to hover around and
babysit me.”
Dean’s eye narrowed, suddenly reminding Sam just why he used to be scared of
the boy; why he felt a horrible chill run down his spine even now as the other
clenched his jaw and hissed through gritted teeth, “Yes, you do. Sam, I’m not
letting you go alone, you can forget that. You do need me, or else you might
just end up being snatched by some fucker on the streets. We both know how easy
it is to get a hold of you, don’t we?”
“Screw you!” Sam snarled, his glare intensifying. “I can take care of myself
and I certainly don’t need you to look out for me. The only reason you guys
managed to get me was because I was scared and I wasn’t prepared!”
“Oh, and you wanna tell me you’re not scared now? That you won’t be scared when
some pedophile gets his dirty hands on you?” Dean growled lowly, closing the
distance between them and grabbing a hold of Sam’s jaw, taking him by surprise
as he raised his head to gaze deep into his eyes. “You’re so delicate, so easy
to break, Sammy. Anyone could take advantage of you…and you wouldn’t be able to
do a damn thing about it.”
He stared at the boy, suddenly feeling humiliated, because he was right.
Especially when it came to Dean, he couldn’t do anything, let alone put up a
fight. And it hurt his dignity. Everyone was fine, except Dean. He could more
or less defend himself and fight, but from the very beginning, ever since Sam
saw this boy in his father’s room, it was him who frightened him the most and
now… Now the fear had turned into something else, something Sam was so ashamed
of, but couldn’t control, no matter how much he tried.
But right now, he was just pissed.
“Look who’s talking,” he sneered, slapping the other’s hand away and baring his
teeth like a cornered animal. “Don’t worry, next time anyone tries to put their
‘dirty hands’ on me, I’ll be sure to give them Hell.”
The boy laughed humorlessly, clenching his hands into fists, but then the man
they have both skillfully forgotten about cleared his throat and pulled them
back into the here and now.
“Are you two done with your little domestics? Because there’s still a job to be
done here,” he said, making sure to give a stern look at both of them before
fixing his eyes on Dean. “You won’t shut up unless I let you tag along, will
you?”
“Nope,” the boy answered without hesitation, and then it was like the two males
engaged in some sort of intense staring battle, the tension growing in the air
in a way that made Sam take a few steps back. He really hoped that Nick would
put his foot down or something, maybe lock Dean in somewhere to keep him at
bay, because no matter how much the thought of going on the job alone was still
worrying him a bit, the thought of being alone with Dean…? No, that was just
way worse.
But why on earth would he ever get what he wanted? That’s just simply not how
his fate worked, it seemed.
“Fine,” Nick said after a while, waving a hand dismissingly. “But only this
once. Next time he’ll go on a job alone, that’s exactly how he’ll be—alone.”
Dean flashed the man a satisfied-looking grin. “Got it, boss,” he told him,
before turning to look at Sam, who was pretty sure he looked like someone going
through a bout of serious constipation. “Come on, let’s get ready.”
Instead of Dean, though, Sam decided to back away a bit and look at Nick
instead. “When am I…are we supposed to go? Right now?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “you still have a few hours. But you’ll have
to be ready by 1pm, which is when the plane for Paris leaves. Still, there
should be just enough time for you to get to Albuquerque.”
“Albuquerque?” Sam asked, though the real question was—were they seriously
going to Paris? Big Eiffel Tower Paris that he’s been wanting to visit for
ages?
“Yes, you’ll be taking a plane from that airport,” Nick explained, then checked
the watch on his wrist and scowled. “Alright, give me thirty minutes. I need to
prepare Dean’s documents, so while I do that, you two pack your bags in a way
that screams ‘I’m going on a vacation’.”
Sam watched as the man turned on his heel and marched off to his office,
wondering where the hell was he supposed to get a bag in the first place. After
a moment, he simply decided to ask.
“You’ve got any spare luggage for situations like these?” he asked not from
Dean, but from Ruby who was looking at him again, now that Nick was gone. In
fact, he was doing a wonderful job at ignoring Dean, who on the other hand,
wasn’t appreciating any of it.
“Yeah, we do,” the boy answered before Ruby could’ve gotten a word out, then
was already grabbing Sam’s arm and dragging him toward the armory. The younger
boy gave the woman a meaningful look, one that roughly translated to “Help me”,
but she just shrugged in way that said “Sorry, you’re on your own”.
They were on the other side of the armory door way faster that he would’ve
liked, the telltale sound of the door being locked shooting a nervous bolt of
electricity up his spine and back of his neck, and when he saw the look Dean
gave him upon facing him, Sam knew this was bad, real bad.
“So,” the boy purred, and it was as if a switch had been turned on in him. He
changed, his voice deepening and his eye darkening, and it was only a matter of
time before he had Sam backed into one of the wire screens holding some of the
larger guns. “You say you’re gonna…what was it again? Give Hell to whoever
touches you again? Is that it?”
For a change, Sam decided that, screw it, he was going to stay true to his word
and stand his ground. “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” he stated, straightening his
back and glaring up at Dean, who had one hand braced against the solid wire
mesh above Sam’s head, and the other just hanging at his side, visibly eager to
touch.
“Hmm, I see,” he drawled, his eye roaming the other’s body until Sam could feel
himself flush under that hungry gaze, but he didn’t move, didn’t look away. He
kept glaring at the boy, no matter how much he wished to just shrink away and
run from the wolf looming over him.
Then when, after what he believed was a full minute, nothing happened, with
Dean just undressing him with his eyes and making Sam incredibly uncomfortable,
he couldn’t take it anymore and moved. He scurried the hell away from the boy,
ducking under his arm before he could’ve caught him, then quickly looked
around, his eyes darting around the room in search for those damn bags, and he
couldn’t help but feel a huge wave of relief when he spotted them in a corner.
He immediately bolted for them, grabbing a big, dark red one, then shot Dean a
death glare when he blocked Sam’s escape route.
“Move,” he ordered with what he hoped was a no-bullshit tone.
“Or what?” Dean asked and raised an eyebrow, so Sam clearly didn’t succeed.
He was getting tired of this. “Dean, come on. Just let me through. We don’t
have time for stupid games.”
The boy narrowed his eye, then just sighed. “I’m not playing, Sammy. But you’ll
understand that soon enough,” he said with a shrug, then stepped aside, letting
Sam pass and leave the armory.
He went back to his room and dropped the empty suitcase in front of his bed,
before walking to his wardrobe and pulling out some random clothes he could
stuff in the bag. He concentrated on packing, which worked for about a minute
or two, but then his mind began drifting off toward a very specific topic. A
plane ride with Dean. How was he supposed to survive the constant harassment of
the boy? No, wait. He usually only behaved like some horny animal when they
were completely alone, and an airplane was anything but, so there was still a
chance that Sam would be fine. Not even Dean could possibly be as carefree as
to just start whispering in his ear or maybe, god forbid, kiss him in a plane
full of people. It was true that these teasings from Dean have become more
frequent, but nobody could have such a strong libido, or weak self-control.
Anyway, as long as Sam pushed him away, everything should work out just fine.
He’d get the drugs to France—a sentence he never thought he’d say, or more like
think, in his entire life—and it would be a great success, with everyone ending
up satisfied. Plus on the bright side, at least this time he wouldn’t have to
swallow anything and then crap them out. The memory alone made him cringe and
shudder at the same time, which probably looked like he was having a brief
seizure to anyone who would have seen him.
Sighing and convincing himself that it would be alright, since he was trying to
be a bit more positive right now, Sam finished packing after a long while, then
headed over to the bathroom and relieved himself, before fixing his looks. The
bandage around his head was gone, however the one on his side remained. His
hair, after a bit of combing, looked good enough, but just as he thought, the
unfolded collar look was ridiculous. Still, he’d just have to suck it up and
deal with it, ignore the weird looks people would surely give him, as they were
better than the way they would gape at him if they saw the strangle mark, along
with the hickeys. It would make it seem like he was into some heavy BDSM stuff,
which obviously wasn’t the case.
So he took one last glance at his reflection in the mirror, turned off the
lights, then grabbed the bag and brought it downstairs, miraculously making it
to the bottom of the stairs without tripping with the heavy suitcase in his
hands and tumbling down like a grandpa who forgot his cane. And his hipbone
medication.
Once down, standing next to the ping pong table, the luggage creating a nice
little barrier between him and Dean, they only needed to wait a few minutes
before Nick came out his office with a backpack in one hand, and some papers in
the other.
“Alright, here are your new, temporal identities,” he said, shoving the papers
in Dean’s hands, while tossing the bag at Sam, the younger boy a bit taken
aback by how heavy it was.
“Wait, we’re brothers?” Dean frowned at the papers, then raised his gaze and
gave Nick an incredulous look. “Really?”
“What?” Sam took the papers from the boy’s hands and looked through them, while
Nick chuckled.
“Of course. It makes sense, doesn’t it?” he said nonchalantly. “Two boys,
flying together. Sure, I could’ve made you cousins, but knowing people, they’ll
like you more if you were brothers. Don’t you agree?”
“Well, yeah. I guess so,” the boy said, Sam hearing the slight smile in his
voice, but was too busy to look at their ID cards to look up and see for
himself. He was Simon Scott, and Dean was Russell Scott. He looked nothing like
a Simon, and imagining Dean as a Russell just made him want to burst out
laughing, it sounded so stupid. Why could they never give him the cool names,
for example Chris or Owen? Or Jared. He really liked the name Jared. But no, he
was stuck with being Simon.
When he did finally look up from their passports and other papers, he found
Nick watching him. The man nodded to the bag that Sam had hooked around his
elbow, and said, “The package is in there, inside a plastic bag. Make sure you
handle the backpack carefully so that none of the candies break and let any of
the heroin leak out.”
He never thought he’d hear the word ‘candy’ and ‘heroin’ being used in the same
sentence, but he supposed he could cross that off his list now. Opening the
bag, he wasn’t too surprised to find other things in it aside from the plastic
bag full of fake candy, as that would have been just way too suspicious. There
was a light, orange blanket at the bottom, along with a pocket tissue pack
placed neatly on top of it, right next to the transparent, thin plastic bag
containing the drugs. The candies looked completely normal, oval shaped and
coming in all the colors of the rainbow, and would have actually looked
appetizing if not for what Sam knew was hidden inside them.
Deciding not to pay any mind to the drugs in the bag, he tossed his and Dean’s
papers on top of the plastic and zipped the backpack closed, then swung it
across his back. “Are we supposed to stay in Paris for a bit when we get there,
or…?” he asked from Nick, looking at the man somewhat hopefully.
“Well, since going back straight away would be impossible, with the tickets and
all,” Nick said with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “yes,
Sam. But you’ll only be staying a day. You will be flying back to the US first
thing next morning.”
“That’s good enough,” Dean said before Sam could’ve gotten a word in, then
picked up his suitcase and looked at Nick. “I assume you’ve got a car ready for
us too, right?”
“Everything,” the man stated with a nod, and glanced past their shoulders at
the door leading outside. “Now, I have much more important matters to take care
of than staying and continuing this little chat. I trust you two will be fine
on your own from now on?”
“Yeah, just fine.” The boy flashed a sort of smug-looking smirk at Nick, before
turning around and waltzing off toward the door without looking back.
After a brief moment of just shifting his gaze from one male to another, Sam
picked up his own suitcase and followed Dean outside, not really seeing any
other option. Just as he expected, there was already a—surprise surprise—black
van waiting for them, parked away from the rest of the parade of vans behind
the warehouse. Hesitantly, he walked over to the car and placed the luggage in
the back, sliding the door closed once he was done, however kept the bag with
himself. He didn’t think he was going to let go of it until they reached Paris,
actually, just to be a hundred percent sure that nothing happened to Nick’s
precious cargo.
“Buckle up, kiddo,” Dean said teasingly when Sam flopped into the passenger
seat, glad to finally be on the other side of that damned wire mesh. “We’re in
for a long ride.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, then did indeed fasten his seatbelt just in case Dean turned
out to be a horrible driver, with the potential of driving them off a bridge.
It was only after they left the gravel path and were driving on the road that
he realized that this was the first time he got to really see where they were.
He was always either in the back of the van, which had no windows, or in the
front but with a rank burlap sack over his head, preventing him from seeing a
thing. The realization made him wonder if they have really accepted him now, if
they really thought of him as part of them, and since Nick was actually wanting
to give him a job to do on his own, he guessed that, yeah, he was indeed a
smuggler now. Part of the gang…kind of. It was a weird thought, but not a
completely unwelcomed one, actually.
It also made him curious if he could find out the warehouse’s exact location.
“Hey,” he found himself saying, his voice breaking the peace the low tune
coming from the radio brought upon the car, “where are we, exactly?”
Dean kept looking ahead, only glancing at him for a brief moment. “You mean our
base?”
He nodded, then realizing that the boy wasn’t actually looking at him, said,
“Yeah, that.”
“We’re in New Mexico,” he answered after a short pause, a smile slowly creeping
across his features and curling his lips. “In Artesia.”
“Artesia?” Sam frowned, looking out the window at the houses and remembering
the meadow he saw from Benny’s room, and the forest facing his. “I thought New
Mexico would look more…”
“Dead? Like a desert?” Dean asked, this time looking at him, so he nodded.
“Yeah, it’s mainly like that, with more yellow than green. Artesia is similar
to that, too, but we’re in a more rural area right now. Plus, you know, this
thing called gardening and planting trees does exist, too.”
“Yeah I know, smartass,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes and hugging the backpack
on his lap against his chest, looking down at it and playing with the zipper.
“I was just curious.”
“Well,” Dean said, and the way his tone suddenly shifted from the usual
taunting to humorless had Sam gazing at him from the corner of his eye, his
hands stilling on the rugged, plastic teeth of the zipper. “As long as you’re
asking only out of sheer curiosity, that’s fine. However if you have other
things in mind—”
Already knowing what the boy was getting at, Sam interrupted him. “Dean, I get
it. I didn’t ask so I’d know where to send a SWAT team after getting my hands
on a phone. I’ve got no intentions of running anymore, so would you stop with
the death threats? They are seriously starting to get annoying,” he told the
other while turning in his seat to face him completely, but Dean wasn’t looking
at him, at least not directly. Sam couldn’t immediately see where he was
looking at, as the boy’s eye closest to him was the one with the eyepatch over
it, but after a moment he noticed Dean staring at him through the rear-view
mirror, something in that emerald eye making it pretty hard for Sam not to
avert his own gaze.
“You know, maybe if you wouldn’t have run and behaved, like you were supposed
to, then I wouldn’t feel the need to warn you,” he stated matter-of-factly,
before turning his attention back to the road, looking straight ahead.
Sam scowled at him, incredulous. “Seriously? What would you have done if you
were in my shoes, just stay put and let a bunch of strangers do as they please
with you?” he asked in a mix of disbelief and derision. “Dean, any sane person
would have tried to run!”
“I don’t care what others would have done,” the boy growled, his grip visibly
tightening on the steering wheel, “when we tell you to stay, you stay.”
“I’m not a goddamn dog!” Sam snapped, suddenly and violently, the commanding
and that fucking domineering tone in Dean’s voice pushing him over the edge. He
gritted his teeth in sudden anger, glaring daggers at the boy next to him as he
hissed, “You can’t treat me like some animal on a leash, like something to be
controlled. And I’m not a kid anymore, so I don’t need you supervising
everything I do, be present every single second of my life!”
Dean laughed, tossed his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “Really, Sam?
You gonna throw a hissy fit now? Things ain’t going the way you want them, the
adults are being mean to you, so now you’re gonna cry?”
“Fuck you,” he spat, but his voice came out much weaker than he would have
wanted, it being barely a whisper as he dug his nails in his palms. “Just fuck
you. I hate you, fucking jerk.” Sam knew he really was behaving like a kid now,
but he was so angry that he didn’t know what to do, his rage melting into
confusion and some desperate sort of helplessness, because nobody cared. Dean
wasn’t listening to him, wasn’t taking him seriously, just wouldn’t stop
mocking him, and Sam was growing tired. Why should he even get angry if it
wouldn’t change a thing? If he’d only get laughed at for voicing his opinions,
for trying to stand up for himself? Sam wasn’t going to cry, but felt like it.
He felt like doing exactly what the boy said, just throw a hissy fit and curl
up in a corner, crying, then lash out at anyone who dared approach him, kicking
and clawing until he saw blood. Instead, he just sank lower in his seat and
rested his head against the window, only hugging the bag closer to his chest
when he heard Dean’s voice again.
“And you say you’re not a kid. Look who’s sulking now?” he scoffed, then
surprised Sam by reaching over and ruffling his hair, but was already pulling
his hand back before the annoyed boy could’ve batted it away. “Come on, cheer
up kiddo. We still have a long drive ahead of us. Or do you plan on giving me
the silent treatment until we get to the airport?”
Finding that quite a great idea, Sam shot a glare at Dean and then huffed,
shifting in his seat so he had his back to the other, then proceeded to keep
his mouth shut for the next four hours, looking out the window and listening to
the music to keep himself entertained.
                                       —
 
Many times, Dean tried to talk to him, but Sam stayed strong and gave him the
cold shoulder, successfully drawing countless sighs out of the older boy. When
they stopped to get some food, Sam ignored Dean and gave all of his attention
to the fast food employee instead. It was painfully obvious how much that
frustrated the boy, no matter how good he was at pretending he didn’t care, and
soon, Sam was beginning to feel a sick pleasure from torturing him like this.
He totally deserved it, would have deserved so much more than a simple silent
treatment, but this was good enough for Sam now.
At one point, when they stopped at a red light, Dean tickled him. That idiot
honest-to-god tickled him, and he couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of
him at that, aimlessly and franticly swatting at the boy’s hands until the
light switched to green and the cars behind them began honking, forcing Dean to
pull away and drive. He looked proud and all satisfied with himself after that,
even though he only made Sam laugh but not talk, he didn’t break and never said
a word, though that didn’t seem to bother Dean. He looked way too victorious to
Sam’s liking, so when they reached another red light, he made sure to loosen
the cap on his bottled water as he placed it on the car’s armrest, then
‘accidentally’ pushed it with his elbow, spilling its contents right on the
other’s jeans.
He nearly got strangled for it, but the look Dean gave him when he flashed him
a smug grin was so worth it.
They drove for a long while like that, both of them silent, it turning from the
initial awkward to rather comfortable after some hours, Sam not even noticing
when he relaxed and let his eyes close. He would have never let his guard down
so much before, so easily, especially with Dean right next to him, but now he
found himself leaning back in his seat and ready to just doze off, when he got
startled awake by the boy’s voice.
“Hey, we’re here.”
They pulled up next to a huge building, Sam blinking at its massive form and
swallowing as sudden anxiety enveloped him. Probably noticing it, Dean flashed
him a smirk, along with a playful wink as he said, “Better put your game face
on, Sammy. Can’t be looking like someone about to get executed while we’re
smuggling drugs into the plane.”
He nodded, gripping one of the straps of the backpack as he opened the door and
climbed out of the van, then quickly flung the bag over his shoulder, going for
a leisurely and casual look. Though for that to work, maybe he’d need to stop
feeling nauseous and letting the uneasiness show on his face. Yeah, he should
probably start with that.
Sam watched as the boy walked around the van to join him on the sidewalk that
led to the airport, then glanced from him to the car, then back to Dean, before
furrowing his brow. “Are you just going to leave it here?”
Dean smiled. “Nope, Benny’s gonna come and pick it up in an hour or so. Don’t
worry, nobody’s gonna steal it,” he said, his voice carrying a teasing edge.
“I’m not worried,” Sam stated, turning away from the car.
“You are. Maybe not about the car, but it’s so painfully obvious that you are,”
the boy pointed out, but as Sam glanced at him through his bangs which he let
fall in front of his eyes, instead of the mocking grin, he saw Dean smiling in
a somewhat reassuring way. “Hey, relax, okay? Don’t think of this as a job, but
more like…a vacation.”
He raised an eyebrow at the other. “A vacation?” he asked, then snorted. “Yeah
right. As if I could ever think of this as one.”
“Well you don’t have to, but it could help,” Dean remarked with a shrug, then
was already walking past him and toward the building without looking back or
waiting for Sam to catch up.
Alright, he could do this. It wasn’t that hard, right? Just board the plane,
pretend that everything was fine and dandy, then go to some motel in a country
he’s never been to and, aside from “omlette du fromage”, knows nothing about
the language. Yeah, this was definitely going to be a smooth sail.
He let out a small sigh, quickly looking around himself, then snaked his other
arm around the bag’s strap and pulled it completely on his shoulders, before
joining Dean inside the building.
It was packed with people and impossibly huge, Sam gaping about himself after
taking only a few steps inside. He knew, or at least was pretty sure that
airports were big, but he never imagined them to be this freaking vast, the
large space confusing him for a second. There were panels hanging from the
ceiling, arrows pointing toward shops and toilets. The floor under his feet and
the walls were all white and polished-looking, shining bright and clean, and
the constant buzz of people coming and going around him had Sam turning in
circles, disoriented and slightly overwhelmed, though all bewilderment left him
in the very moment he realized he was alone.
He couldn’t see Dean anywhere, strained his eyes and squinted into the sea of
human life surrounding him, but still nothing. Great, they weren’t even on the
plane yet, but he already managed to screw up and get himself lost. He wasn’t
even surprised by his ability to get himself in situations such as this one;
however that reluctant acceptance did nothing to calm his nerves, as he was
still very much lost in the great swarm of people, many of them sporting some
rather painful-looking sunburns, while others wore black or gray suits, as if
going off to work.
Sam clutched the straps by his chest and ventured further into the building,
trying not to seem too much like an abandoned child as he looked for Dean. That
was a task easier said than done, though, because his apprehension was
skyrocketing with each passing second, them feeling like minutes to him right
now. He was extremely on edge, his eyes darting left and right as he scanned
the inside of the building, which seemed never-ending and simply stretching on
forever, Sam only walking further into the beast’s belly and trapping himself
in the process. He knew he couldn’t call out for Dean, couldn’t use his real
name, but using the fake one might not even work, the boy maybe thinking the
panicked voice was calling for someone else, which left him with no choice but
to just keep walking blindly forward.
It was horrible, Sam now realizing that he wouldn’t have been able to survive
here alone, and suddenly, he wanted Dean to be here. He wanted the boy to be
next to him and keep him company, to reassure him or even make fun of him, Sam
didn’t care, he just wanted to be found, didn’t want to be alone. It was weird,
because that’s exactly what he was yearning for before, but now it scared him,
the helplessness going to his head and twisting his thoughts into despicable
scenarios, until he was running—as much as one could run while carrying a heavy
luggage and a backpack—aimlessly, eyes wide and feeling the first signs of
hyperventilation. He only managed to reach another panel hanging overhead, when
he felt a firm hand on his arm, grabbing him, and Sam let out an involuntary
gasp at that, instantaneously tugging and trying to free his arm.
“Hey, snap out of it!” he heard Dean yell, and he stilled, spinning around to
stare up at the scowling boy. “What are you doing? You need to stay close to
me, and don’t wander off again, understood?”
Sam blinked and nodded, feeling incredibly stupid, but glad that he wasn’t
alone anymore. It was only a passing thought, one he was pretty quick to shove
to the back of his mind and forget, as apparently while looking for Dean, he
became a bit…desperate. Anyway, that was only because he was panicking, not
because he actually wanted to see the boy or anything, so after taking a deep
breath and calming down, he followed the other, this time closely.
They walked with their suitcases to a short line of people, stopping at the
end, where Dean turned around to look at him. “Alright, let me do the talking.
You just nod and smile, pretend you’re enthusiastic.”
“Uh-huh…” Sam said skeptically, confident that he could at least talk without
getting them busted, but didn’t feel like starting an argument right now.
Actually, he was kinda feeling like crap. Stressed and a bit jumpy, the
excitement he thought he would feel the first time he’d get to board a plane
non-existent, along with his previously strong belief that he could’ve done
this one his own. Sure, he was still positive that there were a few things he
could pull off, as he wasn’t completely incapable, quite the opposite really,
but he had to come to terms with the fact that, maybe, he might actually need
Dean. Maybe. Kind of.
When it was finally their turn, he stepped over to the counter, standing next
to Dean and keeping still as the boy fished out their passports and tickets
from the bag on Sam’s back, before sliding them to the woman on the other side
of the check-in desk.
She took them with a brisk smile that was more forced than genuine, looked over
them, then handed Dean their boarding pass while he and Sam were lifting their
suitcases and placing them in the space between the desks, presumably where
passengers had to check their baggage in. Once that was done, the boy pocketed
the papers they received and gave the fake passports back to Sam, who reached
back and performed some pretty impressive moves as he slid them into his
backpack.
They moved away from the desk, then when they were out of earshot, Dean stopped
and turned to him with a serious look etched onto his face. “Now comes the hard
part,” he said, then frowned. “Well, it’s actually not that difficult unless
you mess up.”
“Ever thought that, maybe, you’d be the one to screw up?” Sam retorted, raising
an eyebrow at the other as he folded his arms, going for an accusing and
somewhat witty look.
Dean scoffed. “Me? In your dreams, kiddo,” he stated with an annoying smirk.
“In your dreams.”
“Remind me, who saved your ass from getting shot?” Sam pointed out, pleased to
note the slight twitch in the boy’s smirk. Maybe he should start teasing the
other from now on, see how he liked the taste of his own medicine.
“I could’ve handled that situation by myself,” Dean asserted, to what he just
rolled his eyes.
“Maybe,” he said, then added with a thin smirk of his own, “in your dreams.”
The boy gave him a look, seeming like he was resisting the urge to smack him in
the back of his head, but in the end he just let out an irritated sigh and
nodded toward another series of queues. “How about you concentrate on the task
at hand, instead of trying to play the macho guy?” he sneered, and now it was
Sam’s turn to clench his hands in order to stop himself from hitting the other.
Not like he could ever get away with actually doing something like that, but he
could always hope.
“Fine, whatever,” he muttered, then was marching off to the lines of people
before he could’ve witnessed Dean’s surely smug grin.
He picked a row that was moving fairly quickly, compared to the rest, but as
the people fell away from before him and the closer he got to the security
officers and the oppressing metal detector, the more he felt like turning on
his heel and getting the hell out of here. They were merely transporting candy,
so that should be fine, but you could never know, right? What if they had some
sort of special equipment, a machine that could detect traces of heroin, could
freaking smell the drug inside its makeshift package or something? Sam had no
idea, but how could he? So of course he was beginning to panic, but then he had
to also remind himself that he was supposed to do anything but panic which, of
course, just caused him to become even more nervous, sending him into a never-
ending loop of anxiety. He was pretty sure at this point that he had some
anxiety problems too. What a great and happy thing to discover, really.
“Sam.” He heard his name from behind, then felt Dean’s hand on his shoulder as
he turned his head to look at the boy. “You need to calm down. Seriously, you
look like you’re about to have a mental breakdown.”
He nodded, but wasn’t so sure he could put on a straight face. “I’m trying,” he
said after a moment, slipping his hands in his pants pockets to at least stop
them from moving all the time.
Dean let go of him and took a step back. “Yeah, well try harder because it’s
our turn,” he told Sam, who swallowed hard as he saw the officer standing next
to the metal detector door motion for him to pass through.
Alright, it was fine. He had done this before, when he and those two couriers
crossed the Mexican border. He could pretend that he belonged, that he was just
a normal kid going on a trip to France, carrying some completely harmless candy
in his bag that were totally not filled with drugs. Yeah, easy.
He walked over to the conveyor belt and shrugged out of the backpack, then
placed it on the rubber belt and watched as it moved forward, before
disappearing inside the X-ray scanner. When he couldn’t see it anymore, Sam
strolled through the detector, which thankfully stayed silent. He knew he
didn’t have anything made of metal on him, not even a belt for his pants, but
that didn’t stop him from unconsciously worrying that maybe someone up there
had a bone to pick with him and would make the machine go off. Still, it
didn’t, and he let out a silent sigh of relief as he stopped on the other side,
and waited for Dean to take off his belt, then place it on the little container
on the conveyor along with the thick, grooved silver ring on his finger, before
joining him.
The officer that was studying their boarding pass, which Dean had handed over
to him beforehand, nodded his head and gave the papers back to the boy as he
was putting his belt back on, then stepped over to the conveyor. The man
sitting behind the scanner pointed at the screen and said something, but Sam
was too busy breaking out in cold sweat to listen, because what if they knew?
Okay, no, that was impossible. His fears about the scanner pinpointing drugs
was just a paranoid thought made up by his imagination, right? It wasn’t real.
But as he watched the officer grab the bag and open it, he wasn’t so sure
anymore.
“Is there a problem?” Dean asked coolly, as if a security officer wasn’t in the
middle of pulling out the plastic bag filled with hidden drugs.
The man glanced at the bag, before looking at the boy. “Don’t you have a food
container to put this in? We allow certain foods on the plane, but only if they
are properly sealed, especially when they contain liquids.”
Sam was going to shut up and let Dean do the talking, he decided. He wasn’t
going to worsen their situation by opening his mouth and blurting something
unnecessary; however that plan was failing rapidly as the officer locked eyes
with him, then frowned, why was he frowning?
It took him a moment to realize that it was probably because Sam’s face was
kind of an open book right now, but before he could’ve put on his poker face,
the man was already untying the knot on the plastic bag and opening it. Cursing
himself, and then feeling even worse when Dean gave him a look that clearly
said “Good job, idiot”, Sam watched as the officer pulled out a red candy and
lifted it to his eyes, inspecting it.
This was all of his fault, he realized right then, and so it was his job to
make this right. No more fuck ups, he needed to do this right and save them
from this crappy situation that he had put them in. So, swallowing down all of
his dread and stress, he moved over to the bag and gave the security officer
one of his best fake smiles, along with an innocent puppy eyes look.
“Is there something wrong with my candies?” he asked, tilting his head and
hoping he had some hidden acting skills.
“I don’t know,” the man said, raising an eyebrow at him as he tossed the candy
back into the bag. “You tell me. You seemed rather nervous when I opened the
bag…”
“Oh, he gets like that all the time,” Dean remarked as he stepped up behind
Sam, coming to the rescue. “Poor kid thinks everyone wants to steal his stuff.
Don’t ask me why, I’ve been trying to figure it out for years now.”
The man scowled at the boy, Sam pretty sure that Dean’s suspicious-looking
eyepatch was only making the officer doubt their credibility even more. It
didn’t seem like he was buying their bullshit, which was really bad, so he had
to do something and quick. Thousands of thoughts spun around in his mind, there
were hundreds of things he could’ve said, but in a moment of panic, he did the
first thing—which he later realized was also the stupidest damn thing—that came
to his mind, and he grabbed a candy from the bag and popped it into his mouth.
“Yep. Sorry, but these are mine,” he said, pretending to enjoy it while quickly
trapping it under his tongue to make sure it stayed where it was.
The officer regarded him for a long moment, before nodding and stepping aside.
“Sorry about that,” Dean said with a smile as he closed the backpack and pushed
Sam forward, getting as much distance between them and the guards as possible
before stopping. When they did, he flashed him a look that was the mix of
amazement and bafflement, shaking his head. “That was one hell of a way to save
the situation.”
Sam grunted his agreement, pulling a face and ready to spit into the nearest
bin, his eye lighting up when he finally spotted one. Holding up a finger and
signaling for Dean to wait a second, he wandered over to the trashcan,
wondering how the candy part of the drug in his mouth wasn’t actually that bad
as he played with it with his tongue, when someone with a big-ass suitcase
backed into him, nearly causing the candy to fall out of his mouth. Sam not
needing to look like a total idiot any more than he already did today, quickly
covered his mouth with his hand, then made the second biggest mistake that day
by swallowing.
It was such a reflexive thing to do when trying to keep something from falling
out of his mouth, that he didn’t even realize what he had done until he felt
the hard candy in his throat, slowly sliding down, before he couldn’t feel it
anymore.
Aw crap.
He began coughing, spinning around and looking at Dean with wide eyes, the boy
raising his eyebrows at him with a questioning look on his face, but it didn’t
take too long for him to catch on and mutter a low curse as he hurried over to
Sam.
“Are you serious?” he asked with an incredulous laugh, grabbing the younger
boy’s shoulders and looking straight into his eyes.
“It just happened, I couldn’t…” Sam tried speaking, but he knew it was only a
matter of time before he’d get hysterical, because this couldn’t be happening.
There was simply just no way that he was such a huge freaking idiot, no way
that he managed to swallow a candy filled with goddamn heroin. “Oh fuck, Dean,
this—this is really bad,” he stammered, his eyes darting around the airport
and, yep, he was going to hyperventilate, this was awesome.
“Sam, hey!” Dean yelled, snapping him out of him frenzy. “Listen, it’s okay.
You can throw it up, right? It just entered your stomach, there’s no way that
you’ve already digested it. We just need to find a toilet and you’ll be fine.”
Sam nodded franticly, not even realizing he was gripping the boy’s shirt until
now. Quickly letting go and withdrawing his hands, he stepped away with
downcast eyes, trying to calm down, but that wasn’t so easy with the knowledge
that he had heroin inside him, sitting all neat and snug inside its candy cage,
just ready to spill out and…and what? Would Sam even be able to get high like
this? Oh no, he really didn’t want to get drugged, hell no. He didn’t give a
shit how it was supposed to feel good or whatever, he did not want this thing
inside him.
“C’mon, let’s find you a toilet,” he heard Dean say, so he looked up and walked
after him, until he caught a glimpse of a big screen hanging from the ceiling,
and his blood turned to ice.
“Dean…” he whispered, the boy immediately halting and turning around, before
following Sam’s eyes and looking at the screen.
And then he cursed.
“Are you kidding me? Ten minutes?” the boy growled, running a frustrated hand
through his hair. “What kind of fucked up schedule is that?”
They were staring up at an electronic board displaying all sorts of flight
information, along with the time remaining until a take-off. Their plane, the
one departing from Albuquerque and arriving to Paris, was supposed to leave at
13:15, and one glance at the large, round clock mounted on a wall not too far
from them told him it was already five past one.
He didn’t know how to react anymore, pretty sure that he has reached that
specific point in panicking that he was just shutting down. Dean glanced at
him, then at the passport control area, seemingly fighting an inner battle
before sighing and taking a hold of Sam’s wrist.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he sounded genuine enough for Sam to look up at him.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have time. You just have to wait until we’re on the
plane, gotta try getting rid of the drug when we’re there.”
And then the boy was pulling him toward one of the counters, while he was
silently freaking out. How much time would it take? First they’d need to take
off, get steady in the air, and only then could passengers get out of their
seats and walk around, right? Or could they do it before, too? Sam didn’t know,
had no idea about anything anymore. He was feeling extremely useless and
helpless in this situation he had gotten himself into, but that wasn’t even the
worse. It was the waiting. He couldn’t do anything but wait, and as each second
trickled by, it felt like he was on some sort of sick rollercoaster that kept
playing with his mind, flipping a switch on and off. One moment he was
panicking and thinking of the most horrible things the drug could be doing
inside him right now, his own brain and imagination scaring himself, and then
next he was calm, taking deep breaths and telling himself that it was going to
be fine, they’d get to the toilet on the plane in time and he wouldn’t have to
experience anything he didn’t want to. Rinse, repeat.
And while on the inside there was a whole party going on in his mind, he was
quite sure that his face was fixed in one expression, with slightly wide eyes
and a blank look, like someone coming down from shock. He wasn’t really aware
of what was going on around him anymore, just letting Dean drag him around from
one place to another, until Sam found himself standing at the boarding gate,
getting some papers shoved in his hands.
Deciding to at least act relatively normal while boarding the plane, he stepped
forward when it was his turn, got his passport and boarding pass checked, then
followed Dean down the corridor that led outside and to the plane waiting for
its passengers, already loud and looking strangely menacing.
They climbed up the stairs and found their seats after a while in the sea of
blue chairs, which was around the middle of the left row. A woman—looking like
she was on a business trip, what with the formal clothes and the black
briefcase by her legs—was already sitting in the window seat, and before Sam
could’ve done anything, Dean was already sitting down in the middle, leaving
him no choice but to take the seat on the outside.
There was a pause, a brief moment of silence, as he watched some of the other
passengers get on, distracting himself with that, but then his attention was
drawn by the boy next to him.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, actually sounding concerned which was a
rarity, so it took Sam a second to answer.
He shifted in his seat and sighed, staring at the back of the chair in front of
him. “Not sure. Can’t feel its effects yet, so that’s great. Though I’m not
even sure what heroin…what that thing does,” he said, slowly raising his gaze
to the other, while absentmindedly chewing on his lips. “Other than that, I’m
kinda flippin’ out.”
Dean sighed. “I can imagine. And I know that me saying this won’t help, but you
do need to calm down. I mean I’m not an expert or anything, but I think if you
get too worked up, it might…” He trailed off, glancing at Sam’s stomach, and he
was right, that really wasn’t helping at all.
Shaking his head, he gripped the bag on his lap, as he needed to hold something
right now. It was either that, or he was going to start biting his nails, which
wasn’t too sanitary. “It’s easy to say, but much harder to do. I am actually
trying, you know?” he said with a shaky sigh of his own, resting his chin on
the bag and going back to watching the men and women pacing around the seats as
he continued. “But I just can’t stay calm, at least not until I’m sure that it
didn’t enter my system. Not knowing, needing to wait…it’s the worst. I can’t
stop thinking about all the things that could happen.”
He felt a hand on his arm as the boy patted him, then heard him say, “Sam, you
do know that it won’t eat you, right? It’ll only leave you feeling like shit if
it’s your third or fifth time taking it, but first? And you didn’t even shoot
it up, but swallowed. I bet you’ll barely feel a thing, let alone get fucked up
by it, so really, you can stop worrying.”
“You’re talking like I’ve got no choice,” he observed, slightly turning in his
seat to frown at Dean.
“Well,” he said, shrugging, “I’m just telling you what to expect if you won’t
be able to throw it up.”
Sam honestly hoped it wouldn’t come to that as he leaned back and tried to get
as comfortable as possible while fastening his seatbelt. The air hostess was at
the front of the plane, explaining the safety procedures in case of an
accident, the doomsday talk not helping with his “Keep calm and find inner
peace” plan. When that was finally over, the airplane began moving, managing to
slightly distract him. This was the first time he was on a plane, after all,
the first time he’d get to fly and see the cities from above, be as close as
never before to the fluffy clouds he used to gaze up at on lonely days in his
bedroom.
He did not expect for the plane to go nearly vertical while ascending.
“Jesus, is this normal?!” he asked, to what Dean just laughed.
“Yeah it is, don’t piss your pants,” the boy said teasingly, then let out
another laugh when Sam shot him a glare.
“Shut up,” he suggested kindly, holding onto the hard armrests until his
fingers hurt as they kept moving up, and look, Sam could see the pilot’s door
even from where he was sitting with this angle.
He decided he did not like this part of flying.
After approximately two more minutes of going up and then moving back to a more
or less horizontal position, Sam waited until the flight attendants reappeared
and some of the passengers got out of their seats, before letting up on the
death grip and unbuckling his seatbelt too.
“Want me to come?” Dean asked as the other tossed the backpack in the now empty
chair after he stood up, but with the sarcasm dripping from his voice, Sam
quickly shot him a glare and then, without a word, headed off toward where he
believed the toilets were.
He found them relatively quickly, and his heart sank when he saw the red
“Occupied” sign on one of them, but his disappointment was short-lived, as in
the next moment he noticed that there was another door in front of the first
one he had spotted, this one with a green “Vacant” on it. Pressing his lips
together and bracing himself for the sight, praying that airplane restrooms
were clean and not like the public one he had to use that one time, he opened
the door and felt instantly relieved.
The toilet was very small, that much was true, but it was also extremely clean.
That could’ve been because he was the first one to use this one, but anyway, it
was nice and it made Sam impossibly glad. There was a sink on the counter right
in front of the door, along with a mirror above said counter, covering most of
the wall, which wasn’t that big. Stepping inside and locking the door behind
him, he wondered how to go about this. The toilet was to his right, giving him
just enough room to kneel down and lean over it, but then paused. Was he
supposed to shove his fingers down his throat? He read that usually helped with
self-induced vomiting, but the thought of doing that made him pull a face.
Still, that wouldn’t be the most unpleasant thing he’d have done in his life,
so after getting back on his feet and thoroughly washing his hands, Sam was
back on his knees, hoping that there was still time to avoid getting high.
“Alright, just…yeah,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and
thinking of anything disgusting that came to mind, before raising his index
finger and pressing it down against the very back of his throat.
He gagged, it was horrible, but he wasn’t throwing up. Sam tried again, but
another failure. Then again and again, growling in frustration as he leaned
closer to the toilet and shoved his finger further back, making some weird
choking noises, but aside from sounding like some freaking walrus suffering
from a stroke, he couldn’t accomplish anything. He was heaving, feeling sick to
his stomach, but nothing was coming out. The drug wasn’t coming out, it was
still inside him, and his hand that was gripping the toilet seat began shaking.
This couldn’t be happening. He took his sweet time getting here, and now it was
too late. He had heroin in his fucking stomach, and there was nothing he could
do about it. But that was just his luck; really, it shouldn’t even have
surprised him anymore. Who else would accidentally swallow some drugs, if not
Sam Winchester?
Getting to his feet with a defeated sigh, he wiped his mouth and then flushed
the toilet to make anyone waiting in front of the door believe he used it, the
loud sound it made as Sam pressed the button nearly making him jolt. Then he
was out, stepping aside to let a kid with her parents through, before shuffling
back to his seat, the look on his face telling everything to Dean without him
needing to speak.
“Nothing, huh?” he asked as Sam sat down and wrapped his arms around the
backpack that had become some sort of hug pillow to him.
“This sucks…” he mumbled, shaking his head, his shoulders slouching.
Dean leaned a bit closer, nudging him with his elbow. “I already told you that
you’ll be just fine, so stop crying over spilled milk. It’s done, but it’ll be
alright, so how about you think of something else?” he said, tilting his head
to look Sam in the eyes, the younger boy reluctantly meeting his searching gaze
and regretting doing so when Dean smirked. “You know I checked, and the
flight’s gonna take around twelve hours. I honestly doubt you’ll survive if you
keep worrying for that long.”
Sam’s mouth kind of fell open. “What? Twelve hours…?” he asked, the color
draining from his face, and then he bumped the back of his head against the
seat while groaning. “No, yeah, I can’t do that. I wish I could speed up time
somehow, but nooo, I’m stuck in this damn plane, forced to wait until something
happens. Or not, I don’t even know if anything’s gonna happen, maybe I won’t
feel a thing, or maybe I’ll get sick or faint. Crap, what’s heroin supposed to
do to you anyway?”
Dean merely chuckled at his nervous babble, leaning back in his own seat and
pulling out a small iPod from an inner pocket of his leather jacket. “It’ll
make you chill out, and I sure hope it kicks in pretty quick. You need it,
kid,” he mentioned with a wink, before putting the earphones in his ears and
blocking Sam out completely.
Great, so now he couldn’t even talk to the human embodiment of rudeness sitting
next to him to pass the time. Lovely, just what he needed in this situation.
Leaning his elbow on the armrest to his right, he held his face with a hand and
let the skin on his cheek squash under his palm like Play-Doh, watching the
come and go of the passengers without any real interest whatsoever.
This was going to be a really long flight…
 
***** Blown Away *****
Chapter Notes
     So...
     Stuff happens.
     And I'm late with the chapter again.
     Forgive me.
 
Not even one hour has passed, but Sam was already suffering, reaching the point
where he was beginning to play with the thought of throwing a major hissy fit.
He usually had no problem occupying his mind when bored, busying himself with
thinking about all sorts of things, or just watching the ongoing life in front
of his eyes; however this time each passing thought ultimately spiraled down
into a darker place, and every time his eyes traveled the inside of the plane
in search of something interesting, he always ended up glancing at the clock on
the screens suspended from the ceiling, which also wasn’t helping at all.
Sam knew he had to calm the hell down. It frustrated him, but once again, Dean
was right. It was simply no use spending more than eleven hours on a plane,
doing nothing aside from constantly worrying. His nerves were protesting too,
so after the boy shut him out and he was left to deal with his anxiety alone,
Sam decided that, fuck this, he was going to relax, whether his body and mind
wanted it or not.
At first, he was actually doing pretty well. After a quick breathing exercise,
his pulse was more or less back to normal, and then he even managed to find a
few methods to keep himself busy. He hummed and tapped his fingers on the
armrest, tried to recall whole books and go over their stories in his head,
then when he saw one of the hostesses pushing a food cart, his eyes lit up with
hope. Then he spent the next few minutes munching on some peanuts and cherry
croissants he bought—with Dean’s money, of course—and sipping on a bottle of
apple juice. Eating and drinking could only distract him for so long, and when
he ran out of food, Sam was back to square one, chewing on his lips and folding
the napkins he got into random shapes to pass the time.
After the fifth failed attempt at making a swan out of the stubborn white
paper, he crumpled it with a huff and tried sleeping. He closed his eyes and
focused on his breathing or on the noises going on around him, which worked for
approximately ten minutes, until his stomach made a sound. That immediately had
him opening his eyes and sitting straight up, realizing that maybe giving his
intestines some more things to digest wasn’t such a great idea after all, and
then he was back to wondering when he’d start feeling the drug’s effects. Would
it take another hour? Maybe half an hour? Or maybe just a few more seconds? It
was maddening, forced to wait for the inevitable, and while he wouldn’t have
really minded if the drug would only make him “chill out”, he couldn’t have
been certain that would happen. He wouldn’t know until it happened, and after a
while Sam found himself wishing for the heroin to start working already, just
so he could relax, because he really, really wasn’t a fan of behaving like some
twitchy maniac.
He let out his longest sigh yet as he slid down in his seat, blowing at his
bangs in exasperation, and just as he began wondering if such a high amount of
anxiety could eventually cause a heart attack, he noticed Dean moving from the
corner of his eye.
The boy took out his earphones and tossed them in his lap, turning in his seat
to fix Sam with an annoyed glare. “Would you stop it already?” he blurted,
making the other furrow his brow.
“Stop it? You think I’m doing this on purpose?” Sam sat up completely and
returned the boy’s glare, letting all of his frustration out on him. “You think
I’m enjoying this? You think this—me unable to sit still for even one moment
without suffering from several mini mental breakdowns while waiting for that
fucking shit to start showing its effects on me—is fun? Well let me tell you,
it isn’t! I don’t need this, don’t want to feel this way, but no matter how
much I try to ignore it or make myself stop, it just gets so much worse. And
you, being the great, big and unhelpful asshole that you are, don’t get to tell
me what to do; not while you’re just sitting there in your little comfort zone,
being all…bossy!”
Dean blinked at him, probably a bit taken aback by Sam’s sudden outburst, but
that was just as well. He didn’t need the boy’s opinion if all he could do was
be a jerk about his suffering. Maybe he’d turn the tables and ignore him for
the rest of the flight, see how that’d make him feel.
“Fine,” he said after a moment, Sam raising an eyebrow at him when Dean grabbed
the backpack from his lap and began rummaging through it, before pulling out
the blanket which he quite literally threw in the other’s face.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked as he caught the soft, makeshift weapon before
it could’ve whacked him in the face, watching as the boy closed the bag and
slid it under the chair.
Dean looked at him strangely, then flashed him such a dirty grin Sam wasn’t so
sure if he wanted to know the answer to his question anymore. The boy moved
closer and took the blanket from his hands, before unfolding it and draping it
across him, so it was covering his shoulders and legs, some of the orange
fabric even reaching Dean’s lap.
“You want my help, right?” the boy asked, not waiting for an answer as he
slipped his arm under the blanket, and then Sam’s eyes immediately widened, his
breath hitching when he felt a hand on his thigh. “Well, let me distract you
then.”
“W-What?!” Sam just stared at Dean for a long moment, his brain trying to
process what was going on, but when the hand began moving up his thigh, it
quickly became pretty freaking clear what the boy had in mind. He was still
kind of in shock, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the other’s hand under
the blanket and ripping it away from his body, before flashing him a deadly
glare. “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed, his eyes darting around the plane
to make sure that nobody was watching them.
“Hey, I’m just trying to be nice, since I’m a…” Dean trailed off, licking his
lips and leaning closer, much too close. “An unhelpful asshole, was it?” he
whispered in Sam’s ear, chuckling when the younger boy shivered rather visibly.
“You’re insane,” he whispered back, moving as far away from the other in his
seat as possible. “I mean I get you’re a goddamn pervert by now, but this? This
is a new low, even for you.”
But Dean just laughed, then was grabbing a hold of him and pulling him back,
Sam withdrawing his hands from under the blanket to try to push him away, but
then the boy was leaning even closer, his lips brushing Sam’s ear, and he
couldn’t do anything aside from look away.
“Come on,” he purred, his voice the same deep rumble whenever he got so close,
making Sam realize that, maybe, it was lust he could hear in it, though truly
hoping he was wrong. “You need to relax, and trust me, I could do a real good
job at taking your mind off things.”
Sam clutched at the blanket and shook his head, cursing his body for reacting
to Dean’s words, his face heating up with a pleasant warmth that gradually
traveled down, making it hard for him to move a muscle anymore.
“No thanks,” he muttered with downcast eyes, unable to meet the boy’s gaze; but
then he was whipping his head around and staring at Dean when the hand was back
on his leg, giving his knee a soft squeeze.
“Sammy, you know you want it,” he stated with a lecherous grin plastered across
his face. “And the more you fight it, the more obvious what we’re doing is
gonna be to others. Is that what you want? You want them to know I’m touching
you?”
Sam’s eyes widened, his whole face probably as red as a damn lobster as he
opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t trust his voice right now,
so he just shook his head instead.
Dean, on the other hand, seemed pretty eager to keep on speaking. “Then let me
do this for you,” he drawled, and this time Sam couldn’t help but snort.
“For me?” he scoffed, glaring weakly at the boy. “As if you’re doing this to
help. You just…you’re just taking advantage of the situation, like always.”
The boy raised an eyebrow. “And are you complaining? Are you telling me that
you don’t like this?” he asked as he began to slowly, so very painstakingly
slowly, slide his hand up Sam’s leg, the younger boy tensing completely as the
hand just continued its journey up and up, then he had to bite down on his
bottom lip when Dean stopped at the very top of his thigh.
“I don’t…” He tried, but the boy was already chuckling.
“You’re such a bad liar, Sammy,” he said, before leaning back in his own seat,
Sam realizing with alarm that like this, they seemed like two completely normal
people sitting next to each other, the blanket on them hiding anything indecent
and giving Dean every opportunity to touch him.
“Wait, d-don’t…!” Sam hissed, couldn’t believe that this idiot was seriously
planning on doing this here of all places, but then he was gasping, freezing
into a complete statue as the boy’s hand moved to his crotch and began stroking
him through his jeans.
Oh god, what kind of torture was this?
Sam gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw as hard as he could and looked away,
needed to have his eyes on anything but the blanket under which Dean was
touching him, gently palming his crotch before giving it a sudden, harsh
squeeze. That had him gasping again, Sam quickly covering his mouth and feeling
so goddamn embarrassed that he didn’t even know how to react aside from
gripping the armrests like his life depended on it. And now it was so much
worse, because at least before he could hate Dean. Before, he could kind of
fight it and say no, but now… Now it was as clear as day that he was attracted
to him, or at least his body was very much so, and while he didn’t want to give
in without even putting up a fight, Sam knew that he had no chance at winning.
This was sick and wrong, and freaking weird, but it was also his first time
experiencing a feeling such as this and he liked it.
He liked Dean touching him, damn it!
His hands began to twitch and tremble from the force he was using to hold onto
the armrests. His knuckles were slowly turning white, and Sam winced in slight
pain as he sank his teeth in his bottom lip, not enough to draw blood, but hard
enough for it to hurt but also keep the sounds that desperately wanted to
escape him at bay, since it wasn’t that easy to stay silent with Dean’s hand
living a life of its own under the blanket. The boy teased him, groping and
stroking and kneading the growing erection in his pants, and then Sam had to
squeeze his eyes shut, letting out a silent whimper when the hand unbuttoned
him and slid in his underwear.
“That’s it,” Dean purred lowly, his voice barely a whisper so only Sam would
hear him. “You’re so hard for me, Sammy, fuckin’ love this, don’t you?” He
chuckled when the trembling boy ducked his head in shame and then made another
small sound when Dean wrapped his fingers around his shaft, stroking him with
his thumb. Sam actually had to fight the urge to buck into the touch, which
only made him blush even more, and then he had to wonder if the human body was
really capable to self-combust, because it certainly felt like he was getting
burned from the inside out by a searing fire when Dean leaned a bit closer and
whispered, “Love my hand on you, stroking you…right, little brother?”
“Dean, wha—” he began, but was quickly cut off by his own gasp when the boy
nipped at his earlobe before pulling away.
“We’re brothers, aren’t we?” he said with a wink, then tightened his grip
around Sam’s cock and began moving his hand, sliding it up and down, twisting
and pulling and stroking him slowly, and drawing a pathetic little whimper from
him.
Crap, the touching was one thing, but Dean calling him his little brother
shouldn’t have turned him on like this. It was so wrong, but for some reason so
hot, and Sam’s body was hot too, ablaze but then not, then he was fine. Like
really fine, and he let out a long breath he didn’t even realize he was holding
in, relaxing and melting into the boy’s hand, suddenly feeling somewhat mellow.
“Hmm?” Dean raised an eyebrow when Sam bucked into the touch, not even trying
to stop himself as he leaned his head back, his eye half-lidded, panting
through his parted lips. Noticing the change, the boy watched him for a moment,
before giving him a knowing look, along with a pretty nasty grin. “Finally… I
thought it would never kick in.”
Sam only wondered for a moment what Dean was talking about, before his brain
caught on, also noticing that something wasn’t quite right. He was taking slow
but deep breaths, shallow ones, and he was feeling sort of drowsy. The blanket
on him felt warmer, but not that uncomfortable kind of warm that would make him
rip his clothes off—it was pleasant and soft, and he welcomed it with open arms
like everything else. He felt at ease, happy even, all his worries seemingly
washed away by this feeling that, after a long while, he finally realized was
the heroin.
And then he couldn’t help but giggle, because he was high while getting a
handjob from another boy, and he was loving it.
“Dean,” he moaned, scraping his nails down the armrests and rolling his hips,
needing more. Blinking his eyes open, he gazed at the boy, then felt a violent
shiver rip through him as he saw the dark and hungry, the electric look in the
other’s eye, Dean seeming like he was finding it hard to control himself, which
became pretty evident from the strain in his voice.
“Wow, Sammy,” he breathed, somehow managing to sound amazed and horny at the
same time, before pulling his hand out of Sam’s underwear and drawing a pitiful
sound from the younger boy, who really wasn’t liking the loss, needed that warm
hand on him so bad.
He gazed up at the other, watching lazily as Dean climbed out of his seat and
moved the blanket out of the way, discarding it in the now empty chair as he
helped Sam to his feet, and then he was being dragged toward the back of the
plane, knowing that maybe he should protest, but couldn’t quite remember why
exactly. His limbs felt heavy and he kept needing to wet his lips, which were
always so dry, just like his mouth, and by the time they reached the lavatory,
it was a miracle Sam didn’t just collapse on the floor and fall asleep.
But he didn’t, and the next thing he knew, he was inside the bathroom, being
slammed into the door and kissed breathless by a very talented tongue.
His mind too clouded to think, he chose not to bother with using it right now,
and instead just wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and kissed him back,
opening his mouth for the boy to use as he pleased. Sam moaned into the hot
kiss, his eyes fluttering shut when the wet, nice and warm tongue slid
alongside his, swirling around and licking it, before taking it between his
teeth and sucking on it, making Sam whine.
“Yeah, that’s right baby boy,” Dean whispered lowly when they pulled away for
air, mumbling the slightly hoarse, deep with scorching desire, words against
the other’s lips. “So obedient for me like this, so adorable; so fuckin’ hot.”
Sam gave him a sheepish look and licked his lips, his skin tingling with an
amount of lust he has never felt before, but instead of scaring or confusing
him, it just made him lean in and capture Dean’s lower lip between his and
nibble on it playfully. That had the boy growling in a matter of seconds, the
animalistic sound doing some real nasty things to Sam’s erection, and then he
was being manhandled, pulled away from the door and lifted with way too much
ease, before placed on the counter next to the sink. This way he was nearly as
tall as Dean, that thought making him grin stupidly and grab the boy’s face,
tugging him into a quick kiss.
Easing away with a groan, Dean grabbed the other’s wrists and tore his hands
away from his face, his hold painfully tight and making Sam whimper. “You need
to stop that,” the boy panted, looking like some animal ready to pounce, “or
I’m gonna snap and fuck you right here. Bend you over and pound your tight
little ass until you’re screaming.”
“Oh…” was all he could say to that, not sure why but kind of liking the sound
of that. He had a passing thought, realizing just how big of a pervert he was
while high, but then said thought was quickly gone, replaced by words such as
“more” and “feels good” that swirled inside his mind as Dean continued kissing
him, this time on his neck.
“So pretty,” he mouthed against the skin on his throat, licking hot stripes up
and down his neck and making Sam lean back on one hand, using the other to
caress the back of the boy’s neck, playing with his hair while throwing his
head back and moaning in approval. The hand on Dean’s neck was quickly removed
though, the boy moving it to Sam’s mouth and flashing him a suggestive grin.
“Keep your voice in, Sammy. Can’t let you get too loud from what I’m about to
do to you.”
Slowly, he nodded and clasped his hand over his mouth, already needing to press
it harder against the flesh when Dean ripped his pants and underwear off,
pulling them over his shoes, the aggressive action making him whimper loudly.
“Shh, that’s my good little boy,” he praised, pushing Sam further back so that
he was sitting with his back leaning against the mirror, and then stroked his
hips, drawing circles in the other’s skin with the pad of his thumbs. “Nice and
quiet for me, just for me.”
Biting down on his hand to stop himself from reacting too loudly to the sweet
praises, Sam peered at Dean through his bangs, a few strands of his hair
already sticking to his sweaty forehead. He only now realized that he was
sweating, the comfortable warmth from before finally becoming too much and
making him want to shed his clothes. Well, at least those that were still on
him, because from the waist down, he was butt naked. Curious, he glanced down
at himself, another rush of warmth hitting him, his face flushing as he saw
just how hard he was. And then he didn’t even have time to process what he was
seeing before Dean hooked his hands under his knees and raised them, putting
Sam’s feet on the counter and spreading his legs obscenely wide, making the
trembling boy scurry back in embarrassment even in the drowsy, drug-induced
state he was in.
Chuckling at his reaction, the boy licked his lips like some famished wolf and
grabbed his knees again, which Sam had closed when he moved back. “Come now, no
need to be shy,” he purred, his voice dangerously deep and low, coming from his
chest and dripping with arousal.
Reluctantly, Sam let him spread his legs again, whimpering when Dean stared at
his erection openly and without any shame whatsoever, before giving him an
incredibly lewd look. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that? Can’t believe I
really am the only one who gets to see you like this, have you all for myself.
Fuck…” Dean growled, suddenly leaning forward and grabbing a fistful of Sam’s
hair, before yanking him into a rough, claiming kiss, with too much tongue and
teeth, resulting in the younger boy mewling sweetly into the older’s mouth.
“Mine,” he declared with a surprising amount of authority in his voice, pulling
back and biting down on Sam’s jaw in a way that hurt more than felt good,
making him turn his head, but Dean’s hand in his hair was quick to tug him
back. “All mine, all of it.”
“Dean, ow,” he whined, frowning when the boy chuckled and nuzzled his cheek,
his hands trailing down Sam’s body and up to his knees, before stopping at his
spread thighs and caressing them.
“Say it,” Dean ordered, his fingertips digging into the other’s skin as Sam
looked up at him. “Let me hear you say it, and I’ll make it up to you. Make you
feel so fuckin’ good, Sammy.”
High, horny and kinda confused by everything that was going on, Sam only
hesitated for a few moments before nodding his head. “Yours, Dean… I’m yours,”
he mumbled, averting his eyes and feeling slightly humiliated, though he
quickly forgot all about that when he felt the boy’s lips on his stomach as he
pushed the flannel shirt up, a bolt of electric pleasure shooting up his body
when Dean nibbled and dipped his tongue in his belly button.
The boy smiled against the sensitive skin. “That’s right,” he said, placing a
lingering kiss on Sam’s tummy before brushing his lips down the younger boy’s
waist and hips, softly gnawing at the hipbone. He tightened his hold on the
other’s thighs and spread his legs even more, so much that it was kinda hurting
Sam, but he let Dean do whatever he wanted, because damn, it all felt so good.
However if he thought that Dean teasing his skin was good, Sam was in for a
pleasant surprise when he felt the boy’s lips on his pulsing cock.
“Oh god…!” Sam cried, tossing his head back and quickly slapping a hand over
his mouth to muffle any further sounds, which wasn’t that easy with Dean
kissing along his length. The boy placed a series of wet, open-mouthed kisses
from the base to the head, then did the same in reverse, and it wasn’t long
before Sam’s legs began shaking from the tiny shockwaves of pleasure each kiss
sent rushing through his body. It made his already sensitive skin even more so,
it tingling and buzzing with this unrelenting arousal, the nape of his neck
already drenched in sweat and he was panting, his chest heaving with his back
slightly arched. Feeling Dean’s lips was already good enough, Sam’s mind
swimming in a steamy pool of thick, delicious lust from it all, but when he
looked down and saw what was happening, watched as the boy glanced up at him
and licked those plump, irresistible lips, it was a miracle he didn’t blow his
load right then.
His eye gleaming with want, Dean placed one lingering kiss on the head of his
cock, all the while keeping eye contact with Sam, before grinning up at him
like the sexual predator he was. “Gonna taste you now, baby boy,” he promised,
his hot breath ghosting over the other’s throbbing erection and making him let
out a miserable, muffled moan.
And Sam wasn’t sure if Dean had done anything like this before, but right now,
he wouldn’t have even cared if he did it on a daily basis, because holy fucking
shit, the boy was blowing his mind in more ways than one.
He bit down on his hand until it hurt, needing the pain to keep himself from
screaming or writhing around. Dean moved one of his hands to his cock and began
stroking it, using the tip of his tongue to flick at the slit, circling and
poking it teasingly, before licking along the underside. He then tilted his
head and licked up and down the shaft, this time with the flat of his tongue,
tasting every inch of the skin until Sam’s cock was completely wet, slick and
glistening with saliva that covered all of the smooth flesh. Dean’s hand moved
to cup his balls, the younger boy whimpering and making soft, needy whines all
the while, wanting more, but when he tried thrusting up to somehow hump the air
or something, Dean was there to stop him, sinking his nails in his hip as he
kept him in place.
“Don’t move,” he ordered, and Sam stilled obediently, turning his head from
side to side in both frustration and pleasure, then mainly in pleasure when the
boy finally wrapped his lips around his cock, swallowing him.
“De!” he gasped, unable to keep his voice in as the other took him deeper and
deeper in his mouth, while massaging his balls and probably bruising his hip.
Not quite sure where the nickname came from, but not in a situation where he’d
give a crap, Sam kept one hand on his mouth, but moved the other to Dean’s
head, grasping at his hair and franticly trying to push him down, his mind
clouded by the impossible amount of need coursing through him.
The boy didn’t seem to care about the fingers tangling in his hair, as Sam was
too weak to apply any pressure on him in the state he was in, and simply
continued the sweet torture on the younger boy’s cock, beginning to bob his
head back and forth while humming around the length, sucking hard while
swallowing around it. It was all too much, Sam bleeding as his teeth broke the
skin on his lips when he tried to keep in his moans, his whimpers and some
pretty wanton sounds that tried to escape, especially when he locked eyes with
Dean, who held their gaze without looking away once. He kept his dark, sultry
eye on Sam, whose own ones were half-lidded and a bit unfocused, this never
before felt pleasure going straight to his head and, of course, dick. They
watched each other, though Sam found it pretty hard to keep his gaze on Dean
while the boy was sucking him, tugging at his balls and moving head this way
and that, sometimes grazing his teeth against the skin and sending brutal and
sudden shivers down his spine, lightning bolts of ecstasy that pierced through
Sam like a spear. The boy did unimaginable things to him—pulled back and
suckled on the head while pumping the shaft with his hand, swallowing his balls
and playing with them with his tongue until they began to pull up, Sam now
whimpering and moaning constantly as Dean formed a tight right with his index
finger and thumb, then pumping his leaking cock like that all the while sucking
him mercilessly.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed with Dean watching him, moaning and
humming around Sam’s cock while making some real nasty and obscene sucking
sounds, but after what must’ve been minutes, he just couldn’t take it anymore.
He let out a wretched sob, the pleasure too great, and when the boy swallowed
him all the way down, going to deepthroat him, Sam hit the back of his head
against the mirror and cried out against his hand, coming inside Dean’s mouth
with a pathetic moan.
He didn’t even realize he came while his cock was still in the other’s mouth
until he felt him swallowing every last bit of Sam’s come, that knowledge
making him shiver. When Dean was done cleaning him with his tongue, he placed a
kiss on his cheek and grinned down at the spent, panting boy.
“How was that?” he asked, both of them obviously knowing the answer, but the
expectant look he gave Sam made him realize he couldn’t stay silent.
“Good,” he whispered, feeling rather sleepy all of a sudden. He blinked up at
the boy tiredly, raising a hand to caress his cheek and smiling when Dean
glanced at him, clearly surprised. “Really good…”
Then it was Dean’s turn to smile, his wide and happy, but whatever he did or
said afterward was a mystery to Sam, for his eyes were now closing on their own
accord and he slumped against the mirror, before letting out a satisfied sigh
when two strong arms enveloped him, the exhausted boy gladly falling asleep in
their warm embrace.
                                       —
 
His dreams were totally messed up.
One second he was back in his old home, with John, learning about life and how
precious it was, a rare gem given only to the bravest of humans, and the next
he was somewhere dark, could have sworn the shadows were moving, but when he
whipped his head around, everything was still and silent as the dead. It was
like one of those paintings that made no sense, with a wild sea of every color
known to mankind splashed across the canvas to form something surreal,
something only the creator knew the meaning of. However instead of colors,
Sam’s head was filled with a confusing blur of visions, images flashing before
his eyes before retracting and vanishing, merging into yet another scene that
was either a memory, or something unknown and bizarre.
He forgot all about them, though, as he stirred sleepily, enjoying the
comfortable warmth that clung to him, keeping him nice and sated. It took him a
few moments to come back to full consciousness, his hands grasping at thin air
before they found the blanket draped over him. He was in a cushioned, but kind
of hard chair—the airplane seat, he realized—with the orange blanket covering
him snugly. He must have fallen asleep at some point, wondered how long he was
out as he unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, making nibbling sounds
as he moved from his sleeping position and sat upright in the seat, slowly
blinking his eyes open.
The interior of the plane was darker than he remembered. Some of the small,
round lamps were on and casting a faint glow on the passengers from above,
giving the now dimly lit plane a rather cozy atmosphere. As he looked to his
right, he saw the last remaining rays of the sunlight through the windows, only
a thin layer between the dark blue sky and the shaded clouds that appeared
black under the night sky.
“Hey sleepyhead,” said a voice from his left, snapping Sam out of his reverie
and drawing his attention. Turning his head, he gazed up at Dean sitting next
to him, the boy’s smile widening when their eyes met. “How are you feeling?”
Sam blinked, then blinked again, then felt simultaneously aghast, mortified,
and just a general what-the-fuckness as everything came back to him, his mind
assaulted by the memories.
“Uh…um…” he answered intelligently, staring at Dean with wide, shocked eyes,
and trying real hard not to go haywire.
The boy raised an eyebrow at him, giving him an amused look as he chuckled.
“Whoa, I know I’m good, but I didn’t think my mouth would leave you
speechless,” he teased, and Sam wanted nothing more than get swallowed by the
ground and disappear. Or just jump out of the airplane, that would have worked
too.
Holy fuck.
How did this happen? He couldn’t even wrap his brain around it, it was just
so…unbelievable. He received his first blowjob, but it was from Dean, from
another boy, and oh god, his reactions. Sam was loving every second of it, he
could remember the intoxicating feeling of Dean’s tongue on him, his lips
wrapped around him, the memory alone sending a heatwave across his body, making
him blush. And he was so damn needy, the heroin doing unimaginable things to
him and erasing his thoughts completely, letting his body take the wheel and go
crazy. He was incredibly embarrassed, unable to believe what Dean did to him,
but it happened, and there was no turning back time.
Also, no matter how much Sam wanted to, really wished to blame the drug, he
couldn’t. It made him behave strangely and relaxed him, maybe a bit too much,
but he didn’t dislike the sensation of the boy pleasing him; not then, and not
now. He wasn’t high anymore, the heroin apparently leaving his system while he
slept, but Sam didn’t feel disgusted or regret. He felt really goddamn
embarrassed and kind of ashamed of his actions, but that was it. Which really
surprised him, because kissing Dean was one thing, but letting the boy suck him
off was a whole other level of wrong, of lewd, and Sam wondered if this meant
he was gay.
What? No. He wasn’t gay. Nope, he never once found a guy attractive. Well,
aside from Dean, but then that would make him straight, but still gay for Dean?
Okay, this was getting confusing. Sam shifted in his seat and pretended that he
was invisible, that there wasn’t a perverted pirate smuggler next to him,
watching his every move. He seriously needed some time to process what
happened, to come to terms with it, but that was pretty hard with the very
thing he was trying to ignore leaning well in his personal space and poking his
head.
“Hey, lil’ bro,” he said, emphasizing those two words with jabs of his finger.
“Stop sulking and look at me.”
Sam pressed his lips together and clutched the blanket, turning his head away
from Dean to stare intensely at some woman going through her purse, in order to
distract himself from the stubborn finger, which was now gently trailing down
his cheek and not making him shiver.
“Come on, Sammy,” Dean whispered, a hint of annoyance present in his voice that
was coming much closer than before, the younger boy able to feel the other’s
presence by his shoulder. “We both know you enjoyed what happened, so this
little hard to get act of yours ain’t gonna work anymore.”
He managed to keep staring a hole at the stranger’s purse for around four
seconds, before he just couldn’t take that smug idiot’s gaze on him anymore,
those words making him lash out in utter embarrassment.
“The hell are you talking about?” he snapped at the boy, shooting a hopefully
hard and fierce glare at him. “I didn’t enjoy shit.”
Dean just laughed, shaking his head. “Oh right, so I just imagined it all. You
weren’t being responsive, trying to fuck my mouth like some desperate little
puppy, didn’t admit with your own words that you belonged to me,” he scoffed,
glancing down at Sam’s throat before looking back at him with a glint of
twisted glee in his one eye. “And you don’t have any of my marks on your skin
which, by the way, I found out is very sensitive.”
Tiny tremors of indignity rippled through his chest, everything that Dean just
said making him let loose a miserable sound, Sam so damn embarrassed at this
point that the pilot could’ve just used his burning red face as a landing
signal. And the worst was, the very worst, that the boy was right, because Sam
did say and do all those things, still bore Dean’s—some old and now probably a
few new—marks. It was true, but he wasn’t quite ready to accept any of it, and
that asshat wasn’t helping either, with his deviant remarks and sly grins.
Sam never understood how some people could feel sexual attraction toward
someone without any love involved, without any feelings, but now he got it,
though wasn’t too happy about discovering it firsthand.
“It wasn’t me,” he found himself saying after a while, surprised by the cold
edge in his voice as he glowered at Dean. “It was just the drug. I was high,
Dean, and none of it was real!”
Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he lied. Well, no, it was because Dean was looking
all smug and triumphant, and Sam needed time that he knew he wouldn’t get
unless he made the boy believe he didn’t like it. However he didn’t mean for it
to come out so harsh, only noticing his mistake when he saw the hurt look on
the other’s face, Sam needing to do a double take because this was the first
time he ever saw Dean like that.
The boy let out a humorless laugh, his smile twitching before withering.
“You’re doing it again. You’re lying, Sam, it’s not true,” Dean said, the tone
of his voice turning bitter and somewhat irritated, but under it all, there was
something desperate. “You liked it, I saw it, I know it. Drugged or not, Sam
you…” He trailed off, clenching his jaw and shooting a glare at the other,
before growling lowly and leaning back in his seat, looking away from him.
Well, that was surprising. He did not expect that reaction at all. He thought
Dean would get angry or keep teasing him until Sam caved in, but apparently he
might have taken things a bit too far. Great, now he was feeling guilty. It
wasn’t even his fault; Dean started this whole thing, he was the rude ass here,
so why was he the one getting angry all of a sudden? That was Sam’s role, damn
it. He was supposed to be the one ignoring the boy, not the one getting ignored
by him, and it pissed him off how much that annoyed him. Though in a way, he
supposed, this was how Dean was feeling all the time. Sam has been doing this
to him ever since they met, avoiding him every chance he got, and he had to
admit, it wasn’t a really nice feeling. It made him want to say something, but
stay quiet at the same time, because it wasn’t like he needed to apologize. He
didn’t do anything wrong, right? He was reacting normally; it was Dean who was
being pushy and demanding too much from him.
Alright, so maybe he was a bit selfish. And a liar. But Dean was so much worse,
so he deserved everything, end of discussion.
Sighing, he pulled the blanket over his shoulders, creating a safe cocoon for
himself, then rolled his eyes when he saw the boy pull out the earphones and go
back to listening to music. He was supposed to be the older, mature one, yet he
was acting like some child throwing a fit, then sulking in his little corner.
He did not look like a kid, though—Dean looked more mad than resentful, but Sam
remembered the flash of pain in his eye, no matter how quickly it disappeared.
And it bemused him, as he didn’t think that the boy was even capable of getting
hurt, at least not emotionally. He chewed softly on his bottom lip, careful
because of the wound he created there, deep in thought and wondering why Dean
reacted the way he did, or what to do now, then when he didn’t find an answer
to either of them after a few minutes, Sam decided to just give up for now.
Or maybe he should just apologize.
Nah, Dean took advantage of him, so Sam had every right to be pissy.
He glanced at the time on one of the screens and groaned in frustration. He’d
have to stay here for six more hours, and he was already starting to get bored.
It was great that he wasn’t a ball of worry anymore, edgy and fidgety while
waiting for the heroin to kick in, managing to relax now that the drug was
gone, but that unfortunately did not save him from the nagging feeling of
impatience as he sat there in his chair. What was he supposed to do for the
next few hours? He couldn’t communicate with Dean even if he wanted to, which
he didn’t, at all; he didn’t have a phone to play stupid games on or a book to
read, no music to listen to. Sure, he could listen in on conversations, if
there were any he could hear, but since everybody was speaking in hushed tones
and being all considerate not to wake those that were trying to sleep, Sam had
no luck there either.
Sinking lower in the seat, he closed his eyes and hoped to go back to sleep. He
stayed like that for approximately ten or so minutes before he kicked the
blanket off with a vengeance and got out of the chair, going to stretch his
legs a bit instead. He sneaked a glance to Dean as he stood next to their row
of seats, but when the boy didn’t even acknowledge his existence, Sam ignored
the strange, empty feeling in his chest, and walked curiously down the aisle.
There were all sorts of passengers abroad, Sam getting a good look at them as
he discovered the plane. From little kids to the elderly, people with different
ethnicity, in groups or all alone, there were all sorts of individuals here,
and as he wandered around the row upon row of seats, he wondered why. Why did
his dad think of them as dangerous? It was true that the only people Sam got to
meet and interact with, aside from John, were murderous criminals, so of course
they weren’t the best example of humanity he could’ve asked for. And that
should have made him believe Johns warnings even more, made him be wary of
everyone, to look over his shoulder like a real survivalist; like someone who
had lost all hope that there was still good in the world. But no, because as he
looked at all these people, he saw just that—he saw humans, not monsters. Sam
found his dad’s conviction that every living thing was evil ludicrous now. He
has only seen the bad, the rotten and ugly side of the world, but that was
exactly why he had to, needed to believe that there was more to it. There had
to be happiness and selflessness out there, something good too. If there was a
black, then there has to be a white as well, somewhere, in some humans’ heart,
and Sam hoped to one day find a person like that.
While lost in his brooding, deep thoughts, all pensive and not really looking
where he was going, he nearly collided with someone in the middle of exiting
the lavatory, only managing to step back in the very last second.
“Oh, sorry,” the person he realized was a girl said, flashing him a courteous
smile. She was as tall as Sam, however seemed a bit younger, maybe one or two
years. The smile reached her pale hazel eyes as they looked at each other, the
girl tucking a few strands of her long, golden blonde hair and quickly closing
the door behind her.
Sam could feel himself blush for unknown reasons, reflexively returning her
smile. “It’s okay, I hope I didn’t scare you,” he said, even though if anyone,
it was him who got a bit caught off guard by the girl’s sudden appearance.
She shook her head, her smile widening. “No, of course not,” she said
reassuringly, then after a moment of awkward silence, looked past his
shoulders. “Well…”
“Ah, right.” Sam swiftly stepped out of the way, not even realizing he was
blocking the poor girl from going back to her seat, but then stopped. This was
his chance at making a friend, an actual friend that not only seemed kind, but
was a girl. Truth be told, he’s been dreaming of this moment for years now, of
a situation where he could finally befriend someone—who was around his age and
not part of a gang—and even though he’s never spoken to a girl before, aside
from Ruby, he decided to give it a try and forced the words out of his mouth.
“I’m Sam, by the way.”
How smooth, telling her his real name. Good job, Sam.
The girl halted and turned back to face him, giving him a questioning, curious
look, and Sam was sure he had somehow managed to fuck up. But then she was
smiling again, thank god, and walked back to him.
“My name’s Claire,” she said, before pointing at a row of seats on the far
right. “I came with my mom and dad. You?”
Alright, this was great. A conversation, he could do it, he was a highly
functioning human being. “I’m with…” he began, thinking for a split second,
then said, “my brother. Yeah, we’re going to visit our family in Paris.”
“That’s so nice. Can you speak the language?” Claire asked, making him feel a
bit guilty. Could he even build a friendship with lies? He didn’t think so, but
he was damned if he wouldn’t at least give it a try.
“Well, no,” he admitted sheepishly. He really should’ve rehearsed his story
before opening his mouth. “They’re just working there; I have never been to
France myself. But I want to learn French while I’m there, and hopefully I’ll
know more than a few words once I’m back.”
“I’m sure you’ll remember some words, it’s not that hard. I actually know a
few,” she stated with a small, proud grin. “I could teach you the important
ones. I mean, if you want.”
Sam beamed at her, nodding. “Yes please, I’d love that!”
She laughed. “Okay, well… Um, how about we move away from the toilets first?”
she suggested, to what Sam looked around, looking for some empty seats.
When he found a row that was empty and seemed like it would stay that way, he
headed toward it, motioning for Claire to follow. Then they spent the next
minutes, which soon stretched out into an hour, then two, just talking and
laughing whenever he failed at pronouncing a word, which unfortunately happened
nearly each time.
“No, now you just sound like a dog trying to talk,” Clair pointed out,
snickering when Sam sighed. “Listen, it’s ‘au revoir’. The ‘au’ is pronounced
as ‘o’.”
“That’s what I said! Au revoir,” he huffed, but no matter how much he tried, he
couldn’t pronounce those goddamn ‘r’ sounds without sounding like some cat
about to throw up a hairball.
She shook her head, clearly suppressing her laugh to save whatever remained of
Sam’s dignity. “Let’s try another one, this time a sentence. What do you want
to learn?”
“How about…” His voice trailed off, deep in thought, then raised a finger as he
came up with something. “I hope that you get eaten by rabid garden gnomes?”
Clair blinked at him, then snorted. “That’s a bit too complicated, even for my
genius. How about sticking to something more basic, like ‘Merci beaucoup pour
le repas, c’était délicieux’.”
“Right… I hope you didn’t just tell me to go jump off a cliff,” he said
suspiciously, grinning when the girl rolled her eyes.
“I said ‘Thank you for the meal, it was delicious’. Thought you might need it
if you go out to eat with your family, show them you didn’t leave your manners
at home,” she explained, but Sam had already successfully forgot everything she
said. Though he didn’t think he’d need that sentence anyway, it being pretty
useless with his family dead and all. What a happy thought to have. And Claire
must have noticed it, maybe saw the brief look of sorrow that crossed his face,
because she was frowning in concern, tilting her head and leaning closer. “Sam?
Are you alright?”
He quickly looked back at her and shook those stupid, sad thoughts out of his
head, really not needing them right now. “Yeah, sorry. I’m fine,” he assured
with a small smile, hurriedly changing the subject. “So what else is there for
me to know to survive in Paris?”
They then spent the next hour first continuing with the French lesson, before
simply moving on to talk about their lives. Sam was, obviously, mostly silent
throughout that conversation, preferring listening to Claire’s stories over his
own lies anyway, so when she just nodded understandingly when he said he didn’t
really want to talk about his family, he felt relieved. Claire was so nice and
funny, too, and they soon became friends, at least Sam would’ve liked to think
of themselves as that. Maybe this friendship would only last while they were on
the plane; actually, he was sure that it would never survive once they left the
flight. It was disappointing and sad, but he tried not to think too hard about
it and instead enjoy the girl’s company while he could, their friendship while
it lasted.
When none of them had anything left to say, running out of topics for now,
Claire suggested they watch a movie on his dad’s laptop, and Sam couldn’t have
been happier to accept. He went back to his seat before joining the girl who
was looking for the DVD, needing to check up on Dean to make sure he wouldn’t
ruin anything, but it seemed that the boy had fallen asleep while listening to
music. He looked peaceful, almost harmless like this, Sam finding himself
staring at the other’s sleeping face for a bit too long, before shaking his
head and quickly going back to Claire. They watched a comedy, the boy grateful
for her choice of film and needing those funny moments onscreen that made him
laugh like he hadn’t in a while. At one point, they paused it so that Claire
could ask her dad to lend them some money to buy some snacks to munch on while
watching, Sam getting a bit curious and following her to where her family sat.
They were so nice, just like he pictured any normal family, their kindness
overwhelming him a bit, and he was ashamed to admit, but it also made him
jealous of Claire and her life. James and Amelia Novak were the kind of parents
he’s been dreaming of on especially lonely nights, and it wasn’t fair that he
never got to have a normal family while others did.
He didn’t let any of his selfish feelings show, though, quickly forgetting
about them as he shook hands with Claire’s dad, engaged in a short conversation
with her mom, then went back with his new friend to their seats and continued
watching the movie, while snacking on some packaged, rather plain tasting
popcorn. Like that, with them eating and drinking, making fun of some of the
stupid scenes while laughing at the genuinely funny ones, another hour was fast
to fly by, and by the time the movie ended, Sam noticed that only two hours
remained of the flight. Time moved faster when he had good company, he
realized, and while he wouldn’t have minded watching another cheesy movie with
Claire, she only had that one. They talked for a bit after that, Sam regretting
not asking for a cell phone from Nick when the girl inquired if he wanted to
exchange phone numbers. It was a bummer, seeing her dejected face only making
him feel worse, but then she was shrugging and actually thanking Sam for the
few hours of entertainment, telling him how nice spending time with him was,
which just made him curse his past self even more.
Damn it, the first thing he’d do once he got back “home” will be to demand to
have a phone of his own. Politely, and hopefully without getting instantly
rejected.
Sam got back to his seat after they were done with the awkward goodbyes,
finding Dean still sound asleep next to him. He wondered of the iPod was still
on, playing music even while the boy slept, then after a long moment of
hesitating, he carefully draped the blanket over his sleeping form. Sam didn’t
need it anymore, and it was in the way now, just taking up space in his chair.
It was just an act of kindness, he was simply getting rid of the blanket, not
looking out for the other. And if he felt a bit satisfied as he sat back and
looked at Dean, it was only because Sam was a good person.
Right.
He spent the next two hours huddled up in his seat, only getting up once to
visit the lavatory and making sure not to use the one where he and Dean…yeah.
In the last remaining minutes before it was time the plane landed—it being
announced over the loudspeaker and waking most of the passengers up—he gave the
boy a none-too-gentle nudge with his elbow to get him out of his temporary
coma, only sneaking one quick glance at him as he opened his eye and rubbed his
face tiredly, before looking away from the other and suddenly feeling rather
nervous for some reason.
The landing wasn’t as intimidating as when they took off. It was smooth, the
only signs that they were actually nearing the ground being the view through
the windows and the fact they needed to put their seatbelts back on. Once the
airplane has stopped moving completely, everyone got out of their seats, the
sudden swarm of people forcing Sam back in his and wait until at least those
from his row were gone. When it didn’t seem like he was going to get trampled
over by a rabid tourist, he picked up the backpack into which he has already
stuffed the blanket back, and slung it over his shoulder, before walking out of
the plane without waiting for Dean.
Outside, it was completely dark, and way colder than he would’ve expected. A
sudden chill ran down his spine and spread through his entire body, making him
shudder. He looked around, now searching for the boy because he wasn’t quite
sure what to do now, feeling kind of lost and not liking it one bit, but aside
from the giant airplane behind him and the groups of passengers spilling out of
it, before making a beeline for the airport building, he couldn’t spot anyone
with an eyepatch. A bit frustrated but keeping calm and standing still, telling
himself that it wasn’t like the plane ate the boy, Sam waited for his, so to
say, partner in crime, feeling a tiny bit relieved when he finally saw Dean
emerging from the door and walking over to join him.
As he waited for him to come over, though, Sam also noticed someone else.
Claire and her family were just exiting the plane as well, also beginning to
head in the building’s direction, and when the girl looked his way and gave him
a cheery smile, Sam couldn’t stop his own from forming and spreading across his
face.
“Who is that?” Dean’s sudden question made him look away from the girl, the
harsh and somewhat demanding tone in his voice ruining Sam’s smile. The boy was
scowling as if bewildered, glancing from the other to the girl, who was now
giving him a polite wave which Dean completely ignored.
Sighing, he shook his head dismissingly. “A friend I made while you were
sleeping,” he said, giving the boy an annoyed look. Dean has been giving him
the cold shoulder for hours, shutting him out because Sam didn’t go along with
his game, and the first thing he does after finally deciding to grace him with
his oh so precious attention, is be rude.
Dean’s frown deepened, and Claire must have noticed that something was off,
because now she was looking concerned as began walking towards them. Knowing
that couldn’t possibly end well, Sam was about to tell her that everything was
fine, lie to her again in order to protect the poor girl, but he didn’t have
to. She didn’t take more than five steps before Dean was glaring at her, the
sort of glare that Sam has only seen before once, when he first met the boy,
the amount of rage in his eye freezing Claire where she stood.
Wondering what the hell got into him all of a sudden, but really not wanting to
find out and risk getting his only friend hurt, or worse, Sam quickly grabbed a
hold of the sleeve of the other’s jacket and began tugging him away from any
nearby humans, while flashing an apologetic smile at Claire. “Sorry, he’s a bit
grumpy from lack of sleep,” he shouted over the sound of the airplane engines
as he backed away, then flinched when Dean yanked his arm out of Sam’s hold.
“Dean—” he began, but instead of the boy storming off like he thought he would,
he just seized the younger one’s biceps and began dragging him toward the
building, Sam wincing and unable to finish his sentence as the hand on his arm
tightened until it was seriously hurting him.
Dean strode into the airport building with long and fast steps, Sam barely able
to keep up and would have probably tripped already if not for the other’s iron
grip on his aching arm. “Dean, stop it! You’re hurting me, what the hell,
Dean!” he hissed, trying to break free from the boy’s hand, but all he achieved
with his struggling was to feel Dean’s fingers sink further into his flesh,
drawing a pained whimper from him.
When they reached the baggage carousel, Dean finally let go of him with a hard
shove, Sam swearing he heard the boy growl. “You don’t fucking get to do this,
Sam,” he snarled as he shot him a fierce look, his hands clenched into fists
from what the younger boy could only guess was fury.
“Get to do what?” he asked incredulously, throwing his hands in the air. “Make
friends? Or what, Dean? What did I do this time that didn’t suit your fancy,
huh?” Sam glared at the boy, knowing that people were already watching and
giving them strange looks, but Dean’s abnormal behavior was really starting to
get on his nerves.
“You little…” Dean’s voice was alarmingly deep and dripping with pent-up rage,
Sam’s own anger subsiding a bit from the look in the boy’s eye. It honestly
seemed like he might hit him, right in front of everybody, and that realization
sent fear gushing through him, creating a confusing cocktail of irritation and
terror that made him grit his teeth and take a step back at the same time.
“What, Dean?” he asked, swallowing thickly as he kept his eyes on the boy. “Say
it.”
Visibly clenching his jaw, his lips twitching as he tried suppressing a snarl,
Dean stared at him for a long moment, the black fire in his eye intensifying
before, suddenly, going out completely. He shook his head, running his hands
through his hair while letting out a sigh, then mumbled, “Whatever, I don’t…
Just whatever.”
He watched, a bit perplexed, as Dean’s shoulders slouched. So many unexpected
things were happening today, and that defeated look on the boy’s face was one
of the biggest surprises yet. It was gone just as quickly as it came, though,
replaced by nothing. Dean’s face became expressionless, his eye cold, as he
turned away from Sam and walked over to the baggage carousel, and picked up
their suitcases when they appeared on the belt.
He put Sam’s in front of his feet. “Come on, let’s get a taxi,” he said, and
just like that, everything was back to normal. At least, that’s what it seemed
like. Dean was acting as if nothing happened, as if he didn’t look like someone
ready to commit genocide a few minutes ago. It made Sam wonder if the boy had
multiple personalities or something, watching him warily as he followed him
outside. This normal Dean was still better than the angry one, though, so he
decided to just go with the flow for now, and leave the questions and his
confusions for later.
They found a taxi pretty soon, Dean telling the driver the address of the motel
they were supposed to stay in for the time being. The ride there was eerily
silent, Sam finding himself missing the boy’s stupid remarks, and then spending
the rest of the drive convincing himself that, no, that was not the case at
all, he was just bored.
The motel was just like how Sam expected. He has seen so many of the things
that he wasn’t even surprised when he saw the moldy spots covering one of the
walls. Of course they would get a crappy motel. Comfort and nice surroundings?
Nah, let’s sleep in a shithole, just like the good old days.
It had two single beds, a bathroom at the end of the room, and something that
looked like a mini kitchen, but was really just a small fridge with a sink next
to it. Sam sighed silently as he quickly scanned the room, before stepping
inside and placing his luggage on the bed furthest from the door. Turning
around, he watched as Dean closed the door and tossed his suitcase on the floor
next to his bed, before looking at Sam and nodding to the backpack on the bed.
“Take out the drugs,” he said as he moved back to the door. “The guy we need to
drop it off to is in a room not far from ours.”
Sam opened the bag and pulled out the plastic bag full of candies, then
wandered over to Dean, hesitating a moment before handing them over.
Noticing that something was off, he raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Sam wasn’t so sure about what was wrong either, but he realized that he really
wasn’t liking this Dean. He seemed too tense, distant, and just…cold. And it
was really annoying.
He looked up at him, frowning and hoping he appeared more annoyed than
desperate. “What’s your problem?”
Dean blinked down at him, furrowing his brow as he stared at the other for a
second. He then put the bag on the table next to the door, and glared at Sam.
“What’s my problem? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“See? This is what I’m talking about!” he snapped, making frustrated movements
with his hands. “You’re acting all weird, but you never tell me what’s wrong.”
Dean threw his head back and laughed bitterly, then Sam flinched when he
slammed a fist into the door. “You’re just a blind little kid, maybe that’s
why! Do I honestly have to spell everything out for you?”
“Yes!” he yelled. “Yes, pretend I’m fucking five or something, but just tell me
what’s going on already!”
“It’s you, you complete retard!” Dean snapped back, suddenly backing Sam into a
wall, slamming his hands on either side of the younger boy’s head and leaning
in to snarl in his face. “It’s always you, isn’t it?”
Sam snorted, kind of losing it at this point. “Me? What the hell? What have I
done to piss you off so goddamn much, Dean?”
“Holy shit, you’re seriously asking me that?” Dean laughed out loud, humorless
and unbelieving, before shocking Sam by backhanding him.
His eyes widened and he pressed a hand against his stinging cheek, gaping up at
Dean. “Wha—”
“This is the last fucking time I’m going to tell you this, Sam,” the boy
growled deep in his throat, before letting out a literal growl, feral and deep,
and Sam was listening, too shocked and horrified to do anything else really.
“You’re a liar, Sam Winchester. A fucking, dirty little liar. And a little
bitch, going around and doing shit that you know will piss me off. For fuck’s
sake, how hard is it to understand? You. Are. Mine.” Dean glared at him, moving
a hand to his throat, the other’s breath hitching when he wrapped strong and
persistent fingers around the flesh. “You don’t get to talk to others. You
don’t get to look at others. And you don’t get to go and befriend a little
whore right after lying to my face! I was okay with it for a while, with this
stubborn, foolish and simply childish behavior of yours. Being in denial,
telling yourself you don’t like it when I touch you; that was fine, for a
while. It was actually fun. But going as far as to…as to have the nerve to tell
me it was the heroin that had you moaning, that it wasn’t because of me,
because you liked it… And then you run off to some girl!”
Tears were welling up in Sam’s eyes now, from both panic and the pain of the
boy’s fingers around his throat, it already starting to become harder for him
to breathe. “Dean—”
“Did you kiss her?” the furious boy cut him off, his grip tightening even more,
even as Sam began clawing and scratching at the hand strangling him. “Huh,
Sammy? Are you into girls now, that desperate to prove me wrong? Or did you
fuck her? Take her into the same room I sucked you off, and gave it to her all
good and hard?”
“N-No…” he choked, then screwed his eyes shut with a soft whimper when Dean
leaned in and freaking bit him. He bit Sam’s hands that were hopelessly clawing
at the one keeping him in place, sinking his teeth in so hard that the
frightened boy quickly moved them away, letting them fall back to his sides,
trembling slightly as he closed them into tight fists.
“No? Then what did you do, hmm?” Dean hissed close to his ear, but Sam’s vision
was getting blurry from the lack of air, beginning to see dark spots and this
was too much. He let out a small, wretched sob, not in a situation where he
cared if he looked pathetic, robbed of his manliness. What manliness, anyway?
He was nothing, his dignity and John’s trainings, everything disappearing under
this boy’s hand.
Dean was going to kill him. This time, he was sure of it, because the hand
wasn’t moving, not even when Sam began feeling himself slowly slipping away,
losing consciousness. But then, in what must have been the very last moment,
Dean finally let go, and he immediately fell to the floor, sliding down the
wall and landing on his ass. He coughed and wheezed, taking deep breaths before
coughing some more, then was sniffing and trying to keep those stupid tears in
when the boy kneeled down in front of him.
“I’m not done,” he stated, and Sam’s heart sank. “Tell me what you did with
her. Now.”
His mouth wasn’t working, he tried saying something but then his voice failed
him, coming out as some sort of hoarse, unintelligible croak. He cleared his
throat, coughed a bit more, then tried again while fighting to keep eye contact
with Dean. “N-Nothing, I swear. We talked…and she taught be some French words.
Then w-we watched a movie, but that’s it. That’s it…”
He watched Dean watching him, swallowing around the lump in his throat when the
boy narrowed his eye. “You’re not lying to me again, are you? This wouldn’t be
the first time, even though I’ve already told you just how much I hate being
lied to.”
Sam quickly shook his head. “No, no Dean. I’m not lying, I swear to god,
please,” he mumbled franticly, rubbing his teary eyes with the heel of his
hands, and then biting down his bottom lip when the boy crawled closer,
spreading Sam’s legs and positioning himself between them as he glowered at
him.
“Beg some more, I like that,” he growled, a crooked and depraved grin tugging
at the corner of his lips. “Maybe if you beg nicely, I’ll forgive you.”
Sniffing, Sam dug his nails in his palms and pressed his back further into the
wall, feeling like a cornered prey. “I… Please, Dean. I’m begging you, please
believe me. I swear nothing happened, she’s…she was just a friend, and I’m
never going to see her ever again anyway, so please, I’m not lying, I swear,”
he pleaded with a small voice.
Dean studied his face for a moment, then his eye moved down, roaming Sam’s
rigid—only shaken lightly with the occasional trembles—body before moving back
to his eyes, the boy’s single one softening. “Alright, I believe you…for now.
What else?”
Furrowing his brow ever so slightly, Sam blinked at him. “What else…?”
“You’re not high anymore. There’s no heroin making you talk,” Dean said, fixing
him with an intense stare. “So I want you to repeat what you said then. I want
you to say it now, like this.”
It was weird. It sounded like Dean was the one begging now, and while all of
this was kind of scaring Sam right now, plus he really didn’t want to say what
the boy was thinking of, he couldn’t help…feeling sorry for him, in a way. Why?
He had no idea. Was he screwed up in the head? Probably. Did this situation
thrill him a bit?
Maybe.
“I’m…” Sam’s voice trailed off. He licked his dry lips, shivering when he saw
the boy do the same at that, then averted his eyes and forced the words out of
his mouth, despite how much they heated his face, and other parts of his body.
“I’m yours. I…belong to you.”
“Yes, you do,” Dean purred, leaning in to place a tender kiss on Sam’s cheek
which he had previously slapped, before pulling back and getting to his feet.
“I’m hungry. Wanna get some take-out?”
Sam gaped at nothing in particular for a moment, still pretty out of it, before
taking a quick glance at the clock on the wall. “It’s, uh, two in the morning.”
“And? There must be a place that delivers pizza at this hour. If not, I will be
disappointed in France,” he said jokingly, back to his usual self, but right
now, Sam wasn’t sure if he was glad or just utterly confused. Probably the
latter.
He shook his head, slowly standing up from the floor. “I’m not hungry. Ate on
the plane,” he told the boy, scratching the back of his neck as he looked at
him.
Dean faked a pout, then shrugged. “Fine. I’ll just go and visit some French
bars, check out their beer,” he stated, and then added, “Hey, did you by any
chance learn the French word for beer?”
Sam wondered if he should stay silent, but then nodded instead. “It’s ‘bière’,”
he said with a small, and maybe kinda proud, smile.
“Bière…” Dean repeated with a horrible accent, Sam needing to bite down his
laugh. “Okay, got it,” he said, smirking at him as he nodded to one of the
beds. “I don’t think I’ll be back anytime soon, so get some sleep, okay?”
“Yeah,” he said without really agreeing, watching in a bit of a daze as Dean
picked up the bag of candy, giving Sam a quick wink and a wave before walking
out the door, locking it once outside.
So…what now?
He slowly raised a hand to his cheek. It didn’t hurt anymore, but he remembered
the pain. He remembered the ache in his skin and chest that Dean’s outburst of
violence made him feel; but while it hurt, while it was scary, while Sam
should’ve been feeling angry with the boy, he realized he might have kind
of…deserved it. He didn’t want to get slapped, to get shouted at, that’s not
what he deserved, no. But he was lying. All the time; he has been for such a
long time now, so the boy’s reaction was understandable. Plus Sam really wasn’t
allowed to forget who he was dealing with here. Dean wasn’t just a boy, an
everyday kid that knew how to keep his rage under control. No, Dean seemed to
not only have anger issues, but he was also a criminal, used to resorting to
violence and aggression when others would just raise their voice. That, of
course, did not mean that this was okay. Strangling and hitting him was most
definitely not okay, and he realized this was actually the first time that Dean
had slapped him. Sure, he has tried choking him many times before, but he has
never really hurt Sam. Not until now. Which meant that what he did seriously
pissed the boy off, and it was as if…
As if Dean had a fit of jealous rage.
No, no way. Sam was blushing like mad, backing into a bed and needing to sit
down.
But that was it, wasn’t it? Dean has told him over and over, how he owned Sam,
so for him to get so mad as to hit him, it had to be jealousy. He had to put
himself in the boy’s shoes, try to think like him. How would he feel if someone
he saw as his lied to him, then left him to spend time with a stranger, a girl
who even managed to make him laugh. Okay, yeah, that might have made Sam
jealous too. But wouldn’t that mean that Dean liked him? At least a little bit?
No, people don’t necessarily have to feel that way, in order to get jealous.
Like when Sam was jealous of Claire’s family—that wasn’t because he loved any
of them, only because he wished he could have parents. Which meant Dean wanted
him for himself. Okay, that was fine, Sam could work with that, could accept
that. It’s not like he had another choice, right? He already admitted it, and
the words didn’t repulse him. Instead of that, it made him feel like he
belonged. In a way. Not to Dean, no. If he were to admit to that, it would mean
that he’d be willingly giving everything to Dean, that he’d even let the boy
do…
Oh God, why was life so complicated?!
He groaned in frustration, falling back on the bed. He needed to clear his mind
for a bit, think about something else aside from Dean. Staring at the dirty
ceiling for a long moment, Sam took in a deep breath, then felt the sting of
tears in his eyes. Caught off guard by them, he quickly rubbed his eyes,
fighting the memories. Now that he wasn’t busy thinking about the boy, they
came back haunting and surprising him, though it really shouldn’t have been
that shocking. He was in a motel, after all. He spent many years of his life in
motels, going from one to another with his dad. The tears could have only been
that of sadness, but honestly, he wasn’t sure which one. Was he sad because he
missed that life? No, he hated it. Then were those horrible memories making him
want to cry, turning him back into his younger self and making him want to curl
up in the bed like when each time John was out late, making Sam think he’s been
killed? Or was it because his dad was, indeed, dead, and he’d never get to see
him ever again, no matter how bad of a parent he was? Because yeah, John
Winchester would never win the father of the year award, but he was still his
dad, and no matter how many times Sam wished the man would just leave, he still
loved him. And now, lying in the bed of a crappy motel room, Sam found himself
missing the old man, which only made him want to cry even more.
Damn, he was such a kid.
Since there was no one else here, Sam completely alone in the room, he decided
to just let it all out. He let the tears flow free, wetting his cheek and
giving him a dull headache, the weak sobs shaking his body as he turned onto
his stomach and buried his face in the blanket. He curled his fingers into the
fabric and kept gripping them with shaking hands until it was over, until he
had cried his eyes out and took in a shaky breath, feeling a bit better. He
wasn’t a small child anymore, but he was suddenly feeling lonely. Breaking down
and crying helped, because at least now that black, thick sorrow that had
latched itself onto his heart was gone, but it left a sort of emptiness behind.
Something hollow, something that made him want to sleep and stay in bed
forever, even though he wasn’t that tired.
He tried rubbing his eyes, then climbed off the bed and shuffled to the
bathroom, splashing some cold water on his face to feel a bit more alive and
less like an extra from the Walking Dead. That also helped as much as cold
water could help, but he was still feeling a bit down, and now he was starting
to get bored, too. Great, just what he needed. He sighed and opened his
suitcase, thankful he didn’t forget to pack his pajamas and toothbrush, and
then went back to the bathroom to take a nice, long shower. The water pressure
was obviously crap, and he had to wait for an ungodly amount of time for the
warm water, but when it finally decided to appear, Sam used it to wash away all
the sweat and the things twelve hours in an airplane did to his body. He also
washed his hair, then was quickly regretting his decision and making some
shrieking sounds when the hot water ceased to exist and he got a nice gush of
ice cold one, successfully waking him up completely.
When that nightmare was over, Sam slithered into his bed and under the blanket,
creating a warm and soft cocoon for himself, before grabbing the TV remote and
turning the television on. He only just realized that he hasn’t watched telly
ever since he’s been kidnapped, even though they had a nice flat screen one in
the warehouse. Maybe once he’d get back, he would give it a try, break away
from the repetitive pattern of being holed up in his room 24/7.
There was nothing worth watching on this television, just as he thought. After
going through every single channel this device offered, Sam concluded that this
motel was truly a big pile of hippo poop, but since he didn’t really have any
other forms of entertainment at hand right now, he had to content himself with
watching the reruns of some procedural cop show. At one point, he wondered if
he should pick the lock and try taking a walk outside, but knowing his luck, he
would have just gotten lost, and he really doubted that he could have survived
with the few words Claire had taught him.
That got him thinking about the girl, hoping that she didn’t get too
traumatized by Dean’s attack dog kind of attitude. She certainly seemed taken
aback, maybe even frightened by the boy, Sam remembering the puzzlement on her
face when he dragged Dean away. Now he had to wonder if he would have actually
hurt her. That boy was pretty unpredictable, as he had come to learn, so who
knew? Maybe if Sam wouldn’t have stepped in, Dean would have taken out his rage
on Claire, which just made him incredibly glad that he chose to shift the boy’s
attention to him instead of the innocent girl, even though it resulted with him
getting hurt. But hey, better him than someone who didn’t even do anything
wrong, unless being sweet and kind was now considered as rude and a horrible
crime.
Anyway that was that, and now, lying in the bed and being swaddled by the
blanket like some baby, Sam was starting to feel a bit sleepy. He wasn’t out
for too long after he…sort of fainted in the plane’s restroom, so as he lay
there, enveloped by warmth and watching a boring TV show, he found his eyes
getting heavy. Not feeling the need to keep himself awake for no reason, Sam
lowered the volume and decided to keep watching the TV until he fell asleep,
since just as Dean said, there was no use waiting for him.
And as he let his eyes close, his body slowly sinking into the mattress while
the voices from the television turned into a muffled blur, his last thoughts
were of Dean, and of what he could be doing right now, while Sam was all alone.
 
***** The Way To Your Heart *****
 
No nightmares this time, or any dreams whatsoever, to which Sam was really glad
when he woke up. Though really, even if he would have had a dream, even if his
mind would have been filled with the strangest of images, of haunting and
simply absurd scenarios while he slept, he couldn’t have possibly known, as he
usually forgot everything a few moments after he regained consciousness.
He rubbed his cheek on the pillow, frowning as he sniffed the air curiously.
Instead of the slightly musty smell of the motel room, it was filled with the
pleasant scent of some kind of flower maybe, or soap. Yawning, he shifted in
the bed, turning on his back as he slowly cracked his eyes open and gazed
around the room.
The bathroom door—which was right next to his bed, to the right—was fully open,
the nice scent, which Sam now identified as body wash, coming from in there and
spreading into the rest of the motel room. He then turned his head, still a bit
out of it, so he needed a second to process what he saw next.
Dean was standing by the foot end of the other bed with his back to Sam,
wearing nothing but a pair of gray underwear, in the middle of tugging on his
jeans. There was a towel tossed carelessly on the bed, the boy picking it up
once he was done buttoning his dark blue jeans and using it to ruffle his
short, wet hair. His whole upper body was naked, revealing the gorgeous skin
that was usually hidden by fabric, Dean’s toned upper back and strong
shoulders, and Sam found himself staring with his mouth open when those muscles
tensed and relaxed deliciously as the boy dried his hair.
The other must have felt his eyes on him, because he let the white towel fall
over his shoulders and turned around, his eyes slightly widening when saw the
younger boy watching. Eyes, in plural, because Dean’s eyepatch was gone, and
Sam couldn’t help but gasp as he saw the boy’s other eye for the first time. He
had a horrible scar running down from the beginning of his eyebrow, all the way
down to his cheekbone, going across his eye. Sam has seen the end of that scar
many times before, the eyepatch not big enough to cover the long wound, but he
has never expected for it to look so painful. And while he only saw Dean’s face
for a split second, the other immediately catching on and spinning around to
grab his eyepatch from the counter, before putting it back around his head, he
still managed to catch a glimpse of the boy’s eye.
Dean was half blind.
That had to be it. He knew how most blind people looked, even though everyone
was different. He knew that with a wound like that, there was no way Dean still
had his sight in that eye, especially since the orb that was supposed to be a
mesmerizing moss green, was instead only a long forgotten memory of one, having
a cloudy gray color. As if a white haze has descended on that eye, it was
merely a pool of bright gray smoke, swallowing up even the black pupil and
rendering it invisible.
Sam blinked a bit dazedly, watching as the boy quickly put on his shirt after
discarding the towel somewhere, before turning around with the eyepatch back
over his eye and flashing him a suave smirk.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” he said as he walked over to his own bed and sat down on
its side, facing Sam and leaning on his knees with his elbows. “Sleep well?”
The boy apparently deciding to ignore what just happened, Sam didn’t want to be
too nosy and ask about his eye now, even though he was damn curious. Still, the
look on Dean’s face when he noticed that he was watching him made it pretty
clear that it was a sensitive subject for the boy, so he supposed finding out
more about it would just have to wait. It wasn’t really Sam’s place to go
asking about things like that, anyway.
“Fine, yeah,” he replied, slowly sitting up in the bed and leaning against the
headboard. He glanced at the clock on the wall, then squinted at it for a
moment before looking back at Dean, raising his eyebrows. “How long are we
supposed to stay here exactly…?”
Dean followed his example and looked back over his shoulder, a smile present on
his lips when he moved his gaze back to Sam. “Until tomorrow. And since it’s
only eleven in the morning, that means we’ve got the whole day ahead of us,” he
announced, his smile growing at the younger boy’s visible unease. “So what do
you wanna do today, Sammy?”
He had given up on telling Dean to stop calling him that, so he just shrugged,
not really in the mood for anything as he was still feeling rather down. “I
think I’ll just stay here.”
“What, all day?” the boy asked with a laugh, leaning a bit forward on his
elbows. “Come on, there are so many ways we could spend today. First time we’re
alone like this together, you know? Imagine the possibilities.”
Sam groaned, rolling his eyes. “Right, whatever you say. Just don’t get too
lost in fantasy land,” he scoffed, flashing the other a brief grin when the boy
pretended to sulk.
“Are you seriously considering staying in bed all day?” Dean asked, and he
answered with lying down with his back to the other. Sam heard him sigh, then
felt the mattress dip as the boy sat on his bed, walking two fingers up his arm
before poking his head. “Two can play that game,” he said, before lying down
next to Sam, who immediately tensed and, before Dean could’ve wrapped his arms
around him and, god forbid, cuddled with him, swiftly performed something that
resembled a barrel roll, ending up on the floor with a squeak as he rolled out
of the bed.
Dean propped his head up on one elbow, watching in amusement as Sam tried to
free himself of the blanket that had latched itself onto his body and followed
him to the floor, then began laughing at his misery when he somehow managed to
just get even more tangled up in that evil material.
“Stop laughing and help me!” he whined as he kicked hopelessly at the blanket,
feeling utterly frustrated and embarrassed. He was supposed to slip out of the
bed and be the one laughing at Dean, not become the subject of laughter himself
while wriggling on the floor like some mentally challenged caterpillar, for
fuck’s sake.
“Nah, that’s karma for you,” Dean said between bursts of laughter, and when Sam
shot him a fierce glare, that just made the boy laugh even harder.
Sam muttered a low row of curses, all of them meant for that jerk having the
time of his life on the bed while he was suffering on the floor, and when he
finally managed to escape from the stubborn grasp of the blanket, the very
first thing he did after scurrying to his feet was to throw it right in the
boy’s face. He relished in the silence that followed, then gulped when Dean
yanked the blanked off his head and glared at him.
“Alright, okay,” he growled, crawling off the bed like some stealthy lion,
before moving to close in on Sam.
He backed away as far as he could, keeping his eyes on the boy as he patted
around for something he could defend himself with, then felt a glimmer of hope
when his fingers wrapped around something. Without wasting a second, he took a
hold of it and held it between them as Dean stood right in front of him, the
initial confidence and relief that filled him gone in an instant as he realized
just what exactly he was trying to use as a weapon.
The boy glanced at the white remote in Sam’s hand, then raised his gaze to him.
“Are you going to…air condition me to death now, Sammy?” he asked as he tried
to keep a relatively straight face, the younger one’s face heating up as he
noticed how holding back the grin that desperately wanted to spread across his
face was causing Dean visible effort, the smug bastard.
“Shut up, I just might!” Sam exclaimed in vexation, tightening his hold on the
stupid remote before simply flinging it at the boy’s head.
It hit Dean in the forehead, bouncing off his skull before reaching its final
resting place on the floor. “Ow,” he grumbled, abruptly closing whatever
distance was left between them and trapping Sam between the counter behind his
back and the warm body pressed against him. Dean placed his hands on the
counter behind Sam and leaned forward, scowling at him. “Kiss it better.”
“What?” Sam blurted, blinking at the boy in confusion, because no way he just
heard Dean of all people ask him to do something like that.
But no, the boy was serious. “I said, kiss it better for me. Or…well, you can
make it up to me in another way too, if you want,” he purred, using his teeth
to play with his bottom lip as he watched Sam with an intent, bewitching eye.
He took in an uneven breath, shaking his head and pressing his lips together in
hesitation. “Yeah uh, no thanks,” he mumbled, before getting on his tiptoes and
craning his neck, gripping Dean’s shirt to pull him down and place a quick kiss
on his forehead. He then pushed the boy away, scooting the hell away from him
while screaming inwardly at his face to stop feeling like it had been dipped in
boiling lava.
Shuffling back to his bed, he ignored Dean’s chuckle and flopped down into the
mattress, burying his face in the pillow. Stupid Dean, always doing this to
him. It wasn’t good for his heart, as the speed it was beating in his chest
couldn’t possibly be called healthy, but what was he supposed to do? This
wasn’t good, Sam was changing, and this really was not good.
“Hey, wanna get some brunch?” he heard the boy ask, but he didn’t move or
answer, only shook his head and kept it buried in the safety of the pillow.
There was a long pause after that, a moment of silence stretching out seemingly
forever, making Sam wonder if the boy managed to just disappear somehow, but
then he heard his voice again, it sounding strangely as if it hid a sliver of
worry underneath a layer of curiosity. “Are you okay, Sam?”
The question caught him by surprise, and he looked up from the soft pillow.
Dean was sitting on the other bed again, wearing an expression Sam just
couldn’t place anywhere and watching him attentively. And the strangest thing
was that Sam wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if he was okay, and it surprised him
that the boy had managed to pick up on the change in his mood.
He released a tiny sigh and averted his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, but then frowned
and corrected himself. No more lies. “No. I don’t know, actually.”
“What’s wrong? You seem…down. Am I too much?” Dean asked jokingly with a small
laugh, but Sam could hear some genuine concern in his tone, which made him sit
up right away, for whatever reason.
“No, it’s got nothing to do with you. Not this time…” he said, briefly glancing
at Dean before looking around the room. “I guess it’s just this place. I didn’t
think it would, but it got to me. Kinda makes me wanna do nothing but lie in
bed forever, which I know is pathetic, I do, but…”
Dean frowned deeply, studying the motel room before asking, “What’s with this
place? I don’t think it’s so bad it would make someone this depressed,” he
mentioned.
“I’m not depressed,” Sam stated, but maybe he was. He was fine while he was
preoccupied with Dean, while they fooled around in the room or whatever it was
they did, but yeah, it really did seem that the memories were making him go
through a downward spiral.
Wow, he really was miserable, wasn’t he?
“Okay,” Dean said suddenly, getting up and walking to Sam’s suitcase. He
crouched down and pulled out a few things, which he placed on the bed, before
heading for the door and picking up his leather jacket from where it was
hanging from a chair. Opening the door, he looked back over his shoulder and
smirked at the slightly puzzled boy. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
And then he was out the door, vanishing behind it.
Sam stared at the door for a bit, then looked at the clothes Dean had picked
out for him. Well, this was odd, but he certainly wasn’t going to say no, since
he really wasn’t enjoying being in this annoying mood. He wasn’t a masochist,
gladly leaving this motel behind if it meant getting rid of this sudden
melancholy that came over him, so he only hesitated a few seconds before
climbing out of bed and changing into the fresh clothes.
After a thorough visit to the bathroom and making sure to get rid of the bed
hair, Sam was putting on his shoes and then opening the door. He immediately
spotted Dean as he stepped outside, the boy leaning against the wall not far
from the door. Sam watched as he pushed himself away from the wall and walked
over to him, quickly locking the door before pocketing the room key and giving
the other a once-over.
“Lookin’ good,” he said with a grin. “My compliments to whoever picked your
outfit.”
Sam gave the boy his best bitchface, then crossed his arms in front of his
chest and sighed, looking around the motel parking lot. Now what? They were out
of the room, but now Sam was wondering just what exactly it was that he had
agreed to so hastily. Maybe he made a mistake. Who knew what Dean had in mind
for them?
“I don’t think this’ll work,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow at the boy. “You
don’t even know France. And if you get us lost, I’ll beat you up.”
Dean huffed. “Hey, I’m trying to cheer you up here, you could be a bit more
tolerant.”
“Cheer me up…?” Sam asked suspiciously, to what the boy smiled.
“Yeah, idiot. Why, you think I’m not capable of doing such a thing?”
“Well,” he said, watching the other with careful eyes, “I have my doubts.”
Dean ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it, sighing weakly. “I’m not a
complete monster, you know,” he said, then took a step toward Sam and gave him
a serious look. “I wanna take you on a date.”
Sam just stared at the boy for a while, a frown gradually wrinkling his
forehead, and then he was blushing, god damn it, why was his body always
betraying him?
“You… Are you serious?” he asked, not actually sure which he wanted more—for
Dean to just laugh and say he was only joking, or for him to be honestly
considering taking him out on a date. A freaking date.
A genuine, gentle smile crossed the boy’s face, and Sam’s heart did not skip a
beat. “Yeah, I’m serious,” he answered with a light chuckle, his smile wavering
and if Sam wouldn’t have known better, he would’ve said that the boy looked
somewhat nervous. “So, what do you say? Do you wanna elope with me for a day,
to Paris?” Dean asked, grinning rather tensely.
He let out an incredulous laugh, about to shake his head and say no, but
stopped himself. He wanted to refuse, of course he did. Going on an honest-to-
god date with someone like Dean, come on. But at the same time, he kind of
didn’t. Sam wanted to see Paris, however that wasn’t the only reason that made
it so hard to say no. There was something else, something nagging and prodding
at him from the very back of his mind, and so instead of turning the boy down,
like he surely would have some days ago, he found himself chewing on his lower
lip and becoming all fidgety as he nodded.
“Um…sure,” Sam muttered, biting down on his lip to stop a smile when he saw the
amount of sheer relief and happiness on Dean’s face as the boy flashed him a
wide grin.
“Yeah? Okay, great. Awesome,” Dean said with that stupid grin plastered across
his face, fishing out his phone from his pants pocket before glancing at Sam
with an eager eye. “I met some people who speak English yesterday. Well, no,
that was this morning. We had some drinks and they told me about a few cool
places here in Paris we could visit,” he explained, then handed over his phone
to the younger boy. “Here’s a list of them. Choose as many as you want.”
He took the offered phone, scanning the names of so many famous places that
Dean had noted down, and pursed his lips as he thought. The Eiffel Tower was
obviously a given, Sam immediately deciding to visit that one first, but that
still left tons of others to be discovered. Places such as the Louvre, Notre
Dame de Paris, Panthéon, Disneyland and many others were littering the digital
notepad of the phone, and he just couldn’t make up his mind, honestly wishing
he could visit all of them. But that, obviously, was impossible, so after a
long minute of staring at the phone’s screen, he settled with only three of
them.
“Can we start with the Eiffel Tower?” he asked as he gave Dean his phone back.
“And then visit the Canal Saint-Martin? And maybe, if we have time, we could
also check out the catacombs…”
“The catacombs?” Dean raised his eyebrows at him, before nodding his head in
amazed agreement. “Sure thing, sounds like fun,” he said with a small chuckle,
then looked at his phone and began typing something. “Now let’s call a taxi and
go look at that famous tower.”
Sam tugged and played with the hem of his dark brown leather jacket
absentmindedly, gazing out into the parking lot and watching the traffic while
Dean talked to someone over to phone, getting them a car. He couldn’t believe
he was finally going to see the Eiffel Tower. So many people have been dreaming
of that moment, along with Sam, even though he wasn’t that fanatic about it.
There were so many other places he wanted to visit, but still, Paris was in his
top five list, so now that he was finally here and presented with the
opportunity to discover a part of it, he could barely believe that this wasn’t
just a dream. And while he has imagined this moment several times before, he
never thought it would be quite like this.
As in Sam never imagined he would get to see Paris while on a date, with
another boy.
However just before he could’ve started wondering why this situation wasn’t
bothering him as much as it was supposed to, he heard Dean’s smiling voice from
next to him. “Alright, taxi should be here in an hour,” the boy told him,
sliding his phone in his pocket, before leaning his forearm against the wall
and smirking down at the other like some roguish fox. “What do you wanna do to
pass the time?”
Pretty certain that Dean’s own ideas to “pass time” did not involve playing
Monopoly or anything so innocent, Sam made sure to take a cautious step back
from the boy leering at him before answering. “Watch TV?” he suggested with a
shrug, but then discarded that idea. He didn’t want to go back in there just
yet. “Or how about…I don’t know, walking around the motel?”
The boy hummed in thought, pretending to consider it, then shook his head and
slowly pushed himself away from the wall, closing the distance that Sam’s
previous step created between them. “Good, but I got better,” he purred
invitingly, but when the younger boy just gave him an uninterested look, Dean
fake-pouted and put his hands on his hips with a huff. “Fine. How about we sit
down on that bench while we wait, then? I think I saw a vending machine with
some drinks in it somewhere around here.”
He pointed toward the end of the motel, where there was a short dirt path
leading to a smaller grassy area with two wooden benches on it, the sort that
came with a table between two seats. Feeling kind of thirsty, Sam agreed with a
nod and started off toward the benches, while shouting over his shoulder, “Get
me something fruity!”
“As you wish, your majesty,” he heard the taunting answer, only rolling his
eyes and not giving Dean the satisfaction of seeing him react too obviously.
It was a bit annoying how the boy did everything for him since Sam had zero
money on him, or in general. Actually, he had literally nothing that could help
him survive if he would have been alone. No phone, no money, not even an ID to
prove his identity; nothing. It filled him with a helpless, oddly vulnerably
feeling, the fact that he was completely dependent on Dean both annoying and
reassuring him a bit. It made him believe he was protected, that he had someone
who he could rely on no matter what, and even though that person was Dean, it
was still a nice feeling.
Maybe especially nice because it was him.
Upon reaching one of the benches, he sat down with a leisurely sigh, leaning
back against the table behind him and stretching like a big cat, extending his
arms toward the sky and straightening his back until he heard something pop, it
sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. He sank lower on the bench and let
his head fall back, closing his eyes and spreading his arms on the table,
enjoying the way the bright rays of sunshine warmed his face. The weather was
rather chilly, but since he had his jacket on, he wasn’t cold at all, the hot
sun and the cool gusts of wind creating a pleasant mix that had him relaxing in
no time, which was probably why he jolted a bit when he heard the thump near
his head.
“Got you some mango juice,” he heard Dean say as he raised a hand to shield his
eyes from the sun, looking up at the boy who was grinning down at him. “Will
that suffice, miss?”
Pretending he didn’t hear that comment just now, Sam sat up straight and picked
up the can of mango juice that the boy had put on the table, turning it in his
hands before opening it. “Thanks,” he murmured, then reluctantly moved to the
side to give Dean some room on the bench when the boy tried to sit down.
“Welcome,” Dean said as he flopped down next to him, opening his can of Sprite
and taking a large swig from it, Sam quickly looking away and taking a sip of
his own drink when he realized he was staring at the other.
They drank like that, in silence, for a minute or two, before he could feel
Dean’s inquisitive gaze on him. He avoided looking at the boy for as long as he
could, then lowered his drink into his lap and glanced up at the other.
“What?” he asked hesitantly, to what the boy furrowed his brow into a slight
scowl.
“What was it?” Dean asked in return, his tone hiding genuine curiosity and
maybe even concern. “Something bad happen to you in a motel before? Did someone
hurt you…?”
Sam’s grip around the can tightened, the boy’s eye boring into him in a way
that meant no escape, no talking around the subject. Plus he seemed pretty
determined to find out what was wrong with Sam, immediately assuming the worst,
and while it should have been ironic how an aggressive person like Dean
appeared worried that someone hurt him, it just made him want to reassure the
boy that that wasn’t the case.
So he shook his head, letting out a long sigh and wondering what the hell he
was doing before telling the boy everything. “I didn’t always use to live in
that house, you know,” he began, staring at the cold can in his hands as he
spoke. “Me and my dad…we used to go from motel to motel. We only moved into the
house you guys found me in when I was eleven. Until then, we were on the road
all the time, and it wasn’t like some fun road trip, either. Not with my dad
always locking me in the room whenever he went out, doing god knows what. He
either came home drunk, totally shit-faced and passing out on the floor, or
covered in wounds. He would never tell me what he did, would never let me tag
along, so I was always alone. And even when he was in the room, or in the car
with me, it was still like I was all alone. It was like…like he lived in a
completely different world. You know what we were, right? Doomsday preppers, so
I guess that should have been understandable, but no prepper family was like
that. Those people I saw on TV didn’t hate humanity the way my dad did. They
didn’t lock their kids up, didn’t leave them alone to worry and break down in
tears, thinking that maybe nobody would ever come back to them, that maybe that
was the last time they saw their parent. And now…” His voice cracked with
emotion, Sam’s hands trembling from the strength he gripped the can. “Now he
really is gone. He’s dead, he was supposed to be invincible, but instead went
and got himself killed, a-and the motel room just made me remember everything,
and him, and I just…”
He sniffed, great, he was going to start crying in front of Dean of all people.
Hurriedly rubbing his eyes to get rid of any tears that managed to escape, he
turned his head away from the boy, then tensed when he felt Dean’s thigh press
against his as the other moved closer.
“I’m sorry,” he heard the boy say, biting down on his bottom lip as he noticed
how weak the other’s voice was. “I… We didn’t think about that. We never do,
and I know that’s horrible, but that’s just how we operate. But that doesn’t
justify what I did; what Benny did. And I’m so sorry, Sam. Sorry that you had
to live a life like that, and sorry for taking it away from you so abruptly and
cruelly…”
Sam stayed silent, watching a patch of grass as he let Dean’s words sink in,
let them fill him with a bitter anger and something else, something very close
to forgiveness. He then couldn’t keep his gaze on the grass anymore as he felt
a hand on his own in the middle of squeezing the life out of the juice can, and
Sam looked back at the person who ruined his life, saw the remorse and sorrow
in his eye which was just as green as the grass he’s been watching, and
suddenly, he just couldn’t hate him anymore. He let Dean peel his hand away
from the can and take it in his own, let him caress the skin with the pad of
his thumb, then averted his eyes and felt his face flush, but still let him
raise his hand to his lips and place a soft kiss on the back of it.
Dean mumbled another apology into his skin, before letting go of his hand and
tucking a few strands of hair behind the quiet boy’s ear. “Never again,” he
whispered, leaning close to Sam and lightly touching his cheek with the back of
his fingers. “I promise that I won’t hurt you ever again, won’t let anyone hurt
you while I’m alive.”
New tears wanted to leave his eyes from those words, Sam not even sure why he
felt like crying anymore. He pressed his lips together into a thin line and
nodded slightly, hoping his bangs would shield his burning face from the boy as
he lowered his head, before slowly peering up at him through his hair. “O-
Okay…” he said thinly after finding his voice, which was still weak and feeble,
but at least it didn’t break.
He quickly averted and lowered his gaze again, holding his breath when Dean
pecked his forehead, and only let it out as a shaky exhale when the boy pulled
back and smiled softly at him, Sam cursing that sweet asshole. Sweet, caring
jerk, who made him feel a strange and unusual tightness in his chest.
“Wanna try?” Dean asked suddenly, changing the subject as he shook his can of
drink invitingly, wiggling his eyebrows like an idiot.
Sam blinked at him, kept a straight face for about a second, then let out a
small laugh and shook his head. “No, thanks.”
“Then gimme yours,” he said, and before Sam could have saved his own drink, the
boy was already attacking and snatching the can away from him, grinning
victoriously at the other when he tried to take the drink back.
“Hey, who said you could have mine?” Sam growled, annoyed, but when he tried to
grab the can, Dean freaking flicked him with his fingers.
“Sharing is caring,” the boy teased, before downing the rest of Sam’s drink,
only giving him back the can once it was empty.
“You…” He shot a glare at the other, his frustration growing when Dean just
laughed and leaned back against the table, all nonchalant and shit.
“Sorry, just couldn’t resist,” he said with a wink, to what Sam rolled his eyes
and placed the empty can between them, it serving as a makeshift barrier as he
also rested against the table, waiting with Dean for the taxi.
When it finally arrived, they climbed into the backseat while Dean told the
chauffeur where they wanted to go, then spent the drive listening to the French
radio and looking at the scenery through the window. It was ever-changing, Sam
watching colorful cars and buildings one second, then getting lost in a sea of
gray as they travelled deeper into the city, to the heart of France. The view
was soon filled with green, with trees hugging the road, and his eyes widened
as he noticed the Tower coming into view, saw its massive form looming over the
people of Paris.
They crossed a smaller bridge as they neared their destination, then the car
pulled up in front of a park next to the Tower, Dean quickly paying the man
before opening the door and getting out. Sam followed, only hearing as the taxi
drove away as he was too busy gaping up at the iron giant, craning his neck to
see the top.
“How long do you plan on just standing over there?” the boy asked, Sam’s head
snapping toward him and noticing that Dean had already started walking to the
Tower.
He quickly scurried after the boy, crossing the park as they walked over to the
enormous structure. There was a long line on each side under it, so they chose
the one that appeared somewhat shorter and waited, Sam getting excited each
time he looked up at the Tower, the realization that he could actually get to
climb it, maybe even go all the way to the top filling him with a rush of
adrenaline and some unease. He was looking forward to this, of course he was,
but his eagerness to get on the Eiffel Tower did not cancel out his fear of
heights, which really didn’t come in handy in situations like this one.
After an agonizingly long amount of time, they finally got their tickets, then
had to peer over shoulders—at least Dean did, Sam was too short for that—to
spot the stairs, before elbowing their way through the swarm of humans in their
way to get to it.
“Hey, you know I think I saw a lift somewhere,” Dean said after ten steps up
the stairs, making the other snort.
“Don’t be lazy, we’re taking the stairs!” Sam declared, grinning at the boy
when he sighed and grumbled something under his breath, then rushed ahead,
wanting to reach the first floor as soon as possible. He glided his fingers
along the iron fence surrounding the stairs as he walked up, watching as the
trees and people gradually became smaller, but he wasn’t feeling nauseous yet,
although he did start getting tired after a while, maybe regretting his
decision on taking the stairs after all.
It wasn’t long before Dean caught up to him, as Sam had to lean against the
fence after climbing what he imagined to be an impressive amount of steps,
needing to catch his breath.
“What’s up Sammy?” the boy said tauntingly, grinning smugly as he stopped next
to him. “Defeated by the stairs already?”
“You just,” Sam panted slightly as he pointed an accusatory finger at Dean,
“shut the hell up, okay?”
Dean raised his hands in mock defeat, that irritating grin still stuck to his
face as he said, “Alright, alright. Don’t eat me.”
Shooting him a quick glare, Sam took a deep breath before resuming his climb up
the stairs. After approximately four more minutes of constant climbing, his
eyes lit up with relief when he saw the orange sign reading “1st FLOOR” on the
top of the stairs, taking a few steps forward on the floor upon reaching it,
before bending over with his hands braced on his knees and heaving for air. All
that lying around in his room really got him out of shape, it seemed.
Noticing something, Sam immediately forgot about catching his breath and he
walked outside, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he placed his
hands on the glass barrier and looked down into the middle of the Tower,
watching as the people came and went below him.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Dean joined him after a moment, tapping the thick glass
under him with his foot. “They look like ants like this.”
Sam nodded, taking as few steps away from the barrier before looking down at
the glass floor. It was pretty scary, a tiny voice in his head screaming at him
to run and find some solid ground, but it wasn’t like this floor could actually
collapse under him, right? Yet no matter how brave he tried to appear, Sam
still couldn’t stay on it longer than a minute, slowly moving to the area that
wasn’t covered with a carpet of suspiciously clear glass after a while. There,
he kept looking down and around, watching as the human-shaped shadows followed
their owners wherever they went, until he felt a hand on his head, ruffling his
hair.
“Come on, let’s get to the top of this thing,” the boy suggested, smirking when
Sam turned around to look at him. “And this time, we’re using the elevator.”
Fixing his hair, he rolled his eyes, but agreed nonetheless. “Alright,” he said
and then scanned this floor on the Tower, his face brightening when he spotted
the elevator.
They headed toward the larger than normal lift, Sam groaning inwardly as he saw
just how many people were trying to squeeze themselves into the thing, but
since he honestly doubted that the number of tourists would’ve changed if they
waited for the next ride up, he reluctantly stepped inside, then got instantly
surrounded by men and women from all sides. He tried to somehow find a wall, or
some place where he could breathe maybe, then was suddenly being pushed toward
one of the glass walls of the elevator, tensing when he felt the pair of hands
on his shoulders, but immediately relaxing and letting out a small sigh of
relief when he noticed it was just Dean. The boy forced his way through the
thick crowd, not seeming to mind the hard stares he got whenever he elbowed or
even shoved someone too harshly, not stopping until Sam was sandwiched between
the wall and the boy, which was uncomfortable, but still better than being
trapped in a herd of strangers.
“I hate crowds,” Dean mumbled from behind him, since Sam was facing the glass
and watching as they began ascending, smiling when he saw a small child waving
at them from outside.
His smile soon faltered and withered though, his fear of heights finally
kicking in when some of the iron fell away to reveal a horizon consisting of
roofs that stretched away seemingly forever, and the longer he kept his eyes on
them, the sicker he felt. Not wanting his nausea to ruin this for him, Sam
closed his eyes and turned around, however when he opened them again, he found
himself in a situation that just might have been worse than the previous one.
Dean was standing right in front of him, his chest inches away from Sam’s face.
The boy had his hands braced against the glass wall, completely shielding the
other with his body, but that also meant that no matter where the younger boy
looked, all he could see was Dean. He fidgeted, not knowing what to do with his
hands so he just slid them in his jacket pockets, before slowly gazing up at
the boy’s face, watching as he looked at the scenery through the glass; then
swiftly averted his gaze as Dean must have sensed his eyes on him and looked
down at Sam.
He heard the other’s low chuckle, and just knew Dean wouldn’t stay quiet about
it. “Lookin’ at me instead of the view? Sammy, you’re gonna make me blush,” he
said teasingly, laughing when Sam gritted his teeth.
“I’ve got a fear of heights, idiot,” he muttered, shooting a quick glare at the
way too pleased-looking boy. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“If you’re scared, then why are we even here in the first place?” Dean asked
warily, raising an eyebrow at him, and Sam sighed.
“Because this is the Eiffel Tower. And I’m not scared, just feeling a bit sick
and nervous…” he said, feeling a bit glad when the elevator finally stopped and
slid its doors open. He stayed inside until the horde was gone, only emerging
when he was positive he wouldn’t get trampled over by some rabid tourist, and
then he and Dean followed the line of people heading for another elevator,
supposedly the one leading to the top.
This time he stayed close to the doors and made sure not to look outside,
feeling kind of pathetic when Dean began rubbing his arms soothingly, and even
though he tried convincing himself that he didn’t need those reassuring
touches, he couldn’t deny their effects. Soon, he felt himself calm down, only
feeling slightly tense when the elevator reached the top and opened its doors
again. He quickly stepped outside, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure
the boy was following as he walked over to the set of stairs he spotted to his
right, then made his way up the steps until he reached an open door.
And even though he hated heights, Sam couldn’t help but rush forward and grab
the railing with an amazed smile on his face, his eyes wide as he gazed out and
down at the vast city stretching away around him. Dean whistled as he stepped
up next to him, a low “Whoa” leaving his lips. The air was much colder up here,
making Sam shiver as a gust of chilly wind snatched at his hair and ruffled it
like leaves on a tree. The metal railing under his palm felt like ice to his
warm skin, but he didn’t care, didn’t let neither the weather nor the fact that
they were at least nine hundred feet up in the air bother him. He might have
gripped the rails tighter to feel safer, even though there was a safety fence
around it, but instead of focusing on the nagging voice of terror in the back
of his mind, Sam ignored it and stared out at Paris, the City of Love, and felt
happy. So happy that he smiled broadly at Dean when the boy snaked an arm
around his shoulders, his smile only growing and hurting his cheeks when the
other returned it, his own smile maybe not as wide as Sam’s but just as
cheerful.
“Like it?” Dean asked, nodding to the scenery in front and around them as he
cautiously pulled Sam closer, sort of half-hugging him.
Not having it in him to mind just how touchy the boy was right now, Sam glanced
from Dean to the city, then back at him, and flashing him a gleeful little
grin. “Yeah, it’s amazing. So high and just so…beautiful. Thank you,” he said,
truly meaning it.
Dean looked at him in a way that made him feel that same weird tightness in his
chest, before smiling gladly. “No need to, it’s my pleasure,” he said
dismissively, a light chuckle leaving him. “As long as I get to see those
dimples, I’m willing to take you to the end of the world, if you want me to.”
That froze Sam’s smile on his face right away, a merciless blush heating his
face as he quickly looked away. “You have any idea how incredibly cheesy that
sounded?” he asked, trying to discreetly move away from the boy, but Dean was
keeping him close, his hold around the other’s shoulders unrelenting.
Sam felt him shrug, then heard him say, “Yeah I know, which is exactly why I
don’t usually say stuff like that. I hate chick-flick moments, but…I guess
you’re an exception.”
“Huh…” Sam remarked informatively, not quite sure what to make of that, so he
just stayed silent. His mood quickly went from zero to one hundred thanks to
this visit, but now he was getting uneasy again, thanks to Dean’s sudden
comment. How was one supposed to react to something like that, anyway? The boy
teasing him, getting all perverted like some freak in a white van—and oh look,
they actually had a van, how fitting—or even being violent, he could react to
those, knew how to more or less handle them. But him acting like some main
character from a cheap romance movie, saying things Sam could only imagine
coming from a guy named Fernando, in some Spanish soap opera?
Yeah, Sam’s brain was kinda short-circuiting from being overloaded by all sorts
of thoughts.
Noticing his sudden discomfort, Dean sighed and pushed himself away from the
railing, jabbing his thumb toward the staircase behind him. “I think I saw a
restaurant on the first floor, wanna go?” he asked with a smirk that looked
somewhat forced, making Sam cringe inwardly for some reason.
He was feeling a bit hungry now, though, so he nodded silently, before
following the boy back to the stairs and the elevator. There was an awkward
silence between them as they looked for the alleged restaurant, Sam knowing
that it was probably because of him, but it was Dean’s fault for saying stuff
like that, confusing his heart that wasn’t faring well at all, been acting
weird for a few days now.
They found the restaurant after a while of searching and walking around. It was
a smaller red building next to the hole in the middle of the tower, called 58
Tour Eiffel, and if Sam thought it looked nice from the outside, he couldn’t
help but gape around when they stepped inside. Dean got them a table next to
the window and with an amazing view, which shouldn’t have been possible with
the amount of people in the restaurant, making Sam wonder if the boy had
actually paid off their waiter, and honestly, he wouldn’t even have been
surprised if that ended up being the case. Either way, he felt both nervous and
excited as he took a seat at the fancy table, this being the first time he’s
ever been to a restaurant, and such an elegant one at that. He took a quick
glance at the boy, who was sitting opposite him and picking up the menu, before
following his example and examined his own menu.
It wasn’t long before he was raising his gaze again, giving Dean a weird look
when he asked, “Which do you think would win in a fight? A salmon with legs or
a chicken?”
Sam frowned, mouthing the words “What the” as he watched Dean grinning at his
menu, then looking up at him, raising the paper in his hand.
“These are the only meats on here.”
“There’s a salmon with legs on the menu?” Sam blurted, and the boy laughed.
“No, I just gave it legs to make the fight a bit more fair,” he stated.
Sam stared at him for a long moment, before shaking his head. “Sometimes I
just… I don’t get you,” he said, then couldn’t help but laugh as well. Dean was
so weird, but his random comments were also hilarious, making him want to
facepalm himself and burst out laughing at the same time.
“What I don’t get is this place,” Dean grumbled, tossing the menu on the table
as if it had mortally offended him. “Where’s the steak? The beef? The
hamburgers? They could at least have some french fries!”
“You do know that french fries aren’t actually French…right?” Sam asked as he
raised his eyebrows at the other, a small smirk spreading across his face when
Dean rolled his eye.
“’Course I know,” he said, leaning back in the comfortable brown chair and
gazing out the window. “I’m just sayin’…”
“Saying what? Are you actually complaining that this restaurant doesn’t offer
junk food?”
“Hey,” Dean said with a sulking frown, “it’s a treasure. A real man’s meal.
These things, they’re…just rabbit food, shit people on a diet would eat!”
Sam snorted. “A real man, huh? I don’t see anyone like that here,” he teased
the other, a satisfied smile crossing his face when the boy grunted in
annoyance.
“You’re one to talk,” Dean’s eye narrowed as he leaned forward, a wicked smirk
curling his lips. “I ain’t the little virgin here.”
His eyes widened slightly at that, his cheeks burning up in sudden
embarrassment, and he muttered something incomprehensible as he slid down in
his chair and hid his face behind the menu. Hearing the boy’s amused chuckle
only made him want to disappear that much more, and he just stared at the
letters on the paper for a moment while willing his body to calm down, before
actually looking at the menu and attempting to choose something from it.
After some time of deep thinking and silence, the waiter arrived and took their
orders. Sam got himself some smoked salmon with apple and celery remoulade,
while Dean argued with the waiter until he brought him some roasted veal with
gravy, and if he dared to forget the fries, all hell would break loose.
They ate their food silently, for a while, until Dean stole some of his salmon,
then made a face as he began chewing it, before simply spitting it out. Sam
tried to stick his fork in the boy’s veal and take it, as payback, but each
time his hand shot forward—in a way that could have even been called swift and
sneaky—Dean always managed to block his attacks with his own fork, sometimes
even poking his hand with it. In the end, Sam did manage to steal some of the
fries, and even though he didn’t eat them, he kept them on the side of his
plate that was furthest from the boy, flashing an innocent grin at him when
Dean glowered at him.
Once they were both done eating, Sam rubbed his belly contentedly and leaned
back in his chair, ready to fall into a smaller food coma, but apparently, Dean
had other plans. The boy waved the waiter over and asked for the check, then
tossed a considerable amount of money on the table when it arrived, before
standing up and dragging a groaning Sam to his feet. He followed the other
outside, then to the elevator that took them to the ground level, then yawned
as they walked through the park before reaching the sidewalk, where Dean pulled
out his phone and called another taxi.
“Canal Saint-Martin next, right?” the boy asked him while on the phone, Sam
nodding absentmindedly and looking around the road that led to the bridge not
far from where they were standing, wondering how surreal all of this was. They
were criminals, smugglers that only came to Paris because of a job, but still,
here they were, visiting the city like normal people. And that, being able to
finally feel normal, made his heart swell with happiness. He wanted to be
ordinary ever since he found out he wasn’t, and Dean made his wish come true.
Smiling to himself, he glanced at the boy, and his previous happiness melted
into something warmer. Never would have he thought that it would be
Dean—someone he used to hate, wanted to shoot when he first saw him—who’d make
him feel this way, be the one to put a genuine, joyful smile on his face. It
was so weird, but at the same time, somehow, so right.
Now if only he could find out what this rampant, but pleasant, tightness in his
chest was, he’d be golden.
 
***** The City Of Love *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
They sat on a park bench while waiting for the taxi, Sam knowing that he should
mind just how close Dean was deliberately sitting next to him, but he didn’t
move, no matter how much this closeness made him hyperaware of every single
move he made, breath he took; of each and every inch of his limbs that were
pressed against the boy’s.
“So,” Dean said after a long moment of just sitting in silence and listening to
the sound of traffic, “how did you like it? Was the famous Eiffel Tower as good
as you imagined?”
He clasped his hands together in his lap and looked at Dean, who was watching
him searchingly with an arm extended across the bench behind him, close to
touching his shoulders but not. “Yeah, it was pretty awesome,” he answered with
a small smile, which he couldn’t stop from widening when he saw the boy’s own
glad one. “Way better than I thought, and even though it was kinda…scary at the
top, what with how high it was, I still enjoyed every second of it.”
“Great. I’m glad I took you here, then,” Dean stated, Sam having to tighten the
hold on his hands and look away from the boy’s keen gaze if he didn’t want his
damn face to overheat.
“Me too…” he murmured lowly, and for fuck’s sake, he would’ve bet that even his
ears were a bright red color by now.
Thankfully, the boy didn’t point out how painfully obviously embarrassed he
was, which was perfect, because even Sam didn’t know why he was blushing. It
seemed like today his face was red more often than a normal color, which really
annoyed and, of course, embarrassed him even more, it seemingly impossible to
for him to leave this vicious circle.
When the taxi finally arrived, he was back on his feet fast, getting into the
car and sitting as close to the door as possible, relieved when Dean didn’t try
to pull him back or crawl closer to him. They boy kept a respectful distance
from him as they sat in the backseat of the taxi, however still shot a few
playful glances his way, chuckling lowly when Sam tried to pretend he didn’t
see them, in vain. And whenever Dean tried to strike up a conversation during
the half-an-hour drive, Sam went with it, however each time their talks turned
into petty arguments, childish insults, sometimes even ending with the boy
leaning over and tickling him, startling Sam who made some pretty unmanly
shrieks and irrepressible laughs as he swatted at the other’s hands. They
really were like kids like this, but somehow, he found himself enjoying it,
laughing or rolling his eyes at Dean’s stupid comments. He didn’t get irritated
by his remarks, by his invasive touches, sometimes Sam being the one to attack
the other, flicking and kicking him playfully, having to wonder from time to
time if he wasn’t high again, because it shouldn’t have been possible for him
to feel so relaxed and happy around Dean.
They were out of the taxi as soon as it stopped, the boy hanging back to pay
the chauffeur while Sam walked forward, his eyes probably sparking or something
as he wandered over to the wide sidewalk, before crouching down where the
pavement fell away to reveal a long stream of water—the Canal Saint-Martin. It
was calm, its surface smooth and undisturbed, Sam fighting the urge to touch,
then gave up and leaned forward, getting on his knees and reaching out, dipping
his fingers into the cold water and raking the digits through the silky
wetness, stirring it. Enthralled by the water, he wouldn’t have noticed Dean,
if not for the boy’s reflection suddenly appearing on the rippled surface,
making Sam pull back to look up at him.
“Doesn’t take much to fascinate you, huh?” Dean asked jokingly, crouching down
next to him and gazing at the giant snake that was the canal. “It’s really just
water.”
“Yeah, but it’s pretty,” Sam stated with a shrug. “It’s nice looking at it,
makes you feel calm, you know?”
“Whatever you say,” the boy commented, before giving him a small nudge, nearly
pushing him into the water by accident.
Scurrying away from the edge, just to make sure Dean wouldn’t get any funny
ideas, he shot a glare at the grinning boy as he got to his feet. “Jerk,” he
said with a humph.
“Bitch,” Dean retorted, his grin widening then rapidly vanishing when Sam
scooped up some water and threw it at him. “Hey!”
The younger boy snickered, backing away and flashing the other a complacent
grin. “Oops, that’s karma for you.”
“You little…” Dean growled, baring his teeth like an animal and starting toward
him, Sam gulping with a nervous smile as his eyes darted around in search for a
possible escape route, then felt a glimmer of hope and quickly spun around,
running down the sidewalk.
Dean immediately began chasing after him, of course, why wouldn’t he? And Sam
was doing so well, even reaching a small, arched bridge that crossed the canal,
but he only got to the middle, the surprisingly fast boy catching up to him and
grabbing his wrist. He let out a small sound that was most definitely not a
squeak as he got pulled back and into Dean’s arms, his eyes widening, and he
realized that maybe running wasn’t such a fun idea after all.
“Got ya now,” the boy purred, lightly pushing him against the turquoise metal
bridge railing, and then pinched his cheek, hard.
“Ow, stop that,” Sam whined as he batted at the other’s hand, rubbing his cheek
when Dean finally stopped hurting him.
“Payback,” he said with a wink, before ruffling Sam’s hair and making a mess
out of it on purpose.
Sighing, he turned around and fixed his hair to the best of his ability, then
leaned his forearms on the railing and looked out at the canal, tucking some
strands of shaggy hair behind his ear when a soft breeze blew them in front of
his eyes. Dean stayed behind him, his hands braced on the railing on either
side of Sam, a tiny smile tugging at the younger boy’s lips when he felt the
other resting his chin on his head. His presence was undeniable behind him, a
solid warmth pressing against Sam’s back and enveloping his body with another
sort of warmth, a comfortable a strangely pleasant one, making him want to lean
back into it. He didn’t, though, just watching the water instead and thinking,
finally forcing himself to think.
Today has been the weirdest day in his life, including the day he was
kidnapped, and it wasn’t even over yet. It was weird because of all the new and
confusing emotions he’s been feeling, and Dean’s behavior. He was so…nice. He
was kind and caring with Sam, gentle and funny, making his heart skip a beat
each time he saw the boy smile. And it wasn’t fair, Dean wasn’t supposed to
make him feel that way, make him so incredibly happy. He wasn’t supposed to be
the sweet one here, because then that meant that Sam was the asshole. It was
true, he couldn’t keep lying to himself and to the other, because that’s
exactly what was going on. Sam hurt the boy with his lies, never even
apologized to him, and now he was being all understanding and affectionate, and
it was killing him. Their roles were completely switched, and his heart
couldn’t take this anymore, and neither could he, because Dean might have
deserved all the shit that Sam has been giving him before, but not anymore, and
yet he still couldn’t stop. Oh god, he was the worst. The fucking, absolute
worse, a spoiled little brat, and still, Dean didn’t care. He treated him like
he was something delicate to be worshipped, might have acted violent from time
to time but those outbursts were always followed by tender touches, only
driving Sam further into madness.
“Hey, Sam?” He heard the boy’s concerned voice from behind him, only now
noticing that his shoulders were shaking, his cheeks wet from tears he didn’t
even realize have left him. He sniffed, gritted his teeth, but those freaking
tears wouldn’t stop, and then Dean was turning him around, the look on his face
only wanting to make Sam cry harder. “Whoa, Sammy, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“Stop it!” Sam exclaimed weakly, his hands trembling as he gripped the boy’s
jacket. “J-Just stop being so nice already!”
Dean blinked at him, stunned, then frowned and wiped away the stubborn tears
from the other’s eyes. “Sammy…”
But before he could’ve said anything else, Sam was shaking his head and
snapping, unable to keep all these feelings to himself anymore, they were
overflowing and bursting his heart, and he just needed to let them out.
“Y-You’re too kind, Dean,” he mumbled, hoping he wasn’t ugly-crying at such an
important moment, but he probably was. “And that’s just not right, okay? You’re
not supposed to be like this, and I’m not supposed to feel so guilty. But I am
and I can’t stop it, I’m the asshole here. I hurt you, Dean you were right, and
I never apologized. I’m so…fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m a liar, yes, it’s true. I
lied about not liking when you t-touched me, and I’m sorry, but I was so
confused. I still am, because you make me feel things I’ve never felt before,
and they scare me. My own reactions and emotions terrify me, Dean, and I just
don’t understand anything anymore, a-and I’m afraid that maybe—” His voice
broke, and he was hyperventilating now, his eyes wide and vision blurry from
tears, his breathing rapid and erratic. “That maybe I…”
He sniffed loudly, needing to breathe through his dry mouth thanks to his now
stuffy nose, feeling like some miserable animal left on the side of the road as
he looked up at Dean when the boy cupped his chin and raised his head. The
warm, caring look on Dean’s face wasn’t helping either, making him want to
burst out in fresh tears, but he managed to somehow stop himself from breaking
down, instead just shaking in the other’s arms when he pulled him into a hug.
“Sam, you…” Dean whispered, tightening his hold around the pitiful boy, who was
still grasping the leather jacket in his fingers as if his life depended on it.
“Idiot.”
Frowning, Sam rubbed his eyes and pushed himself away from the boy, feeling
hurt as he glared weakly at him, the glare lacking any real anger. He felt a
dull ache in his head from all the crying, the slight pain turning
uncomfortable when his scowl deepened, because the boy was freaking laughing
now, and Sam was seriously about to start crying again, when Dean leaned down,
his face suddenly inches away from the other’s.
“Alright Sammy,” the boy purred, smiling softly at him. “Let’s see if this’ll
help with your confusion.” His smile turned into a smirk, and then his hands
were sliding up to Sam’s neck, tilting his head back before pressing his plump
lips against his in a gentle kiss.
Sam’s eyes widened, but since that was kinda hurting him right now, he closed
them soon after, let them fall shut. He just stood there in slight shock for a
moment, with Dean’s impossibly tender lips on his own, before giving in and
moving his hands up to the boy’s shoulders, grabbing them as he got on his
tiptoes to get better access, and then slowly kissed him back. Smiling into the
kiss, the boy began lapping at Sam’s lips like some kitten, to which he blushed
and made a small whimper, then felt his face heat up even more at the sound.
Dean’s tongue slipped into his mouth after it was done playing with his lips,
prodding at his teeth and demanding entrance, which Sam granted almost
immediately, parting his lips and letting the curious, warm flesh inside. The
sweet, passionate kiss soon deepened and turned rather hot when Dean began
sucking at the younger boy’s tongue, teasing it with his own, then moved his
mouth fervently, kissing him harder and harder, and in a way that left little
room for doubt about his intentions and feelings, along with Sam’s. Because Sam
was kissing him back on his own, desperately and ardently, wanting and needing
it just as much as the other boy, his whole body engulfed in growling flames
that lit every inch of his skin, along with his frantic heart, on fire.
They kissed for who knows how long, only parting when Sam was about to pass
out, the panting boy filling his lungs with much needed air while looking at
Dean with a pair of glimmering eyes.
Flashing him a satisfied grin, Dean caressed his cheek and asked in a low
voice, “Any better?”
Sam licked his lips sheepishly, swallowing as he nodded his head yes. “I… Yeah,
um…” he mumbled clumsily, his mouth not wanting to work, his brain apparently
deciding to choose this as the perfect moment to shut down.
“Good,” the boy said with a soft, silent chuckle, placing a lingering kiss on
his cheek before pulling back and smiling down at him. “As long as you finally
get it, everything’s good.”
He nodded again, then was pretty sure that his face would have started steaming
if he’d have been in a cartoon when Dean took a hold of his hand, entwining
their fingers as he tugged Sam away from the railing.
“Come on, next are the catacombs, right?” he asked, but all Sam could do was
nod still, too afraid and abashed to speak at the moment. Dean didn’t seem to
mind, his smile just turning back into an amused grin at the other’s shy
behavior as they walked off the bridge, hand in hand.
Oh god, Sam was going to faint.
His hand that was in Dean’s was sweating like crazy, his face probably looked
like a freaking stop light, and the word embarrassed would have been an
understatement of what he was feeling. People were giving him weird looks,
especially those that have seen their little moment on the bridge, making him
duck his head and wish he could turn invisible.
But he was happy. Everything felt like it was a strange dream, Sam still in the
middle of processing what just happened, but he wasn’t regretting anything. He
came on that bridge with a whole bucket of doubts, an ocean of confusions, and
left it with his mind and heart relatively at peace. He was surprised, though.
Realizing just how he felt about Dean…yeah, it was kind of a shocker. But the
physical attraction was undeniable, and apparently that had grown into
something so much more, and now it was clear as day.
He liked Dean.
He was in love with that sweet jerk, and no matter how wrong that should have
been, Sam couldn’t possibly change his feelings, even if he wanted to. Which he
didn’t, wouldn’t want to trade them for anything else, not now, not ever.
Never would he have thought that he’d end up falling for him, that this trip
would make him realize his feeling for Dean, but he wasn’t sad that it did.
Kind of weirded out? Maybe. But sad? Hell no.
He had to wonder what this would mean for his future, though. Were he and
Dean…going out now? It was pretty damn obvious how he felt about the boy, even
though he didn’t say it out loud. Actually, it seemed like Dean has known how
Sam felt before him, which either meant that the other was very talented at
reading people, or Sam was simply an oblivious idiot.
Yeah, it was probably both.
Did the boy love him back, though? Okay, no that was a stupid question. There
was no doubt that Dean liked him, even went as far as claim Sam as his own.
Then there was the fact that he was a complete sweetheart today, however did
that mean love? Or was Dean simply playing him…?
Great, once he wasn’t a big ball of anxiety thanks to his own feelings, he
began worrying about Dean. It seemed like this emotional torture would never
stop, Sam pretty sure at this point that his brain and heart were, indeed, in a
twisted sadomasochist relationship, teaming up against and laughing at him
behind his back.
Not needing that crap on his mind right now, he let out a silent sigh and
glanced at where their fingers were intertwining, taking his lower lip between
his teeth and biting at it nervously. His hand was clammy in the other’s, but
it didn’t seem to be bothering Dean at all, his hold firm and unyielding as
they walked down the sidewalk, before stopping at a tree.
Turning to Sam, the boy reluctantly pulled his hand away and took out his
phone, waving it at him with a sly smirk. “Memories?” he suggested, pressing a
button and showing the other the phone’s screen.
“A picture?” Sam asked with his eyebrows raised, and when Dean nodded eagerly,
he quickly looked about himself before giving a casual shrug. “Uh, sure…”
He stood there for a moment, waiting for Dean to join him, but when it became
evident that the boy simply wanted to take a picture of Sam, he leaned against
the tree behind him and then—not really sure what to do in order not to seem
painfully awkward—forced himself to smile. At least he hoped it was a smile and
he didn’t look like some horse baring its teeth at the phone.
And then Dean began laughing, so nope, he probably looked miserable.
He pushed himself away from the tree with a huff, about to just stomp off, but
the boy waved him back with a huge grin on his face. “Sorry, sorry. You just
looked so stupid,” he said with another laugh as he raised the phone. “How
about you make a sexy pose?”
Sam just gave him his best bitchface and folded his arms. “I have a better
idea. How about you stick that phone up where the sun doesn’t shine instead?
Jackass.”
“Pull back those claws, kitty; I just want a picture,” Dean said teasingly,
winking at the glaring boy when he sighed in defeat, knowing that he was
fighting a losing battle anyway, so he reluctantly leaned back against the tree
and looked at the phone’s camera, suddenly getting an idea.
“This good enough for you, mister photographer?” he asked, a shy smirk tugging
at the corner of his lips as he placed his foot against the tree and ran a hand
through his hair playfully, feeling a slight blush heat his cheeks as Dean
licked his lips, before grinning.
“Hmm, not bad,” he said with a horrible French accent, making Sam laugh. “Maybe
turn your head to the right a bit, s’il vous plait.”
He muffled another laugh. “Alright, monsieur,” he drawled, doing as he was
told, then kept his pose until Dean lowered the phone and slid it back into his
pocket.
“Perfect,” the boy said as he walked over to Sam, who just rolled his eyes but
couldn’t get rid of that stupid blush on his face.
“Let’s just go now,” he mumbled, relieved when Dean nodded.
They didn’t need to call a taxi this time, as several ones were already lined
up near one of the sidewalks. It took them to the catacombs in less than an
hour, during which Dean kept trying to grab at his hand, and after a while, Sam
caved and let the boy hold his hand, not regretting his decision when he saw
the pleased grin on the other’s face.
Damn, Sam was becoming such a pansy.
When the car pulled up to the side of the road, in front of a white striped
crosswalk, he watched in amazement as the boy paid the chauffeur once again,
surprised Dean hadn’t ran out of money yet. But hey, he supposed being a
criminal paid well.
They got out and walked to a small, dark green building protruding from a
larger stone one, Sam keeping close to the boy as they entered and got their
tickets. There was already a group waiting for the next tour, and luckily they
arrived just minutes before it departed, so when the guide saw them
approaching, she got everyone together and, just like herding sheep, motioned
for them to follow her. He and Dean brought up the rear, moving with the group
toward a staircase that took them a long way down, it getting noticeably colder
the further down they went. Sam rubbed his arms as a chill rushed across his
body and made him shudder, however he soon felt warmer when he felt the boy pet
his head in a way that could have even been called affectionate, making him
glance up at the other, who flashed him a quick smirk.
Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, the group began walking down a
long, narrow corridor made of solid earth and stones, with the names of each
street they were passing engraved on some of the walls. The guide stopped many
times, pausing in the journey to explain the history of the catacombs whenever
they reached an important area, for example the smaller museum giving home to a
model of an ancient fortress and other curiosities, or a quarry filled with
limpid water. After several pauses, they finally reached a black and white
doorway above which read “Arrête! C’est ici l’empire de la mort”, but before
Sam could’ve even began wondering what that meant, the guide was already
translating it, making him kind of regret his decision of choosing to visit
this place.
“Stop, this is the empire of death…” Dean mumbled with a small grin. “Sounds
like fun.”
Sam sighed. “I don’t think I wanna know what your definition of fun is,” he
said, before following the group through the doorway and into another, dimly
lit and narrow corridor.
After a very long walk, they reached a part of the catacombs where the ceiling
grew, giving the place the look of some sort of temple, and after they crossed
it and went through a series of maze-like gates, Sam stepped into a chamber
filled to the brim with bones. Of human bones, stacked neatly on both sides of
the room, serving as makeshift walls for the underground tomb.
Yep, he was definitely regretting his choice now.
Staying by the doorway, he watched as the rest of the group took pictures and
filmed the horrifying scene, while he just stood there, wondering why he
thought this would be a great idea in the first place. Sure, he was curious
about this place, as he heard it was very interesting and a famous tourist
spot, and he was also aware of the bones, but seeing them for real, knowing
that all of these corpses were alive once, each piece of bone belonging to an
actual human… Sam wasn’t a squeamish person, but was pretty sure he just found
his limit.
“What’s up, Sammy? Can’t find your funny bone?” Dean asked jokingly as he
joined Sam by the doorway, winking at him. “Get it? You know, ‘coz there’s all
these bones, and you look sullen—”
“I get it, but Dean, that was a horrible joke,” Sam stated pointedly, unable to
believe the boy just made a kind of joke only a certain skeleton in a certain
game would have made, folding his arms as he looked at the boy. “Actually, it
doesn’t even deserve to be called a joke.”
Dean faked a pout. “You just don’t understand my genius,” he huffed, before
moving closer to the other, his face splitting into a devious grin. “Want me to
help lighten up the mood?”
He gazed up at the boy, then quickly looked around and lowered his head, hoping
that Dean couldn’t see his blush in the faint glow of the lamps scattered
across the chamber. “No, thanks. I just have to get used to all these skulls
staring at me, that’s it,” he said quietly, waiting for the other to get away
from him, but when that didn’t happen, Sam slowly raised his gaze, nearly
making some sort of sound when he saw the way Dean was looking at him.
The boy bit his lower lip seductively while giving him a thorough once-over,
before leaning forward and forcing Sam into the rock doorway. “You sure?
Because I think my method would work so, so much better,” he purred
suggestively, that hypnotizing and deep voice making the other forget where
they were and close his eyes, his discomfort from being in this place simply
ceasing to exist when he felt Dean’s soft and demanding lips on his own.
He was enjoying kissing the boy more and more, Sam realized in that split
second while he was still capable of forming coherent thoughts, then was too
busy placing his hands on Dean’s chest and returning the kiss to do such
useless things like thinking. They were both lost in the moment, a little bit
too much it seemed, as when they finally parted for air, their attention was
swiftly drawn by a woman standing next to them and looking very displeased.
“Could you not engage in such vile activities while at an important place like
this?” she spat with a thick German accent, her blonde curls swaying angrily as
she shook her head, teeth bared in a revolted snarl. “How disgusting,
honestly.”
Dean pulled away from him, clenching his fists as he glared at the woman. “What
we do is none of your business, lady, so how about you kindly fuck off and go
back to the dead,” he retorted harshly, stepping into her personal space as his
lips curled into a contemptuous sneer. “Or would you like a closer encounter
with them? ‘Coz I could take care of that.”
“Are you threatening me, boy?” she demanded with an incredulous scoff, planting
her hands on her hips and returning Dean’s glare. “It’s people like you who
ruin our society. You’re the trash of humanity!” The woman then looked at Sam,
who was trying to appear invisible while horribly failing at it, and pointed a
finger at him. “And you. Just how old are you, huh? How can you do such sick,
wrong things at such a young age? You should be ashamed of yourself!”
He flushed in both embarrassment and anger, closing his hands into fists as he
opened his mouth in indignation, ready to give that annoying woman a piece of
his mind, but before he could’ve said anything, Dean was stepping in front of
him as if protectively.
And then punched the woman in the face.
Sam watched with wide, unbelieving eyes as the boy grabbed the gasping woman by
her necklace with one hand, using the other to slug her in the face several
times, until Sam was pretty sure he heard a crunching sound as her nose broke.
But Dean didn’t stop there, oh no. He shoved the woman against one of the piles
of bones, then proceeded to seize a fistful of her hair and bash her face into
the bones, over and over again. It was around then that Sam finally snapped out
of his stunned daze, immediately rushing over to the boy and tugging him off
the woman before he could’ve killed her.
“Dean, enough!” he yelled, yanking at the other’s arm until he finally gave in
and let Sam pull him away from the woman, who then collapsed to the ground. And
holy crap, her whole face was bloody and beaten, looking like she’s just been
in a round of hardcore MMA fight, and lost.
“Fucking bitch,” Dean growled, spitting on the woman’s limp form, when the
guide came speed-walking toward them with a pissed off expression on her face,
so this couldn’t mean anything good.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, fixing Dean with a fierce look.
“What happened?”
The boy flashed her a crooked grin. “She was asking for it,” he stated, and Sam
had to fight the urge to facepalm himself. Or Dean. Preferably with one of the
bones.
The guide looked at them, then at the unconscious woman on the ground, then
back at Dean. “Out. The both of you, I want you out of the catacombs!” she
ordered, her tone making Sam feel like some kid being scolded, but really, he
didn’t mind leaving this place, especially after what just happened. He gave
the boy a look that briefly said “Don’t start anything”, and then let out a
silent sigh of relief when Dean rolled his eye, but nodded and began walking
back from where they came from.
He waited until they were out of both the catacombs and the building leading to
it, spinning around and shooting an annoyed glare at Dean as soon as they
stepped outside. “Really, Dean? What are you, some attack dog? Did you really
have to beat the shit out of her?”
The boy snarled. “Skank got everything she deserved, even less. You shouldn’t
have stopped me, Sam,” he said with a small growl, fuming where he stood. “I
should have just killed her for what she said.”
“I get that you’re angry, I was pissed too, but that…” He shook his head,
scowling up at the other. “You took things too far.”
“Oh come on,” Dean snorted, returning Sam’s frown. “This shouldn’t be coming as
a surprise, you know the kinda person I am. And sorry for not tolerating when
some good-for-nothing whore badmouths us, and especially you. Nobody gets to
spout shit like that, not unless they have a death wish.”
“You know, I’m not some damsel in distress. I can stand up for myself,” he said
with a frustrated sigh, ruffling his hair, but somehow, he couldn’t stay mad at
Dean for long. It was true that the boy’s behavior wasn’t that much of a
surprise, considering who he was, and while his violent overprotection was kind
of annoying, it was also nice, in a way. So after stealing a glance at the
grumbling boy, Sam gave up and mumbled, “But thank you, anyway.”
That had Dean smirking in a matter of milliseconds. “Oh? Did I just hear that
right? Did you just thank me?” he taunted Sam, who gave the other an unamused
look.
“You’re enjoying yourself way too much,” he remarked. “But yeah, I did. However
next time something like this happens, how about you use words first, and send
them in the hospital later?”
“Got it,” the boy said, then added, “maybe. I mean I can’t promise anything,
but I’ll try.”
“I’d say that trying is not enough, but with you, that’s probably the furthest
I’ll get,” he stated, before shaking his head with a small smile. “You’re like
some mama bear, you know that?”
Dean’s grin turned playful. “I’d rather think of myself as an awesome
stormtrooper.”
“Yeah, sure. Minus the suit and the awesomeness.” Sam mentioned, mirroring the
boy’s grin, and then laughing when he faked an offended gasp.
“How dare you?” Dean huffed, raising his head and spreading his arms. “I am the
human embodiment of awesome. I mean what part of me isn’t?” He winked, then
added, “Baby, I was born this way.”
Sam blinked at him, raising his eyebrows, then lost it and burst out laughing.
He turned away, because looking at Dean just made him want to laugh that much
more, then took a deep breath when he finally stopped snickering like a stupid
teenager, feeling strangely contented and happy when the boy smiled at him.
“So…wanna get back to the motel now?” he asked cautiously, and Sam couldn’t
help but smile as well.
“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine now,” he said and averted his eyes. “Thanks to
you…”
He heard Dean’s chuckle, then felt a hand on his shoulder. “You know, this shy
attitude of yours is sweet, but if you don’t stop being so adorable, I might
have to drag you in an alley and take you,” he said so matter-of-factly, it
made Sam stare up at him with wide, startled eyes, knowing that he was blushing
like mad when he saw the boy licking his lips.
“Don’t try to blame your…uncontrollable sex drive on me,” he muttered tensely,
pulling away from Dean’s hand and looking around, making sure there weren’t any
alleyways in his general vicinity.
“Well it ain’t my fault you make me all hot every time we’re together,” Dean
stated with a wolfish smirk. “Just looking at you makes me wanna touch you, do
so much to you.”
“How you can be so open about this, is beyond me,” Sam said and tried to act
natural, dismissive, but that wasn’t half as easy as he thought, especially
since the boy’s words were getting to him, his own goddamn body betraying him
and getting aroused as memories of their time in the plane filled his mind.
“Let’s just…go back to the motel, okay? It’s getting dark already, anyway, and
didn’t you say we’re supposed to leave early tomorrow?”
“I never mentioned when we’re leaving, but yeah, it’s actually quite early,”
the boy said, thankfully cutting Sam some slack and stopping his teasing for
now. “The plane leaves at six in the morning, so we’ll have to hurry.”
“Alright, then.” Sam nodded, walking to the edge of the sidewalk before looking
back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the other. “Taxi?”
Dean pulled out his phone and smiled knowingly. “Taxi.”
                                       —
 
By the time they got back to the motel, the sky above them had gained a darker
shade, the sun stepping down and it wouldn’t be long before the moon would
appear to take its throne.
Sam waited in front of the door while Dean unlocked it, then followed him
inside once it was open. Looking around, he should have felt the same gloom
from before, but so much has happened today, he made so many new memories, that
those haunting him were washed away by the happy ones. That realization made
him smile briefly, before walking over to his bed and kicking off his shoes,
flopping down on the mattress and stretching while curling his toes and
fingers.
“It isn’t that late now, so how about that take-out?” Dean asked when Sam
turned on the bed to look at him.
Not feeling too hungry in particular right now, but knowing that he would get
peckish pretty soon, he nodded and got up on his elbows as he lay on his
stomach. “What kind of take-out?”
“French?” the boy suggested with a grin. “Or pizza. You can never go wrong with
pizza.”
“Sure. It’s been a while since I’ve had some pizza, actually,” he said, licking
his lips in anticipation at the thought of it, now indeed getting a bit hungry.
“Good choice,” Dean approved, before ordering their food through the phone.
They ate the pizza while watching a reality TV show, taking turns in
criticizing the people participating in it and trying to decide which specimen
was the one with the lowest IQ. Then they took a shower—separately, of course,
no matter how desperately Dean tried to join him—and headed to bed, where once
again, Sam had to fight to kick the other out of his bed.
“You’ve got you own, get out!” he hissed, then gasped when he got turned onto
his belly, Dean straddling his hips and pulling the blanket out of the way.
“Aw, but can’t we at least have some fun?” the boy purred teasingly, nuzzling
the nape of Sam’s neck and making him shiver, the younger boy gripping the
pillow and burying his burning face in it.
“N-No…” His already weak voice was muffled by the pillow, and he squeezed his
eyes shut when he felt the feathery kisses on his skin, while wondering what
the hell he was doing. He could have very easily elbowed Dean in the face, they
were in the perfect position for a good old elbow-nose meeting, but instead of
fighting it, Sam was secretly wanting it. It was unbelievable, but it was the
truth. His skin tingled, he had a whole swarm of freaking butterflies in his
stomach, and it felt like the blood in his veins has been switched to lava, to
liquid fire, to a violent current of red-hot electricity.
Dean slid his hand up the other’s head, raking his fingers through Sam’s soft
hair and moving it out of the way as he kissed up and down the back of his
neck, drawing a little whimper from him. “Mmm, what is it, Sammy?” the boy
mouthed against his sensitive skin, Sam beginning to tremble slightly when he
felt a warm tongue licking him. “Don’t you wanna turn our date into a
honeymoon?” he asked, emphasizing the last word with a slow grind of his hips
against Sam’s ass, and that was it.
His eyes went comically wide and his breath hitched, Sam snapping and freaking
out as he finally elbowed the pervert trying to dry hump him or something,
before turning around and landing a brutal kick to the boy’s crotch, sending
him tumbling onto the floor.
“Ow!” Dean groaned on the floor, pressing his hands against his crotch as he
shot a hard look at the other. “That was way too cruel.”
“That was coming for you for a long time now. You deserved it,” Sam declared
with a small glare, grabbing the blanket and covering his body with it, still
kind of out of breath and feeling like his skin was going to boil and melt off
his flesh, but doing a good job at ignoring it. Or, well, at least trying his
hardest to ignore it.
Dean made some sort of growling sound as he got to his feet and crawled into
the other bed, probably feeling all sorry for himself and shit, but Sam wasn’t
going to apologize, not this time. “You can’t keep pushing me away forever,
though, I hope you’re aware of that,” the boy said as he turned on the bed to
look at the other, his frown turning into a sly grin. “Soon enough, you’re
gonna be the one begging for it… Begging me to fuck you, to hold you down and
make you scream until you have no voice left.”
“Hah,” Sam scoffed, but that was pretty much it. No other words could leave his
mouth, at least no intelligent ones, not while his body was being assaulted by
more heat waves than India. He could feel it, was a hundred percent sure that
he was hard, which just made him blush even more, so to put an end to this
torturous conversation, he quickly laid back on the bed and turned his back to
Dean, praying to every single deity he knew of for the boy to shut up.
And somebody must have heard him, because after a short silence, Dean let out a
self-satisfied chuckle and turned off the lamp on his bedside table. “Well, I
had fun today. We definitely gotta do something like this again sometime…” he
said with a smile audible in his voice, which in turn made Sam smile, but only
a little.
“Yeah…” Sam whispered, loud enough for the other to hear. “I had a great time
too.”
There was another moment of silence then, this time longer, before Dean said,
“Guess I achieved my goal, then. Well, a part of it.” He then chuckled and
shifted in his bed. “Now go to sleep. I’ll wake you up tomorrow.”
Sam hummed sleepily as an answer, closing his eyes and letting out a long
exhale as he relaxed against the pillow. One day, and everything changed.
Though, really, he didn’t mind. He thought he would, thought that accepting his
feelings for Dean might ruin him, that it would mean the start of something
horrible, but no. Sam was still Sam, he stayed the same, except now he was on
better terms with the boy. Well, better terms… He loved him, and apparently,
that also meant lusting for him. And Sam had only just finished accepting that
he was in love with Dean, so dealing with his body’s needs and wants was out of
the question, at least for now. The thought alone of letting the boy have his
way with Sam scared him a little, but oh, it aroused him so much more. And no
matter how ashamed he was of his thoughts and reactions, he couldn’t help it.
Dean was hot, damn it, and Sam really wasn’t sure how long he’ll be able to
keep saying no.
But he could think about his growing sexual needs later, deciding to just go to
sleep for now. He forced those thoughts out of his head, cleared his mind, and
then drifted off to sleep surprisingly fast. And for the first time in a long
time, he felt relatively at peace.
If only he knew…
If only he would have known that having sex with Dean was the least of his
worries, maybe then he wouldn’t have fallen asleep with a tiny smile on his
lips.
 
Chapter End Notes
     Another chapter so soon? Yes. You're all welcome.
     Also, any Undertale fans see what I did there with the bone joke?
     Yeah? Yeah?
     ...........
     Bye.
***** Those Three Little Words *****
 
The plane ride back was long, but not as excruciatingly so as the one that
brought them to France. With Sam acting less like some ice queen, and Dean
being relatively decent, they managed to avoid any awkward silences between
them that would’ve only prolonged the journey, and instead held hands. Yeah,
they did, even if at first Sam kept pulling away, since each time something of
Dean’s touched him, his heart rate would go crazy; however he soon learned that
there was simply no escaping the boy, especially when they were sitting next to
each other in a crowded airplane.
When he noticed the warehouse as they drove back, Sam was surprised to feel
relief. It was the sort of “finally, I’m home” relief, which just made this odd
homesickness odder. But he guessed that this place was, after all, his home
now, and no matter how fun Paris was, he’d still much rather be here than
there.
That being said, he couldn’t say that he missed the eerie smile on Nick’s face
whenever the man greeted him, it still managing to unsettle Sam a great deal.
He had just brought his suitcase to his room, and was more than ready to jump
into his soft and comfy bed, when there was a knock on the door. He turned
around where he stood in front of the inviting bed—Sam could’ve sworn it was
even whispering to him temptingly—and looked at the door, but without waiting
for the boy’s answer, Nick pushed it open, letting himself in.
“Welcome back, Sam.” His voice was low but strong as always, using the tone
what Sam imagined psychiatrists would have. “Another success, which makes three
in a row. The second job was a bit bumpy, but in the end, a success
nonetheless. Your talents are impressive.”
He wasn’t completely sure if he should have felt proud from the compliment, or
tuck tail and maybe hide in the wardrobe. Getting praised by a criminal boss
was what his life has become now, and no matter how much he still really wasn’t
happy with the idea of him being a smuggler, he supposed he’d just have to get
used to it. No leaving now, so why keep being bothered by it?
Still, dude was intimidating.
“Thank you,” he said in what he hoped was a courteous way, wondering if he
should try smiling, but afraid that he’d look like some stupid seal, Sam was
quick to discard that idea.
Nick’s own smile, though, was lively as ever, refusing to leave the man’s
enigmatic face as he took a few steps into the room. “I also heard that you
took one for the team; again,” he observed, magnetic eyes narrowing. “It meant
we had one less package to offer, but I suppose that is still better than
losing the whole bag. However if something like this happens again, refrain
from consuming or in any way destroying the goods, please. Can you do that?”
“Yea— Yes. Yes, I can,” Sam answered with a nod, feeling as if a weight from
his shoulders has been lifted as the man returned it before turning around to
leave the room.
Before he did, though, Nick stopped at the doorway and looked back at him, the
smile he gave the boy seeming more hollow than usual. “Get some rest, Sam,” the
man told him, then was out the door in a moment, shutting it behind himself as
he went.
Sam had stopped questioning Nick’s behavior at this point, so he just let out a
short sigh of relief and resumed his activities, which consisted in a thorough
shower—as twelve hours stuck in a plane didn’t do wonders to his body—and some
well earned lazing around on the bed while entertaining himself with a book.
He quickly fell back into his routine of staying in the room and reading, but
the trip to Paris did bring about a few changes. For example, he didn’t only
venture out of his room when he needed food or drinks, but sometimes, when he
got bored with the book in his hands, Sam stalked down the stairs and gave
watching some TV a try. He was usually alone, but it wasn’t unlikely for people
to join him on the couch, even chat with him. Ruby sought his company the most
often, the two of them gradually becoming what Sam might even call friends, and
Benny tried to get on his good side as well, although they both knew that there
could never be a friendship between them, not with the man being the one who
murdered John. That didn’t seem to stop him from trying, and while his
sarcastic but sometimes friendly remarks didn’t bother Sam too much, the
suggestive winks and knowing smirks the man sent his way whenever Dean was in
the room were getting insupportable.
A few days after he got back from overseas, Sam was sitting cross-legged on the
sofa, watching some educational channel about animals. Not appearing to mind
the noise, Raphael was slumped back in one of the armchairs, engrossed in a
much more complicated-looking book than what Sam was used to reading. He stole
a glance at the man from time to time, until Raphael looked up from the
hardcover and gave him a look, after which Sam decided to just focus on
watching the lions on the screen.
A troop of lions were in the middle of lying under the shades of a tree while
the narrator’s serious voice explained something about them marking their
territory, when a pair of arms wrapped lazily around his neck from behind, Sam
tensing momentarily at the sudden physical contact.
“Why are you watching something so boring?” It was Dean’s voice that came next
to his ear as the boy leaned closer, and Sam immediately relaxed, fidgeting a
little before looking back over his shoulder.
“It might be boring for your uneducated brain, but it’s actually interesting,”
he jeered at the other with a tiny grin, then hissed, his grin quickly
withering when Dean bit his ear, hard.
“Uneducated, my ass,” the boy grumbled, tugging at Sam’s ear with his teeth
until the rapidly blushing boy shoved the heel of his palm in the other’s face
and pushed him away.
He grabbed the back of the couch as he turned around to glare at the boy.
“Yeah, you are. And a brute, too, which you just proved by biting me like some
barbarian,” Sam accused, furrowing his brow when Dean chuckled.
“You know,” he drawled, “saying witty stuff like that would work much better
without that obvious blush on your face.” The boy flashed him an irritatingly
pompous grin, and Sam just knew that this idiot’s remark only turned his cheeks
redder, those words like generous amounts of coal to the steady fire burning in
his body. “Actually,” Dean continued, to his demise, “I bet that biting turns
you on.”
“You wish!” Sam scoffed unconvincingly, before grabbing a pillow and throwing
the soft projectile weapon at Dean, who unfortunately caught it. “You’re the
only one here into that crap, so don’t try to rub your twisted kinks off on
me.”
“Yeah, just keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day it’ll actually become
true.” Dean winked at him, and it took every bit of Sam’s self-control not to
get up from that couch and use the pillow to strangle that horny jerk.
“Flirting again?”
A voice coming from one of the catwalks made both of them look up, and Sam
couldn’t help but roll his eyes when he saw Benny grinning down at them like
some kid about to break his parents’ most expensive vase.
Dean didn’t seem as bothered by the man’s remark—if anything, he appeared to be
enjoying it way too much. “Yeah, you know how it is with Sammy. He’s real hard
to seduce, so I’ve gotta keep tryin’,” he said, simply laughing when Sam gave
him a dumbfounded look.
“You two just scream sexual tension,” Benny said as he leaned his hands against
the railing. “It’s making this whole warehouse tense and musky.”
Dean grinned wickedly. “Maybe I should just hold him down and take what’s
mine…”
“Yeah, just get a room and get over with it.”
“Guys!” Sam exclaimed, jumping up from the couch with a red face, his head
spinning with utter embarrassment. “I’m literally right here. Can’t you talk
about this anywhere else? Or just not talk about it at all? I’d greatly
appreciate that.”
“Hey, it ain’t my fault that everyone wants us to fuck,” Dean said casually,
even shrugging like he had no shame at all, which, Sam guessed, he probably
didn’t. He, however, still possessed a soul, and hearing these two freaks talk
so openly about him and Dean doing the horizontal samba made him want to dig
his own grave.
Refusing to listen to them any longer, he made some sort of incredulous sound
and stomped off to the stairs, going back to his room. He might have looked
like some grumpy old man who yells at kids to get off his lawn, but he didn’t
particularly care right now, too annoyed with a side of flustered, maybe even
slightly appalled by their brazen behavior.
Sam managed to get to his door, his hand wrapping around the handle to twist
it, but before he could’ve gotten back to the safety of his room, he heard the
fast steps of someone rushing up the stairs, moments before his arm got
grabbed.
“Dean, what the—” Sam protested as he got dragged further down the catwalk, his
eyes widening in horror as his mind registered where exactly they were going.
But before he would have even had a chance at yanking his arm out of the boy’s
firm grasp, he was being pushed into the room, his heart and stomach both doing
a spontaneous freefall when he heard the telltale click of a door being locked.
Blocking the door, Dean turned around and flashed a broad grin at him. “Finally
alone, right?”
“No?” Sam backed away from the boy, starting to get a little bit scared, then
frowned when Dean laughed.
“Relax, I’m not going to rape you,” he said with a reassuring smile, then
motioned toward the door behind him. “Just wanted to shut Benny up. He’s a cool
guy, and I’m pretty sure he wants us to end up together, which is kinda weird
but I don’t mind. And while that’s fine with me, his comments are clearly
bothering you, so…” He shrugged. “I guess we can lie and tell him we did it.”
Sam did not expect to hear that, so he stared cautiously at the boy for a few
seconds, waiting for him to pounce, but when that never happened, he raised a
suspicious eyebrow at him. “You’d be willing to do that? And anyway, you…how am
I supposed to trust you?”
Dean’s jaw clenched. “Well, we both know I’m not the liar between the two of
us. I have never lied to you, Sam, have I?”
“No,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Exactly,” the boy said with a nod, then looked at him with a half-smile. “Oh,
but don’t get me wrong. I’ll keep my word, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t
want to touch you. No, you have no idea how much I do.” Dean’s eye darkened as
he looked Sam up and down, whose body immediately reacted to the boy’s gaze and
making his heart work overtime. “The thought of taking you hard, of slamming
you up against a wall and just having my way with you turns me on like nothing
else. I’d want nothing more than to watch you writhe and scream under me,
Sammy, but no matter how much fun that would be, I also don’t want it to be
rape. I want you willing, crying from pleasure and not from pain… Well, maybe a
little bit of pain.”
Dean chuckled, the sound deep and reaching Sam’s bones, gripping them tight and
threatening to tear them out of his body and leave his limbs weak, limp like
jelly. He swallowed hard, willing his brain to think of something to say,
because the longer he just stood there silently, the more aware he became of
the boy’s penetrating gaze on him.
Scratching the back of his head, he cleared his throat and tried not to look
painfully awkward as he said, “Alright. As long as you don’t do anything.”
“Yeah…” Dean nodded, the fire leaving his eye for now as he smirked and glanced
around the room, before shifting his gaze back at the other. “So anyway, how do
you like my room? Pretty cool, am I right?” he asked as he strutted over to a
round, dark green bean bag chair on the floor, positioned against the part of
the far wall where the brick was replaced by the series of windows present in
every bedroom Sam’s been to.
He watched as the boy flopped down into the chair, sinking into its yielding
surface with a satisfied groan, before looking around the room. It wasn’t too
different from Benny’s. It had a wooden tiled floor with a large, shaggy wine
red rug in the middle, a bed on the right that had a black and gray bedding,
and several guns—and what he was pretty sure was a katana—mounted on the walls
on each side. Dean’s brown wardrobe was standing by the left wall, along with a
shelf full of more weapons, of small objects and pictures, and next to that was
a mini fridge.
Sam looked at the other, pointing at the fridge. “Seriously?”
Dean grinned. “What? I need something to keep my snacks and beer in,” he said,
his grin broadening into something devious as he leaned back in the bag chair
and folded his hands behind his head. “Actually, how about you get me one?”
“Get off your ass and get one for yourself,” Sam suggested mockingly, smirking
to himself when the boy whined and slumped further down the chair.
“Please, Sammy? Pretty please?” Dean’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he
fake-begged the other, but since Sam was also rather curious what the boy had
hidden away in the fridge, he caved in after a moment, sighing and rolling his
eyes as he crouched down and opened it.
Disappointingly, Dean did indeed only have bottles of beer in the fridge, along
with some leftover pizza and a chocolate pudding that looked like it should
have been in the trash, for like weeks. Pulling a face, Sam grabbed a cold
bottle and kicked the door shut, tempted to hurl the beer at the boy, but
instead just walked over to him and tossed it into his lap.
“Thanks.” Dean grinned up at him, before opening the bottle and taking a large
swig from it. Sam hated beer, its taste from when he once tried John’s open can
still haunting him to this day, so he couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose as he
watched the boy chug down a considerable amount of the thing, before wiping his
mouth and placing the bottle on the floor next to the bean bag. “Now come
‘ere,” the boy said suddenly, and since Sam was too focused on hating on the
beer, he was kind of caught off guard when Dean leaned forward, grabbed his
hands, then pulled him down into his lap.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Sam demanded, looking anywhere but Dean. He was
straddling the boy’s lap, this position really goddamn bad for his poor heart,
which only began hammering in his chest faster, like it was on some sort of
malicious ecstasy, when two strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him
into a tight hug.
“Smells nice…” Dean mumbled as he nuzzled the other’s neck, freaking sniffing
him, and Sam was going to die right there. His hands were trapped between their
chests, so he couldn’t even push the boy away even if he wanted to, and he
wanted to very much. He needed to, or else his brain was going to malfunction.
“D-Dean, stop it,” he protested weakly and, oh god, he could feel Dean’s
erection under him, could feel it poking his own—
Wait, when did Sam get hard?
“Don’t wanna,” the boy stated straightforwardly, placing a series of kisses up
the other’s neck, then made Sam squeak like a damn girl when he began sucking
on his earlobe. “Just wanna hold you like this for a bit.”
Sam let out a shaky exhale, easing away from him until he could free his hands,
then after a long moment of hesitating, he slowly and tentatively snaked them
around the boy’s neck and let his body go limp in Dean’s warm embrace.
“Fine…” he whispered, then quickly buried his face in the crook of the other’s
neck, clenching his jaw to stop himself from trembling, however he could give
up on breathing normally, as his chest was already heaving like he was running
out of air. But he couldn’t help it, this being the closest he’s ever been to
Dean, with their limbs entangled like that, and it was making his heart want to
explode.
The boy’s pleased chuckle sent a fiery chill down his spine and across his
whole body, and now Sam was unable to move anymore, too afraid of what would
happen if he did, or if he looked at Dean. “God, you’re the best thing that’s
ever happened to me,” he whispered, stroking Sam’s back with one hand while the
other slid up to pet his head lovingly, and before he could have stopped
himself or even realized what he was doing, the younger boy hugged him tighter,
making a soft whimper as he slowly parted his lips and kissed Dean’s neck.
They both froze at that, Sam quite positive that this time, he was going to
have a heart attack. He pulled away so he could press his forehead against the
boy’s shoulder while biting down on his pursed lips, letting out yet another
small sound when Dean’s fingers curled into his hair, grasping the chestnut
locks in a way that didn’t hurt, but was very close.
“I’m really trying here, Sammy,” he groaned, crushing Sam as he pulled him
impossibly closer, “but you’re not helping. At all.”
Gulping rather audibly, he carefully moved his hands to the boy’s shoulders as
he pushed himself away from Dean, until he was once again gazing into the one
craving eye, blown with so much lust that keeping eye contact with him actually
cost Sam physical effort.
Needing to change to subject, and quick, he very slowly and cautiously raised a
hand to the boy’s cheek, lightly trailing a finger along the part of the scar
that wasn’t hidden by the eyepatch. “What happened?” he asked, the words
leaving his mouth before he could have thought them through, and he immediately
tensed, pretty sure he was treading on dangerous ground with that question. He
and his stupid big mouth.
But instead of getting mad, maybe even shoving him off, Dean simply lowered his
head and sighed. “Well, I guess since you’ve already seen it…” He gently moved
Sam’s hand out of the way, then proceeded to remove the eyepatch from around
his head, letting the black fabric fall between them as he looked back at the
younger boy. “Not that sexy anymore, huh?”
The sadness underneath Dean’s smile made his heart ache, and he placed both his
hands on the boy’s face right away, cupping his cheeks as he held his gaze,
refusing to look away. Up this close, Sam could see the scar and the blind eye
much better, could see every single detail, from how the skin at his scar was
smooth and lighter than the rest, to the black ring that framed the well of
gray clouds which used to be the boy’s iris and pupil. And unlike with some
blind people, Dean’s eye followed Sam’s every movement, just as focused on his
face as the working eyeball, and no matter how much, or how long he looked, he
simply couldn’t find a single thing that wasn’t gorgeous about the other’s
eyes.
He didn’t know how to explain it to Dean, the words failing him right now, so
instead Sam just leaned forward and placed the softest, lightest kiss on the
boy’s scarred eyelid when he closed his eyes. “You’re as handsome as ever,
Dean,” he said lowly as he pulled back, a bashful smile crossing his face when
the other’s eyes widened in astonishment.
Dean opened and closed his mouth, then the surprise melted off his face, giving
way to a look of pure happiness, his bright smile making Sam’s heart grow three
sizes. “Sammy,” he whispered in awed adoration, before suddenly yanking the
other into a kiss that started out hot and fervent, but rapidly turned sweet
and unhurried, making Sam shiver and sigh.
He closed his eyes and didn’t even hesitate before returning the kiss, opening
his mouth and moving his lips in synch with Dean’s full, and just addicting
ones, pretty sure that if he’d end up hooked on something, it wouldn’t be
heroin, but those luscious lips. Sam’s quiet moans—because yes, he couldn’t
even bother to stop his voice anymore—were muffled by them, and by the boy’s
warm tongue, which lapped and played with his lips, before slipping into his
mouth and going to tease Sam’s own tongue. Curious, and about a hundred other
things, he deepened the kiss and tried using his tongue as well, mirroring
Dean’s actions and licking into the boy’s mouth. The taste of beer should have
bothered him, and maybe it did, but only a little bit, Sam too far gone to pay
attention to such trivial things while he could be enjoying Dean’s kisses
instead.
When they finally parted, both of them heaving slightly, he blinked at the boy
dazedly, licking his already wet lips and kinda feeling like kissing some more,
like that’s what they should do all day. But then he regained his senses, his
whole body overheating from embarrassment and—oh wow—arousal, and he just
stared at Dean until the boy flashed him a warm smile, Sam pretty sure that the
sun began shining that much brighter just from that smile.
“I don’t like talking about this,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence
and instantly snapping him out of his daze, “but I want to tell you.” Dean
looked deep in his eyes, into his very soul, his features softening and
suddenly, the boy looked so broken it made the other want to hug him forever.
“I want you to know.”
Sam nodded, couldn’t do anything else aside from nodding, and held the boy’s
gaze, signaling that he had his undying attention.
After a sigh and a brisk, empty smile, Dean began. “I used to be normal, like
you. Well, not exactly like you, but you know what I mean. I had a family,
parents and friends, had a pretty decent life, until a few years ago… I was
just a year older than you, fifteen, when the men came in our home and beat my
mom up, before taking her,” he said, his jaw a hard line as he swallowed back
forgotten feelings. “I tried protecting her, tried saving her, but I was
outnumbered and outgunned. And when I tried to get dad to help, you know what
he said? ‘That bitch had it coming’. Turns out, it was him who hired these
people to take my mother. My own father paid smugglers to sell her, to sell his
own wife just for a bit of money, and so he could get rid of her. Apparently
she’s been cheating on him, and that was my dad’s way of payback.” Dean
scoffed, venom and contempt dripping from his voice, while Sam just sat there,
his heart bleeding.
“Dean…” He tried, but the boy shook his head.
“The smugglers were these guys, obviously,” he continued, now unable to look at
the other boy. “They came back some days later, found me on the streets because
I refused to stay in that house, with my fucked up father. I tried to beat him
up when I found out what really happened, but he just belted me and told me to
behave, so I left. I’ve never seen him like this and I was so shocked and
angry, betrayed, that when Nick found me and gave me a knife, told me to use it
on my dad if I wanted revenge, I agreed without thinking. First thing I did
with it, though, was try to sink it in his heart, however I quickly realized
that I could give up on that plan, especially after he had Crowley slap the
shit out of me.”
“I hate Crowley,” Sam spat.
Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Who doesn’t?”
“Anyway, they took me back home, and I… Me and dad had a fight. A big one. I
thought I was doing well, scaring him with the knife and all, because no matter
how mad I was at him I didn’t actually want to kill him. But then he somehow
took a hold of the knife, broke my leg, then did this to me.” He pointed at the
scar on his face. “He didn’t seem to care, and the pain and everything else
made me so angry, I didn’t even register my broken leg as I stood up on the
other and wrestled the knife out of his hands, before burying it in his eye,”
Dean said with a small smirk on his lips. “Eye for an eye, I guess. I used the
knife to stab him over and over after that, in his chest and neck, until the
guys had to pull me off him. Things were a blur after that, I got a cast for my
leg and stayed in the warehouse’s medical room for days, the only reason they
didn’t leave me next to my father’s corpse being the fact that we made a deal.
Me working for them in return of my mother’s freedom.”
“So your mom’s safe, then?” Sam asked hopefully, and Dean nodded.
“I get updates every month. I can’t meet her—to her, both I and my dad died in
a car crash. But I got to watch her from a distance once, and sometimes I even
drive to her house to check up on her myself, so I know she’s well and safe,
with a new family,” he said with downcast eyes. “I’m happy for her. She
deserves better than me, anyway.”
“Dean,” he said sharply, fixing the boy with a serious look when he raised his
eyes, “you joined these guys to save her. No matter how you look at it, that
makes you a good person.”
The boy laughed dryly. “I murdered my father in a fit of rage, I watched your
father die, and I’ve killed many people along the years, Sam. How could that,
in any way, be considered as good?”
“Nobody’s perfect…” Sam muttered. “If you only look at the bad you’ve done,
then yeah, you’re a cold-blooded murderer and sort of a psychopath with anger
issues. But I know that you have a better side, no matter how hard you try to
hide it. And that, coming from the person who totally hated your guts a few
weeks ago, should at least mean something.”
Dean lowered his eyes again, touching the eyepatch in his lap, before looking
back at Sam. “I guess… I don’t know,” he said and shook his head, a pathetic
smirk the mere shadow of his usual cocky ones’ crossing his face. “Do you
really accept me like that? I’m serious when I say that I’m not a good person,
Sam. You might not hate me now, but you know that I have more defects than
virtues, know that my possessiveness is borderline insane, know that I don’t
value human life at all. I’m the definition of a cruel asshole.”
Sam watched him silently for as long as he could, wondering how to answer to
that, then let out a deep sigh and chose to just go with the truth. “Well,
uh…yeah, you are. I won’t sugarcoat it, you’re a total jerk. But that also
makes me a selfish bastard, because I don’t really care. I did, while you were
hurting me and while all I felt toward you was some sort of confused rage. You
were pissing me off because of many things, though after a while some of that
anger wasn’t really because of you. I think I was frustrated with myself, with
my reactions and feelings, which…it wasn’t like I couldn’t figure them out, I
just didn’t want to. I was scared of what I’d find. And now that I know, all
your flaws that should really annoy me, that would send any decent human being
crawling on the wall, they aren’t that big of a deal to me anymore. You’re
unusual and just plain annoying most of the times, that’s true, oh I won’t lie
about that, but those moments of yours don’t make me angry or anything,” he
said, taking a breath after that monologue, then flashed a sheepish grin at the
other. “But you know what they say—love is blind.”
“Love?” Dean raised his eyebrows, a broad and pretty twisted grin spreading
across his face, and Sam’s eyes widened in shock, unable to believe he just let
those words spill past his lips. He seriously needed to start thinking about
what he said before actually saying them.
Flustered, but seeing the eager look in Dean’s eyes—at least the one that was
working—Sam averted his own eyes and silently murmured, “Yeah, I…y-yeah.”
He pressed his lips together nervously when he heard the boy’s laugh, then was
blushing even more intensely, which shouldn’t have been physically possible,
when Dean placed a tender kiss on his cheek. Hesitantly, Sam slowly looked back
at him, saw him smiling, then tensed and remained immobile as he lightly
trailed a thumb across the other’s lower lip. “I love you, too,” Dean
whispered, and just like that, a freaking wildfire broke out in Sam’s body, the
kind that no amount of inner mantra or breathing exercises could extinguish,
ever.
“Dean,” he sighed happily, because yes, that love confession made his chest
want to compress and then burst with joy, the feeling so thick and dense and
pushing at every corner of his insides that Sam needed to do something, or else
he might seriously explode or something.
So he grabbed the other’s face and kissed him, desperately while pouring all of
his feelings into it, and he felt like sobbing when he felt Dean smiling
against his lips and kissing him back. The boy tangled his fingers in Sam’s
hair and pulled his head closer, quickly deepening the kiss and turning it
ferocious in an instant, with claiming bites and intrusive licks, the kiss
sloppy and hard and just goddamn perfect. Drowning in Dean’s mouth, he nearly
didn’t notice the boy’s hands as they began unbuttoning his shirt, his pleased
and lazy moans rising an octave as he felt the cold air against his skin when
his shirt just up and disappeared.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Dean breathed as he leaned back and ran his
hands up and down Sam’s sides, while watching the younger boy’s heaving chest
with intense eyes. “So beautiful, and all mine.”
Yep, Dean was definitely going to be the death of him; Sam’s heart was totally
going to go off and just stop if this were to continue.
“Di-Didn’t you say that you weren’t going to touch me…?” he asked, needing the
boy’s piercing gaze away from his body at least for a moment.
Dean smirked, holding Sam’s waist with one hand while splaying the other across
his flushed chest. “Yeah, I did,” the boy said, before giving him a hopeful,
questioning look. “But now, don’t you want me to?”
They were both so obviously horny and hard in their pants, and Sam would have
been a dirty little liar if said he didn’t want Dean’s hands all over him, even
if that thought frightened him a tiny bit. But his fear came more from
nervousness than actual terror, so he waved goodbye to the last remains of his
resolve, really just wanting to make love to his boyfriend now, and slowly
leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the other’s as he whispered in a
shy, quiet voice, “I want to…please.”
Chuckling low in his throat, the boy placed a quick kiss on the other’s mouth
before shedding his leather jacket and shirt, then was immediately back to
caressing his skin, setting every inch of it on fire, especially when that
tease began thumbing his nipples. Gasping, Sam looked down at Dean’s hands with
wide eyes, then was screwing them shut and tilting his head away as the
hardened buds were pinched by determined fingers, which quickly began playing
with them until he was a whimpering mess. He arched into the intoxicating
touches, his own hands gripping the other’s waist so hard he was probably going
to bruise him, the thought of leaving his own marks on Dean making him shiver.
“So responsive,” Dean purred in appreciation, removing his hand from one of
Sam’s nipples and continuing the sweet torture with his mouth instead, making
the younger boy cry out and buck his hips. He whined miserably, letting his
head fall back as he grabbed a hold of the boy’s shoulders, the feeling of
Dean’s lips rubbing against his flesh, his teeth as they caught the pert nipple
between them and tugged at it, rolled it, then his tongue flicking the abused
skin, had Sam moaning in need and leaning into every single one of his touches.
“Dean, Dean…” he panted, or more like freaking whined like some puppy in heat,
capturing the boy’s lips when he pulled away and kissing him hopelessly, only
making more pitiful sounds when Dean bit his tongue playfully, then made some
not-so-playful marks all over his neck and shoulders, sucking and licking and
biting until Sam was once again covered in hickeys, some of them even bleeding.
“Look at you,” Dean said as he marveled at his work, licking his lips hungrily,
“all covered in my marks. Gonna keep makin’ new ones as soon as they fade,
Sammy, next time I’ll take my sweet time and make sure your skin’s full of ‘em,
from head to toe.”
Sam nodded, just swallowed and nodded, wanting to belong to Dean even if some
of the bites that were bleeding hurt a bit. Not giving a rat’s ass about the
pain, though, he bit down on his bottom lip as he ran his hands up the boy’s
taut abs, his fingers dipping into the delicious curves, Sam pausing as his
hands reached the other’s chest. He then forced himself to lean in and lick
Dean’s collarbone, earning a pleased groan from him, which made the embarrassed
boy smile and keep going. He nibbled and kissed at the bone, licked into the
hollow of the other’s throat with the tip of his tongue, then trailed it all
the way along his throat until he got to his chin, where Sam pecked the skin
there before pulling back and flashing a small, rather sly grin at him.
“God, Sammy, you little…” Dean panted, finishing his sentence with a growl as
he grabbed the other’s pants and tugged at it, fumbling with the button and the
zipper before pulling it down, the younger boy weakly rising on his knees to
help with taking his pants off. He watched as the denim got thrown across the
room like Dean had a personal vendetta against it, then felt like following it
when he looked back and saw the boy grinning at him like a famished wolf, his
one eye—when did he even put the eyepatch back on?—roaming his body and
darkening when it stopped at Sam’s clothed erection. “All eager, aren’t we?”
He didn’t dare look down, already knowing without needing to see how painfully
hard he was, but that didn’t mean Dean could be a tease about it and point it
out. Wanting payback, Sam pursed his lip and glanced at the tent in the boy’s
pants, before reluctantly raising his gaze. “You’re one to speak,” he mumbled,
holding his breath as he bucked his hips, grinding down against the other’s
bulge and drawing a mix of a growl and a groan out of the boy.
“Fuck,” Dean groaned and stilled Sam’s movements by grabbing a hold of his hip,
then moved his free hand to the other’s clothed length and began palming it,
giving it firm strokes and rubs until Sam was rolling his hips helplessly,
digging his fingertips into the boy’s broad shoulders while moan after moan
slipped past his lips. “Yeah, baby boy, that’s it. You know you want it bad,”
he purred, a carnal grin splitting his face as he squeezed the warm, hard flesh
under his hand, and Sam threw his head back, letting out another loud moan.
“Dean, G-God Dean, please…” He looked at the boy with a new version of puppy
eyes, much more lewd than its predecessor, but no matter how many shameless
sounds escaped from him, Sam couldn’t stop bucking into every stroke, every
touch of Dean’s hand, already waving goodbye to his self-control and dignity
like minutes ago.
Dean chuckled—a hoarse and lustful sound—and rubbed the wet patch where Sam’s
pre-come has started staining the fabric with his thumb, gaining a rather
slutty whimper from the younger boy. “Hmm? Please what, Sammy? Please fuck me?”
he asked challengingly, the feral grin never leaving his face as he teased the
other. “You’ve gotta tell me, or I won’t know.”
“Y-You jerk,” Sam gasped, cursing the boy in his head for being such a pervert,
though honestly, he was kind of enjoying it in some really fucked up way. And
it was hard, the words stuck in his throat and unwilling to leave, but he still
managed to force them out after a while, saying them with a horrible blush on
his face. “Yes, just…do it, please. Dean, I wanna feel you, all of…you.”
“You won’t hear me sayin’ no to that,” Dean assured, then hauled Sam into a
quick, brutal kiss before tugging his underwear off and sending it flying to
where his pants were somewhere, then wrapped a hand around his shaft, giving it
a light squeeze. “So warm, baby. So hot and hard for me, only me.”
“Yes, you, yes,” he babbled, collapsing against the boy’s chest and just giving
in completely, his mind going blank as Dean’s fingers stroked his throbbing
flesh, everything just feeling so damn good and fantastic and overwhelming and—
He gasped and stopped everything he was doing, eyes going plate-sized as Dean’s
other hand left his hip and moved to more forbidden territories, the feel of
him groping Sam’s ass suddenly making the younger boy remember just what gay
sex was all about. Face red as if a lobster and a tomato had an illegitimate
child, he shied away from Dean’s hand and pressed close against him, totally
not trembling like the virgin he was.
“Hey,” he heard the boy whisper, felt him caress the small of his back while,
by the way, his other hand was still on Sam’s dick. “Hey, it’s okay. This is
your first time, so I’ll be gentle, I promise you. You can trust me Sammy, I
swear I won’t let it hurt.”
He made a nervous sound, closing his eyes and letting Dean’s smell fill his
nose as he inhaled a deep breath. He knew he was acting like some scaredy-cat,
knew it was pathetic, but he just couldn’t help it, because things just
shouldn’t enter that way. “Have you…done something like this before?” Sam asked
a bit curiously, has been wanting to know for quite a while now.
Dean stroked soothing circles in his back as he answered. “If by ‘this’ you
mean gay sex, then no, never. This is my first time in that area, too, but I
did some research, so I know exactly what to do to make it as painless as
possible,” he said, then after a short pause, continued. “But I’ve had sex
before, with girls. They were just casual fucks, no strings attached, always
ended after one night. They’re nothing like you. I never felt anything toward
them, much less loved them like I love you, Sam.”
Now he was trembling for sure, and he placed a fond kiss on Dean’s shoulder
before easing away and gazing up at him with his bottom lip between his teeth,
feeling slightly disappointed but also understanding that he wasn’t the boy’s
first. That didn’t matter, really, as long as Dean loved him, which he did, and
seeing the devotion in his gleaming eye had Sam nodding with a timid smile.
“M’kay,” he muttered. “If you say you know what you’re doing, then I trust you.
Make me feel good…”
He was ashamed of his own words, but seeing the eager and rather gleeful smirk
on Dean’s face was so worth it. “Oh, don’t worry,” the boy drawled lecherously,
biting down his lower lip in anticipation. “I will.”
Dean removed his hands from Sam and moved them to his pants, tugging it and his
underwear down to around his mid-thighs, then left them there as he gave a few
slow strokes to his own erection, which had the younger boy gaping in awe.
Okay, no, he was going to get torn apart if that thing was to enter him.
Dean’s cock was thick, possessing a size that could never fit in something as
tiny as Sam’s goddamn asshole. It seemed hard as a rock, and had veins bulging
here and there under the surely blazing skin, Sam unconsciously licking his
lips when the boy used his thumb to smear the shiny pre-come gathered at his
slit across the head of his raging erection.
“See somethin’ you like?” Dean flashed a cocky grin at the other, making him
hurriedly rip his gaze away from the boy’s dick, unable to believe he was
seriously just openly staring at it. Thank god he didn’t start drooling or
something, for fuck’s sake.
“I, um…” He tried saying something intelligent, but nothing of that sort came
out of his mouth, so he just decided to shut up instead.
Dean’s grin widened, giving him a vicious pirate look. “You can touch, you
know. Actually, it’s encouraged,” he said with a suggestive wink before
glancing down, and Sam made the mistake of following the boy’s gaze. He had
removed his hand from his cock, which was now standing proudly between his
legs, the fat tip bumping against Dean’s stomach each time he inhaled and
smudging wet fluid on the skin there. Also, another image Sam won’t be able to
ever erase from his brain, was how close their erections were, only inches
separating them from touching, from rubbing together, his own cock giving an
interested twitch at the mere thought of it.
Letting out an uneven exhale, Sam very slowly crawled closer and let his
downstairs brain take over, too horny to think rationally anymore. He rolled
his hips forward, both of them groaning when their cocks slid against each
other, and then he couldn’t stop himself, reached out a trembling hand to wrap
as much of it as he could around both of their pulsing flesh, already
whimpering at the hot feeling of Dean, before beginning to move his hand up and
down.
“Fuck yeah, Sammy,” the boy groaned hoarsely, putting his hands on Sam’s thighs
as he thrust up into the other’s hand, Sam soon needing to use both hands to
keep their cocks in place as he also bucked forward, grinding and rubbing
fervently against Dean’s length while fucking into his own hands.
His head fell forward, sweaty strand of hair that weren’t sticking to his skin
swaying wildly around his head as he moved, thrusting desperately, then was
suddenly whining when Dean grabbed his wrists and yanked his hands away from
their leaking erections. The boy, already panting heavily, wrapped an arm
around Sam and pulled him as close as possible, pressing their chests flush
together, and used his other hand to free his cock from where it was trapped
between their bodies, letting it rest against one of the younger boy’s ass
cheeks and making him shiver like crazy.
“Can’t finish just yet,” Dean purred deeply, placing soft kisses along Sam’s
neck while caressing his ass. “Still have the main course to indulge in.”
He moaned as an answer, trying to discreetly hump the boy’s abdomen, then made
a disappointed little whimper when he got pushed away slightly. Dean shook his
head with a light—but very damn nasty—chuckle and stroked the other’s bony hip
with a thumb, then raised his hand from Sam’s ass to his lips, pressing his
middle and ring fingers against them.
“This should be done with lube, but honestly, I’m too lazy to get up,” he
admitted with a smirk. “So I need you to wet my fingers as much as you can, so
that I’ll be able to stretch you open more easily.”
“Stretch me…with your fingers…” Sam breathed, his head spinning. He would not
only have Dean’s cock up his ass, but first he’d have to get used to his
fingers. Great, Sam was completely a hundred percent okay with this situation,
couldn’t find anything wrong with it, no.
“Yep,” Dean said, tapping a finger against the other’s bottom lip. “But it’ll
be fine, okay? It will be, so hurry up, because I really wanna be inside you
already.”
“You should be a bit more patient,” he mumbled against the boy’s fingers,
before giving them a tentative lick. They tasted salty.
“I am patient. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me not to just pick you
up, sprawl you across my bed, and fuck you into the mattress?” Dean growled
huskily, then when Sam opened his mouth to say something, instead of words all
that came past his lips was a muffled mix of a gasp and a choke, as the boy had
freaking shoved his fingers in his mouth. He glared weakly at the other,
gnawing at the digits, before sliding his tongue alongside them and beginning
to wet and coat them with his saliva, while trying not to think how
embarrassing what he was doing was.
That, however, wasn’t that easy with Dean spouting crap straight out of some
sort of porno.
“Mmm yeah, that’s a good boy,” he praised encouragingly, running his tongue
along his lips while watching as Sam licked and sucked on his fingers. “That’s
it baby, harder, take my fingers like they’re my cock. You know you want to,
want me to fuck your sweet little mouth with these fingers, just like how you
tried to do with mine when I had you in my mouth.”
Sam moaned around the boy’s fingers, the words both flustering but oh so
turning him on in some sick way, and he just knew he was going to Hell after
this, if such a place even existed. He took a hold of Dean’s wrist with both of
his hands and forced the fingers further into his mouth, until he was gagging,
but fought his reflexes as much as he could and kept sucking, using his tongue
to play with the digits, his blush spreading not only to his ears but also
probably to his goddamn toes as he locked eyes with the boy and watched him
while giving some weird blowjob to his fingers. Dean groaned at the sight,
moving his fingers inside Sam’s mouth like that one time in the van, visibly
enjoying each and every obscene sound that made.
When he couldn’t take the rich and heavy taste in his mouth anymore, along with
the wet sounds filling the room, Sam leaned away and pulled the boy’s fingers
out of his mouth, a thick string of saliva connecting his lips to the digits
before snapping and landing coolly on his chin, and at this point, he was quite
certain that his blush wasn’t even visible anymore, his face had to be so red.
Dean turned his hand in the light spilling into the room through the windows,
watching as the saliva glistened on his fingers and just successfully making
Sam feel even worse. He then gazed at the younger boy and gave him a sultry
look, before slowly moving his hand behind the other, sliding the back of his
thumb down the cleft of his ass, and Sam couldn’t help but jump a little when
he felt a wet finger circling his hole, tensing a little.
“Shh,” Dean cooed, gently and ever so slowly rubbing the other’s tight hole,
and leaned forward to place a reassuring kiss on his lips. “Just take deep
breaths and relax.”
Gripping the boy’s shoulders, Sam nodded jerkily and took in a long, shaky
inhale as he felt a finger poking and stroking the ring of muscle, slowly
slumping against Dean and raising his ass to give the prodding fingers more
access. Being touched over there couldn’t have possibly been right, and while
it did feel alien and freaking embarrassing as all hell, he couldn’t stop the
soft whimpers and quiet moans that left his mouth as Dean rubbed harder and
harder, until one of his fingers pressed down on Sam’s small, quivering hole,
and suddenly, the younger boy’s whole body turned rigid, his muscles stiffening
as he felt a fingertip dip in and push inside him.
He made a small, almost wounded sound, and tightened his hold on Dean, pressing
his forehead against the crook of the other’s neck when the boy caressed his
side. “Feels weird,” he mumbled, it really feeling unusual and too much, as if
something that didn’t belong was trying to force its way in, and the finger
wasn’t even all the way inside him.
“I know, baby, but it’ll get better,” Dean assured, mouthing the words against
Sam’s head before kissing it, and he gradually slackened his muscles, loosening
his hold on the boy as he sighed silently.
“Okay…” he whispered, before squeezing his eyes shut and willing his body to
take it, to chill the fuck out and let the finger in.
The wet digit took its sweet time to slide in as much as it could, and Sam
groaned lowly as it began moving in and out of him, his hole still too damn
tight and his skin dragging each time the finger pulled out, then went back in.
It wasn’t good at all, there was definitely some pain there, no matter how
dull, but he spread his legs further and forced air into his lungs, made
himself take deep breaths just as Dean said, and after a few minutes, the
uncomfortable feeling lessened. However just when it did, just as Sam was
starting to get used to it, the boy added the second finger, the way it
painfully forced itself inside him making the other whine.
Dean began twisting and curling his fingers in him, stroking the narrow walls
of his inside until Sam’s fluttering hole loosened enough so the boy could
stretch him further, moving the digits in a scissoring motion, spreading them
as far apart as they could go whenever his fingertips reached Sam’s puckering
hole. “That’s it, you’re doing so well. So good, Sammy, so fucking tight. I can
feel your pulse against my fingers, fuck,” he purred, voice raspy and somewhat
breathy. “Come on, open up for me. Be a good boy and let it in.”
And Sam did, or at least he tried. He made tiny moans and some hissing sounds
while Dean fingered him, the stretch and burn of his fingers inside him sending
a shudder through his body, this probably the strangest feeling he has ever
experienced in his life. He tried not focusing on the smoldering, piercing and
prodding pain, but that wasn’t so easy, at least not with the way the slow move
of the fingers kept hurting, when they got pushed inside uncomfortable, but not
as painful as the burning drag when they got pulled out. The pain and
discomfort was momentarily overshadowed by something else, though, as a
fingertip brushed against a spot inside Sam, it making him arch his back and
let out a very much pleased moan this time.
“What…?” He looked up at the other dazedly, blinking in slight shock and
whimpering when Dean curled his fingers.
“Found your sweet spot,” the boy explained with a grin, before going back to
stretching him nice and thoroughly.
Sam wasn’t sure how long it was before Dean finally withdrew his fingers, but
he knew that by the time the digits disappeared from his hole, he’s been
totally rendered into a moaning little mess. He nuzzled the boy’s neck, making
some rather lewd sounds when his ass got groped and massaged, Sam pushing back
into the touch and ignoring the little sound in the back of his head that was
calling him names. Yeah, he was being kinda slutty, but it really wasn’t his
fault that Dean was apparently some sort of sex God, created to please.
His breath hitched as he felt the other’s warm length against his ass, then he
hunched forward, letting out a pathetic little moan as Dean spread his cheeks
and began sliding his throbbing erection between the plump flesh.
“D-Dean, stop being…a tease,” Sam panted feebly, his legs shaking from both
excitement and the anticipation of what was to come, then began nibbling at the
boy’s jaw as a form of payback and encouragement to do something already.
Growling low in his throat, the low rumble sending a violent shiver down the
other’s spine, Dean grabbed a hold of Sam’s hair and crushed their lips into a
bruising kiss, before pulling back and shooting him a lecherous and incredibly
nasty look. “Yeah, can’t take it anymore, either. Gonna fuck you so good now,
Sammy, make you mine completely.”
“’M already yours…” Sam mumbled, a coy smile curling his lips.
Dean grinned dangerously, licking his lips. “Damn right you are,” he purred,
then slapped Sam’s ass, making the younger boy gasp. “But that won’t stop me
from claiming you over and over again.” He then tightened his grip on the
other’s ass, before using his free hand to guide the tip of his cock over to
the pulsing hole, Sam biting down on his bottom lip as he felt it nudge his
entrance. “This might hurt a bit,” Dean warned, watching him intently, “but not
for long.”
Sam nodded, swallowing nervously and closing his eyes, instantly going to
relax, however that quickly became impossible when the head of the boy’s cock
began pushing in, his face screwing up as he focused on anything but the
searing pain.
“You okay?” Dean asked, his voice strained from the effort it took him not to
just fuck Sam right away, which the younger boy could appreciate because no,
this freaking hurt.
“Just gimme a minute,” he breathed, willing his muscles to relax and slowly,
very slowly take more of the other’s cock inside, making Dean groan.
“Sammy, you’re so tight,” he panted, keeping Sam’s hips in an iron grip, only
waiting a moment before he started moving, slowly fucking up into the other and
driving his thick cock deeper inside with each, short thrust of his hips.
“Fuck, fuck, you feel so good already,” Dean groaned, while Sam tried real hard
not to start screaming.
“Dean!” he mewled, mouth hanging open and head lowered, eyes shut tight as his
ass was getting ripped open, and he even considered just yanking Dean’s cock
out from inside him, because this was too much. Then the boy snapped his hips
up one last time before stopping for a bit, impaling Sam on his cock as he
buried it balls deep and all the way in, and Sam was making some very
interesting sounds.
Running his fingers through the other’s shaggy, sweaty hair, Dean pulled him in
to kiss his forehead, then nuzzled his cheek. “Sorry, got a little ahead of
myself. I’m gonna wait as long as you want me to now, okay?” he said, showering
Sam’s entire face with tender kisses.
Humming in delight, focusing on the kisses instead of the pain in his ass, Sam
managed to relax after a while, gradually getting used to the overwhelming
feeling of fullness. When he was positive he wasn’t going to start wincing if
Dean moved, he turned his head to place a chaste kiss on the boy’s wonderful
lips, then smiled. “I’m fine now, so…” His voice trailed off, and instead of
finishing his sentence, Sam wiggled his ass slightly and, hopefully,
seductively.
The boy grinned, a soft chuckle leaving him as he planted his hands on the
other’s slender waist, then moved them down to his hips, digging his fingers
into the skin. “Yeah,” Dean said, then rolled his hips before winking at Sam.
“Try not to scream too loudly.”
He rolled his eyes, about to say something witty, but then found himself
gasping instead as flaming currents of electricity spread across his body like
spider webs, his eyes going wide when Dean began thrusting up and into him. Sam
couldn’t stop the sounds, suddenly couldn’t do anything aside from moaning
between miserable little gasps, because he was getting fucked by Dean and it
was the strangest, and best goddamn feeling ever. The boy sank his blunt nails
into the other’s skin as he gripped him, lifting him up in rhythm with his
slow, dragged-out thrusts, before slamming him back down, making Sam throw his
head back and let out a high pitched moan. Dean didn’t wait long before he
picked up his pace, any and all coherent words just leaving Sam when the boy
began pounding his ass hard, faster than before, fucking into him wildly while
growling like the animal he was.
“Jesus fuck, Sammy!” Dean groaned, a snarl twisting his lips as he frowned and
snapped his hips up in a steady but fast, merciless pace. “Shit, so fucking
good. Oh baby, that’s it, c’mon, bounce on my cock.”
The dirty words only made Sam louder, his very last string of dignity snapping
and disappearing from existence as he began moving, fucking himself on Dean’s
cock while moaning like some whore. “Oh my god, Dean! Please, please more, oh
Dean!” he keened wantonly, dizzy with the smell of sex and sweat in the air,
the wet and squelching sounds of the boy’s dick slipping in and out of his
slick, gaping hole, and that of Dean’s hips and balls slapping against his ass
with each brutal thrust only turning Sam on more.
“Fuck,” the boy growled, moving his hands down and grasping Sam’s ass, before
spreading his cheeks, digging his fingertips in his flesh, then suddenly turned
the pace from vicious to freaking cruel.
Sam cried out, he was screaming now, repeating Dean’s name over and over when
he wasn’t just mewling obscenely and making loud, dirty moans. He tried pushing
himself down, moving in time with the boy’s thrusts, clenching his hole on
purpose and milking Dean’s long, incredible cock, but then he couldn’t even do
that after a while, his body getting rocked too wildly by the boy’s fervent,
frantic thrusts and making it impossible for Sam to move anymore. And he didn’t
think he could get louder and naughtier, but that is exactly what happened when
Dean began hitting his prostate more times than not, angling his thrust just
right, and damn near killing Sam. It was all so good and so much—Dean slamming
into him like there was no tomorrow, fucking him roughly and like a savage
while cursing and worshipping him; Sam letting his head fall back and mouth
hang open, some of the nastiest pleas and sounds spilling past his lips and
turning the sex hotter, his trembling frame rushed by an onslaught of
shockwaves, all pleasure and only a slight pain, but the pain was good too.
He has never felt so full in his life, so stretched open and filled with
something so incredible, Dean’s red-hot cock as if made to fit in his ass,
molded just for him. Nothing has ever felt so right before, and Sam was
bursting, melting and becoming delirious, the ease the boy slid in and out of
him simply magical. His own cock was leaking, bouncing up and down and bumping
against his and Dean’s stomach with each thrust, and he was so ready to come
even though he hasn’t even touched himself.
It wasn’t long before none of them could form words anymore, only incoherent
sounds and half-babbled groans of each other’s names, and when Dean hit his
prostate dead on with an especially fierce thrust, that did it for Sam. His
orgasm slammed through him out of nowhere, taking him by surprise and making
him gasp, the sudden muscle spasms tensing his whole body as he came on Dean’s
stomach with a pitiful moan.
He didn’t have time to enjoy the afterglow for too long, Sam shivering and
mewling again when the boy’s thrusts became erratic, before he bit down on the
younger one’s shoulder, letting out a muffled, feral growl as he emptying his
load in the other, coming hard and deep inside. Sam could feel the warm come
filling him, felt it inside, then around his hole when it began slowly seeping
out of him, but no matter how nasty that was, he couldn’t really give a crap
right now, too spent and fucked-out to care.
Lying against Dean’s chest, he closed his eyes, purring softly and enjoying the
boy’s warm embrace when he hugged him close. They stayed like that for a long
while, panting and blissed-out, catching their breath while cuddling. Dean
nuzzled his head from time to time, humming and caressing the other’s skin with
the pad of his thumbs, and Sam kept making quiet appreciative sounds, listening
to the boy’s pulse where his ear was pressed against the sweaty flesh, while
his own racing heartbeat was slowly going back to normal.
Dean took a deep breath after a long while of comfortable silence, trailing his
fingers down the other’s spine and making him shiver. “How did you like that?”
he asked, and Sam knew that the boy was grinning even before he raised his head
and saw it for himself.
He sighed contently, flashing a sweet smile at Dean before answering, “Much
better than I’ve expected…”
“Oh yeah?” The boy wiggled his eyebrows, and Sam laughed, which made the
other’s cock—still inside him—twitch, causing a chain reaction that had both of
them moaning.
Sam licked his dark, slightly bruised lips and gave his hips a tentative roll,
smirking when Dean cursed. “Mhm, very good.”
“Little minx,” he groaned, grabbing the other’s waist and lifting him until
Dean’s softening cock slipped out of his hole, letting the rest of his come
leak out and immediately making Sam blush like crazy. Then his face was boiling
even more when he felt the boy’s finger as it gathered up some of his own load,
then raised his come-coated finger to Sam’s lips, flashing him a mischievous
grin. “Wanna taste?”
He swallowed, chewing his lips as he glanced from the fingers to Dean, his eyes
widening slightly at the offer. “You’re sick,” he mumbled, but then so was he,
because he couldn’t deny his curiosity, kind of excited to know how the boy’s
come tastes like, and just how fucked up was that?
“Come on,” Dean purred bewitchingly, rubbing his come between his fingers and
playing with it, which should have been such a disgusting sight, but it just
made Sam strangely hungry.
“You’re a horrible influence, I hope you know that…” Sam muttered, then before
he could’ve changed his mind, he flicked his tongue out and used the tip to
taste the salty-sweet come on the boy’s fingers, then needed more, so he began
lapping it up like a good puppy. Also, thinking about himself as a puppy was
wrong, and wow, Sam could barely believe his own thoughts. Bad brain, bad.
Dean let out a satisfied chuckle, licking his lips as he watched Sam. “I’m glad
I am,” he said with a grin, which turned into a small smirk when the other was
done licking. “You’re sure you’re okay, though, right?”
Sam scowled. “Yeah, I’m sure. Why?”
“Well, I’m pretty big,” the boy said with a wink. “And this was your very first
time, in every way.”
Rolling his eyes, Sam flashed a thin smile at him. “I’m fine, don’t worry. You
didn’t break me or anything. And anyway, I know something that’s much bigger
than…you know.”
“You do?” Dean narrowed his eye, and the younger boy smirked.
“Your ego,” he stated, laughing when the boy gave him his own version of
bitchface.
“Well, it wasn’t my ego that you were riding, was it?” he scoffed, and now it
was his turn to smirk.
Sam flushed a bright red as he remembered the past few minutes, before averting
his eyes. “I wasn’t…”
“Oh no?” Dean chuckled wickedly, and Sam knew that he should’ve just stayed
quiet, should’ve let the boy have his fun. “So you also weren’t moaning like
some cheap slut while I was fucking you, didn’t love my cock up your ass so
much that you came untouched?”
“Sh-Shut up,” he muttered, hugging himself and shivering as he felt Dean’s come
cooling on his skin. “No need to be an ass about it.”
“I just want you to admit it,” Dean said, smiling at him innocently. “Just say
it, Sammy. Say—”
Fed up with the boy’s teasing, Sam fixed him with a weak, totally embarrassed
glare, and cut him off. “Fine! I loved it, loved every second while you were
fucking me, this was the best feeling ever, and I enjoyed the feel of your…cock
inside me,” he rambled, each word stabbing his manliness like a sharp dagger.
“Happy now?”
Dean blinked. “I actually wanted to say ‘Say that you liked it’, but yep, that
was much better,” he said smugly, and Sam wanted the ground to split open and
swallow him up, like yesterday. Noticing his suffering, the boy let out a light
laugh and placed a quick kiss on the other’s nose, before smiling and saying,
“I did too, you know. Best I ever had…”
Wondering if Dean was secretly planning on making Sam faint from a weird mix of
embarrassment and happiness, he kept his gaze on the floor until he was
positive he wasn’t going to start sobbing or something equally pathetic, before
looking back at the boy, his heart swelling and then bailing on him as he
bumped his nose against the other’s. “Me too,” he whispered, smiling when he
saw the look of adoration in Dean’s eye.
The boy shook his head, grinning happily. “You’re way too adorable,” he said,
then gently nipped at the tip of Sam’s nose, his grin widening when he saw the
look on the other’s face. “My sweet Sammy…”
He smiled shyly, pretty sure that one day Dean was going to be the death of
him, then lowered his gaze and froze. The boy’s stomach was covered with Sam’s
come, his own flaccid penis resting against the tan skin there, and that sight
had him making a weird whimpery sound.
“Wanna take a shower?” Dean asked suggestively, but any more of the boy
touching him would probably result in Sam’s heart failing, so he quickly shook
his head and climbed out of the other’s lap, looking for his clothes that Dean
had successfully managed to spirit away or something.
They both got dressed, Sam pulling a face when he pulled his underwear on his
come coated ass, it making him consider that shower after all. In the end he
decided to take one in his room, alone, but before leaving Dean’s, he stopped
at the door and looked back.
“Um, does this mean we’re…” he began, but wasn’t quite sure how to finish,
starting to fidget as Dean looked at him from where he was sitting on the bed.
The boy smirked and nodded. “Lovers, yeah.” He then frowned. “Does that bother
you?”
“What, no!” Sam answered immediately and maybe a little too quickly, because
Dean was grinning now, standing up from the bed and swaggering over to him like
someone about to say something really smart.
Sam pressed his back into the door when the boy stopped in front of him. “Told
you I’d take all of your firsts,” he said, taking the other’s hand. “And now
you’re forever mine, Sam.”
Dean gave his hand a light squeeze, and Sam couldn’t help but smile, looking up
at the boy with bright eyes. “I guess I am, huh?”
Nodding, Dean leaned down and kissed him, immediately going to lick into his
mouth as soon as Sam parted his lips, the kiss sensual and sweet, and it was
all he could do not to start giggling like an idiot when the boy smiled and
whispered against his lips, “Forever and a day…”
And when he was finally back in his own room, Sam had to smile too, because he
suddenly realized that this had to be it.
What he was feeling, was true happiness.
 
***** Why? *****
 
Sam was enjoying life more and more, which was something, considering just
where he was.
He still stayed in his room for the most part, however he wasn’t always alone.
Dean joined him from time to time, though aside from kissing and lazing around
in the bed, they didn’t go further, mainly because Sam’s ass was still kinda
sore. Their relationship—he still couldn’t believe that Dean was his boyfriend
now—didn’t stay a secret for too long, either, as ever since they had sex, the
boy was like some overly attached puppy, following him wherever he went. At
lunch, when Sam finally decided to join the group at the dining table, Dean
made sure to sit as close to him as possible, it being a miracle he didn’t just
pull the younger boy in his lap, though Sam could see that he was tempted. They
snuggled quite a lot, on the sofa while watching TV, in either his or the
other’s room, it being usually—AKA always—Dean who latched onto him like a
leach and making him incredibly uncomfortable when someone saw them, which
unfortunately happened more times than not. Sometimes, however, it was Sam who
leaned against the boy when they sat on the couch, smiling contently to himself
as the strong, protective arms he has come to associate with such words as
“home” and “safe” enveloped him and pulled him close, Sam resting against the
other’s chest without a care in the world. Well, unless someone walked in, as
then he tried to peel Dean’s arms away from him and pretend that nothing was
going on, which often failed, for the boy was a headstrong bastard and wouldn’t
let him go, probably even getting some perverse pleasure out of Sam’s misery.
Nobody was too surprised that they were going out, or appeared to be bothered
by it. Benny, that asshole, was all grins and “I told you so”s, while Raphael
just shook his head, but stayed silent. Ruby congratulated them like they were
newlyweds or something, and Crowley simply glared at them from a distance, but
aside from that, thankfully left them alone. He guessed it was because the man
didn’t fancy being murdered by Dean.
To Sam’s demise, Nick just had to walk in on them kissing, which resulted in
him nearly biting a piece out of Dean’s lips from shock, but their boss just
gave them a look and warned them not to let this have an impact on their work.
It wasn’t all that bad, not at all. All the affectionate little touches, the
kisses and hugs, he enjoyed them, even began craving them after a while. If he
would’ve had any doubts before, well, now he was sure that he loved Dean. And
while being in love was strange, with Sam’s mind unable to focus on anything
for too long before it drifted off, always thinking of the boy, it was also
incredible. He finally understood what people meant when they spoke of a pink
haze, of nothing else mattering when in love but the object of their desire.
And he was totally carrying the torch for Dean, the slightest physical contact,
or even being in the same room making his heart beat twice as fast, Sam
initially feeling intimidated by these new and overpowering emotions, but
gradually coming to accept and embrace them, because damn it, it was due time
he felt happiness.
And happiness he felt, the knowledge that Dean loved, wanted and needed him
just as much as he did making nearly everything he’s been put through worth it
all, even though the boy’s love was borderline obsessive, sometimes showing
itself in outbursts of desire.
For example now, as Sam lay peacefully on his back in bed, holding up a book
and reading silently with Dean lying next to him, he could see the boy frowning
at the book, his one eye narrowed into something close to a glare as he stared
at the words.
“How can this entertain you?” he asked the same question for like he umpteenth
time, making Sam roll his eyes and turn his head to look at him. The boy was
propped up on one elbow, his gaze shifting to Sam when he looked at him.
“I’ve told you already,” Sam said as he lowered the book slightly. “It’s
interesting. Plus books are good for you, keep your brain active and sharp.
Maybe you should try reading something instead of watching those stupid shows
on TV.”
He flashed a cocky grin at Dean, who gave him an annoyed look. “It’s these
books that are stupid,” he stated, then before Sam could’ve done anything, the
book was knocked out of his hands and to the floor, and then he suddenly had an
armful of growling Dean. The boy crawled on top of him, keeping him in place
with his knees that were pressed against his thighs, and his hands which
instantly went to pin the other’s wrists down, rendering him completely
motionless.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked, blinking up at his momentary captor.
“What does it look like?” Dean tightened his hold on his wrists.
He winced silently, but couldn’t stop the small smirk that was tugging at his
lips. “Looks to me like you’re jealous of a book. What are these kinds of
people called again?” he said tauntingly, his smirk widening at the same time
the boy’s eye darkened. “Attention whores?”
He let out a laugh, which was very soon muffled by Dean’s lips crashing down
against his, the kiss vicious and painful when the boy bit him so hard Sam
could taste blood on his tongue, but even so, it wasn’t long before he was
closing his eyes and moaning. He shouldn’t have been enjoying how it hurt, how
the forceful and brutal kiss pressed the back of his head into the pillow, but
it was Dean hovering above him, growling like a predator ready to ravish its
prey, and Sam’s body was responding, his back arching and hips bucking,
suddenly horny.
Dean pulled away too soon, leaving him breathless and needy, that realization
and the nasty grin on the other’s face making him blush.
“There’s only one kind of whore here,” he purred, voice a low rumble, “and we
both know who it is.”
Now, being called a whore was too much. At least it should have been. Sam
noticed there were a lot of things he should be feeling nowadays, but it was
like he was wired the wrong way or something, nearly any and everything
managing to turn him on and make him want to just spread his legs. He obviously
tried to keep up a somewhat prude front, as to save whatever remained of his
dignity. He tried to say no when all he wanted to do was beg for more, because
no matter how much he felt like one, he didn’t actually want to become, or
behave like a complete slut. It just wasn’t him, and he didn’t want his lust
and love for Dean to blind him, change him into something he knew he wouldn’t
be proud of.
However he was also a teenager, with his hot boyfriend looking at him
desirously, and thinking with his upstairs brain wasn’t too easy like that.
“De…” he breathed, a thrilled shiver rushing down his spine as the boy grinned
at the pet name, biting his lower lip before licking a wet, hot stripe up Sam’s
neck, successfully driving him crazy.
“Want you, Sammy,” Dean groaned, nipping at the other’s neck, but no, Sam
wasn’t going to be some kind of prepubescent teen and come in his pants just
from the boy’s voice, no way.
He really wanted Dean too, though, so he tilted his head back and whimpered,
his eyes fluttering closed as he whispered, “Please…”
Dean’s lips should have been illegal, they felt so good on his skin. Staying
true to his word, the boy attacked Sam’s neck nearly each day, making damn sure
it was nice and pretty with his marks, which was what he was doing right now,
too. Sam could feel the other sucking wetly at his skin, nibbling and biting
down on it, the pain-pleasure quickly making him painfully hard, cock straining
against the cotton of his underwear.
When Dean dipped the tip of his tongue in the hollow of Sam’s throat, he made
some sort of choked-off moan and arched so far up his back left the mattress,
his needy reactions drawing a low chuckle from the boy. “Want my cock in you,
baby?” he asked in a deep, hypnotizing tone, making Sam’s head spin. “Want it
good and deep?”
He was whining and nodding, his brain quitting, and he really, really wanted to
get rid of these annoying clothes, like right now.
“So needy,” Dean growled against his throat, and yep, Sam was going to blow his
load in his damn pants, because the boy was palming his bulge now, hard and
determined strokes and squeezes making him lose it and let out a loud—
Two resolute knocks on the door had him nearly choking, Sam’s breath catching
in his throat as he whipped his head toward the door, watching it with wide
eyes.
“When you two are done fooling around in there, come downstairs. They called,”
he heard Nick’s disembodied voice say on the other side of the door, the sudden
order followed by silence.
Unable to believe the man’s horrible timing, Sam just laid there for a moment,
feeling confused and still horny as Dean pulled back and cursed, looking like
someone who bit into a lemon.
“Not again,” the boy grumbled under his breath, sighing and running a
frustrated hand through his hair, before scratching the back of his head and
turning to look at Sam, who was eyeing him curiously. “We have another job.”
“How do you know? And who are ‘they’?” he asked with a small frown, pulling
himself up into a sitting position and taking a few deep breaths to calm his
erection. He really didn’t enjoy getting all riled up and then left hanging, so
Nick better have a damn good reason for interrupting them.
“A bunch of stuck-up fuckers, that’s who they are,” Dean spat, getting off the
bed to start pacing in front of it. “They call us up from time to time, making
us do stupid shit for them that they’re too lazy to do themselves.”
Well, that didn’t sound promising. “Making you? I thought nobody could force
jobs on you aside from Nick.”
“Oh yeah, I know,” he said with a humorless, bitter smile. “Problem is, their
boss is also Nick’s.”
“Nick has a boss?” Sam asked in bewilderment, furrowing his brow in surprise.
The man didn’t strike him as someone who’d work for people. He was more like
the sadist employer type, especially with that creepy smile of his, Sam feeling
like shuddering just from remembering it.
But Dean nodded grudgingly. “He does, which makes us that asshole’s and his
gang’s underlings too.”
“Are they some sort of mafia gang?” He looked at the other warily, to what Dean
scoffed.
“No, but I’m pretty sure they believe that they are,” he sneered. “Pricks, the
lot of ‘em. Acting like they own the world, like they own us.”
He wasn’t sure if he should ask, a bit reluctant to know the answer, but did so
anyway. “Just who exactly are they…?”
“Arms dealers,” Dean said contemptuously, shaking his head as if just
mentioning them pissed him off. “One of the most powerful ones out there, and
since we’re also one of the best smugglers, they were quick to pounce on us
like wretched hyenas, offering us jobs that look like scenes straight out of
those overhyped action movies. Nick refused right away, but those guys are just
everywhere, and they didn’t take us turning them down well. Took their ‘anger’
out on one of us, made it look like it wasn’t them, but we knew. We knew they
killed Adam, and their veiled threats clearly suggested they were ready to move
on to the next victim, so we had no choice but to go along with their little
game. We only had to do one job for them, and I was hoping they wouldn’t come
back for more… But I guess we just ain’t that lucky.”
“And now they want you to do another job for them,” Sam said in a way that was
both a question and a statement.
“Pretty sure that’s why they called, yeah.” Dean’s jaw clenched tightly, a
snarl forming on his lips. “But that also means you have to come with us,” he
growled, his overprotective streak kicking in, and the sudden flash of rage on
his face sent a frightened chill down Sam’s spine.
“Dean—”
“I’m gonna have a word with Nick,” the boy blurted, then was already heading
toward the door and vanishing behind it before Sam could’ve stopped him.
Not quite sure what the hell was going on, but also not wanting Dean to get in
trouble, he jumped to his feet and swiftly left the room, stepping out onto the
steel catwalk just in time to watch as the boy strode over to the whole group
already gathered in the large room, before stopping in front of Nick and fixing
him with a hard look.
The man scowled at the irritated-looking boy, but before he could’ve used his
severe tone on him, Dean was snarling at him, though containing his outrage as
much as possible. “What do they want this time? What fucking ridiculous job are
they going to force on us, huh?” he demanded, fists clenched at his sides, and
even from upstairs, Sam could feel the dangerous aura surrounding him.
Instead of snapping back at him, however, Nick kept his cool, the boy unable to
ruffle his feathers. “That’s enough, Dean. I’m not interested in your petty
little hissy fit,” he said in a toneless, flat voice. “None of us appreciate
working for the Sontarios. We loathe them just as much as you do, but do you
see us shouting in uncontainable fury?”
“They—”
“Are a bunch of ‘mouth-breathing dick monkeys’, yes. I know.” Nick closed his
eyes momentarily as he sighed, then furrowed his brow into a barely visible
frown, his features hardening as he said, “But this time, they didn’t make
contact for that reason. This time, they want to arrange a business meeting.”
“What?” everyone—except for Sam, who at this point gave up on comprehending
what was going on—blurted in unison, apparently not let in on this particular
piece of information yet.
Nick made sure to look at everyone, even glancing up at Sam, before continuing.
“This is why I gathered all of you here. I know you have many questions, but so
do I, as who I’ve spoken with on the phone refused to give away too much
information.”
“A business meeting with those guys?” Crowley spoke up, his face pulled into a
grimace. “What business? All they do is order us around!”
“I agree. I simply cannot see the point in a get-together with the very people
who have killed one of our own, who are treating us like trash,” Raphael added
sourly.
“We can’t go,” Dean declared. “We won’t go.”
“Quiet!” Nick exclaimed, all authority now. “I understand your unwillingness. I
feel the same way. I barely know anything about the upcoming meeting, only the
when and where, and I don’t like not knowing. But no matter how aggravating it
is, how…humiliating, we all know that we must go. Go and hear them out, see
what they want; however one wrong move, and we won’t hold back. Understand me?”
Reluctantly, they all nodded with the exception of Dean, who was sneaking
glances at Sam, making the younger boy wonder if he should be going downstairs
now or if he could just stay where he was. He would’ve liked it much more if he
could’ve stayed, as conspiring and gang boss meetings were way above his non-
existent paygrade.
“Must we all go?” Dean asked finally, his intentions behind the question fairly
obvious. “All of us?”
With another sigh, Nick nodded. “They asked for the whole team,” the man said,
before looking up at Sam,” and that means him, too.”
Feeling dread build in the pit of his stomach, Sam gripped the railing harder
and lowered his eyes.
Perfect.
“They can’t possibly know about Sam,” Dean retorted, trying his best to keep
the other out of harm’s way, his stubborn efforts touching Sam’s heart.
“They shouldn’t, but they do,” Nick said in return. “They asked for all seven
of us, so they must know.”
“This is bullshit,” the boy growled, but aside from that, stayed silent. There
was nothing he could do anymore, and he knew it.
In the end, it was Ruby who broke the moment of tense, heavy silence by asking,
“So, when exactly are we supposed to leave?”
Nick took a look at his watch. “In two hours. I know, don’t give me that look.
Now, hurry up and get dressed. I want everyone waiting outside by five thirty,
got it?”
After agreeing, everyone dispersed. Sam watched with a concerned expression as
Dean climbed back up the stairs, the boy looking like he wanted to say
something, but the words just wouldn’t come out.
“It’ll be okay,” Sam said hesitantly, reassuring the other but also himself at
the same time. “I’ll be fine. How bad could it be?”
“Bad,” Dean hissed, then rubbed his face before flashing a thin smile at Sam.
“But I won’t let them hurt you. If they try anything, anything at all, they’re
dead meat.”
Despite the strange, and probably unsafe, situation he’s found himself in, he
couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at that. “I’m pretty sure you’re taking
this protecting thing way too far.”
“It’s my job to keep you safe,” Dean stated, and Sam could see that he believed
it.
He shook his head with a defeated little sigh. Everything was out of his
control, he was way out of his depths, and this upcoming meeting was seriously
starting to scare the crap out of him…but as long as he was with Dean, he knew
everything would be fine. He was going to be fine.
“Alright, let’s get you suited up,” the boy said suddenly, to what Sam raised a
confused eyebrow.
“Uh yeah, I don’t have a suit,” he mentioned, but judging by the look on the
other’s face, that wasn’t particularly a problem.
“You don’t,” Dean said as a sly grin slowly spread across his face. “Yet.”
                                       —
 
Standing in front of the mirror on his wardrobe, Sam wondered if he was going
to throw up.
Since he never went to school, he only heard the stories of the gut-wrenching
anxiety students get before a test, or the fear of public speech. He
fortunately never had to live through those moments, even though sometimes he
wished he could, just to feel that bit more normal, more like everyone else.
And while he never got the chance to do any of that, he could still relate to
that relentless feeling that just won’t let you alone no matter how much you
try, only gets worse as time goes by. Sam had other things to worry
about—handing in a pop quiz to his dad, the first time they left the house, or
when John gave him that expectant look before a training, making him sweat even
more than he knew he was going to.
So he knew how it felt, the great big ball of apprehension making it nearly
impossible to focus on anything else aside from all the “What if?” scenarios
rushing through his mind like a bullet train.
He knew, and he hated it.
“Oh jeez…” Sam sighed, eyeing his pale reflection in the mirror. Dean had gone
out with the promise of getting him a classy suit, which was what he was
wearing right now. It was a mystery how the boy knew his size without even
asking, but honestly, Sam wouldn’t have been surprised if the other had taken
his measurements in his sleep or something. Dean was just unpredictable and
plain odd like that.
The suit was nice enough, rather comfortable actually, but Sam was really not
doing any justice to it. He has never worn a suit before, so when it came to
tying his tie, he wasn’t exactly sure what happened, but he ended up with it
looking like Cthulhu. No, seriously; it was a miracle it didn’t come to life
and strangle him on general principle. After the complete and utter failure, he
decided to discard the tie and glare at it for being uncooperative, and went to
fix his suit instead. And he had to admit, he did look pretty cool in it.
It wasn’t anything special, really. A pair of black pants, with matching socks
and polished shoes, black suit jacket and the mean tie. The only article of
clothing that wasn’t black was the crisp, white shirt that was now tucked into
his pants, it being the only thing preventing him from tuning into Crowley.
However while his clothes looked good, he did not. Sam’s hair was washed,
smooth and soft like usual, but the look on his face was practically screaming
for help, that’s how much he didn’t want to do this. Actually, the worst thing
was that he didn’t even know what “this” was. He has never met these strange
people, who were apparently even more dangerous than his group, that knowledge
filling Sam with so many happy thoughts he was going to puke rainbows. He had a
really, really hard time coming to terms with this life, with these people who,
he supposed, were the closest thing to family he’s got now; and boom, suddenly
he’s going on some shady business meeting. It’s like his life has taken a 180
degree turn and he’s been dropped into a Godfather movie, swearing that if he
was going to find a severed horse head on his pillow, Sam was going to flip
out. He couldn’t even calm down by telling himself that the others knew what
they were doing, because that wasn’t true. Everybody seemed uncertain and
uneasy, plus how the heck did these…Sontario people know about him, anyway?
He was too young for this shit, seriously.
It wasn’t like he could whine about it, though. Only to himself, for this was
his life now, and he supposed he’d have to get used to it sooner or later. He
would have preferred later much better, but that option being neither wise, nor
available, it was pretty clear that he’d just have to go with sooner, whether
he wanted to or not.
And anyway, as long as he stayed quiet and played the silent henchman, nobody
would feel the insatiable need to pick on him, right?
Sam shot a glance at the tie lying on his bed, mocking him, before picking it
up angrily and sliding it along his neck and under his collar. He was an
official smuggler, and he was not going to let a simple, stupid tie defeat him,
damn it.
He was in the middle of a heated battle with an accidental sailor’s knot he has
successfully managed to create while trying to subjugate the tie, which now he
was positive had a hidden agenda, when Dean barged into his room, drawing Sam’s
attention, and holy cow.
The boy flashed him a flirtatious smirk. “How do I look?”
Like some heedless, laid back hitman, Sam wanted to say, but was too busy
staring at Dean to answer. He had to admit, the boy was hot in a suit. It
didn’t look that much different from his, had the same pants and shirt, but the
thin tie was loose and red instead of black, and the sleeves of his black suit
jacket were rolled up, exposing his forearms, and yep, Sam was definitely
gaping at him now.
He quickly cleared his throat, wrapping a hand around the monstrous knot on his
own tie, and then gave the other a nod of acknowledgement. “Yeah you’re…not
bad.”
“Not bad? You can do better than that,” the boy said seductively, closing in on
Sam while his eye roamed the younger one’s body, before stopping in front of
him, his smirk turning crooked.
Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes as he mumbled, “Fine, you look sexy-ish.”
“You just had to add that, didn’t you?” Dean chuckled, then furrowed his brow.
“What’s that?” he asked as he nodded to the poor excuse of a tie in the other’s
hand, giving Sam one of those annoyingly amused looks.
“Nothing,” he stated, hopeful that the boy would just leave him to his misery,
but that obviously was no going to happen.
“Nothing, huh?” Dean teased and reached out to tug playfully at the end of the
tie, before removing Sam’s hand from around the knot he still wasn’t sure how
on earth he managed to spawn. “The hell happened here?” the boy asked with a
laugh, studying the knot. “This…what sort of new technique is this?”
“Aw shut up,” Sam huffed, swatting at the other’s hand. “It’s not my fault that
this tie sucks.”
“Oh, so it’s the tie’s fault now?”
“Yes, it is! It, I don’t know, malfunctioned or something!” he complained while
throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.
Dean was trying to contain his laughter now. “Y-Yeah, I’m sure that’s what’s
wrong here. It…malfunctioned.”
“Oh go and be an asshole somewhere else,” Sam grumbled, clawing at the evil
knot, but when it still refused to be obedient and come undone, he folded his
arms in frustration and turned away from the boy, glowering at him through the
mirror.
Grinning widely, as if asking to get punched in the face by Sam, he patted the
other’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Not your fault you suck at tying a simple tie,”
he taunted, snickering when the younger boy’s eyes narrowed, then nodded to the
knot and asked, “Do you want me to fix that for you?”
“Thanks, but I think I can manage by myself,” he refused, going back to messing
around with the tie and praying for it to just behave already, but after a
solid minute of trying and failing at untying that vile knot, he knew he was
either going to have to show up with a freaking hangman’s noose around his
neck, or accept Dean’s offer.
Glancing up at the boy, who was leaning with his shoulder against the wardrobe,
his arms crossed in front of his chest and his lips curled into a constant
smirk, Sam shot him a warning look, before reluctantly asking, “Can you…?”
“Would be my pleasure,” Dean purred smugly, that pompous jerk, before pushing
himself away from the wardrobe and beginning to work on Sam’s tie. He had a
frown etched onto his face the whole time, then when he has finally managed to
turn the tie back to its normal form, he flashed the other a triumphant smile,
then proceeded to demonstrate how a tie had to be tied. “See? It’s not that
hard. You just pull this”—he slid the silken fabric under the part at Sam’s
throat, then through the knot—“here, like that, and then tighten it. There you
go.” Dean stepped back and looked him over, his features softening.
“Beautiful…”
Blushing at the compliment, Sam scratched his neck in embarrassment and averted
his eyes, fighting the happy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thanks,”
he muttered, keeping his gaze on his shoes even as he heard the boy moving,
however looked up when he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders.
Dean was standing behind him, watching him through the mirror. “You’re tense.
Stressed,” he said, giving a gentle squeeze to the other’s shoulders and making
him let out a pleased sigh. “Let me help?”
He lowered his eyes to Dean’s hands, but not seeing anything wrong with
receiving a massage from his boyfriend, he nodded. Smiling, the boy began
stroking and kneading the muscles on his shoulders, and Sam instinctively
relaxed into it, the pressure heavenly. He hummed and sighed in delight as Dean
squeezed the flesh at the base of his neck, stroked his fingers up and down his
skin, moving them in circles while applying pressure, and it wasn’t long before
Sam’s eyes closed and he leaned back against the other’s chest, feeling a bit
groggy.
“Good?” he heard Dean ask, and he nodded yes, a small moan escaping him when he
felt the boy’s lips on the side of his neck as he tilted his head. “How about
this…?” Dean mouthed against his skin as he snaked one of his arms around Sam’s
chest, keeping him upright and trapped, while gliding his free hand down the
dazed boy’s front until he reached his crotch, then gave it a light squeeze.
“Dean,” he sighed, eyes fluttering open and widening when he saw their
reflections in the mirror.
The boy chuckled lowly in his ear, sending a powerful shiver down his spine,
all the while keeping eye contact through the mirror and licking his lips
hungrily as he began stroking Sam through his pants. “That’s it, baby. Get hard
for me, lemme give you a more…thorough massage.”
Sam sucked his bottom lip in his mouth, biting down on it to muffle another
moan as blood came rushing to his dick, the fervent strokes and gropes making
him hard in a matter of seconds. “We’re supposed to,” he gasped, clutching at
the arm around his chest, “be leaving soon.”
“Mmm yep,” the boy whispered smokily, licking up his ear and making Sam
whimper. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have some quick fun, does it?”
He knew that getting carried away now wasn’t a good idea, as Nick or someone
else could come knocking on the door any minute, but then Dean was unzipping
him and tugging his erection out, immediately going to twist his wrist and
stroke the hot flesh, and Sam was totally on board with whatever the boy
wanted. He tied up the tiny protesting voice in his head and shoved it to the
very back of his mind, then just let go, letting his head fall to the side and
his mouth open, moaning wantonly.
A particularly hard drag of Dean’s hand had him gasping and mewling, bucking
his hips forward, his eagerness rewarded by some more talented strokes. “Fuck,
Sammy, this is so hot,” he purred, to what Sam slowly looked back at the
mirror, his whole face flushing when he saw just how lewd he looked. “Yeah,
that’s right. Watch yourself, watch as you come undone by my hand. Such a sweet
little slut for it, aren’t you? So pretty.”
Whining quietly, his legs beginning to tremble, he did as he was told and
watched, no matter how embarrassing it was. He watched his chest heaving as he
panted, watched his tongue darting out and wetting his dry lips, his nails as
they dug into Dean’s arm, desperately holding on. It was so intense, so raw and
pure, watching everything unfold right before his eyes, the sight of his lust-
blown eyes and red face, high on pleasure, of his pulsing and leaking cock
being pumped by the boy’s firm, big hand, and of Dean, as he was also watching
everything while murmuring filthy encouragements in Sam’s ear making it
impossible for him to last for long.
“Dean, Dean! D-Dean, oh god, I’m—” Sam panted, keening and mewling miserably
while thrusting into the boy’s fist, his orgasm building quickly and making it
so much harder to control himself.
“That’s it, baby. Come for me, be a good boy and watch yourself come,” Dean
growled, tightening his hold on the other’s burning erection and giving it
faster and harsher, rougher pumps, the wet sounds of the slip and slide of
Sam’s pre-come slicked cock in the boy’s hand intoxicating. It rapidly pushed
him over the edge, his hips jerking and head thrown back, half-lidded eyes
watching as his reflection came with a shuddering moan, his come landing on
Dean’s hand and on the mirror, the sticky white fluid slowly trickling down the
reflective surface.
Nuzzling his neck while planting several open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive
flesh, Dean continued to stroke him for a long while, and since Sam wasn’t
really in a hurry to move or do anything at all right now, he relished in every
touch, making some appreciative sounds then and now. It was only when his
erection subsided and his dick began softening that the boy stopped caressing
him, quickly licking his sticky fingers clean, after which he tucked him back
in his pants, placing one last kiss on Sam’s jawline before straightening his
back and hugging him from behind.
“Feelin’ better now?” Dean asked with a small smirk, to what the other huffed
weakly but smiled nonetheless, then turned around and hugged the boy back,
burying his face in his chest to hide his own blush.
“Yeah…” he mumbled, nodding and inhaling Dean’s strong musky scent mixed with
the fresh fragrance of fabric softener, suddenly feeling like he could fall
asleep right here. He curled his fingers in the boy’s suit jacket, practically
clinging to him, not wanting to let go for some reason, but it didn’t seem like
Dean wanted to separate from him anytime soon either, what with fondly petting
his hair and keeping a secure arm around him.
The hug was warm and comforting, perfect, but it also had to end at one point.
Gently pushing him away, Dean smiled lazily and caressed his cheek with the
back of his fingers, before pressing a delicate kiss on his forehead.
“Everything will be fine, I promise you,” the boy whispered as Sam gazed up at
him. “You don’t need to worry about a thing, not as long as I’m with you. And I
will never leave you, Sammy. Never.”
He was not going to cry like a girl. He could feel the glad tears gather in his
eyes, but he was not going to let them go, let them run free, because he has
already promised himself he wouldn’t cry anymore. Not from sadness or
happiness, because he wanted to man up, to act more mature. This new life
demanded that from him.
But Dean’s reassuring, loving words stirred the familiar butterflies from their
sleep and let them roam free in his stomach, Sam unable—and not really
wanting—to restrain a smile of his own as he leaned into the boy’s sweet
touches. “Good, because I would kick your ass if you did,” he mock-threatened,
though he was pretty sure they both knew that he meant it. If he would actually
be able to land a hit on Dean, well, that was another matter altogether.
“Hmm, I’m sure you would,” the boy jeered, chuckling when Sam gave him a look,
then took a step back. “I think we should be going now.”
“Yeah, you go ahead,” he said, waving at the door as he snuck a glance at the
tissue box on top of the drawers. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, before flashing him a knowing smirk and nodding.
“Alright then, but don’t take too long,” he told Sam, then winked. “I think
we’re already late.”
“And whose fault is that, huh?” he reproached with a frown.
The boy laughed. “You love it,” he asserted, before starting toward the door.
“Hurry up.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam mumbled once Dean was out of the room, rolling his eyes and
walking over to the drawers. He reluctantly pulled out a few tissues, then
tried real hard not to think about what he was about to do as he turned around
and looked at the dirty mirror.
Stupid Dean and his stupid, incredible hand…
                                       —
 
If anybody would have seen them from afar, they would’ve thought that the group
in the van was going to a funeral.
And Sam really hoped it wouldn’t actually turn out to be one.
Everyone had changed into suits and formal clothing, except for Crowley of
course, who was wearing the same jet-black getup Sam’s been seeing him in each
day, making him wonder if the man even possessed any other clothes aside from
that black suit. Maybe he had a closet full of the same shirts and pants, or
maybe, he was wearing the same suit every day, without washing it. Sam cringed
at the thought, then turned his head and looked out the window instead,
watching the blur of fenced houses rush past the car.
They were in a passenger van this time, with enough seats for everyone. Nick
was driving, has been for at least two hours since they left the warehouse.
Next to him, in the passenger seat, sat Crowley, mostly silent but sometimes
unable to repress the need to open his mouth and remind everyone how much he’d
rather gauge the Sontarios’ eyeballs out, instead of sitting down to have a
chat with them. Behind him, in a single seat, sat Raphael, only talking when he
couldn’t listen to Crowley’s bullshit anymore and telling the man to shut it,
or else. And in the seats next to his were Sam and Dean, behind whom sat what
he was pretty sure was the world’s most annoying duo.
“Look at that,” Ruby drawled, the teasing smile audible in her voice even as
Sam was gazing out the window, trying to ignore her, “they’re holding hands.”
Ruby and Benny have been getting on his nerves for the past several minutes,
pointing out and making fun of this and that, clearly enjoying themselves much
more than they should’ve, and Dean wasn’t being a great help, either. Sam had
tried to brush most of their remarks off, to tune them out the best he could
and keep his distance from the boy as to not give those two any more reasons to
tease them, but Dean wouldn’t have any of it, his overly attachedness ruining
the other’s efforts.
“Got a problem with that?” Dean snarled, glaring through the gap between the
two seats while squeezing Sam’s hand in his.
Ruby snickered lightly. “No, I think it’s cute.”
“Told you they were a set from the start,” Benny said, making Sam groan
inwardly. “Yet you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I know, but who would’ve thought that our Dean here would fall in wuv?” she
cooed in a silvery voice, to what the boy let out a barely audible growl.
“Yeah, well this is none of your damn business,” he hissed, before practically
squishing Sam against the window as he moved closer to him in their seats, and
now even he couldn’t stay silent.
“Okay everyone, enough,” Sam huffed in annoyance, ripping his hand out of the
other’s and folding his arms frustratedly. “Just shut up already.”
“Don’t listen to them, they’re just a bunch o’weirdos,” Dean purred, trying to
hug Sam, but instead of letting him, the younger boy glared at the older one.
“If they’re weirdos, then what are you?” he scoffed, before sinking lower in
his seat and turning his head away from Dean, definitely not sulking. Okay,
maybe he was a bit.
“Sammy,” the boy fake-whined as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead against
the back of Sam’s head, nuzzling him.
“Aw, how adorable.” Ruby laughed. “We’ll shut up if you kiss.”
“Okay, now you’re just acting like pedo—” Sam grumbled, making the mistake of
wanting to glare at them, and immediately getting a mouthful of Dean’s tongue
as soon as he turned his head back, his words muffled by a hard kiss. He dug
his fingers in the boy’s shoulders, however only resisted for like a moment,
the kiss feeling too good to get broken.
“Wow, look at them going at it,” Benny said with a chuckle, Sam making a soft
moan when Dean growled savagely, raking his nails down the boy’s back as he
pressed him further into the window.
Licking his lips in satisfaction when they parted, Dean looked at the amused
pair behind them and narrowed his eye. “That good enough for you?”
“Yup,” Ruby said, then laughed when she saw what Sam was certain was a huge
blush on his face.
He spent the remaining hour seething silently, cursing every single person in
this damn van, however after a while, he did let Dean hold his hand again, the
boy’s happy grin quickly washing his sullen mood away. That didn’t mean that he
was in a good mood, though, Sam’s stomach folding in on itself when they
entered a secluded road that led to the forest, before emerging in a wide
clearing giving home to one of the biggest and fanciest mansion he has ever
seen in his entire life.
It was massive. The bumpy earth beneath the car fell away to a relatively
smooth stone road as they neared the fence made of white bricks surrounding the
estate, the long and pretty damn tall wall of pure white only disturbed by the
gothic iron gate’s coal black color. There was already a dark-suited man
standing on the other side of the gate, and when Nick gave him a brisk nod that
was the closest he could probably muster to acknowledgment, the stranger
halfheartedly pushed some buttons and stepped aside as the heavy doors
gradually opened. The stones changed to grass as soon as the van rolled through
the gate and continued onward, toward the towering mansion in front of them. It
was seemingly getting taller and taller the closer they got to it, its sheer
size managing to intimidate Sam and making it much harder to keep calm and
think happy thoughts. A set of gray stone steps led up to the black double
doors of the building generally made up of colors such as white and beige, of
gold, the three storey mansion filled with clear windows and long pillared
balconies. And while on its left, there didn’t seem to be anything aside from
the brick fence, there was a smaller lake on the right, with a willow tree next
to it, along with a rather impressive-looking hedge maze, so big Sam wasn’t
sure if it even had an end.
“That’s…” he mumbled.
“A good way to spend money,” Benny said with a tiny chuckle, though even his
voice was lacking confidence now.
They pulled up in front of the building, and after Nick shut off the engine, he
turned in his seat and spoke to the whole group. “Alright boys and gals, time
to put your game faces on.”
One by one, they spilled out of the van and into the giant land that couldn’t
even be called a simple garden anymore, Sam trying not to gape at everything
shiny or big too much, as that wasn’t really aiding in the professional look he
was going for. As they walked toward the entrance, he couldn’t help but notice
how Dean was keeping close to him like some magnet, their elbows nearly
brushing, but right now, Sam didn’t think he would have minded locking arms
with him, if only as a form of reassurance.
The double doors opened moments before they reached them, but just when he
thought this place even had some sort of motion sensor built in their freaking
doors, he noticed the two goons holding them open for the group, the men only a
bushy mustache away from looking like biker gang members. The inside of this
big ass place was just as extravagant as the outside, maybe even more. They
were led down a long marble hallway by one of the men—who by the way haven’t
spoken a word yet, their silence only adding tension to the air—before emerging
into the wider part of the entrance that even had a staircase, the whole place
just sparkling from all the glassy, white and beige marble. Despite its
elegance, the mansion seemed cold, missing the plants, the little knick-knacks
and other decorations that would make a house into a home, this odd alienation
of the large building making Sam shudder in unease.
They only had to wait a moment or two before someone finally greeted them, the
woman appearing in the living room which they could see from where they were
standing, and giving them a scrutinizing look, Sam needing to hold back another
shudder as she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Follow me. The boss is waiting,” the woman said, before turning around and
disappearing to the left, leaving them no choice but to follow.
They went down the few steps that separated the living room from the entrance,
Sam hoping that his eyes were playing tricks on him when he thought he saw a
freaking polar bear skin rug on the floor, then passed through the doorway to
the left behind which the woman was waiting. She nodded to one of the brown
doors that were lining up this hallway when they joined her, the blood curdling
to ice in his veins when he saw her lips curl into the tiniest hint of a smirk.
“Skank,” Crowley muttered under his breath, clearing his throat, and for once,
Sam had to agree with the man.
The room they were showed to was a bit more normal than the rest of the place,
though still a far cry from safe, or cozy. He guessed it must have been because
of the sudden rush of warm colors, the place that obviously had to be a meeting
room furnished with plush-looking, deep brown armchairs around a long wooden
table, same shade of brown office cabinets, a television hanging from the far
wall, and it even had a carpeted flooring along with dark painted walls.
“Ah, here they are,” a man standing in front of the television and at the end
of the table said, his arms spread out in a welcoming way as he turned toward
them. Out of all the people Sam has seen here, this person seemed the most
nonchalant. He had a broad smile stuck to his face, his eyes twinkling with
what had to be mischief, and unlike the other men, he was dressed in casual
clothes. With a pair of jeans, a button down shirt, and a warm jacket, this guy
was like the definition of normal and boring, even his features lacking that
hard edge he’s seen in all those suited thugs.
This man looked like some mailman named Jerry, and the thought that he was the
boss of this scary gang had Sam torn between wanting to hide in a strange
panic, and feeling a small bit of relief.
“Azazel,” Nick spat, clearly doing his best not to start snarling at the other
man, and nodded at him, his own smile thin and taut.
“Been a long time, hasn’t it?” the man, apparently named Azazel, asked with a
laugh.
“Not long enough for my liking.”
Azazel shook his head. “Always so grumpy,” he said, before shifting his gaze to
the rest of the group, his toothy smile widening when his eyes landed on Sam,
making the younger boy take an unconscious step back, feeling somewhat
threatened even when Dean placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Well,
don’t just stand there. Come and sit. We have so much to discuss,” Azazel
continued, motioning at the chairs around the table as he took a seat in the
one at the end, and clasped his hands together on the wooden surface while
watching them expectantly.
Everyone found a chair to sit in, Sam choosing one that was the furthest away
from the unnerving man grinning at them. Dean sat next to him, of course, and
from where Sam was sitting, he could see the other’s tense back and shoulders,
the boy’s whole posture like that of an animal’s ready to pounce at any given
moment, Dean’s protectiveness managing to calm him down, though only just a
little.
“So, tell me,” Nick began, a hint of a scowl forming on his forehead. “Why are
we here? What could possibly be so important that you need my whole group
here?” The corner of his lips twitched into a sardonic smirk. “Or is this just
a practical way of eliminating us?”
Sam was pretty sure his heart stopped for a moment when Nick said that, but
thankfully, the other man just laughed and waved his hand dismissingly.
“Oh, come on Nicki!” Azazel leaned back in his chair, negligent to the sparking
tension that nickname brought to the room. “You know me better than to think
I’d lower myself like that. No, no, I didn’t call you and your little dream
team here to gas you…” the man explained in mock reassurance, before shrugging.
“You simply happen to have something of mine, that’s all.”
“Something of yours?” the other man asked with a visible frown now, his eyes
narrowing suspiciously.
“Yes,” Azazel said, “and I’d like it back.”
There was a pause of silence while those two stared at each other, and Sam
slowly sunk lower in his chair, hoping he could duck and find cover fast enough
if they were to decide that settling whatever this was required a weapons
discharge.
Finally, Nick broke the silence thick with the feeling of impending doom.
“Alright. What is it?”
The man’s lips twisted into a crooked grin, which really didn’t do wonders to
his face, and then Sam stopped breathing, his brain ceasing to function for a
split second as Azazel looked right at him and said, “Him.”
Everyone turned their gaze toward him, but he was way too stunned and perplexed
to even think, let alone react or explain what the fuck was going on, as even
he had no clue. Wide-eyed and feeling his pulse going from zero to one hundred
real damn quick as what was happening began to slowly sink in, he watched as
Dean jumped to his feet with such speed and intensity the chair toppled over
behind him, the loud thud of it hitting the floor being the only sound in the
eerily silent room.
That is, before the boy began shouting.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Dean exclaimed, slamming his hands
flat on the table and shooting a deadly glare at the man. Nick also stood up
with a glower of his own.
“Azazel—”
“I don’t owe an explanation to any of you delusional monkeys,” he interrupted,
unhurriedly getting out of his own chair. “I just need the boy. It’s up to you
whether this’ll be a pleasant experience we’ll all look back one day as a nice
memory, or if I’ll have to take him by force.”
“Wha—Why? I don’t even know you!” Sam blurted, finally snapping and starting to
panic, because this couldn’t be happening. How on earth could he possibly have
such crappy luck? This wasn’t normal, at all.
Azazel tilted his head, feigning hurt. “Aw, that stung. And here I thought our
meeting was…quite memorable.”
“I’ve never seen you in my life!” he hissed, standing up and slowly backing
away, his fists clenched in confused, defensive anger. “And I sure as hell
ain’t going with you.”
“Well,” the man said with a sigh, “I don’t think you get a say in that, Sammy
boy.”
“But I do,” Nick spoke up, eyes fierce as they glanced between Sam and Azazel,
before fixing on the man. “What is the meaning of this? Explain.”
Letting out yet another, tired sigh, Azazel shook his head. “Why should I
justify myself to the likes of you? Oh right, I don’t have to.” He grinned
wickedly, before snapping his fingers.
And then chaos.
Sam spun around at the sound of the door being flung open as several men forced
their way into the meeting room, and he barely had time to process what was
happening before one of them got a hold of his arm, already trying to drag him
out of the room. There was yelling and screaming, and as he struggled
hopelessly in the goon’s iron grip, he could make out his group’s members
engaging in a fistfight with Azazel’s men, especially Dean, who kind of went
into Hulk mode, kicking and clawing at anything in his way while trying to get
to Sam. However that still wasn’t enough, the boy quickly outmanned and getting
lost in the blur of suited people as Sam got yanked out of the room and into
the hallway.
“Let me go!” he shouted, but it was like he was yelling at a brick wall, the
man who had his hand clasped around Sam’s arm ignoring him and just continuing
dragging him down the hallway.
Suddenly all alone, without anyone to protect him, Sam took one glance back at
the room where the sounds of an ongoing battle were still audible, and when it
became evident that no one was going to come and save him, he began to
seriously panic.
This was unbelievable.
“You bulk of shit, let go!” He tugged desperately, kicking at the back of the
man’s knees, but when that didn’t work, he grabbed an expensive-looking vase
and shattered it over the asshole’s head.
“You little…!” the man growled in irritation, unfortunately not seeming too
fazed by Sam’s vase trick, and instead of letting him go, he just tightened his
grip on the boy, making him hiss in pain.
He was real close to going into hysterics. The man kept dragging him, taking
him through the living room, then back to the entrance, and Sam couldn’t do
anything about it. He was completely powerless in this man’s grasp, a feeble
fucking stick compared to the muscular thug, and it was excruciating. Everyone
else was fighting, Dean was probably getting beaten up because of him, all of
this was because of him, and Sam didn’t even know what he did. Why him? Why was
it always him?
He felt so useless, so confused, so damn scared. Frustrated tears stung his
eyes as he screamed, as he threw one curse after another at the man, but
nothing was working. This was the worst, the very worst, and he seriously
considered just breaking down, when he saw something that lit a glimmer of hope
in his eyes.
Waiting until they reached it, Sam reached out and took a hold of the bottle of
liquor on the small, round table next to the bottom of the stairs, swiftly
shattered it against a pillar, then just as the man turned around, Sam used the
shard still in his hand to stab him, the goon howling in fury when the sharp
glass pierced the flesh of his wrist.
“Lowly piece of shit!” the man roared, reaching out toward him, but Sam was
already on the move, nearly tripping as he darted for the transparent door
leading outside.
A sadistic déjà-vu, he thought as he ran blindly. That’s what this was, what it
had to be. This was the second time in his life he had to run from those that
wanted to kidnap him, and this time they wanted to take him from his
kidnappers, that weird thought making him want to laugh and burst into bitter
tears at the same time. How was this supposed to be fair? He didn’t know, but
either way, he could contemplate on what he did or who he offended to deserve
this after he was a safe distance away from his pursuer, who was
disappointingly catching up to him quickly.
He forced his legs to move faster, even as he felt like his limbs might fall
off and his heart might get propelled out of his chest, then skidded to a stop
as he reached the hedge maze, his mind going crazy as he considered every
possible option, but seeing how there was already someone at the gate which he
planned on climbing, surely waiting for him, Sam had no choice but to
improvise. Already knowing that this was a horrible idea, as if he learned
anything from The Shining, it was never to get trapped in a maze while being
chased by a psychopath, but seeing no other way, Sam braced himself and dashed
straight into the belly of the green serpent.
It was disorienting, the more turns he made and the deeper he went, the more it
felt like he was going in circles, getting himself lost in the giant labyrinth.
But hopefully the confusing layout of the maze would serve as an advantage, Sam
praying to whoever would listen that he’ll do anything, just please don’t let
them find him, please. He kept running and running, taking sharp lefts and
rights, just moving blindly for who knows how long, before he couldn’t take it
anymore. He was sweating and panting harshly, his heart hammering in his chest
and his legs trembling, threatening to give out any second, but he needed to
keep going, keep running.
Sam took a few more left turns before he got to a dead end, where he gripped
the cold leaves of the bushes as he leaned forward, trying to catch his breath,
then just gave up and fell to his knees, his legs unable to support him any
longer.
This was a living nightmare. He simply couldn’t wrap his mind around what was
happening, didn’t want to believe it, but it wasn’t like he could just press
rewind and make all of this unhappen. He tried to take slow and controlled,
silent breaths as he crawled to the corner of the dead end, assessing the
situation, but still, it was impossible. Sam had no idea why Azazel, a man he’s
never met in his entire life, would want to take him from Nick. Was it because
of their rivalry? Did he just want to one-up the other? But why Sam? Because he
was the youngest, and therefore, easiest target?
So many questions and little to no answers. It was making his head hurt. He
sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, and decided
to just worry about those later. For now, he needed to think. He needed to
plan. He needed to get the fuck away from these maniacs.
How? He had no goddamn clue.
First, he couldn’t go back to the mansion. No way, even though the thoughts of
leaving everyone in there had him worrying about Dean, he still couldn’t. They
were professionals, so they could take care of themselves anyway, right? God,
he hoped so. He kind of wanted to fight alongside them, but then again, these
people… They had the strength of a body builder. So, no going back there.
But—and that was the second on his list—he also couldn’t go to the gate, or use
the car, as Nick had the keys and, well, Sam doubted that he could karate kick
his way to the gate either, the man he saw standing there seeming he could
probably snap bones as easily as toothpicks.
Which kind of basically meant he was screwed.
He rubbed his face, taking a deep breath, but that immediately got caught in
his throat and he froze to a statue when he heard the rustle of the bushes
coming not far from him. Sam remained motionless, straining his ears to listen
while telling himself that it was fine, it could’ve very easily just been a
squirrel or the wind, then couldn’t keep that calm anymore when he heard the
taunting voice.
“I know you’re here, kid,” the man drawled, and oh god no, his voice was coming
from way too close. “You can’t hide for long. Not here, and especially not from
us.”
Sam pulled his knees up to his chest, pressing close against the hedge behind
his back, and held his breath, hoping that maybe if he didn’t move or show any
signs of life, the man wouldn’t find him.
There was a pause, then he was talking again. “You know, we mean no harm. You
run from us, sure, we’ll hunt you down, but this is a safe place. Not that run-
down shithole those pathetic punks live, but here. This is where you’re
supposed to be.”
He wanted to snort in disbelief, but instead just rolled his eyes. This guy was
making no sense, and honestly, Sam was starting to get really fed up by all
these unclear statements, the way everyone just kept beating around the bush
seriously infuriating him. Though it wasn’t like he could just shout out “Hey,
explain what you mean right now” without seeming like a complete idiot, so he
supposed he’d just have to wait, like always.
“There is no use in hiding.” The voice was turning impatient, and Sam gulped
nervously when he heard the growing sound of footsteps. “All you’re doing is
prolonging the inevitable. Though…I could never say no to a fun game of hide
and seek.”
This was real bad. He needed to leave, and he needed to do it now, or else the
man would find him for sure. For god’s sake, Sam was a sitting duck, and he was
pretty certain that if he’d let himself get caught by these people, this time
it would most definitely not end happily. So he needed to do something, but
what? He had no weapons, and despite his trainings he was weak, the punches
that worked on Benny doing nothing to this guy. All he could possibly do was
run, but he also couldn’t run forever. Still, he guessed running was good
enough for now. Much better than getting caught.
He carefully got to his feet, straining all five of his senses and secretly
hoping to gain the power of invisibility as he very slowly stalked forward,
making sure not to step on any leaves or branches, on anything that could make
even the smallest noise. The sudden silence was unnerving, making him
apprehensive but also slightly hopeful, wondering if maybe the man had taken
another route and lost him; however that idea was rapidly discarded when the
speak of the devil stepped out of a corner and into his field of vision, Sam’s
eyes going plate sized as he stared at the grinning figure.
“There you are, little boy,” the man purred alarmingly as he began closing in
on him.
“Stay away from me!” Sam shouted, instinctively backing away even though he
knew he should’ve at least given a try to slipping past the brute in front of
him, but right now his panicked mind couldn’t quite think along the lines of
practical or valiant. “What do you want?!”
The man chuckled. “Shouldn’t that be obvious by now?”
“But why? I don’t get it,” Sam argued, his clenched fists trembling at his
sides as he kept backing away, gritting his teeth.
“That’s not for me to explain,” he said casually, shrugging. “But if you come
with me, the boss will be more than happy to tell you everything.”
Sam did snort this time. “Like hell,” he scoffed, however the defying flames in
his eyes flickered when he felt the bushes behind his back, then went out
completely when the man flashed a sick, twisted grin at him.
“Got nowhere to run now,” he stated with a great deal of satisfaction, and all
Sam could do was watch hopelessly as the man closed the rest of the distance
between the two of them, feeling small a fucking pathetic. “Will you be a good
boy and come willingly, or will I have to resort to violence again?”
Sam actually thought about it, weighting the pros and the cons, then was like
fuck this, he wasn’t going to be the lenient little captive, and snarled at the
man before trying to scurry through the space between the goon and the hedge to
his right. He made it a good four steps, then cried out in pain as his hair was
grabbed and yanked, the force snapping his head back so far and hard that Sam
was sure his neck was going to break. It didn’t, though, but it did hurt like
hell, the pain only doubling when he got thrown onto the ground with way too
much ease, and then he was gaping up at the man who wrapped a hand around his
throat, Sam having a fleeting thought wondering why everyone felt the need to
go for his throat every damn time, before he was grunting as his jaw got
punched.
Again and again, the man kept on slugging him in the face, which hurt so much
it was slowly becoming numb, and no matter how much Sam struggled and tried
punching him back, his blows and efforts were completely useless. It wasn’t
long before he gave up, the pain too unbearable and causing his mind to just
shut down, but that didn’t seem to bother his aggressor too much, the man
continuing his assault on Sam’s face until his vision began darkening,
everything seeming so far away, then nothing.
He lost consciousness, welcoming the serene, painless darkness it brought with
itself, only getting a disoriented glimpse at the man’s haunting face before
that one last punch knocked him out, the last thing he saw being the clear blue
sky contouring a dark face, an animalistic sneer, and a pair of eyes that had
the pitch black color of the night…
 
***** The Truth Hurts *****
 
Sam groaned as he rolled onto his stomach in the bed, then groaned again, the
pain as he lay his aching face on the pillow pulling him back to the waking
world.
He blinked his eyes open as he shifted onto his back, raising a hand to his
face and hissing as he touched a bruise on his forehead. Damn even frowning
hurt, but maintaining a straight face right now wasn’t really possible in the
puzzled state he was in, it proving even harder to keep calm when he remembered
just what happened.
A fight broke out. He ran away, then got caught, and then…
It couldn’t be, but as Sam glanced around the room he was in, it was pretty
evident that, yep—he managed to get himself kidnapped yet again.
Wow, the world really hated him, didn’t it?
He sat up in the bed he was in, gripping the surprisingly soft blanket, and
looked around, studying the room. Judging by his surroundings and the amout of
marble trying stubbornly to blind him, he was still in the mansion, that
realization making him nauseous.
What happened? Well, no, he knew what happened. But what about after he got
knocked out? How did he get from lying on the hard ground of the hedge maze,
getting beaten to a bloody pulp by a lunatic, to a luxurious bedroom with silk
sheets, large, clear windows and crystal lamps?
Feeling as dread twisted his gut, Sam gingerly got out of bed, noting how aside
from his shoes, all of his clothes were still on him, making him gladly cross
“sexual assault” off the his list of possible scenarios. He shuffled in his
socks to the glass doors on his left, noticing they led to the balcony as he
stopped in front of them, only hesitating for a few moments before sliding them
open. Outside, the air was slowly getting chillier, Sam feeling a slight
shudder pass through his body as he stepped onto the cold stone of the balcony.
The sun was already setting, giving the sky a deep, fiery orange tint, making
him wonder just how much time has passed, that thought immediately followed by
worry.
What happened to the others?
No, scratch that; what happened to Dean?
He walked over to the edge of the thick, beige stone balcony and leaned over
the railing, but as he glanced down at the garden, his stomach dropped. The van
they came in was gone, which could only mean that everyone was gone, too. Sam
tried not to think of the worst, hoped that they just drove away by themselves
no matter how much the thought of betrayal hurt him, as it was still better
than seeing them in the same black garbage bags he once saw his father’s
remains being shoved in. He just hoped with all of his might that Dean was
okay, even though he was sad, because the boy lied to him, broke his promise.
He said he’d always be with Sam, but where was he now…?
Thinking of the boy made him want to cry, which wasn’t good. He couldn’t show
weakness on enemy territory, but at the same time, how was he supposed to
control his emotions in a fucked up situation like this? This was the second
time he got kidnapped. How did that saying go again, “Fool me once, shame on
you; fool me twice, shame on me”? Well yeah, this wasn’t normal. He shouldn’t
have let it happen, should have fought harder instead of just giving in,
instead of letting that savage beat him up, but damn it, that son of a bitch
was too strong. That shouldn’t have been normal either, how easily Azazel’s
goons managed to get the upper hand, Sam remembering how they blocked Dean’s
advance as if that was the simplest thing in the world which, knowing the boy,
it wasn’t at all. It was like they were some highly trained military gorillas,
pumped full of steroids, capable of killing with just one look.
One look…
A terrified shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the man’s eyes. He must
have imagined it, he had to, because it was as if before he lost consciousness,
he saw the man’s eyes switch from a normal brown to something horrifying. They
were black, his eyes. Completely—the pupils, irises, the white of his eyes;
everything. Which obviously wasn’t possible, but even if Sam only thought he
saw that because he hit his head the wrong way, it was still freaky, and more
than a bit scary. Still, he knew that the human eyes would never be able to do
something like that, and getting frightened by his own delusions was just
useless.
He looked back up at the sky, which was glowing in a darker shade now, the sun
as if hurrying to hide behind the trees of the forest surrounding the mansion,
drawing its last rays of warm light back in fear of what was to come. Sam was
scared too, however he couldn’t hide. He had to find a way out of this place,
feeling hopeful when he noticed that the gate was without a guard, giving him
the perfect chance to climb it and make a run for it.
Pushing himself away from the thick railing of the balcony, he examined it for
the first time, only now realizing how freaking huge it was. Well, more like
long, much wider than a usual balcony would be. It ran all the way along this
side of the mansion, serving as many other rooms’ balcony, which made Sam
anxious right away, worrying that someone might come waltzing out of one of the
rooms and spot him. He swallowed nervously, staying outside for a few more
moments and studying the railing lined up with smooth stone pillars stretching
all the way up the ceiling that was the next storey’s balcony, before
reluctantly going back to the bedroom he woke up in, closing the glass doors
behind him.
It was dark inside now, and no matter how much he didn’t want to draw too much
attention to himself, he supposed knocking over something because he couldn’t
see would have been worse. He turned on the translucent crystal lamps on either
side of the bed, and if this place wouldn’t have belonged to a bunch of madmen,
then Sam would have even enjoyed being here. He had to admit, this room was
pretty awesome, full of warm colors and luxurious decorations, with a golden
framed mirror hanging above a light marble cupboard, an expensive-looking fur
rug spread out in front of the dark oak bed, and a series of elegant wall
decorations, golden patterns swirling up and down on a cream background.
Glancing at the white door leading out of the room, Sam hesitated. He couldn’t
just rush out like this, without any weapons or at least a well thought out
plan in mind. But he didn’t know the complete layout of the mansion, could
barely even remember the places he’s been to, as he was in too much of a hurry
while running away to store every single detail, and create a map in his head.
He didn’t even know where he was, though he supposed that didn’t really matter.
As long as he found the stairs leading down, he would know where to go.
But first, he would actually have to get there somehow.
He wasn’t exactly sure how many people there were in the building, but it would
have been careless to assume that nobody would be guarding his room. He was a
prisoner here, bound to wake up any moment, so leaving him alone would be
idiotic. That meant that there had to be at least one of Azazel’s men nearby,
and probably more downstairs and all around the house. Damn it, he would have
to be sneaky again, even though he hated doing that so much. It was bad for his
health.
Well actually, these past few weeks have been a constant strain on his health,
really, both mental and physical.
Anyway, staying low and quiet with his size and agility shouldn’t be too hard,
and since it was getting dark, he might even be able to hide in the shadows,
use the darkness to his advantage. Yes, that should work…
Now all Sam needed was a weapon, and he’d be ready to go and get the hell out
of this damn place.
He scanned the room for anything sharp and lethal-looking, but disappointingly,
found none; however while checking the drawers of the bedside tables, he did
notice a glass of water on top of one of them, placed next to the crystal lamp,
just sitting there temptingly. They must have put it there for when he’d wake
up, knowing he might be thirsty. How considerate.
Sam frowned at the glass before picking it up, then sniffed its transparent
content. He was thirsty, and if he would have been anywhere else, he would have
probably downed the water without question in like a matter of seconds, but not
here. Here, who knew if the water was drugged or not? Maybe even poisoned. He
couldn’t take the inviting water’s safety for granted, and no matter how
parched his throat was, Sam was not going to risk it. He wasn’t dying, wasn’t
stuck in some kind of a desert, so he could get water later, preferably when
he’d be well away from this place.
Still, the glass of water wasn’t completely useless. It would’ve been a stretch
to say that it was the appropriate weapon that Sam was looking for, but it was
something. Certainly better than if he’d have to go headfirst into action empty
handed. So, with a heavy heart, he poured the glass’s contents on the floor,
before placing the empty glass on the bed and covering it with a fluffy pillow,
then proceeded to punch the shit out of it. When he was positive that he broke
most of it, he removed the pillow and studied the mini wreckage, wondering
which piece could cause the most damage. In the end, he picked up a shard that
looked a lot like the blade of a small dagger, careful not to cut himself as he
turned it in his hand. It was sharp enough indeed, though maybe too sharp,
having the potential of sinking into his palm if he gripped it too tight. Ah
well, it’s not like he was new to pain. He could handle a little cut if it
meant he could give a bigger one to these sons of bitches.
He held the shard in his right hand as he slowly made his way to the door,
where he stood still for a long moment, just listening, but when he couldn’t
hear anything, not even after a full minute, Sam took a deep breath and turned
the handle.
Cautiously, he opened the door until it was ajar, then peeked through the
narrow gap, knees bent and Sam ready to slash at anything that moved. Nothing
did, thankfully, and as his eyes darted around the dimly lit, aureate hallway,
he was relieved to note that he was alone. There was another door opposite him,
so he would have to keep an eye on that, but aside from the other room, there
were only a few lamps lining up the walls of the hallway, illuminating it with
their faint, flaming glow. No one sitting in a chair or pacing around while
whistling the funeral march, which was wonderful news so far, so after taking
one more quick glance around, Sam took a tentative step forward and slipped out
of the room.
He closed the door behind him as silently as possible, before getting into a
crouching position and starting down the hallway, keeping close to the wall. He
took short breaths, straining his ears and eyes for any sound or movement, but
everything seemed quiet. Maybe too quiet…
Sam stopped when he got to the end of the hallway, slowly leaning out his head
from behind the wall to look around another corridor, this one horizontal from
where he was crouching, the hallways forming an oversized T as they met.
Glancing from left to right, he let out a small gasp when he saw someone coming
from the right, Sam immediately clasping his free hand over his mouth and
withdrawing into the hallway he was in, pressing his back into the wall while
listening to the person’s footsteps, which were becoming louder and louder. He
clenched his jaw, bracing himself for an attack and ready to strike if need be,
his pulse so goddamn loud in his ears he barely heard when the suited man
appeared in his field of vision. Wide-eyed and desperately trying to merge with
the wall behind him, Sam watched the man’s back as he walked past him and the
corridor he was in, before disappearing behind a door.
Tilting his head back, Sam let out a slow, unsteady exhale. Maybe he really was
good at sneaking around, huh?
He quickly glanced around one more time, and when he was sure he couldn’t see
anyone, he headed to the left, all the while keeping low and channeling his
inner ninja.
This corridor led to an oval-shaped hall surrounded by many pillared doorways,
Sam crouching in one of them and pressing his shoulder against the cold pillar
as he looked into the brightly illuminated room. It was mostly empty, save for
the round and heavy-looking chandelier hanging from the dome ceiling, and the
top of a staircase in the middle, presumably and hopefully the one that’s
bottom he’s seen at the entrance.
He chewed on his lips, thinking hurriedly. The hall was too bright, so he
couldn’t hang back in the darkness and become one with the shadows, which was a
bummer. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to pull off a flawless escape with all
these lights coming from the chandelier and the hallways acting like some
spotlights, but he had to try. He already came this far, and he sure as hell
wasn’t going to stop now.
So without further ado, Sam steeled himself and left the doorway, bolting for
the staircase. He took a hold of the golden pillar once he finally reached it,
still crouching as he paused at the top and stared down at the steps that
curved to the left, preventing him to see if there was anyone at the bottom of
the stairs. Well, he guessed he’d just have to find out the hard way as he
began slowly creeping down the steps, keeping his eyes peeled as the room
downstairs gradually unfolded before and under him, Sam immensely glad he
couldn’t see anyone yet.
Unfortunately, he did not have eyes in the back of his head, and so when he
heard the sudden voice behind him, Sam was a teensy bit surprised.
“Having a walk by yourself?” someone asked, all sorts or red alarms going off
in Sam’s head when he spun around and saw a smirking man at the top of the
stairs.
“Shit.” The word slipped out of his mouth as his eyes widened in panic, the
sound as the man laughed sending a bone-chilling shiver down his spine, and
then he was turning around and running the rest of the way down, not really
wanting to wait for the thug to follow him.
In his frantic state, however, he didn’t realize that running on polished
marble while wearing socks wasn’t the best idea, and after only a few steps,
Sam was yelping and grunting as his foot slipped on one of the steps, the fall
sending him tumbling down the stairs. He hit his head and ribs, groaning when
he got sprawled out at the bottom, his whole body hurting, and it was a miracle
he didn’t break his goddamn neck.
“Nice. What a majestic performance,” the man said mockingly, chuckling as he
made his way down the stairs, and Sam was seriously freaking now.
He crawled forward like some pitiful slug, unable to jump up and run because he
fucking busted his ankle, and even the glass shard got knocked out of his hand,
though it wasn’t too far away, so he might be able to reach it before that
psycho reached him. Gritting his teeth in pain and effort, Sam didn’t even give
a damn when the glass bit into his skin as he grabbed it, too busy at the
moment worrying about the man who was right behind him and trying to lift him
up.
“Fuck off!” Sam screeched as the man hooked his arms under the frantic boy’s
shoulders before beginning to drag him to the living room, the pain of his
ankle sliding along the floor and the frustration of being picked up and
manhandled so easily sending him into a frenzy. He thrashed and slashed blindly
at the man’s arms, then behind him while hoping to hit something, most
preferably an eyeball, but aside from tightening his hold and making an annoyed
grunt, Sam’s captor barely reacted. He let out a pained sound as he got thrown
onto the polar bear rug—he knew he saw it right—and then immediately got into a
sitting position, growling at the man while glaring daggers at him; however
when he realized they weren’t alone in the room, Sam’s blood and very being
froze to shimmering ice.
Azazel was sitting on the long, white divan sofa behind the glass table between
him and Sam, holding a knife which he turned in his hands, the light from the
lamps reflecting and twinkling on the blade’s stainless surface and
successfully making the boy sick with horror. He sighed, giving Sam a quick
once-over before gently placing the knife onto the table, then turned to look
at the man standing near the rug.
“Tell me,” he said to the man, voice resembling Nick’s alarmingly calm tone,
“why does his face look like someone’s been going at it with a meat cleaver?”
The man shrugged, then realizing his mistake, quickly said, “Sean must have
felt the need to knock him unconscious. I wasn’t there.”
Azazel hummed in understanding before his eyes narrowed. “You were the one to
bring him to me, though. Any idea why the boy can’t get on his feet?”
“He fell off the stairs all by himself,” the man explained hurriedly, taking a
discreet, barely visible step back. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Yes, yes. I’m sure it had nothing to do with you,” he said absently as he
leaned back in the sofa, his eyes gliding to the frozen boy on the floor.
“Sammy! How do you feel, buddy?”
He snarled, gripping the fur beneath his palm as he moved to his knees, wanting
to just throw the glass shard in his hand at that jackass and hope for it to
get embedded in his head. He was so ready to try it out, to lash out with words
and start flipping tables, but before any words could’ve left his twisted lips,
Sam’s attention was suddenly drawn by the man still standing near them, and by
the sounds he was making. A gag, a series of choking noises, and then he was
coughing up blood, backing away with bulging eyes while clawing at his throat,
looking like someone who was having a violent fit, but this was too much even
for that.
It didn’t last long, the man quickly falling to his knees as blood leaked from
every orifice of his body, before collapsing onto the marble floor, his limbs
jerking for a few more seconds and then stopping, leaving Sam baffled and
gaping at the unmoving body.
Shock overriding anger, he shifted his aghast eyes to Azazel, struggling with
the words that seemed to be stuck in his throat, too afraid to come out. “I-Is
he…?”
“Dead?” He smirked, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Yes, he is. Not like he
will be missed; I have more than I can handle to replace him.”
“But how?” he asked in confusion, looking from the man to the one lying on the
floor, then back to the one on the sofa.
“Oh Sammy,” Azazel said with a small laugh, shaking his head as he got up and
slowly walked around the table, Sam gulping and trying to crab walk away from
the eerie man when he came over to the rug and squatted down in front of the
boy. “I must say, you are in for a treat. What do you say the two of us catch
up on the lost years, hm?”
Sam frowned, glowering at the man and holding out the piece of glass in front
of him in what he hoped was a threatening way. “Get away from me! I don’t
fucking know you, I don’t get why you keep going on about that!”
“Well, yes… I guess you wouldn’t be able to remember me,” the man said with a
shrug. “You were just a baby then, after all.”
“What?” he asked, but instead of answering, Azazel abruptly leaned forward and
touched Sam’s forehead, the boy gasping when he felt a strange and alien warmth
spread out and across his face. It didn’t hurt, but it was weird as hell, and
he instantly slapped the man’s hand away before—knowing that this was probably
the best and only chance he’d get—trying to plunge the shard into that creep’s
neck.
However before the razor sharp glass could’ve broken the man’s skin, it flew
right out of Sam’s hand, bouncing off the far wall before falling to the floor
with a soft clank.
Blinking at the shard a few feet away from him, Sam wondered if he managed to
hit his head the wrong way, because there was no way that thing just fucking
soared through the air like it gained a life of its own. When, even after a
long moment, his brain failed to come up with a satisfying answer for what just
happened, he raised his gaze to Azazel who was in the middle of standing up, a
cocky smirk spreading across his face when he noticed the boy staring.
“Surprised?” He chuckled, his smirk widening into a devious grin as his eyes
began glowing, changing color and turning into a sick yellow right in front of
Sam’s very eyes. “You shouldn’t be. This is your reality, after all.”
Okay, Sam was definitely losing it.
He gaped at the man, eyes widening so much they hurt, then when he rubbed them
and hoped to wake up from this fucked up nightmare already, he realized it
didn’t hurt. Hesitantly, Sam raised his fingers to his forehead, sliding his
fingertips along the smooth skin and looking for a bruise, for a wound or a
cut, however found nothing. He poked his cheeks, rubbed his face, but every
single one of the wounds he gained while getting KO’d in the hedge maze were
just…gone.
And when he looked back at Azazel, and his eyes were still that bloodcurdling
yellow, Sam’s brain ticked before exploding and sending him into hysteria.
What the fuck was going on?
“What the fuck is going on?!” he yelled, voicing his thoughts as he heard it
was therapeutic, and he really was in need of answers, like right this instant.
“Calm your horses, Sammy,” Azazel said unhurriedly, like everything was
perfectly normal and his eyes weren’t glowing yellow.
“Calm down?” he bellowed with an incredulous snort-like sound. “You don’t get
to tell me to calm down while looking like this and…a-and doing shit that makes
no sense!”
“Right, it wouldn’t make sense to you.” The man sighed, before going back to
the sofa and sitting down. He then narrowed those penetrating golden eyes at
Sam, and said, “I won’t sugarcoat it for you. I’m a demon. Everyone in this
place is one. The monsters you’ve heard of? They’re real. Ghosts and
werewolves, even vampires, though less sparkly and with more teeth. Heaven and
Hell, angels and demons, the boogeyman and so, so much more…they all exist.”
Azazel watched him, probably waiting for him to react, however Sam’s mind
wasn’t in a cooperative mood.
Monsters? Demons?
No way.
Shaking his head, Sam let out a weak laugh. “No, that can’t be. This is
ridiculous! Those things are all just made up.”
“That’s what the common folk believe. Safe and sound in their little bubble of
‘normal’ things, but we all know that there is no such thing as normal. You and
I more than anyone else…” Azazel flashed his teeth as he grinned at Sam, who
was looking at the man—or just maybe, demon—with unbelieving eyes. “We are both
special, Sammy, in more ways than one. We have a calling, a reason for existing
in this world, and my reason starts here. It starts with you.”
“Me?” he blurted miserably, his mouth working to form words that didn’t exist,
that lost all sense and meaning on their way from his brain to his lips. “I
don’t get it, I… I’m not special! Why me? Why?”
“Oh no, no, no,” Azazel said in a somewhat soothing, condoling voice. “You are
very special, Sam. Very much so. I daresay you’re the most important child on
Earth right now.” He leaned forward where he sat, glowing eyes narrowing
wickedly. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time. We were
destined to meet again, you and me, to end up here. And aren’t you lucky? I
chose you. You, and not anyone else. You will be the prince of Hell.”
Sam gaped at him, face twisted into a look of baffled horror. This was insane.
It felt like he was in a dream, everything seemed way too surreal, just too
damn impossible. But no, the pain in his ankle told him that this was real, a
real living nightmare with no way of waking up. He was stuck in this reality,
but it was all too much, Azazel making no sense whatsoever, and Sam just wanted
to go home, he wanted this to end, he wanted Dean, where was Dean—
Noticing Sam’s rapidly growing discomfort, the demon quickly continued. “I’ve
been keeping an eye on you ever since your mother died. Ever since John thought
it would be a good idea dragging you cross-country and keeping you locked up in
motel rooms while he was out…looking for me,” he said, unable to stifle his
laughter when he saw the look of shock on Sam’s face. “Yes, your father was
hunting me and my kind, which I suppose was understandable. I murdered his
beloved wife, after all.”
“Y-You…what?” Sam’s whole body was being shaken with light trembles from the
colorful lake of emotions inside him, feelings such as rage and terror,
bewilderment and shock battling it out in his mind and making it impossible for
him to focus on any of them for too long. However hearing what Azazel just said
turned the fury caught in the jumble of emotions into a bright beacon, and Sam
found his strength to glare at the demon, to growl and snarl like a cornered
animal. “You were the one who killed my mom?!”
Shrugging, as if it meant nothing to him, Azazel waved a hand dismissingly and
nodded. “Yeah, that was kind of a slip on my part. You see, sweet little Mary
wasn’t supposed to be there when I entered your room. She wasn’t supposed to
interfere, but alas, you cannot stop a mother that’s trying to protect her
child. So yes, I had no choice but to burn her alive.”
“You son of a bitch!!” Sam howled, not caring about the searing pain shooting
up his leg as he jumped to his feet and dived for the knife on the table,
seeing red from all the sorrow and fury. But just before he could’ve reached
the blade, he was suddenly and unbelievably getting flung back by nothing,
flying backward until he hit the long and hard surface of the fireplace.
Then stayed suspended there, as if held in place by invisible ropes.
“I understand how angry you must be now,” Azazel told him as he slowly made his
way over to where Sam was literally hanging from nothing, supported by thin
air, yet still unable to move his body, “and you’re right in doing so. But that
was a long time ago, it was a…necessary evil, I’m afraid. For my plans to work,
I had to eliminate mommy dearest, and send daddy on a wild goose chase. It was
perfect like that, my men always able to keep an eye on you while John was out
hunting.” His lips stretched into a corrupt smile, before faltering and turning
into a sneer. “That failure of a father getting himself killed and losing my
most beloved creation was not part of the plan, though.”
Sam struggled against the invisible force, barely even listening to Azazel who
apparently loved to hear his own voice. No, Sam was a bit preoccupied by going
haywire, because he was being kept in place by nothing, and that wasn’t normal
at all. The signs were staring him in the face—quite literally—and no matter
how unbelievable, how im-fucking-possible it all seemed, it was real. This was
happening, with or without Sam’s brain’s consent, and now that he was more or
less done freaking the hell out, he needed to know what this…demon was going on
about.
“I’m a normal human boy, for god’s sake!” he hissed through gritted teeth,
shooting a weak glare at Azazel. “I’m not whatever it is you think I am!”
The yellow-eyed demon slowly shook his head, that petrifying smile back on his
face. “You are the furthest thing from normal, Sammy. You’re my child, became
mine when I fed you with a few drops of my blood on the night I killed your
mother. It changed you right at the anatomical level, dirtied a part of your
pure, innocent little soul in the best way possible. Demon blood, Sam—it’s
better than Ovaltine, has all the vitamins and minerals. Makes you big and
strong.”
“You…” His voice trailed off, Sam feeling sick. Demon blood? That monster fed
him with his own blood? How fucked up was that?
He tensed impossibly more when the demon stepped closer to him, Azazel standing
at eye level with the suspended boy. “I have no intentions to hurt you, Sam,”
he said, voice taking on a softer, more reassuring tone. “I might have come
across that way, what with getting into your head and giving you all those
horrible nightmares, killing Mary and now separating you from Nick’s group.”
The demon smiled at the look of worry etched onto Sam’s face upon hearing his
boss’s name. “They’re alive, just so you know. I only had my men throw them
out…that is, after beating them unconscious. One of them was particularly hard
to subdue. I assume you two are close?”
Sam snarled. “None of your damn business,” he growled warningly, though felt a
slight relief knowing that Dean and the others were still alive.
“Alright, alright. I won’t pry.” Azazel raised his hands in mock surrender,
smile widening. “Anyway, I want you to know that you don’t have to feel
threatened here—”
“Don’t have to feel threatened?!” he snapped, baring his teeth at the demon.
“I’m trapped in a place full of fucking monsters and, what, you want me to feel
safe?”
“Point taken,” Azazel said as he took a step back, then after a flick of his
wrist, Sam was suddenly falling and crying out in pain when his aching foot met
the floor, nearly collapsing from the small but painful impact, however
managing to balance himself on his good leg. “There, no more violence,” the
demon stated, to what Sam shot him a cynical glare. Not seeming to be too fazed
by it, he continued. “I mean it, Sam. My plans for you do not involve pain and
bloodshed, at least not any concerning you. You see, I’ve been wanting for us
to meet for a long time now, but I waited instead. Always watching over you,
but waiting. Patient. When you disappeared from my radar, I must say I was
slightly distressed. Snapped some necks, burned a few people, massacred some
cattle—you know, just the usual. Imagine my joy and surprise when one of my
demons told me he saw you and Dean at the Albuquerque airport! I would have
never thought that the very people that work for me would kidnap you,
unknowingly aiding me in my plans.
“I wondered if I should kill them all and take you from them, but then settled
on simply luring them in my trap and snatch you like that instead. I do still
need Nick for a few things in the future, so killing him off would have been
such a stupid waste. And now that you’re finally here, where you belong, you
can relax. Sam, this place is yours. I mean it. Everyone here is at your
service, because they know better. They will be loyal and obedient because
you’re important; because you’re the boy king of Hell.”
“I’m what?!” Sam stared at Azazel in shock, his mind struggling to keep up with
all the information. This was too much, too fast, and now suddenly he was the
king of Hell?
What the fuck?
“You have incredible power inside you,” the demon said enthusiastically, yellow
orbs shining brightly. “Dormant, but so very powerful. I planted a seed in your
very soul that night, in that room, and now the time has come for it to grow,
to flourish! You could be so much more, Sammy, can’t you see? You are nothing
like the rest of them. Not a human, not even a demon; you’re special. Chosen by
none other than Lucifer himself!”
Sam opened and closed his mouth, then just gave up. Seriously? First demons,
and now Satan? He didn’t know if he should start laughing or crying.
Unperturbed by Sam’s shocked silence, Azazel kept on talking. “With my help,
you will become one of the most powerful beings on this Earth. An unstoppable
killing machine, rivaling the strength of both Heaven and Hell. The potential
is already in you, and all you need to achieve the desired results is right
here,” he explained, a crooked grin twisting his features as it split his face.
“All you need is some blood.”
Seeing the wicked glee in Azazel’s twinkling eyes, Sam went completely pale,
his stomach doing backflips as those words sunk in. “No,” he refused, shaking
his head and limping back until he was pressing himself against the fireplace
again, this time by his own accord. “I won’t turn into some Antichrist, fuck
that! Both you and your little demon army can go back to Hell, because I’m not
going to be some kind of vampire and…drink your blood.” He shuddered just from
the mere thought of it, then tried to focus on his disgust and resentment
toward the demon as he fixed him with a glare, needing to ignore any self-
pitying or panicked thoughts, at least for now.
“I won’t force you,” Azazel said with a sigh after a while, “but this is also
not your decision to make. Sooner or later, you will come around. I know,
because we have all the time in the world, and you’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m not staying here,” he stated, the confidence missing from his voice, which
he realized with disappointment was trembling slightly.
“Yes, you are,” Azazel said matter-of-factly, not even raising his voice
anymore, just sounding casual and somewhat tired now. “This place is your home
now. You can try to escape as much as you want, you’re free to do so, but you
will never succeed. And I don’t know about you, but if it would be me in your
shoes, I wouldn’t even try. I mean, Sammy, come on. You will be treated as a
young king here. All my men are yours, and who wouldn’t want a whole race as
their servants? Hell could be your playground. This mansion here is just the
tip of the iceberg, and if you’d accept my help, you could have so much more.
Don’t tell me you’ve never dreamed about it.” The demon’s lips curled into a
sly smirk, eyes narrow and gleaming as he took a step toward Sam, who was
desperately eyeing the fire iron in the corner of his eye. “Being different is
a pain, isn’t it? Always that nagging little feeling you don’t belong… But you
could be special, embrace your difference. I know you want it; who wouldn’t?
Power and recognition, to have everything you could ever think of. It’s
everyone’s dream, but it wouldn’t have to be just a dream for you. Everything
you’d ever want could be reality, it’s right around the corner, and you’d love
it. Believe me, I know. You would enjoy every second of it, even if you’re
hesitant now. Just one taste of blood, one little taste of the incredible power
it could bring…”
But Sam was shaking his head again, strands of hair a messy halo around his
head. “No thanks, not about that life,” he snarled, then frowned in surprise
and slight confusion when Azazel just shrugged and turned his eyes back to
normal, before walking back to the sofa and sitting down, apparently done with
the conversation.
“Suit yourself,” the demon said, voice hiding a great amount of irony, and
picked up a thick whiskey glass among the set of them on a silver tray sitting
on the table. He studied it for a moment before placing it on the table, then
grabbed the knife still there and moved his bare wrist above the glass, Sam’s
eyes widening because no, he wouldn’t…
But he did, and Sam watched in horror as Azazel slit his wrist with the blade,
fat droplets of blood dripping into the glass and slowly filling it. The flow
of blood stopped after a while, leaving the glass slightly more than a half
full, and after shaking his hand a little, the demon pocketed the knife and got
up, then shot an encouraging look at the stunned boy.
“A peace offering,” he remarked with a wink, before disappearing right in front
of Sam’s eyes.
He blinked at the empty spot where Azazel stood just moments ago, feeling
lightheaded from all that happened. He wasn’t sure how long he stared ahead
like that, at a complete loss for words and looking at the living room without
really seeing it, but he guessed he must have been standing frozen for about a
solid minute or two before finally taking a step forward; however still a bit
out of it, he used his injured foot, which resulted in Sam letting out a small
grunt of pain and falling to his knees, his forehead barely missing the edge of
the table and saving him from another concussion.
So…what? He was stuck in a mansion full of teleporting demons, was even less
normal than he thought, and apparently Satan knew who he was, that’s what.
Someone please, wake him up from this ridiculous nightmare.
What the dickens was he supposed to do now? No, seriously—he couldn’t run, not
with honest-to-god monsters from Hell guarding him, couldn’t possibly fight
them, and there wasn’t even a ghost of a chance that anyone would come and save
him; not here, not while he was surrounded by demons. Speaking of which, why
didn’t he know about these things until now? If Azazel was speaking the truth,
that meant that his dad was some sort of a monster hunter, which might have
sounded pretty cool and also explained a lot, but then why did John keep him in
the dark? He trained Sam for all sorts of things, except on how to beat demons
and other creatures that went bump in the night, Sam pretty sure those lessons
could’ve been much more useful than learning how to do a karate kick that most
probably wouldn’t do crap to his current adversaries.
This world was crazy, he deduced. He thought being stuck with a bunch of
criminals was bad, so what was this supposed to be? Sam didn’t ask for this, he
never wanted to become some sort of “boy king” or whatever it was Azazel
believed he could make him into by drinking demon blood. A revolted shudder ran
through his body at the thought of ingesting blood, and as he knelt on the soft
rug, he tried not to let his eyes wander over to the glass on the table he knew
was filled with the red stuff. Did that yellow-eyes really think Sam would just
saunter over to the glass and drink the blood by himself? Leaving him with the
thick liquid did nothing but disgust him, and the fact that there was still a
freaking corpse not far from the table wasn’t helping with soothing his nerves
either.
First things first, he needed to get out of here. Maybe not the mansion, as
that was deemed impossible thanks to his sprained ankle and the demon
babysitters, but at least from this room. It wasn’t because the more time he
spent here, the more tempting the glass of blood became… At least that’s what
he told himself, refusing to consider the other possibility. Either way, he
needed to get back to his temporary room no matter what, as while he couldn’t
see any more demons right now, he was sure that the place was swarming with
them, and Sam was not the least bit ready to meet with another one of these
supernatural creeps.
So after shooting a hateful glare at the glass on the table, he carefully got
to his feet and began limping back to the staircase, where he tried not to fall
again as he climbed—or more like jumped—each step with utmost caution. It was
just his luck to meet with another dark-suited demon on his way back to the
hallways where the room was, but thankfully the demon merely nodded at him, Sam
glad that it didn’t go for his throat but still creeped out by the sudden
politeness. He remembered Azazel saying something about obedient demons, but he
didn’t think that creatures of pure evil would actually go along with it and
lower themselves just for him, making him wonder just what he was.
What kind of horrible monster would Sam turn into if he was to drink blood,
that it made even the demons all submissive?
He really, really did not want to find out.
                                       —
 
Just like when he was in the warehouse, Sam spent all his time in the room,
this time not even needing to leave it as the demons brought everything to him.
It was unusual and just plain weird. He supposed many people would have enjoyed
getting spoiled like this, having food and drinks brought up to their room
without even being asked to, but honestly, Sam was just creeped out.
Two days have passed since he realized he was some sort of “chosen one” like in
a stupid move cliché, and the demons did not disappoint in living up to their
expected obedient henchmen characters. They treated Sam like he was already a
king, bringing him pajamas made of golden silk at night, formal but comfortable
clothes in the morning, breakfast, lunch and dinner on the dot, along with some
fruits and sometimes cakes, successfully making him feel like he was some sort
of Persian prince.
He didn’t eat anything at first, wary the food might be drugged or worse. Who
knew if they didn’t put a spell on his mashed potatoes? So yeah, he left the
tray of delicious smelling food on his nightstand, turning in bed and
distracting his hunger by trying to figure out a way of getting out of here, in
vain. He thought and thought, but couldn’t come up with anything, getting
annoyed at his useless brain while thrashing around in the bed some more until
it was time for dinner. His cold lunch was replaced by a steaming piece of
steak with fries, and Sam fought it as long as he could, he really did, but he
was quite literally drooling from hunger by then.
After that, the food became the best part. Sometimes he even considered leaving
the room and looking for the kitchen, just to indulge in some grapes or
whatever he could find in the fridge, but always managed to stop himself, the
part of his mind that wasn’t constantly hungry taking the wheel and steering
him back onto the right track. He didn’t know why, as he wasn’t one to eat a
lot, but he just couldn’t stop. It made him worry that maybe the food really
was drugged, but aside from hunger, he didn’t feel anything odd in particular,
so he doubted it. Still, nothing should’ve been that delicious, yet he couldn’t
help but wolf down whatever was brought to his room.
What was even stranger was the smell. When he first entered this place, he
noticed a weird smell in the air, kind of like sulfur; however as these two
days went by, that smell was replaced by something sweeter, something charming,
Sam realizing with slight shock that it came from the demons. The demons
smelled good, making him wonder if they either started using the same cologne,
or maybe he was just going nuts.
Probably the latter.
The possibility of going crazy didn’t stop him from taking a deep whiff of air
even now as a demon picked up the empty plates that once held his dinner,
before taking them out of the room. His own actions were making him sick, Sam
feeling utterly repulsed by himself as he stared longingly at the door while
licking his lips, needing something he simply couldn’t put his finger on.
This wasn’t normal, his behavior wasn’t normal, and it was seriously staring to
scare him.
Frustrated, he ripped his gaze away from the door just as it opened and another
demon came walking in, holding a glass that Sam only needed to take one look at
to know its content. “Take that thing away from me,” he hissed, sitting in bed
while slowly moving back, keeping his piercing eyes on the demon making its way
to his bed.
“Boss says it’s time,” the demon said, and no matter how many times he’s seen
it, Sam still couldn’t help but feel the sharp tug of fear when he saw the
creature shift its eyes to pure black. “You’re ready now.”
“Ready for what?” he snarled as he glanced at the glass in the demon’s hand.
“I’m not drinking that, if that’s what you mean. You can’t make me.”
“Who said anything about making you do anything?” The demon’s lips twisted into
a vile grin as he placed the glass on the bedside table, Sam’s breath catching
in his throat as he got hit by that same sweet scent that immediately had him
swallowing.
“No…” he growled, his refusal more of a plea than an order as he looked away
from the glass, hands shaking from the effort he gripped the sheets beneath
him. “Take it…away.”
The demon smothered a chuckle. “It’s alright, you shouldn’t fight it. It’s only
natural,” he said, motioning with his hands, and Sam had to clench his jaw to
stop himself from looking at the demon’s wrist, at the veins under soft skin…
Oh god, what was happening to him?
He must have zoned out, because when he finally raised his gaze, the demon was
gone. He did not, as Sam would have hoped, take the glass of blood with him
though, its tempting scent entering his nose each time he inhaled, and Sam
wanted to cry. This was torture, the demons were freaking torturing him. It
wasn’t supposed to work, the blood was supposed to gross him out just like last
time, but somehow, it wasn’t. Somehow, it looked and smelled appetizing, the
blood as if whispering to him in a language only he could understand, calling
out, reaching out to him and singing, promising, seducing, until he snapped.
Sam turned quickly, grabbing the glass and whining when some of the blood
spilled as he lifted it to his lips, before downing the whole thing with big,
desperate gulps.
Pure ecstasy.
Sam’s taste-buds exploded as the first drops touched his tongue, enveloping it
like a warm blanket, the syrupy goodness better than anything he’s ever
experienced before, including sex. It was sweet like honey, yet still carrying
that metallic tang that just made it taste better. Its warmth quickly spread
through his whole body, drawing an erotic moan from him, a shiver running down
his spine as he kept on drinking, convinced he was tasting the universe. It was
such a strong, overpowering taste, filling him to the brim, thick and amazing
and so not enough, Sam using his tongue to lap up every single drop before
cleaning the glass with his fingers, which he suckled until the skin turned
wrinkly from saliva.
He was panting, trying to blink away the drunken haze that had descended on
him, but when he failed, he decided to just lie down and let this orgasmic
feeling rumble through him, let it carry him off anywhere it wished.
Mind blank, so close to falling asleep, the only reason Sam managed to snap out
of his daze was because the sound of the glass rolling off the bed and
shattering on the floor startled him, apparently enough to drag some of his
brain back to the cruel reality. And when it did, when he realized what
happened, what he had done, he wished he could’ve fallen asleep instead.
He drank the blood, and it was incredible. So wrong, so horrible, but so
fucking amazing. He understood what Azazel meant before, could actually feel
something akin to power buzzing through him while he drank the blood, and even
now, his senses were increased. He could feel the air against his sweaty skin,
hear the distant footsteps of the demons, could even smell aforementioned
demons, but no matter how impressive that was, it was also frightening. Sam
knew why the demon that brought him the glass seemed so confident now, because
the taste in his mouth was familiar. It wasn’t the same, was only the shadow of
the blood’s shadow, but he could still recognize it. They fucking fed him the
blood, all this time. It was in his drinks, in his food, in everything they
gave him. Only a small dose, barely there, but just enough to make it
impossible for him to resist once the real thing was put in front of him. And
their plan worked, Sam fell right for it like the blind, stupid little shit he
was, and now…now what? He drank the demon blood, so did that mean that he’d
start changing? Turn into a monster?
No, he didn’t want that. He couldn’t, Sam wasn’t ready to throw his humanity
away, no matter how good the blood was. He didn’t want to become an addict, but
unfortunately, judging from the fact that he’s been unknowingly drinking and
eating demon blood for the past few days, he supposed he already was. It was
too late, the blood was in his system, and he could already feel himself
craving, needing more. It made him sick, so goddamn sick, but at the same time,
in an impossibly twisted way, curious too. Selfishly, he was looking forward to
the next glass, for not only did it taste heavenly—which was funny, considering
how it came from Hell’s creature—but it also made him feel good. Like, really
damn good. All his worries, all his unease got washed away, pushed further and
further down into a bottomless well with each gulp of the crimson nectar,
leaving nothing but the hypnotic feeling that was a lot like, but not
completely similar to, being high on heroin.
But no, that was wrong. Sam groaned and rubbed his eyes, gritting his teeth in
irritation. He couldn’t believe it, but he truly was torn between grabbing a
piece of broken glass so he could open up the first demon he saw, and finding
the bathroom to throw everything up. In the end, he chose none, and just curled
up in the bed instead, shedding silent tears and clinging onto the excuse that
it was too late to throw up now, since the damage had already been done.
He was such a pathetic excuse of a human being, but then again, he guessed he
wasn’t really human anymore, was he?
 
***** Live And Let Live *****
 
He fought it.
He really did.
But fuck, it tasted so good.
Sam stopped eating and drinking after he realized that they’ve been putting
blood in everything. He refused to even leave the bed, but his already weak
resolve broke after only one day, it proving to be next to impossible to resist
the warm, fresh walking blood banks that kept entering his room and bringing
that mouthwatering scent with them. He told himself he would be okay, that he
could stop if he wanted to, kept telling himself that as he clawed at his
pillow in frustration, as he screamed with a strange pain in his very being, as
he grabbed the glass that was brought to him and greedily drank everything till
the last drop.
He knew it was the cruelest drug, worse than meth or heroin, it had to be.
Cruel but sweet, the way the blood curled around his insides and lifted him up
into the skies, the way it never failed to make him believe that everything was
fine and beautiful, even if for a short while, making Sam want to leave this
place less and less. This fantasy castle of marble and blood, of dreams and
forgotten worries was everything he never knew he wanted. It gave him life, a
new kind of life, a better life, made him strong and full of energy. He was
constantly under the demon blood’s spell, but he didn’t mind, because it made
him feel safe and comfortable, trapping him in a sweet mirage he never wanted
to escape from.
The demons stopped bringing him glasses. Instead, they willingly cut themselves
for Sam, offering their blood straight from the tap. The first time a demon
slit its wrist in front of him, Sam couldn’t rip his gaze from the blade as it
slid across thin skin, watching in awe when the beads of juicy blood formed
along the deep cut. He then pounced, latched onto the wound, immediately
shutting up the voice screaming at him to stop, to look at what he was doing,
at how fucked up and disgusting it was, instead reveling in the powerful taste
of the blood that went straight to his head as he suckled on the cut, hearing
the demon laugh but not giving a crap about that either.
And once he got a taste, he was like a bloodhound—unstoppable.
Fresh blood was so much better than what he got from the glass. He didn’t think
it could get any better, but it did, and then he couldn’t just stay in his room
anymore. The blood healed him, his ankles and any remaining wounds; it did
unimaginable things to him, and after a few days of demon blood diet, Sam was
sure that he has truly stopped being human.
Pain was alien to him, along with some emotions that used to make him Sam
Winchester. No sorrow or sadness, no anxiety or nervousness, no fear
whatsoever, the change slow but noticeable. He remembered that there was a
reason why he shouldn’t stay here, why he shouldn’t feel a twisted glee when he
saw a demon, but what that reason was, he had no idea. Why would he ever want
to leave? Wasn’t this place simply the best? It was full of demons that never
ran out of blood, his food also his servants, Sam living the life of a king
here and loving it. He even had powers, unable to stop laughing in joy when he
found out he could hurl demons through the air with only a flick of his wrist.
It needed a good amount of concentration, it sometimes resulting in headaches
and nosebleeds, but the power and control was so very worth it. He still
totally hated Azazel, the yellow-eyed demon pissing him off with his overly
friendliness and smug grins, but since Sam couldn’t use any of his newfound
powers on the probably higher class demon, he had no choice but to put up with
his bullshit.
He didn’t change completely, though. At least physically. He could lift heavy
objects and his senses skyrocketed, he had supernatural powers he only ever
dreamed of, but he still looked like a normal human. His eyes didn’t turn black
or yellow, no matter how much he practiced in front of a mirror out of
curiosity, he didn’t grow fancy demon horns or anything, and unfortunately, he
couldn’t teleport, that realization making him want to sulk the most.
He stopped sulking when he realized he could kill demons, though.
Sam was in what he had come to name playroom, as it had a pool table, several
arcade game machines, and a poker table, in the middle of beating his record in
Donkey Kong, when the demon showed up with some of its buddies. They probably
came to play some poker, and Sam hated to be the spoilsport, but that many
demons at once had him really hungry. Or thirsty, he still wasn’t completely
sure what that craving feeling was. Anyway, the demons weren’t in the mood to
get opened up by him, having a rebellious streak in them no matter how obedient
they were, since deep down they were still evil creatures, but Sam didn’t quite
mind. At least he could use his cool powers on them. However he must have gone
too far, had a bit too much fun with one of them, as one second the demon he
had pinned against the wall with the firm, invisible force was struggling and
growling, and the next it was shrieking and flashing, sparks of orange lights
going off inside him before it stopped moving altogether, body falling limply
to the floor when Sam released him in shock.
The demons had given him a horrified look before disappearing, leaving Sam
alone with the corpse of a demon he murdered, and feeling confused but excited,
because wow, he was freakin’ awesome.
As the news of his newfound ability spread, the demons became more compliant
and humble. No witty remarks or whispers behind his back, making Sam feel like
he was the ruler of the world, which, he supposed, he kind of was. He could be,
if only he wanted to, many times toying with the thought of accepting Azazel’s
offer of descending to Hell with him and becoming the King of Damnation.
But he never really got to accepting it, to considering it long enough to make
up his mind and leave this world behind for something so much darker and
better, because after less than a week since he’s been here, another kind of
Hell broke loose.
                                       —
 
Sam licked his fingers, relishing in the lingering taste of sticky blood on the
digits. The demon was frowning in discomfort, hands trembling as it tried to
stop the bleeding from the huge gash Sam has made on its wrist, the boy
watching in amusement as the creature kept failing at covering the wound, its
pathetic struggle causing some drops of blood to paint the white marble of the
living room in a pretty red.
He was about to scold the demon, tell him to stop wasting Sam’s precious food,
when another one appeared in the room, wearing a giant grin on its face.
“Sir,” the demon said, addressing Sam, “I think you’d want to see who came to
visit Azazel.”
“Hmm?” He got up from the divan sofa while chewing on his nails to get out any
blood stuck under them. “Who?”
The demon’s grin broadened. “You should see for yourself.”
Not in the mood to start arguing, he gave one last lick to his fingers before
shrugging, and followed the demon when it turned around. As they walked to the
narrow hallway of the entrance, he wondered what the big deal was about, though
actually, he could’ve guessed who it was. He had two guesses, and when the
demon opened the door to a much smaller version of the meeting room he’s seen
before, he was both pleased and slightly surprised that one of his guesses was
right.
Nick stood in front of a small, round table surrounded by three armchairs, one
of them occupied by a nonchalant-looking Azazel. His head whipped toward the
door when it opened, a flash of relief apparent in his slightly wide eyes when
he noticed Sam, but just as always, he was back to his calm and collected self
in a second, taking a step away from the table to give the boy standing in the
doorway a quick once-over.
“Sammy!” Azazel exclaimed enthusiastically, sitting up straight in the armchair
and beckoning him to come and join them. “So glad you’re here. Come, why don’t
you take a seat, since Nick here has come all the way to pay us a visit. How
considerate, isn’t he?”
There was an obvious tension in the air, and as he glanced between the two
men—well, man and demon—he might have even felt slightly awkward, but only for
a moment. “No, thanks,” he said and leaned against the wall next to the now
closed door instead, folding his arms as he regarded them carefully.
“Boy’s always such a handful,” the demon joked, flashing a smirk at Nick before
getting comfortable in his chair again. “Alright then, where were we? Oh
right.” His smirk turned into a lopsided smile. “You want to negotiate.”
“Yes,” Nick stated, his hand that was on top of the armchair next to him
gripping the cotton as his piercing blue eyes narrowed into a slight glare.
“You already heard my offer.”
Azazel nodded slowly. “Yes, yes. Very generous. Your undying loyalty in
exchange for Sam,” he said consideringly, tapping a finger against his chin,
before pursing his lips. “But, you see…I just can’t believe you. You’re not
that type of guy, Nicki. If you’d be willing to throw your pride away for a
simple boy, I’d be real disappointed in you.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but my offer stays the same,” Nick declared, voice firm
and somewhat commanding, but Sam noticed his shoulders and whole posture was
way too stiff, as if he was bracing himself for something.
“Mhmm, I see,” Azazel drawled. They stared at each other for a long moment,
engaging in a silent staring battle, before the demon looked away, probably
bored, and smiled at Sam. “Well then, how about we ask the speak of the Devil
over there?” He raised an eyebrow. “So? Do you want to leave with Nick, Sammy?”
He scowled, wondering what Azazel was trying to do, but when he noticed Nick’s
irritatingly confident eyes on him, it became pretty obvious.
Grinning inwardly, and then letting it spread to his features, Sam shook his
head. “Nah, I’d rather stay. I like it here,” he said, unable to suppress his
sadistic glee when he saw the brief look of surprise cross Nick’s face,
followed by angry confusion as the man fixed Azazel with a hard glare.
“What did you do to him?” he demanded fiercely.
“You know, it’s hilarious how you think I had anything to do with Sam’s
decision,” the demon said with a scoff, laughing when Nick slammed his hand
down on the wooden table, finally losing his cool.
“Don’t make me laugh,” he spat, pointing at Sam. “That’s not Sam. You’ve
obviously done something to him. I don’t know if you brainwashed him or
tortured him, but you did something, and I do not abide by anyone hurting my
people.”
Azazel tossed his head back, laughing. “Your people? Come on Nick, wake up! He
doesn’t—”
A loud series of bangs shook the whole building, Sam slapping his hands over
his ears and falling to his knees as the deafening sound assaulted his
eardrums. When it was over and he got back on his feet, feeling slightly
disoriented, Sam needed to do a double take, as apparently while he was on the
floor, the situation in the room turned completely upside down.
Nick had a gun out, a pretty strange-looking one, and had it pointed at
Azazel’s face, the demon’s eyes wide and glowing yellow, his hands raised in
surrender.
“Grenades…?” he asked, raising his eyebrows with a small smile.
Nick shrugged. “I couldn’t be sure what would work on you monsters. Thought
grenades would do pretty well.”
“Ah, I see.” Azazel nodded. “I suppose this means the deal is off, too?”
“It was never on,” the man hissed, taking a step forward and moving his index
finger to the gun’s trigger, and Sam couldn’t believe his eyes, but Azazel
visibly gulped in what was no doubt fear.
What was going on?
“Nice little revolver you’ve got there… Where did you get it?” the demon asked
with a wary smile as he lowered his eyes at the gun in Nick’s hand.
“Oh, this?” It was Nick’s turn to smile now, his sly and vicious, that
unusually terrifying look on the man’s face making even Sam frown in discomfort
and take a step back toward the door. “It took a while to find, but all those
sleepless nights were worth it. This Colt can kill even the likes of you, can’t
it, you wretched monster?”
“Now, now. Let’s talk about this,” Azazel said and tilted his head, raising his
hands higher when Nick snarled. “Look, all of this is for Sam, right? Well, he
is one of us now. Are you going to kill him too?”
His stomach dropped when the man cast a glance his way, then could barely hear
what he said next from the horrible sound as some more grenades went off, the
bangs seemingly coming from closer than before. “No. We’ll figure out what to
do with him after you’re dead.”
“So this really is a rescue mission?” Azazel laughed, as if oblivious to the
dangers of the gun pointed at him. “Didn’t you hear him? Sam doesn’t need you!”
he sneered, before looking at Sam. “Tell him! Come on, show this blind idiot
what you really are, what you were always meant to—”
“You’re too loud,” Nick interrupted him, then just like that, pulled the
trigger and shot the rambling demon in the face. “Shut up.”
Some more blasts echoed off in the distance, their thunderous rumble knocking
plaster dust from the ceiling as they both watched Azazel’s flashing body
collapse to the carpeted floor. Moments after it hit the ground, Sam’s eyes
widened as Nick turned around and pointed the gun at him, and when he extended
an arm, trying to hurl the man across the room like he’s done many times with
demons, he realized with dread that he couldn’t.
Nick’s frown turned into a glower as he closed in on Sam, before stopping in
front of him and motioning at the door with the barrel of the gun. “Move. We’re
going back home.”
“No,” he growled, fists clenched at his sides. “I’m not going anywhere with
you. Not anymore.”
There was another explosion, this one louder and much stronger, nearly knocking
Sam off his feet again, followed by miserable wails and shrill screams.
“I don’t think you have a choice,” Nick stated, keeping his unyielding eyes on
Sam as the screaming continued with short intervals. “We’re cleaning this place
out, blowing up anything that moves, and I sincerely doubt that you’d want to
stay here for when the building goes up in flames.”
Sam pressed his back into the wall, feeling it rumble slightly behind him
whenever a grenade went off in the distance, while mirroring the man’s glare.
He finally found something fun, something worth being bad for, but no, he
couldn’t even enjoy that without these assholes ruining everything. He was
pissed at them and at himself, at his powers that apparently refused to work on
humans, which really sucked, because that pretty much meant he had no choice
but to walk out of here at gunpoint, unless he planned on swallowing a bullet
like Azazel.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t fight and run once the gun was gone from his face,
as maybe his fancy supernatural powers were useless, but he was still stronger
than a human thanks to all the blood he consumed. He was quite positive he
could beat even Nick up if push came to shove, but for that to happen, he
really needed to get rid of that damn gun somehow.
Anyway, Sam couldn’t do anything for now, so with an annoyed snarl, he
reluctantly turned to the door and opened it, then nearly tripped over the
corpse of a demon sprawled right in front of the room.
“Keep moving,” Nick ordered from behind him, the boy grudgingly walking down
the hallway and to the front door, and then could barely stifle an impressed
whistle when he stepped outside.
The garden looked like it had been subjected to a World War Two bombing, and
not faring too well. There were suited bodies scattered around the lawn,
floating in the small lake, even hanging from the brick wall surrounding the
estate. Not all the bodies were complete, though, most actually missing a few
limbs or simply rendered to a pulpy mush of gore, the grass littered with
rubbery entrails and severed arms, Sam careful not to accidentally step into a
piece of brain matter or eyeballs as he was led toward the gate that was now
barely hanging from its hinges.
All these dead demons spilling blood onto the grass had him drooling in a
matter of seconds, Sam needing to swallow down saliva as he looked around the
carnage, his hunger overpowering any feeling of disgust toward the massacre
laid bare before his eyes. Sure, it looked like a pack of zombies went crazy in
the garden, but all his brain managed to register and care about was the
copious amounts of blood he could and would gladly be slurping up if only he
didn’t have a fucking gun pressed against the back of his head.
“Are you nearly done here?” he heard Nick shouting to someone, and as Sam
turned his head to the left, he nearly let out an incredulous laugh when he saw
Benny trudging toward them, carrying a freaking RPG and looking damn happy
about it.
“Yeah, only a few left upstairs, and the maze, but Crowley just set that on
fire,” Benny reported, his huge smile faltering a bit when he looked at Sam.
“Why are you holding him at gunpoint…?”
“Because he’s not completely right in the head,” Nick stated, making Sam growl
and glare at the man.
“I swear as soon as this shitty gun is out of the picture, I’m going to make
you not right in the head. Maybe rip it off that stupid neck of yours. How
would you like that, boss?” he hissed, drawling the last word mockingly.
Nick gave him an unimpressed look, while Benny said, “Whoa, kid gone rabid?”
“Not sure, but it seems like they really messed with his brain. Maybe even
turned him into one of them…”
“Well, there’s one way to check that,” Benny said, balancing the RPG in one
hand while pulling out a flask with the other, then opened the lid with his
teeth before splashing a good amount of something on Sam.
“The hell?!” he snapped, wiping what seemed to be simple water from his face
and glaring at the man. “Do that again and I’ll shove that RPG so far up your—”
“Alright, he’s still human. Just got a fouler mouth on him is all,” Benny
observed with a smug grin as he put away the flask, then looked at the pissed
off boy. “That was holy water, by the way. Harmless to humans, but is like acid
to the unholy.”
“Since when did you become a priest?” Sam hissed, then received a hit with the
gun to the head for it.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Nick explained as he gave him a
shove. “Now let’s get to the van already. We’ve got what we came for and killed
off most of the roaches, so there’s no need to stick around any longer.”
Benny nodded as he began backing away. “Got it. I’ll round up the others,
should be done in a few minutes.”
“Don’t take too long.”
Sam stayed silent as they crossed the bloody garden and walked out the gate,
heading toward the van parked several feet away from it; however once they
reached the car, he stopped in front of the open door and turned around, fixing
Nick with a defiant look.
“Azazel was right, you know?” he mentioned with scoff, lips twisting into a
sneer. “I’m not the same, and don’t want to be, either. Holy water or not, I’m
still not human, not the Sam you know, and as soon as you look away just for a
second, I won’t have any problem snatching this gun from you and shooting you,
along with this pathetic team, dead. So really, both of us would benefit from
it if you’d just let me go now. And if it’s what I know that you’re worried
about, if the reason you can’t let me go is because I know your faces and where
you live, don’t. Just don’t, because I honestly couldn’t care less. I’ve got
better plans than ratting you out, trust me.”
He raised an expectant eyebrow at the man, who watched him silently for a long
moment, before sighing. “Whatever they’ve done to you seems to have gotten to
your head,” he said, eyes narrowing into a harsh glare as he backed Sam into
the side of the van. “You’re still a kid, no matter how overconfident you must
be feeling right now. And if they turned you into a monster, well, we’ll just
have to turn you back. I won’t be losing another member of my group to
these…things. Not again.”
Sam blinked at the man, then let out a laugh. “Things? Really? Nick, if you
wouldn’t have noticed, these things are demons! Well, were, I guess. Anyway,
you can’t just turn me back or cure me, because they didn’t mess with my brain.
You wanna know what happened? What I did?” he purred, grinning as he played
with his tongue. “I drank their blood. Yeah, I’ve got demon blood in my system,
and it has made me just as strong as them, so if you wanna turn me back, I’m
pretty sure you’ll be needing a grenade for that. I already changed, there’s no
going back now. This time, you’ll just have to accept defeat.”
But Nick just shook his head, his features hardening as he grabbed a hold of
Sam’s arm, before brutally shoving him into the van, the boy grunting when the
back of his head connected with the solid flooring. “None of that matters. All
that does is that I will not let you leave, will fix you no matter what it
takes. You might be a bloodthirsty, maybe even literally, monster right now,
might have done some questionable things while in that putrid place, but you’re
one of us. You are one of my own, and I don’t care even if you sprout wings or
start howling at the moon. You hear me? I do not care, because once you enter
our group, you may only ever leave by death. And I will not let you die,
Samuel.”
“You only hear what you want to hear, don’t you?” Sam spat, sitting up in the
back of the van and snarling at the man. “How many times do I have to tell you
that you can’t fix this? I’m not sick, this is not a phase—I’m not even human,
for fuck’s sake!”
“Well,” Nick said with a shrug, “we won’t know unless we try.”
Groaning in utter annoyance, Sam slowly got on his hands and knees, and was
considering just diving out of the van—without getting shot, obviously—when an
urging and slightly panicked voice stopped him where he was, his heart skipping
a beat for a brief moment.
“Where is he?!” the disembodied voice demanded, and only a few moments later,
Dean appeared at the open sliding door of the van, his face lighting up when he
saw Sam kneeling in the car.
The boy was a mess. He was covered in blood, it shining on his leather jacket
and clinging to his hair and sticking to his skin, his lips split and his jeans
decorated with some new holes around his knees. He was holding a machete, Sam
recognizing it as the one Dean had used to scare the crap out of him when they
first met, however this time the weapon was slightly bent and dripping with
blood, looking like it barely survived an explosion.
Dean’s grip on the machete tightened before he let go of it completely,
discarding it on the ground as he hurriedly climbed into the car and took Sam’s
face in his dirty hands. “Are you okay?” he asked worriedly, tucking a few
strands of the other’s hair behind his ear while gazing at him searchingly.
“Did they hurt you?”
All that touching irritating, Sam batted the boy’s hands away and shot him a
nasty look, the baffled look on Dean’s face making him smirk. “I’m fine. Would
be even better if you pricks wouldn’t have decided to stick your noses where it
doesn’t belong and ruin my fun.”
“What…?” Dean furrowed his brow into a deep frown, his surprise and utter
perplexity bringing a twisted sort of joy to the younger boy. “Sammy, what’s
wrong? What do you mean?”
He rolled his eyes. “What do you think, genius?” he scoffed, lips curling into
a sneer. “I didn’t need saving. All you assholes did was ruin everything!”
The boy’s eye widened in bewilderment, tentatively reaching out toward Sam, but
another voice from outside stopped him.
“Leave it, Dean,” Nick ordered, glancing between the two boys before settling
his fixed gaze at the older on. “You won’t be able to get a genuine word out of
him.”
“Oh no, I’m genuine,” Sam snarled. “I genuinely want to rip your fucking
throats out. With my teeth.”
“The hell is going on?” Dean demanded with a low growl, sneaking a concerned
glance at Sam before glaring at Nick. “What’s wrong with him?!”
But the man just shook his head and motioned for the boy to step out of the
car. “I’ll explain on the way back, but for now…we need to tie Sam up.”
“Like hell you do!” he spat, baring his teeth as he slowly crawled back in the
van, while keeping constant eye contact with Nick. “Just try, I dare you. You
won’t get out alive.”
The perturbed boy watched him for a short while, before muttering, “This isn’t
right. Sam—”
“Dean.” Nick shot him a meaningful look, eyes cold as ice. “Get out of the car.
Now.”
Reluctantly and with his fists clenched, Dean did as he was told and climbed
out of the car, before being led away by Nick. The man barked an order to the
rest of the group presumably waiting around the car, then disappeared with the
boy from Sam’s field of vision which, after a moment, was filled with a couple
of familiar faces, none of which looked nice and friendly right now.
But that was fine. Sam was in the mood to inflict some pain anyway.
Benny had gotten rid of the RPG, and was now holding a thick bundle of ropes in
his hands instead. Raphael and Crowley were standing next to him, all three men
covered in blood as well, though not as much as Dean.
“Sorry bud,” Benny offered with a shrug as he held up the ropes. “You need to
be restrained.”
Letting out an incredulous laugh, Sam curled his fingers like a predator,
waiting on his hands and knees at the very back of the van. “Go ahead. Try to
‘restrain’ me, then,” he taunted with a snarl while glaring at the men in front
of the open door.
Benny exchanged a look with the other two men, before carefully crawling inside
the van. Sam got into a position in which he could pounce on any of them at a
moment’s notice as he watched each man get inside the car. They were blocking
the exit, but still keeping their distance for now, treating Sam like some
cornered animal which, he supposed, is what he was.
“Come on, kid,” Crowley said with a barely visible grin, clearly enjoying
himself way too much. “Just be a good little freak and let us tie you up. It
won’t hurt that much if you let us do it willingly.”
He snorted. “Yeah right. How about you use that rope to hang yourself instead?
Would make a nice tied beef…”
“You little—” the man growled in fury, his face reddening in anger as Sam shot
him a cocky grin, but Raphael’s hand on his shoulder stopped the raging man
from doing anything hasty, to the boy’s disappointment.
“Calm down,” he said, eyes holding a warning look. “Maybe you should wait
outside.”
Crowley shrugged the man’s hand off. “No. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Gotta agree with you on that one,” Benny chimed in, before untangling the
ropes in his hands. He then shot a surprisingly threatening look at Sam, before
saying, “Don’t try to fight this too much. It would only end with more pain for
you.”
“What was that?” Sam tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “Sorry, I couldn’t
hear you over the sound of your ego expanding,” he scoffed. “I mean, really?
Guys, don’t tell me you truly believe it’ll be that easy to subdue me. Not
after what you’ve seen today.”
“Maybe,” Benny agreed as he cautiously began closing the distance between them,
“but I think in a fight of three adults against one powered-up kid, the odds
are still in our favor.”
Abruptly, he lunged for Sam, but he knew the man would attack before the
thought could’ve even crossed his ape mind. He moved out of the way, feeling
some hidden, bloodthirsty instincts kick in as he lashed out and raked his
fingers across Benny’s face, making the man hiss. The other two men caught on
after a moment and joined the struggle, trying to grab a hold of him, but Sam
kicked Raphael right in the chest, sending him literally flying back, and then
jumped at Crowley, eager to finally give this wretched swine what he deserved—a
painful death.
He punched and clawed, strangled, all the while snarling like a frenzied
animal, enjoying the pained and frustrated yells and grunts Crowley made under
him, the man rendered completely helpless under Sam’s supernatural strength,
the sounds of bones breaking and skin ripping bouncing off the interior of the
van and only riling him up more. A pair of hands on his shoulders tried to yank
him off the groaning man, but Sam elbowed whoever was trying to put their
disgusting paws on him before going back to exacting pain, this time wrapping
his own hands around the man’s throat and squeezing, a bubble of maniacal laugh
escaping him because karma was a bitch.
Then the hands came back, this time curling in his hair and snapping his head
back, successfully dragging Sam off the bleeding man. He struggled and kicked,
ignoring the piercing pain in his scalp as he turned around and bashed the back
of Benny’s head against the van, making a painful sound when his own face met
the floor over and over again, until he twisted around with incredible speed
and grasped the man’s arm, then yanked on it so hard the limb popped out of its
socket.
The shrill sounds of screaming and laughter reverberated around and filled the
car, but then instead of laughing, Sam was choking as he saw a flash of
something before his eyes before the rope was suddenly around his throat and
pulling him back. Falling on his back, he went all out, writhing and struggling
as he tried to release some of the rope’s pressure, in vain. He reached back
and sank his nails into someone’s hands, receiving a strong blow to the head in
response, then just as the rope was all of a sudden gone from around his
throat, he was also thrown on his stomach and held in place with hands and
knees digging into his body, Sam screaming in rage and frustration as he felt
his wrists being tied behind his back. His legs still free, though, he wriggled
around until he managed to pull up his knees and prop himself on them, using
his torso to push everyone off as he got on his aching knees, tugging on the
ropes and then, realizing they weren’t about to become magically undone,
deciding to make a run for it instead.
Unfortunately, crawling on his knees wasn’t really such a fast and majestic
escape, and he barely managed to get past Crowley’s unconscious form before
someone grabbed the ropes and pulled him back, Sam roaring ferociously, then
stopped when he got punched in the mouth. He cursed and grunted as Benny and
Raphael tied him up so thoroughly he wondered if they had any BDSM experience,
and by the time they were done, he was pretty sure he looked like a damn
Christmas turkey. He could barely breathe, the ropes were so tight and firm
around him, and when he growled and tried to blow off some steam verbally,
Raphael cut off a piece of rope that remained and tied it around his mouth,
gagging him.
“Shit,” Benny groaned, sniffing as he wiped some blood from his nose and then
massaging his shoulder, apparently managing to put his arm back in place by
himself at one point in the fight. “Didn’t think it would be this hard. Damn,
Sam, you fight like a bull on steroids.”
“Remember, he’s not human,” Raphael reminded while massaging his jaw,
grimacing. “At least not right now.”
Sam would have had a few pretty snappy comebacks for these assholes, but with a
rope shoved between his teeth, all he could do was growl menacingly while
giving them his best glare, hoping it could convey all his hatred and
annoyance. The men didn’t seem too fazed by the wintry look he was giving them,
however, as they just gazed at the limp form on the floor instead, both of them
sighing.
“What are we supposed to do with this one?”
“Leave him here?” Benny suggested, to what the other shook his head.
“With Sam? No. That would only end with one of them dead by the time we reach
the warehouse.”
“Well, this isn’t a passenger van,” he remarked, “so it’s not like they’ll be
alone. We need to stay back here too.”
A third voice suddenly joined the conversation. “Are you about done with…?”
Nick began, but his voice trailed off as he stepped over to the door and
noticed Crowley lying on the floor of the car. “What happened?”
They all looked at Sam, who snorted with a roll of his eyes. He really would
have liked to sit up, but since his ankles were fastened to his wrists, making
him look like a reverse C, that proved to be pretty much impossible. Great. He
loved his life.
“I see,” Nick said with a sigh after a while, before taking a step back and
motioning for someone Sam couldn’t see to approach the open door. “We’re
leaving now, and I want the three of you to keep an eye on Sam.”
Ruby appeared in the opening, a frown immediately wrinkling her forehead as she
took in the sight of the van’s interior. “Wow, Sammy’s a beast,” she said
jokingly, but it was obvious that the situation was making her uneasy, if not
somewhat sad.
After she climbed in the back of the car, Benny gave Nick a questioning look.
“What about Dean?”
Nick grabbed the door handle, glancing at something—or most probably someone—in
the distance, before shaking his head. “He’ll be sitting in the front with me.
Passenger seat. I don’t want him too close to Sam… Not now.”
“Ah, yeah,” the man said, his features softening. “I get it.”
After a moment of heavy silence, Nick shut the door and, after another while of
waiting, he got behind the steering wheel, followed by Dean who slipped into
the passenger seat. From where he was lying like some sausage on the floor, Sam
couldn’t very much see the boy’s face, but his posture was enough to tell him
Dean was tense, struggling not to look back through the wire screen and at him.
And honestly, even though he was bound and gagged, he was having fun. Sure, it
really sucked that they killed his demons and that they were now taking him
back to that stupid warehouse, obtusely hanging onto the belief they could
somehow fix him, but Dean’s suffering made all this bullshit worth it, even if
only a bit. Sam could imagine how it must’ve hurt the boy, seeing the one he
loved not giving a single shit about him, not having a problem with murdering
him, and he couldn’t do anything to change that. And Sam wasn’t sure what he
was, demon or something else, but he knew he didn’t care. He didn’t care that
Dean was hurting, quite the opposite. He remembered the look of confusion in
his eye, the relief of finding Sam quickly melting away and giving way to shock
and disbelief, and the memory alone brought a sadistic smile to his lips. He
was looking forward to toying with Dean, the boy who thought he knew it all and
had Sam wrapped around his little finger. Oh how wrong he was.
And Sam was going to show him, enjoy every single second of breaking him and
the rest of this childish group.
                                       —
 
The drive back was boring. Worst road trip in his life, and it’s not like he
had many.
He couldn’t talk, could hardly move, and whenever he finally managed to wriggle
into a more or less comfortable position, someone was always there to shoot a
warning look at him or, when he was really unlucky, push him back onto his
side, which was seriously starting to hurt now, becoming numb from always
staying on that side.
And okay, he got that he couldn’t talk become he was trying not to choke on
that fucking rope in his mouth, but why didn’t anyone else engage in some at
least mildly entertaining conversations? He was dying there, the awkward and
freaking suffocating silence weighting on him like heavy bricks. Not even the
radio was on, completely leaving Sam to his own thoughts, which were screaming
at him to break out of these ropes and go Norman Bates on these assholes. No
matter how strong he was, though, he couldn’t just snap the ropes and gnaw his
way out of the van, so he had no other choice but to shut up—which wasn’t
exactly optional, but he liked to pretend—and bear with the irritating silence,
sometimes swearing he could hear everyone’s thoughts, the silence was driving
him so mad.
When they finally got to their destination, Sam was nearly blinded by the light
that came spilling into the back of the van as Nick slid open the door and let
those that were capable of moving climb out, Crowley following them sluggishly
after shooting a glare that was surely meant to be intimidating at Sam, but
really, it just made the boy want to roll his eyes. Not really in a situation
where he could hop out of the car, unless he wanted to faceplant the gravel, he
waited until someone took him in their arms and carried him out of the van and
into the warehouse bridal style, before placing him on the couch in the living
room area and leaving him there, with supervision, of course.
“What should we do with him now? We can’t keep him tied up like that forever,”
Ruby said, probably talking to Nick, as in the next second, the man answered.
“I know. For now, I think our best option is to keep him restrained…in that
room.”
The uneasy silence that followed that statement did not make Sam think any
happy thoughts.
“Are you sure about that?” Benny’s slightly hesitant voice asked. “I mean I
understand that he needs to be kept at bay, since we still have no idea what’s
really going on with him, or how to turn him back to normal, but… I don’t know,
boss.”
“It’s the safest place for him and for us right now,” Nick stated.
“I know…”
Some more silence, then, “Alright, let’s move him.”
He saw Benny and Raphael as they stood in front of the sofa he was lying on and
trying real hard not to accidentally fall off, then made some protesting and
warning sounds as they reached for him. Completely ignoring him, the men lifted
him up and began carrying the pissed off and struggling boy to Nick’s office,
Sam wondering how this of all the rooms in the warehouse would be considered
the “safest”, but his doubts were quickly erased when Ruby pulled out a bright
red book from the bookshelf behind the desk, and pressed a hidden button. Right
as she did, the bookshelf began gradually sliding to the right, slowly
revealing a metal door in the wall, with a round latch in its middle.
They had fucking cliché secret door behind a bookshelf…
Sam didn’t know if he should be impressed or just shake his head in disbelief.
He remained motionless as Ruby turned the latch and opened the door, not
wanting to risk falling to the floor by moving around too much, then had to
crane his neck a little as they walked through the doorway and into the dark
room, the shadows swallowing everything up and making it nearly impossible to
see anything. But only nearly, as the darkness might have defeated a pair of
normal, puny human eyes, however Sam’s eyesight was much better than that of
anyone else’s, so as he looked around as much as he could, he could make out a
few shapes around the room, things hanging from the walls, and just as he
wondered what kind of weird place they’ve brought him to, the lights flickered
on and bathed the room in their faint, fluorescent glow.
Sam’s eyes widened, mouth falling open, unable to believe where he was.
The place looked like a sex torture dungeon. He never saw one before, but he
guessed that if he would have, then this is exactly what it would’ve looked
like. There was only one fluorescent tube lamp hanging from thin wires in the
middle of the ceiling, next to two thick metal rings, it managing to illuminate
the room dimly, just enough to make everything that begged to be seen visible.
The walls and floor were naked cement, tall transparent cabinets lining up on
both the left and right sides, filled with some of the sharpest knives and
other surely horribly painful weapons. On the wall opposite the door leading to
the room hung a series of heavy objects perfected for torture, chains and
something that looked very much like a bear trap, only way smaller. From iron
handcuffs to spiked collars, and even a whip made of freaking barbed wire, this
place had it all, and suddenly, Sam wasn’t feeling that confident about his
situation anymore, no matter how powerful he was.
They slowly lowered him on the floor, Raphael keeping his hands on Sam’s
shoulders as he knelt on the hard cement, watching as Benny walked over to the
far wall and tugged off two long chains from where they were hanging patiently,
before grabbing a step ladder next to a cabinet and dragging it over to the
middle of the room. He climbed on top, then fastened the chains to the rings,
making sure with a few harsh tugs that they would hold. He then climbed off and
put the ladder away, before picking out a pair of separated iron shackles,
attaching each cuff to the end of the chains dangling from the ceiling, then
took a step back and marveled at his work for a moment.
Benny looked at Sam, who was already glaring at him malignly, and flashed him
an apologetic smile. “Well, you ain’t gonna like this. But you know how it is
with dangerous animals—gotta keep them on a leash.”
Sam growled lowly, only proving the man’s point on “dangerous animals”, then
bit down on the rope in his mouth as he saw Benny take out one of the lethal-
looking daggers from a cabinet, eyes narrowing to slits when he closed in on
him and began cutting away at the rough cords. He wrenched the rope out of his
mouth as soon as his hands were free, Sam noticing just how bruised his wrists
were, his relentless struggles resulting in the binds rubbing against his
sensitive skin and discoloring it so much he couldn’t help but hiss when he
touched them.
“Ready?” Benny asked, and when no answer came, Sam looked up to find the man
staring at him, the question apparently aimed at him.
Licking his horribly dry lips, he frowned. “What? You expect me to simply waltz
over there so you could chain me up? I mean don’t get me wrong, I appreciate
how you guys are finally taking me seriously and all, but I ain’t going to just
go along with whatever genius ideas your empty heads come up with,” he stated
firmly. “If you want me in chains that bad, you’ll just have to fight me
again.”
“Baby beast can’t be tamed, huh?” the man said jokingly, his stupid remarks he
must have surely thought were all witty and shit really starting to get on
Sam’s nerves, making him regret he didn’t rip Benny’s tongue out back in the
van.
Ah well, live and learn.
The two men exchanged a look, probably realizing they weren’t going to get Sam
to comply anytime soon, then moved to scoop him up from the floor, which was a
really bad decision from their part. Having some pent-up rage from being tied
up for hours, he didn’t hesitate to lash out the moment the men got close
enough; however, lost in his eagerness to put up a fight, he forgot that
remaining motionless in an uncomfortable position meant his limbs wouldn’t be
able to work properly, and so when he tried to jump to his feet and slip past
Benny, instead of doing that, Sam’s legs wobbled under him, then gave out,
making for a rather awkward fall back onto the floor.
Without wasting a moment, they grabbed a hold of him, Sam snarling and
struggling, but his body was weak from being kept in that crappy position for
too long, and before he could’ve done anything, his aching wrists were already
being enveloped by cold iron, and that was it. His arms were chained to the
ceiling, stretched above his head, not enough to hurt as he could still bend
his elbows, but enough that he knew that it wouldn’t be long before the blood
was going to drain from his arms and render his stay in this new room
agonizing, if only from discomfort and annoyance.
“There.” Benny dusted his hands in a satisfied manner, a smirk creeping onto
his face as Sam leveled a glare at him. “Oh, don’t give me that sour look. This
was necessary. At least now you won’t be squirming around so much, putting both
us and yourself in harm’s way.”
He let out an incredulous snort. “Really? Sorry, but I don’t see how chaining
me up could solve this little problem that happens to be me. I mean, what’s
this place anyway?” he asked with a scoff, studying the room, before raising a
questioning eyebrow at the man. “A fancy torture dungeon?”
“Actually, that’s pretty close,” Benny answered, shrugging and placing his
hands on his hips. “We rarely use it, though. Remember how we threatened you
before? How, if you were to rat us out to the police, we’d find you and do some
bad, bad things to you?”
“How could I ever forget?” he said disinterestedly.
“Right, well, this is where those that don’t heed our generous advice find
themselves,” the man continued. “They spend the remaining time of their lives
learning the very important lesson that crossing or deceiving us would only
result in a lot of pain. And of course, death.”
“Sounds like fun. Will you teach me a lesson as well, hmm?” Sam teased, tugging
on the chains for show and flashing a mischievous smirk at Benny. “Will
torturing me be your flawless plan on fixing me?”
The man shook his head and returned Sam’s smirk. “No. For now, I think we’ll
just…leave you hangin’.”
“Ha-ha, how incredibly funny,” he stated, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he
glared at them, said glare only intensifying when he realized the man wasn’t
actually joking. “Wait, seriously? You really are just going to leave me here?
Have you never heard of the saying ‘ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go
away’?”
“We won’t be ignoring you, Sam,” Raphael commented, unperturbed. “This is just
a temporary solution, until we figure out what do to.”
“Well, I wish you the best of luck with that,” he sneered, Sam standing with
his head held high, his contemptuous grin widening when he saw the frown on
their faces as they exchanged a look, before turning around and walking out of
the room without another word.
They then turned off the only light brightening the place and pushed the heavy
door shut, enclosing Sam in total, deadly silent darkness, leaving the boy with
only his thoughts to entertain himself.
 
***** Get Your Freak On *****
 
His eyes got used to the darkness surprisingly fast. Well, no, it really wasn’t
that much of a surprise, considering he was a…whatever he was.
Sam stood in the middle of the black sea of the room, swinging his numb arms
left and right, bored little sighs escaping him more and more frequently as the
minutes trickled by. They might have told him they wouldn’t be doing any
torture, but this alone time was torture in its own way, making each passing
second unbearable, the deafening silence slowly driving him mad. His elevated
senses only added to his suffering, the only sounds reaching his ears being the
continual black noise, along with the rattle of chains, the even thumps of his
heartbeat, and his breathing, all of these made uncomfortably loud in the quiet
room.
Honestly, what did they expect was going to happen? It really just looked to
Sam like they were stalling, not wanting to accept that he wasn’t a part of
their little crime family anymore. Heck, he wasn’t even human anymore, which
was all the more reason for them to let him go. At least, it should’ve been,
but it seemed that Nick was bent on keeping him.
It was ridiculous. Pathetic. They were merely hanging onto the memory of him,
too blinded by it to see the truth right in front of their eyes. The truth,
which was that as soon as Sam was going to get out of these stupid chains, he’d
grab one of those pretty knives and turn this place into a slaughterhouse. It
was one thing, tying him up, but now that they went this far, as if Sam was
just their little pet monster, now that was too much. It was degrading and
simply infuriating, and the more time passed, the more gruesome his fantasies
about murder became, the twisted scenarios his dark mind came up with making
him lick his lips in sadistic anticipation, and an insatiable thirst for blood.
It was only after three hours of nothing, of silent solitude for him to stew in
his own juices, that Sam realized that the thirst from his fantasies wasn’t
one. He was truly thirsty for something, and it didn’t take him long to realize
that it was demon blood he craved.
He tried to ignore it, at first. It was only making his stay here that much
more intolerable, so Sam concentrated on his revenge instead, coming up with
one escape plan after another. And while that worked for a while, the thirst
managed to burrow itself deep inside his brain, rendering all thoughts of
distraction completely useless, and then it wasn’t long before he could hear
his pulse quickening, along with his breathing.
His body began trembling with need, the kind of strong, inescapable and
uncontrollable need that came with this overpowering thirst. It attacked him in
waves—one moment, he was fine, his chest heaving as he tried to relax his
tensed muscles, and the next he was gripping the chains and growling, gritting
his teeth so hard they hurt.
He’s never been addicted to something before, not even after getting a taste of
how peaceful a heroin high was, but now as he stood there, Sam knew that they
were right when people said that withdrawal was a cruel mistress.
Even now, he couldn’t help but groan as he tugged on the chains, yanking on
them in frustration and letting his head fall forward, and then he must have
passed out for a moment, because the next time he opened his eyes, Sam realized
with slight surprise he wasn’t alone anymore.
Blinking dazedly, he raised his gaze to Dean’s expressionless face, the boy
letting go of his chin which he was apparently holding when they made eye
contact.
“Brought you some water,” he said in a toneless voice, his whole demeanor
bleak, as if he was too afraid to show his emotions, that realization making
Sam want to tease him.
Dean lifted a glass of water to Sam’s lips, but instead of opening his mouth
obediently, he glanced at the glass, then chuckled. “Nah thanks. I’d much
rather drink some demon blood…”
Seemingly unfazed by Sam’s comment, the boy grabbed a hold of the other’s jaw
and pressed hard, forcing his mouth open. “Sorry, no more of that shit from now
on,” he muttered, letting some of his anger creep into his voice while nearly
choking Sam with the water.
Sputtering and coughing when Dean finally let go of him, he watched as the boy
turned his back to him and began walking out the room; however just before he
could’ve left, he halted in his steps when Sam said, “Is this how you’re gonna
be now? A coward, too afraid to look me in the eye now that your sweet little
Sammy is gone?”
Dean’s shoulders tensed, Sam noticing as each muscle stiffened, and then the
boy surprised him by shattering the glass against the floor as he came stomping
back with a snarl on his face, the younger boy grinning when the other grabbed
him by his shirt and hauled him closer. “Shut the fuck up,” Dean growled,
fingers tightening in Sam’s shirt. “You’re not—”
“Not Sam?” he cut him off, finishing the boy’s sentence for him with a sneer.
“Is that what you wanted to say? Is that how delusional you are?”
He watched as Dean clenched his jaw, so painfully obviously struggling to keep
himself together, before letting go of him with a hard shove. “I know you. I
know this is not you. I don’t care what you say, because I know,” he hissed
through gritted teeth, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh.
“You don’t know shit, Dean,” he spat, grin widening into something twisted as
he saw the look on the other’s face. “And you do care. Oh, you care a lot,
isn’t that right? You’re scared that the innocent little brat you fell in love
with is gone forever.”
“He’s not gone,” Dean snarled, stepping closer and completely breaching Sam’s
personal space. “You’re just under the influence of this fucking demon blood or
whatever. Something happened to you, something changed you, but that won’t last
long, I can promise you that.”
“But that’s all you do!” Sam exclaimed, an incredulous laugh escaping him.
“That’s what all of you do. You promise, you threaten, you say how you’re gonna
turn me back, but what have you achieved? What do you have to show for all your
empty promises? Nothing, Dean! Nothing. I’m still the way I am, and no matter
how much you desperately hope that’ll change, it won’t. It just won’t.”
“You can’t know that for sure,” Dean argued lowly, still clinging onto this
idiotic fantasy that everything will be fine, and no matter how amusing that
was, his obstinacy was also starting to piss Sam off.
Rolling his eyes, he fixed the boy with a cold look. “Why the hell do you have
a working eye if you can’t even see what’s going on right in front of you? How
many times do I have to repeat it—this is who I am now, what I am. That’s it,
really, whether you like it or not.”
“What you don’t seem to understand,” Dean said with a determined glare, “is
that I don’t give a rat’s ass what you believe. Fuck this crazy world and what
is and isn’t possible. Only a week ago, I learned that goddamn monsters
existed, that those who we were working for were monsters, so I’m not going to
take anything for granted anymore. Everything is possible in this world gone
mad, so you can bet that this little condition of yours ain’t gonna stop me! I
will not lose you to this, Sam. I won’t let it take you from me, I just won’t…
Be it Heaven or Hell, an army of monsters or you yourself, I won’t let anything
get between us, will go knockin’ on Death’s door myself if that’s what I need
to do to make you better. I really don’t care, so you can go ahead and spout
your bullshit about the impossible all you want, because I don’t give a damn;
because there is no such thing as impossible anymore.”
Sam watched him for a long moment, before shaking his head with a scoff. “What
a moving and pitiful speech. I’m impressed you didn’t break down crying halfway
through it,” he taunted, pleased when he saw the twitch of Dean’s eyelid, the
way his fists trembled slightly at his sides. “You must have been very lonely
before you guys murdered my dad and kidnapped me if you’re willing to go that
far. So lonely and pathetic…” He trailed off, before a depraved grin stretched
his lips. “I bet your mom was glad when they took her from you, finally free
from her whiny excuse of a son.”
He knew it was going to happen, but that didn’t stop Sam from wincing when Dean
suckerpunched him, then letting out a pained hiss when his hair got grabbed and
pulled on, the boy yanking his head so far back he thought for a moment that
his neck was going to snap.
“How fucking dare you say that?!” he snapped, suddenly wrapping his free hand
around Sam’s throat and squeezing until he was barely able to breathe anymore,
but even like that, he couldn’t wipe the fiendish smile from his face. “You’re
really fucked in the head, aren’t you?” Dean snarled as the other choked out a
laugh.
Wheezing a bit when the boy finally let go of him, Sam got a fun idea and
licked his lips seductively as he ran his hands as far up the chains as he
could, stretching his body like a cat. “Maybe you should punish me for being a
naughty boy, then,” he purred, eyes narrowing temptingly. “Put me in my place.”
Dean bared his teeth, Adam’s apple rising and falling deliciously as he
swallowed. “Don’t test me,” he warned deeply, the sound sending a familiar and
pleased shiver down Sam’s spine, making him bite down his bottom lip while
baring his throat.
“Why not?” he asked teasingly, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Afraid you’ll
break me, Dean? ‘Coz if yes, don’t worry… This me won’t break that easily.”
He let out a small, self-satisfied chuckle when Dean growled and attacked his
neck, gladly noting with a groan that the boy wasn’t being gentle about it,
either. His fingers tangled in Sam’s hair, keeping his head in place, and Dean
sank his teeth in his throat, biting and nipping roughly at the sensitive skin,
the younger boy’s eyes fluttering shut, moaning lightly when teeth finally
broke skin and he could feel his warm blood trickling down his neck.
“Dean,” he drawled, holding onto the chains with his mouth hanging open as the
boy continued his assault on Sam’s neck, lapping at the blood and the wounds he
made, before making some new ones, not even bothering to be the least bit
tender or considerate as he bit harshly into the other’s flesh, making him
shudder and arch his back.
Watching the boy with desirous eyes as he pulled back and licked his bloody
lips, that sight alone making Sam lick his own, he felt his body come alive
when Dean’s expression darkened, turning into something irresistibly corrupt.
“Does the pain turn you on…?” he asked in slight wonder as his eye roamed the
other’s body, gaze stilling on the tent in the younger boy’s pants before
wandering back to his face. “It does, doesn’t it?”
Sam answered with a wicked grin, impatiently tugging on the chains as he fixed
Dean with an intense look. They kept staring at each other for a short while,
the room as if rising in temperature as each painstaking, heavy second went by,
before the boy must have snapped, the thrill of what this could turn into
winning him over as he stepped forward and closed any distance between them,
aggressively placing a hand over Sam’s bulge and giving it a harsh squeeze.
“Ah, fuck…” he hissed, a tiny gasp leaving him when Dean bit down on his ear.
“Is this what you want, Sammy?” the boy asked roughly, growling the deep words
in his ear while tightening his hold on the other’s clothed erection. “Want me
to hurt you bad?”
A violent shiver rippled though Sam’s body, pushing a breathy moan out of him.
“Yeah, yes. Dean, do it… Hurt me, come on, know you want to.”
Giving one last, brutal squeeze to his bulge, Dean pulled away and walked
behind him, leaving Sam panting in anticipation and curious, listening to the
rustle of something soft and the clanking of iron. It wasn’t long before the
boy came back, stopping behind him, and Sam’s whole body tensed as he felt tiny
spikes, thin like needles, sink into his skin as Dean put a heavy, metal collar
around his throat, its interior apparently lined with a series of spikes, their
tips forcing their way into the younger boy’s already abused flesh.
“Oh god…” Sam whined, the pain each breath made him experience sending blood
rushing to his hardening dick, the pain indeed turning him on. He let out a
shaky exhale, dilated eyes widening as Dean he walked into his field of vision
and held up a chain connected to the collar, the vicious grin spreading across
his face drawing a small sound from him.
“Want pain?” he asked, voice thick with honey-like lust as he raised the chain
in his hand. “I’ll give you pain, baby.”
Sam cried out, the sound that left him resembling a high-pitched whimper as
Dean yanked on the chain, driving the spikes in the collar further into the
other’s flesh, piercing his skin until countless lines of thick, rich blood
were running down the nape of his neck, dirtying his shirt. It was incredible,
the pain never feeling as good as this before while he was human, Sam pretty
sure the demon blood has managed to somehow turn him into a goddamn masochist,
but he couldn’t care, too high on pleasure to give a fuck.
“More,” he found himself whispering, heaving as he raised his head to look at
Dean, a carnal smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he licked them. “You
can do better than that, De… Hurt me more, come on…”
“Fuck,” the boy growled, giving another fierce tug to the chain, and earning a
groan of twisted pain-pleasure from Sam, before letting the chain fall from his
hand as he disappeared back behind the other; however he didn’t have to wait
long before he felt something sharp and cold on the skin on his back, ripping
away at the fabric of his shirt.
“Hey, I liked that shirt,” Sam said with a bratty laugh, followed by a silent
hiss when Dean nicked his skin with the knife on purpose, before cutting his
shirt away completely, moving the tattered fabric out of the way so they hung
loosely on the younger boy’s shoulders.
His breath hitched as his head was yanked back, whimpering when the spikes
clawed at his skin and shivering when Dean snarled, “I’ll gag you if you don’t
shut that arrogant mouth of yours.”
“You like it,” Sam purred in response, leaning into the boy’s merciless hold
with a cocky grin on his face. “Love it when I tell you to keep going. Bet you
wanna hear me beg for more, don’t ya? I will, you know…that is, if you can make
me.”
The boy growled like a savage, tightening his grip on the other’s hair. “Little
brat,” he breathed against Sam’s shoulder. “I’m gonna make you fucking scream.”
Dean slowly slid the edge of the knife down his spine while talking, making him
arch his whole body as the cold blade made the hair on his arms and neck stand
on end, goosebumps breaking out on his skin, Sam even able to feel as his
nipples hardened.
When Dean pulled the knife away without even cutting him, Sam was about to
start complaining and calling the boy names, but then he felt something much
softer against his back, his eyes going plate-sized as he realized what it was,
that realization making his body tremble in excitement and the slightest hint
of nervousness.
“Ready?” Dean purred, then without waiting for an answer, he brought down the
leather flogger on his back, drawing a surprised gasp from Sam, and before he
could’ve collected himself, the whip was back on his skin, the pain biting and
burning, piercing and perfect.
“Oh fu—Dean!!” Sam cried out loudly, throwing his head back and whining when
that caused him even more pain. He gasped and let out some screams that were
very close to wanton mewls instead, his muscles tensing and body rocking each
time Dean whipped him with the flogger, the leather surely leaving some pretty
red marks on his skin, though he couldn’t feel any blood, so maybe the boy
wasn’t going all out after all. Still, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It did,
a lot, even though Sam’s pain tolerance was higher than as a human. Pain shot
up and through his entire body as Dean flogged him, landing several hits in one
area, before moving to another one and caressing the skin, giving it a few
flails, then some stronger ones, until he was back to whipping Sam again.
Shameless and honestly not bothered if anyone were to hear them—since yeah, the
door was still pretty open—Sam let out one loud, sharp cry after another, arms
shaking as he held onto the chains and chest heaving rapidly as he panted,
taking in harsh and quick breaths when he wasn’t busy moaning and screaming
until his throat turned sore.
When it seemed like he was about to collapse and just let his body hang from
the chains keeping him upright, Dean stopped and ran his now free hands down
Sam’s oversensitive and aching back, earning a wounded little whimper from him.
“Painful enough for you?” he asked, wrapping his arms around the other from
behind and pulling him into a hug, the way Dean’s shirt brushed against the
searing wounds on his back making the younger boy flinch.
“Y-Yeah…” he mumbled, feeling rather lightheaded, then was pretty sure he
literally purred when the boy began nuzzling his cheek and placing feathery
kisses on it, Sam surprised by his own reaction as he hummed in delight from
the attention.
Noticing his sudden acceptance of fond touches, Dean smiled against his skin.
“Sammy,” he mouthed, carefully removing the collar from around Sam’s neck and
letting the thing fall to the floor with a clatter, before showering the
other’s bleeding neck with light kisses and kitten licks, soft and caring, and
Sam couldn’t help but melt right there.
Mind still in the clouds, he needed a moment to realize he was liking this too
much, liking gentle too much, and just as he began wondering why he wasn’t
laughing at Dean’s loving caresses instead, his whole body froze, before he let
out a scream of real, excruciating pain.
Jolting back in shock, Dean immediately materialized in front of him, one eye
wide and full of worry and slight confusion as he tried to make sense of the
situation. “Sam?! Sam, what’s wrong?” he asked, but his voice was drowned out
by Sam’s own yells.
“Make it stop, oh god! Dean, help—” he shouted, before getting cut off by his
own cry of pain, his body breaking out in cold sweat and drenching him in a
matter of seconds. He knew exactly what was going on, but since talking was
pretty much impossible right now, he decided to just stick to screaming
instead. This was withdrawal, however so much worse than the last time he felt
it. This time, it felt like his veins were being pulled out of his limbs, like
his blood was flowing backwards, his head thumping so hard and loudly Sam was
certain it was going to explode. He was crying, not sure how much time has
passed before he started crying because now Benny, Ruby and Nick were in the
room too, shouting something but a loud sound made it hard to hear them, Sam
needing a second to realize that loud sound was him, screeching like a wild
animal.
By the time the agonizing, torturous pain stopped, his hair was sticking to his
sweaty forehead, his body assaulted by fierce shivers and his ears ringing, Sam
feeling so nauseous and drained he wouldn’t even have minded if he lost
consciousness right about now. Slowly, he opened his eyes he didn’t remember
closing, and looked up at the group having a panicked argument not too far from
him, their voices quieting down when they realized the screaming has stopped.
“Sam!” Dean was the first to rush over to him, seemingly hesitant to even touch
him in fear he might wither or something, then settled for simply running his
fingers through Sam’s mess of a hair, watching him with a concerned frown
etched onto his face. “Sammy, are you alright? What happened? Can you talk?”
Standing up straight after a few failed attempts, Sam coughed a bit and cleared
his throat, then shook Dean’s pushy hand off his head and sighed. “Nothin’, I’m
fine now…”
“That wasn’t ‘nothing’,” Nick stated as he stepped forward, arms folded in
front of his chest as he regarded Sam with curious, intent eyes. “You were
having a fit, Sam. No, that wasn’t even a fit, it was… I don’t know what, but
it was serious.”
“Yeah, it looked like someone was torturing you,” Ruby pointed out, then after
a glance at Dean, she added, “and not in a fun way.”
Ignoring the woman’s comment, Dean fixed Sam with a demanding look. “Something
was definitely messing with you, Sam. Hurting you in ways I can’t even imagine,
but it had to be bad, judging from the way you were hollering like someone was
skinning you alive. So come on, tell me what’s going on,” he said, jaw a hard
line as he stared at the other. “This is serious, so no more attitude.”
Sam held the boy’s gaze for a while, before averting his eyes with a sigh,
knowing that he was fighting a losing battle anyway. He didn’t particularly
feel like revealing the reason behind his meltdown, but then again, what harm
could telling them about it do?
So after a reluctant glance around the room and the people occupying it, he put
on an indifferent look and said, “It was the demon blood. Been a while since I
had any, so I’m going through withdrawal. And its symptoms are…kinda extreme.”
“Wait, you’re actually addicted to that stuff?” Dean blurted in disbelief, to
what Sam just snorted.
“Yeah, it’s much better than heroin,” he stated, then grinned as he gave the
boy a scornful look. “Better than anything I’ve ever felt…”
Pleased how that made Dean’s lips twist into a slight snarl, Sam let his grin
turn into a smug little smirk, but his attention was soon drawn by Nick who was
stroking his chin, appearing to be deep in thought, before an alarming smile
crossed his face.
“So,” he said with a pinch of optimism, “you’re saying the demon blood is
slowly leaving your system, and that’s why you were acting as if possessed?”
Sam rolled his eyes, unaware of what Nick was getting at yet. “Yeah, that’s
it.”
“Only a few hours have passed, but you’re already having withdrawal problems. I
wonder what would happen if we were to wait for a while longer.”
“What am I, some fucking test subject?” Sam hissed, shooting a glare the man’s
way. “You gonna put me under a microscope now, poke me until something
happens?”
Nick shook his head, Sam feeling a strange dread as the man’s smile widened a
bit. “No. What we are going to do, however, is leave you here until all the
demon blood has left your system. Until you’re clean, and hopefully back to
human.”
“Wait, you can’t be seriously thinking this could turn me back…!” Sam scoffed,
but he wasn’t feeling as confident about his situation as before. He’s been
feeling things that he hasn’t in a while, so the possibility that Nick was
actually right was there, which made his stomach twist and turn in anxiety—yet
another thing he wasn’t supposed to be feeling.
Crap, this wasn’t good.
“It has potential,” Nick remarked, before turning to look at Dean, his smile
vanishing. “I want you to keep an eye on him. After witness what just happened,
going cold turkey won’t be easy for Sam, so he needs supervision.” His eyes
hardened warningly. “Don’t think I’m giving you the permission to play around
with him like you apparently did before, though.”
Dean nodded his head while rubbing the back of his neck, that little motion
being the only sign he might have felt slightly flustered. “Got it,” he said,
stepping back as Nick walked past him toward the door, shortly followed by
Ruby, who gave them a quick wink.
“Be good, boys,” she said, then was out the door, leaving the two of them alone
once again.
Fortunately, Dean wasn’t about to prolong his suffering either, as he also
wandered over to the door as soon as the others left, but before he reached it,
he turned around and flashed a small smile at Sam.
“Don’t think I’m going anywhere,” he informed to the younger boy’s demise, his
smile widening when Sam sighed. “Just going to get some stuff is all.”
“You do know that I don’t need you babysitting me, right? I’m perfectly capable
of getting through this by myself. I don’t want to, but since I doubt I’ve got
any other choice,” he said, rattling the chains for emphasis, “I guess I have
to. Though I’d much rather do it alone.”
“Oh really? I thought you liked my company…” Dean said teasingly, gaze lowering
to Sam’s crotch and making him quite uncomfortable.
“Yeah, well you’re fun enough as a wind-up toy, but that’s it,” he said with a
shrug, unable to look at the other for some reason, aforementioned reason
becoming clear when he did finally shift his eyes toward the boy and saw him
glaring with a challenging fire dancing in his eye, it sending a familiar
shiver down Sam’s spine.
“We’ll see about that,” Dean stated determinedly, then before the other
could’ve said anything, maybe laugh at his efforts at trying to appear tough,
he was already out the room, shutting the door behind him.
Sam gazed into the darkness with a sigh, shivering from the feel of the cold
air of the chamber against the burning, pulsing skin on his naked back.
This was going to be an interesting few hours.
                                       —
 
“Hey, careful!” Sam hissed, gritting his teeth while fighting the urge to duck
his head to escape the wet fabric. “It stings.”
“Told you it would, and I’m being as gentle here as I can. Not my fault you
can’t handle pain as much as you thought you could,” Dean stated with a small
grin, obviously enjoying the other’s discomfort.
Dean had come back after around fifteen minutes, carrying a smaller bucket
filled with water and a white towel in each hand, announcing how he was going
to clean Sam, who mocked the boy’s strange caring attitude right after whipping
him, but unfortunately Dean had learned to ignore his comments, making teasing
him less fun.
The bucket was on the floor, close to his legs, the temptation to just kick it
over and ruin Dean’s efforts great, but at the same time, Sam didn’t fancy
letting his new wounds get infected just because he wanted to be a dick to the
boy. So instead he let the other take care of him, biting down on the inside of
his cheek each time a chill ran across his body when the cold, wet towel
touched his wounded neck.
Dean stayed silent as he slowly, almost fearfully dabbed the towel against
Sam’s skin, the white fabric quickly gaining a pinkish color from all the dried
blood sticking to his neck and shoulders, a few lines even trickling down his
back and chest from some of the bigger wounds. The boy seemed regretful. It was
pretty clear from the way he cleaned Sam, the way concentration was etched onto
his face, along with care and concern, with maybe a hint of shame. And as Sam
watched him, felt the light caress of his fingertips brushing over cleaned
wounds, his mind simply couldn’t come up with any degrading remarks, the
silence filling the room more pleasant and relaxing rather than awkward.
His whole neck was starting to hurt now, the pain slowly seeping back into his
system despite Dean’s gentleness, the aching throbs a continuous reminder of
the horrifying state the skin on his neck must have been in. That pain
worsened, though, when the boy moved behind him and began cleaning his back,
Sam unable to stifle his shuddering gasp or stop himself from flinching.
“It’s okay, I know it hurts,” Dean said in a low, soothing voice, using his
hand that wasn’t brushing the towel against the trembling boy’s back to stroke
his arm. “Just a bit more, alright? Just take it for a while longer, you can do
it.”
Sam’s head fell forward, eyes shut tight and shying away from the towel when it
touched one particularly searing wound. “Ow,” he informed, muscles straining as
he clutched the chains. “Stop…”
“Sorry, can’t yet,” the boy said as if apologetic, switching to the dry side of
the towel which Sam despised the most, the cotton feeling rough against his
sensitive skin and making him emit a tiny whimper, then another when he felt
soft lips grazing against an uninjured part of the nape of his neck. “I’m
sorry,” he repeated, placing several fond kisses on that spot. “I’m sorry it
hurts.”
Eyes slowly fluttering open, Sam sighed contently. “S’fine. I liked it,” he
muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced back at the other over his
shoulder. “And you did too, so no need to pretend you regret it.”
“I’m not pretending,” Dean stated, tossing the towel into the bucket before
walking back in front of Sam with a serious look on his face. “I admit it
was…fun, but I went too far. I wasn’t thinking, got too carried away, didn’t
realize the one I was hurting wasn’t just your annoying, smug self, but also…”
“Also what?” he raised an eyebrow, cocking his head. “You’re feeling sad ‘cause
you hurt your sweet, naïve, fragile little Sammy?” He scoffed. “Hypocrite.
Where was this regret when you nearly strangled me? When you used a machete on
me?”
“That was before,” the boy insisted, furrowing his brow as he averted his gaze
for a moment. “I know I was an ass. I didn’t feel much toward you back then, so
I didn’t let what I did to you bother me. But not anymore,” he said and looked
back at the other. “I love you, Sam. It’s an unhealthy, fucked up love I’ve got
for you, but it’s there, and no matter how much I like to tease you, causing
you real pain isn’t the same as before. I don’t want to. I wanna make you
smile, not cry…”
Sam let out an incredulous sound. “That’s all nice and adorable, but maybe you
shouldn’t have whipped me then,” he spat derisively. “We both know that, no
matter how much you love me, you’ve still got that dark side in you that wants
to cause pain. A side that would get off on the sight of me crying because of
you.”
“No,” Dean answered too quickly, shaking his head, but then apparently changed
his mind and gave Sam a somewhat defeated look. “Maybe. Yeah, maybe I do, but
not with you. Not this side of you.”
“Aw, so it’s not fun enough if I’m okay with it?” Sam sneered. “Want me to
fight it? To look scared and beg for you to stop, is that it?” he asked before
letting out a laugh. “Wow, you really are one twisted son of a bitch.”
He watched in glee as Dean clenched his fists, a snarl twisting his lips as he
took a barely visible step toward the restrained boy. “Funny hearing that from
you; from the very person who moaned from the feeling of fucking spikes poking
holes in his neck,” he growled, then managed to calm himself down a bit as he
sighed. “It’s not that I want you scared. I want you to want it, I do…but not
like this.”
“Ah, I see. So basically you are saying that you’re the only one allowed to be
a jerk,” Sam said with a smirk, to what the boy shrugged.
“I guess I am.”
He rolled his eyes, his smirk turning into a soft smile. “Jerk…”
Dean chuckled, raising a hand to Sam’s cheek and caressing him. “Luckiest one
alive.”
Blinking, Sam lowered his gaze to the floor as he felt himself blush. “Yeah,
whatever,” he mumbled, then shot a glare at the boy when he laughed.
“’Yeah, whatever’?” Dean grinned. “I think you’re turning back to your normal
self.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he scoffed, huffing as he turned his head to
the side, before coughing.
He then coughed again, and again, and aw crap, not again.
“Sam?” The boy placed a hand on his head, but Sam quickly shook it off,
beginning to shake and pant. “Oh no…”
Sam would have loved to blame Dean for what was happening, but he was too busy
groaning in pain as another wave of the withdrawal hit him like a wild ocean,
slamming against him and clawing at his insides, though at least this time he
wasn’t seizing. That did not mean he wasn’t in a great deal of fucking pain, it
ripping through him like a meat grinder, making him scream and yank on the
chains uselessly.
When the pain subsided, Sam was left heaving and sweating like he just ran a
marathon and won, and just as he raised his head, he saw Dean walking back into
the room, apparently leaving it at one point while Sam was having his moment.
“What happened to ‘not leaving my side’?” he inquired with a weak grin as the
boy stepped up to him.
“I didn’t, but then thought I should get this,” he said, raising a small yellow
bottle. “This might help with the withdrawal and…well, with this whole
situation, really.”
“An energy drink?” Sam gave him a questioning look as he glanced at the bottle,
before frowning. “Or what is that?”
It was small, as big as the boy’s palm, Sam squinting to get a better look at
it when he raised the bottle. Yellow, with big red letters reading “Rush” on
it, he only needed a few seconds of inspection to know that this was anything
but an energy drink—especially when he noticed the words “liquid incense” on
the bottom.
Looking back at Dean, he asked warily, “Uh, you trying to roofie me or
something…?”
Dean shook his head no, laughing. “I remembered we had these in the med room.
They’re obviously not meant for medical use, but they’re good at relaxing the
muscles, so we sometimes use them when removing a bullet for example,” he
explained as he twisted off the cap of the small bottle, then shook it
playfully in front of Sam. “You’re supposed to inhale it. As much as you can.”
Sam glanced between the bottle and the boy for a long moment, hesitating as
this didn’t look the least bit innocent at all, definitely suspicious and
having the potential of being some sort of drug. “I don’t know. I think I’ll
stick with the pain, thanks.”
“Oh come on, where did all that bravery go?” Dean taunted, raising the other’s
chin. “Or are you a coward now?”
“Not wanting to sniff some weird liquid that could very well be petrol or some
shit don’t mean I’m a coward,” Sam hissed, then did something very close to a
pout. “But fine…”
Dean flashed him a satisfied grin. “Great,” he said as he raised the bottle to
the other’s nose, Sam scowling when the boy pressed a finger down on one of his
nostrils, and placed the bottle under the other. “Now take a deep breath.”
Still having his doubts about this, but not wanting to back out now and give
any reasons for Dean to accuse him of cowardice, he complied and inhaled
deeply. Right away, the sweet aroma of the liquid filled him and went straight
to his head, and when the bottle was moved to his other nostril, Sam was eager
to breathe it in, welcoming the scent and the calm it brought with itself. He
relaxed, both mentally and physically, watching as the boy pocketed the bottle
before placing a kiss on Sam’s cheek.
“Good?” he asked while caressing the other’s cheek, his fingers feeling sorta
ticklish and pleasant, making Sam lean into the touch with a slow sigh.
“Mhm…yeah,” he breathed, feeling lightheaded and warm and just intense,
shivering when Dean began playing with his hair.
“Told you it would help,” the boy purred, the close and smooth voice ripping a
slight moan from Sam, who closed his eyes and relished in the soft touches, the
tender kisses. “Want some more?” Dean mumbled against his mouth, and he nodded
sluggishly, eyes opening lazily and gazing at the other as he pulled out the
bottle and moved it back to Sam’s nose, the younger boy wasting no time before
taking strong and deep inhales.
He was completely relaxed, body lax and seeking the warmth of Dean’s hands, a
satisfied little smile crossing his face as he was hugged and could bury his
face in the boy’s chest, nuzzling him affectionately while he petted his head,
stroked his side.
“That’s it, good boy,” Dean praised, making him whimper and tug on the chains,
desperately needing more contact which he thankfully got when the hands on his
body slid down to his ass, fondling it with thorough gropes and caresses.
His palms clammy, they slid on the chains as he gripped them and pressed his
forehead against the boy’s chest, keening. “Dean, Dean please, I… Dean,” he
sighed, his breath hitching when a hand slipped into his pants and went for his
hole right away, teasing and circling it with a finger and successfully making
him go crazy.
Dean let out a short chuckle as Sam pushed back against his finger, body
trembling ever so lightly. “Shh baby, you’re doing so good. Nice and relaxed,
right?” he purred between kisses with which he was showering the other’s head,
before very slowly pushing the finger teasing his small, but slack hole inside.
Sam gasped, eyes widening before fluttering shut as the finger slid inside with
surprising ease, whatever this incense was apparently helping relax the muscles
of his hole as well. Without the painful burn, the way that finger curled and
twisted, slid in and out of him was amazing, pushing tiny mewls and needy
whines past his parted lips, Sam’s heart bleeding because he needed more, so
much more, but he was in chains and couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t grab Dean,
couldn’t kiss him…couldn’t wrap his arms around him and never let go.
Then it all became so much worse when the boy removed his finger, withdrawing
his hand from the other’s pants, but quickly comforting Sam and hugging him
close while minding the wounds on his back when he began whimpering. “Sammy,”
Dean whispered his name with utmost adoration, nearly resulting in the panting
boy breaking down. “When this is all over, I will make love to you. I’ll take
you to my room and not come out for days, love you until you’re drowning in it,
until you can’t take it anymore, until I’m all you’ll ever want and need. I
love you Sam, you have no idea how much, and I wanna prove that to you over and
over again… I miss you.”
At those words, and at how broken the last three sounded, he couldn’t help but
push himself closer to the boy, ignoring the pain in his neck as the wounds
grazed against the other’s chest. “Dean, me too,” he mumbled, sniffling because
tears were already welling up in his eyes, some escaping and wetting the boy’s
shirt. “Love you too, so much, Dean I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Sam’s arms hurt,
stretched as he forced himself to lean closer even as the shackles around his
wrists were protesting and biting into his skin, but he was too far gone to
care. Too aware, his immunity to feeling gradually falling away, the blood wall
in his head and around his heart cracking and making him wish it wouldn’t,
because he didn’t think he would survive coming face to face with what he did
while under the influence of demon blood.
He was a freak and he would’ve deserved to be hated for his actions, despised
for them, but instead, Dean just held him tighter and wouldn’t stop whispering
sweet nothings in his ear, promising and reassuring him that it was fine,
everything would be fine, they would be fine—that he loved him more than the
Earth loved the Sun.
It was a while until he finally managed to calm down, but when he did, Dean was
there to wipe his tears away and kiss him, fondly and delicately like he was
something precious. “Feeling better?” he asked after a few more small, quick
kisses that had Sam blushing and feeling a tad bit giddy.
“I’m…y-yeah. Better,” he said with a little nod, his chest tightening when he
saw Dean’s warm, relieved smile.
The boy pressed one last, lingering kiss on his forehead before pulling back.
“I’ll get some cream for your wounds, okay?” he said, as if needing to make
sure Sam knew exactly why he was leaving.
“Thank you,” Sam murmured with a faint smile of his own, before watching Dean’s
back as he left the room, his eyes still staring at the empty doorway long
after the boy was already gone.
And then he closed his eyes, fighting nausea and the fresh tears that wanted to
escape as the memories of the past few days revealed the kind of monster he
could be.
The demon he was born to become.
 
***** Till The End *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
By the end of that day, Sam returned back to normal. It took several more hours
for the demon blood to leave his body completely, but when it finally did and
after Nick did a thorough checkup of his mental state, he was taken out of the
chains and ordered to stay in bed for the next few days, no exception.
Sam wasn’t about to complain about total bed rest, so he let Dean carry him to
his room and place him on the bed, careful to roll him on his stomach.
And just as promised, he wasn’t allowed out of bed at all. He spent all his
time in the room, with Dean taking care of him nonstop, and by that he meant
bringing up food and feeding him, giving him sponge baths, changing his clothes
and the bandages around the wounds on his neck, while salving those on his
back. It was embarrassing beyond words, Sam many times finding himself unable
to even look at the boy, especially when he was washing him, but at the same
time, it was nice. Dean rarely made any teasing remarks, and even those few
were followed by a soft smile and kiss; he always treated him like he was a
porcelain doll, an antique vase meant to be handled with utmost care, and each
day, he assured him that everything was okay without fail, as if needing to
make sure that Sam understood that he was forgiven, that what he said and did
while controlled by demon blood was of the past, didn’t matter anymore.
And it might not have been bothering Dean and the others anymore, but it sure
as hell did Sam.
He felt shame like never before, many times just wishing the boy would stop
acting so considerately and affectionately toward him, because he didn’t
deserve any of it. He remembered everything, couldn’t even take advantage of
the blind joy of ignorance, since every single action, every single thought
that crossed his mind, they were all stuck in his head, set on haunting him
forever. He remembered thinking how fun ripping everyone apart could’ve been,
wondering with twisted curiosity if their blood would taste half as good as
that of demons’, coming up with one gnarly execution for them after another. He
wanted them screaming and bleeding, especially Dean, who Sam recalled he wanted
to hurt the most, watch the betrayal and suffering in his eye he planned on
gauging out, his bloody fantasies going out of control when they were about the
boy probably because Sam loved him the most. And the monster inside him didn’t
appreciate things like love.
He wanted to change everything, cut his own tongue out just so he wouldn’t be
able to say any of those hurtful words, but since he couldn’t turn back time,
Sam was left to deal with what he’s done, whether he wanted to or was capable
of doing so, or not.
Dean wasn’t the only one coming to visit him, though. Many times, Nick and Ruby
came to check up on him, along with Benny and, sometimes, even Raphael. They
scolded him each time he apologized for what he did to them back in the van,
saying that receiving a beating was only natural in their line of work, but
that didn’t really make Sam feel any better. Crowley, of course, never showed
up, which was just as well, because after how he beat the living hell out of
the man, he greatly doubted he’d receive a warm welcome from him.
All in all, nearly everyone had forgiven him. They wouldn’t forget—it wasn’t
something one could just erase from their memory—but they weren’t putting all
the blame on him, accusing him of being an abomination or kicking him out. The
existence of demons, of the supernatural was a shock to all of them, and Nick
had decided that as of now, he would make sure their armory was stacked with
weapons that worked not only on humans, but whatever creepy crawlies this
strange world hid in the dark, swearing he wouldn’t let his team get taken off
guard by a monster ever again. But aside from that, they went back to work,
sticking to smuggling, only with a more open mind. Dean had wanted to add demon
hunting to their job, though. He was eager to, quote “send each and every one
of those black-eyed sons of bitches back to the pits of Hell”, his thirst for
revenge turning him even more careless, ready to plow headfirst into danger,
but thankfully Nick had refused, recognizing how instead of heroic, going to
blindly hunt demons without knowing much about them would only be suicidal.
And while Sam was glad that the boy wasn’t going to put himself in any more
danger than he was already in, what with being a criminal and all, Dean did not
take the refusal well.
They were in the boy’s room, sitting on the bed with their backs against the
wall, Sam having a pillow behind his to make leaning against the bricks less
uncomfortable. Dean had suggested they watch a movie, however instead of using
the TV downstairs, he brought Sam to his room, insisting he wanted them to be
alone. Sam resisted the urge to point out how they’ve been alone for the past
few days, as he didn’t particularly mind spending time with the boy. Being able
to cuddle while alone was also a big plus, though he guessed Dean wouldn’t have
let himself be bothered and would’ve cuddled with him whether they had company
or not.
They ended up choosing Game of Thrones instead of a movie, watching it on the
laptop skillfully balanced on top of a pillow placed near the edge of the bed,
while sitting close to each other and snacking on some gummy worms.
It was around halfway through the episode, when someone killed a White Walker,
that he heard Dean let out a small, frustrated sigh. “Look at that. All you
need is an effective weapon, and then it doesn’t matter who you are or what
you’re fighting. It would work,” he grumbled, making Sam frown at him.
“Are you still sulking because you’re not allowed to go on a demon murder
spree…?” he asked, knowing that was exactly the case when the boy shrugged.
“I’m not. It’s just not fair, okay?” Dean sat up straight, scratching his neck
as he looked at Sam. “They deserve to get exterminated like the roaches they
are. I mean, it’s my job to protect you. Don’t give me that look, it is. I want
to, need to keep what’s mine safe, but how am I supposed to do that when I
can’t even kill those that hurt you?” he said with a mix of anger and dejection
painted on his face.
Feeling extremely lucky he had someone who cared so damn much about him, Sam
was grateful that the boy would have gladly taken up arms and fight freaking
monsters from Hell, but at the same time, it also frightened him. “Dean, I’m
sorry to say this, but I’ll forever be grateful to Nick for refusing your
reckless offer. I don’t want to lose you, especially not like that. If you were
to die while protecting me… I don’t know what I would do,” he confessed, eyes
lowering as a pitiful hint of a smile appeared on his face. “Maybe turn back
into a monster and pick up where you left off.”
“Hey,” the boy said suddenly as he cupped Sam’s chin and raised his head, “stop
that. I mean it. You are not a monster, Sam. You’re the farthest thing from
it.”
“Oh come on, Dean.” He gently pushed the other’s hand away, then turned
completely so he was facing Dean. “I appreciate that you believe that, but…we
both know I’m clearly not human. I can’t be, not with the things I’ve done
while high on demon blood.”
“But that’s exactly it,” the boy stated intently. “You weren’t yourself because
of the demon blood, not because you’re anything but human. You were completely
fine before, just as you are now. It wasn’t your fault, Sam, I need you to
understand that. That…it wasn’t you.”
Sam hesitated for a moment, before slowly nodding his head. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe
you’re right, but not about everything. Azazel, he told me things about my past
not even I knew of,” he revealed, fighting the urge to look away or simply stop
talking as he held Dean’s gaze. “I’ve had demon blood in me ever since I was a
baby… His blood. And it’s still there, it has to be, just waiting to turn me
back into that thing the moment I get another taste of the blood.”
“Do you feel any different?” the boy blurted abruptly.
Blinking, he thought about it, then shook his head with a slight frown. “No, I
guess not. But—”
“Then that’s it,” Dean interrupted him and reached for his hand, taking it in
his warm ones as he looked deep into the younger boy’s eyes. “That’s it, Sam.
That is all you need to know, to remember. You’re not different, you’re Sam, my
Sam, and that’s never going to change. Hear me? You will always be the person I
fell in love with, the person who suffered through years of confinement in
motel rooms, shaped by life to become the kindest person I’ve ever met, willing
to even risk his wellbeing to save a piece of trash like me.” He raised Sam’s
hand to his lips, lightly brushing his fingers across the bruise around his
wrist before placing a tender, chaste kiss on it. “Nobody cares that you might
not be completely human, so you shouldn’t either. Please, don’t let it get to
you.”
Dean’s soft lips on his skin, along with those words and sweet touches had Sam
blushing right away, feeling flustered but kind of happy, too. “But I’m not
normal… Is that really okay with you?”
“Are you kidding?” the boy asked with a laugh, shaking his head as he squeezed
the other’s hand. “Who needs normal? Normal is boring. And anyway, have you
looked around? This whole place is filled with weirdos.”
Sam let a smile cross his face as he tugged his hand away from Dean, before
tentatively crawling closer to him, glaring playfully. “Are you suggesting that
I’m weird now?’
Grinning, the boy flashed him a mischievous look. “Definitely,” he teased, then
surprised Sam by carefully wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him
into his lap, his grin turning into a fond smirk. “But at least like that, we
can be weird together.”
Dean slid a hand up his chest to his face, moving his fingers along Sam’s
jawline, the tickling sensation pushing a tiny giggle from the younger boy.
“Yeah…together,” he mumbled with a smile stuck to his face, before leaning
forward and kissing his lover, forgetting all his troubles for now while with
him.
The boy smiled into the kiss, tangling his fingers in Sam’s hair as their lips
moved in perfect sync, slow and calm, before deepening it. Unlike before, their
kisses didn’t take his breath away anymore. They stole his heart and soul
instead, each time their lips met the sensation filling his body with rays of
pure sunlight, the roaring fire in him tamed and turned into a purring flame,
crooning longingly. He felt at ease, felt safe and loved, cared for, and would
have happily drowned in the kiss, but then Dean was pulling away and chuckling
when Sam looked at him with somewhat disappointed, pleading eyes.
“I swear one day you’ll be the death of me, I love you so much,” he said in a
whispery tone, bumping his nose against the other’s and grinning when Sam moved
closer to him, pressing his forehead against his.
“Same. I love you,” he whispered back, then took a moment to chew on his bottom
lip while thinking about what he wanted to say next, wondering if it was a good
idea, but after being unable to find one reason as to why it wouldn’t be, he
placed his hands on Dean’s chest and felt his whole face flush as he added,
“and want you…”
He watched Dean with what could only be called a shy look on his face, suddenly
feeling extremely embarrassed of what he said, especially when the boy’s eye
widened, as if in disbelief. Beginning to regret his decision, he was about to
crawl off the bed and just pretend he was joking, the nerve-wracking silence
really not good for his already madly beating heart, when he was swiftly pulled
into another kiss, this one rough and claiming and, as always, turning Sam’s
brain to a mush.
When they finally parted, Dean licked his lips and shot him an eager, but wary
look. “You sure? I might end up hurting you if your body ain’t healed properly
yet.”
He nodded hesitantly. “I am… And it’s fine. You’ve been taking care of me, so
my wounds aren’t hurting that much anymore,” he assured with a somewhat coy
smile, glancing away nervously before looking back at Dean. “Or…do you not want
to?”
“What?” the boy asked with an incredulous snort. “Did you really just say that?
Me, not wanting to touch you?” He shook his head and ruffled Sam’s hair.
“That’s pretty much all I wanna do, every second of every day.”
“Oh…o-okay then,” Sam stated awkwardly, his blush intensifying. He was really
great at conversations, freaking excelled at them, seriously.
The uneasy silence—which was probably only uneasy for Sam, as the boy seemed to
be having quite a lot of fun, just smirking to himself like a fox—was drawn out
as Dean leaned forward, forcing Sam off his lap as he messed around with the
laptop, pausing the episode still continuing despite their little moment there,
before closing it and placing it on the floor next to the bed. Without wasting
another moment, he then yanked the other straight back onto his lap, flashing a
carnal look at him as he moved his hands to Sam’s shirt, beginning to
unhurriedly pop the buttons of the flannel open.
Sam watched it all, heart pounding vehemently as Dean’s hands sank lower and
lower, until the shirt was fully open, revealing the slightly pale skin on his
heaving chest. He instinctively held his breath as the boy’s fingers—cold
compared to his burning skin—trailed up and down his sides, only managing to
relax when the boy pulled him closer and whispered meaningless little things in
his ear while licking and nibbling on it, sending an all-consuming shiver down
his spine.
“Turn around…” Dean whispered after an especially hard bite, drawing a silent
moan from the other. Nodding a bit dazedly, Sam did as he was told and changed
positions so that his back was facing the boy, however this potion was making
him even more nervous for some reason, and he couldn’t stop the shaky sigh that
escaped him when careful hands took a hold of his shirt and slowly slid it down
his shoulders, before discarding it completely and tossing it somewhere near
the laptop.
Sam swallowed thickly, biting down on his lips as he stared at his own hands on
Dean’s legs, overly conscious of every breath he took and every little fidgety
move he made as the boy burned a hole in his back, he could feel him watching
so intensely.
Then he felt a finger as it gingerly traced along one of the many wounds on his
back, before hearing Dean mumble something.
“Hm…?” Sam turned his head to look back over his shoulder at the boy. “What did
you say?”
Dean scowled and withdrew his finger, before looking at him. “I shouldn’t have
listened. Shouldn’t have hurt you like this…”
“I already told you—”
“That it was fine, yeah, I know.” He shifted his gaze to Sam’s back, scowl
deepening. “I just feel so damn guilty every time I see this, see what I’ve
done to you.”
Not enjoying the look of self-hatred on his lover’s face one bit, Sam reached
back and took a hold of his hand, before flashing him a reassuring smile. “I
already forgave you a long time ago. Plus, anyway, I was the one who asked,” he
said with a slight shrug, his smile turning timid. “But if you can’t help but
wallow in remorse, then how about you make it up to me…?”
Dean returned his smile right away with a lecherous glint in his eye, then
leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on Sam’s shoulder blade. “Would love
to,” he purred enchantingly, gliding his firm hands up and down the other’s
sides, before leaning in and beginning to shower his back with some of the
lightest, most gentle kisses Sam has ever felt.
He took his time, slowly kissing along each and every wound littering the
younger boy’s back, sometimes sneaking in affectionate licks and, at the parts
of skin that held no scars, loving nuzzles. His kisses were delicate and
soothing, Sam melting from the inside and arching his back, eyes closing to
enjoy and focus on the barely there touches, the brush of Dean’s lush lips soft
and tickling like that of a butterfly’s wings.
Minutes passed as the boy lavished his back with attention, all the while Sam
making some quiet, pleased sounds, then those stopped and he shut up completely
when the hands that were caressing him moved to his pants and began fumbling
with the denim.
Noticing how his body tensed up, Dean’s hands halted in their movement and he
whispered against the other’s neck, “Are you okay?”
And Sam nodded jerkily, because he wanted this. He did, really much so, however
getting naked in front of the boy still managed to fluster him to such a great
extent he turned into a nervous statue as soon as things started becoming
serious. But since Dean couldn’t read his mind and only had Sam’s physical
reaction as proof of what he was feeling, he felt it necessary to show that he
indeed wanted this, no matter how embarrassed he was, and so he only hesitated
for a—pretty long—moment before moving his own hands to his pants and raising
himself on his knees, struggling with the pants until Dean took pity on him and
helped out. Together, they rid him of the leech-like blue denim, but before he
could’ve turned back to face the other, he was stopped and slightly bent over,
underwear ceasing to exist as Dean tugged it off him with remarkable speed and
efficiency.
“Dean?” he muttered confusedly when he tried to sit back up but found he
couldn’t, the boy keeping him on his hands and knees and in a really, very
goddamn awkward and embarrassing position that had Sam blushing madly and
trying to scurry away.
Apparently having other plans than letting him leave, though, Dean grabbed a
hold of his hips and pulled him back, Sam choking out a shocked whimper when he
felt the boy’s lips on his ass.
“Shh, it’s okay. I won’t bite,” he assured teasingly just as he nipped at the
soft flesh, making the younger boy gasp, his arms and legs slowly beginning to
slightly tremble from the knowledge that his ass was pretty much in front of
Dean’s face. “Just wanna make you feel better.”
“Can’t you do it in another way?” Sam asked, the amount of self-consciousness
and unease he was feeling clearly audible in his suddenly feeble voice. “Any
other way…?”
Dean smirked against his ass, then chuckled when Sam tried to move away again.
“I’ll get to the ‘other ways’ later. For now, let me please you,” he whispered
alluringly, that lustful voice and the way he stroked the other’s thighs until
they stopped shaking leaving him with no choice but to cave in, to take a risk
and give himself completely over to the boy.
Taking deep breaths, he nodded before letting his hair fall in front of his
face as he lowered his head. “Okay…” he sighed, fingers curling and fisting
into the black blankets where his hands were on either side on Dean’s legs,
unable to believe he really was doing this, letting Dean grope and stroke him
while in such a highly intimate, downright lewd position. But he was, and while
this was incredibly shameful and even humiliating to an extent, he had to admit
that it was more than a little enjoyable.
Lips parted as his shallow breathing turned into little pants, quickening as
the boy did more and more things to him, as he kissed the small of his back
before journeying down to his ass, wetting both his cheeks with licks and open-
mouthed kisses, then placed a kiss on each thigh which he never stopped
stoking, massaging and caressing both soothingly and encouragingly. Tiny
shockwaves of an interesting pleasure rumbled through him each time Dean got
closer to his small, quivering hole, but before he would’ve reached it, Sam let
out a surprised gasp as the boy licked his perineum, poking and prodding it
with the tip of his tongue before sliding it down to his balls and sucking on
them.
“O-Oh god, Dean…!” he moaned, unconsciously spreading his legs, his fists
hurting from the effort he was gripping onto the blanket on the bed as Dean
cupped his balls and fondled them, then reached forward and took a hold of the
younger boy’s already hard dick, before giving it a playful lick.
“Like it, Sammy?” Dean purred lustfully, voice slightly hoarse and deep, but
before Sam could’ve even began to think of an answer, the boy was back to
touching him and making it so the only things leaving his mouth were tiny moans
and high-pitched whimpers.
He lazily slid his hand over Sam’s erection, stroking it while flicking the tip
with his tongue, then lapped and poked at it before finally wrapping his lips
around the pulsing head and giving it a few sucks, so not enough, however
enough to make the younger boy cry out in want. Dean chuckled at his reaction,
then gave a gentle slap to his ass before grabbing his cheeks and spreading
them as far as they would go, Sam torn between pulling away and leaning into
the dominating touch, then was freezing up and moaning instead when he felt the
boy’s tongue on his hole, the way too alien but oh so fucking good sensation
making him start clawing at the blanket.
Needy little words like “Dean” and “please”, along with “more,” slipped past
his lips, that is, when he wasn’t gasping and whining as the boy snaked his
talented tongue up and down, or circled his hole or, after a while, licked at
it until it slipped inside him, earning a loud moan from Sam.
“What…oh my god…oh f-fuck, Dean,” he breathed, licking his lips eagerly and
screwing his eyes shut as he moaned, sometimes only able to open and close his
mouth without any sounds coming out as the boy did something very close to what
he could only call tongue-fucking. He licked inside him, curled and wiggled his
tongue, and it was all Sam could do not to push his ass in the boy’s face,
because this felt so unbelievable.
Amidst all that intense, strange pleasure, he was still capable of getting a
part of his mind to think and focus, to realize that while this was all good
and well, maybe he should be returning the favor. Maybe, he should also try
something new and quite daring, and before he knew what he was doing, before
his brain could’ve given the go-ahead, he was already tugging on Dean’s pants
and trying to somehow will them off the boy.
Catching on to what was happening, Dean chuckled and lifted his hips a little
to aid Sam in his new mission, the ripples that sound sent up his body nearly
making him just collapse right there. Instead, he just let out a shuddering
moan and went back to pulling the boy’s pants off, and when he finally
succeeded to free Dean of both his pants and underwear, he stopped and wondered
if he has lost his mind after all.
Because sure, he might have been pretty high on pleasure right now, but he
couldn’t honestly be considering giving Dean a blowjob—which would probably
turn this scenario into what he knew as “69”.
But yeah, he was. Still, he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, because for
one, Dean was big and hard, and two, he has never done something like this
before. Mind too blank aside from thoughts of desire swimming around in his
head, Sam let go of his unease and just sank down on his elbows instead,
unintentionally giving more access to his ass for Dean, who was eager to take
advantage of that and shove his tongue even further up the panting boy’s ass.
Only letting that amazing tongue distract him for a few, long seconds, Sam went
back to the matter at hand, swallowing hardly between soft moans before
deciding to just go for it, and see where things lead from there.
He took a hold of Dean’s thick, impressive cock, wondering how the hell was
that even supposed to fit in his mouth, before giving it a try and sticking his
tongue out, licking along the underside of the head tentatively. He received an
appreciative groan from the boy, so he guessed he was doing something right,
and so he went back to licking, the strong taste of salt and flesh, and the
smell of musk and sweat getting to his head and making everything so much more
intense. Humming around the head of Dean’s dick when he took it in his mouth,
Sam swirled his tongue around it, trying to remember what the boy did to him on
the airplane, then hollowed his cheeks and lowered his mouth, taking as much of
the throbbing flesh between his lips as he could without starting to choke.
Dean’s nails dug into his cheeks and he groaned loudly, before withdrawing his
tongue and sucking in a sharp breath. “Ah fuck, Sammy… God, that’s it, t-that’s
good, keep going,” he pleaded, though they both knew it was an order, one Sam
would gladly follow.
He began bobbing his head, wrapping his fingers around the base of the boy’s
cock as he moved his head up and down, all the while sucking and licking,
sometimes grazing his teeth against the flesh by accident but, judging from the
way that just made Dean buck his hips up and nearly choke Sam on his cock,
wasn’t such a bad thing at all. Many times he needed to pull away, coughing and
gagging because he misjudged how much of the boy he could swallow, but after a
few deep breaths that turned to moans and groans when Dean added fingers to his
tongue, he went back to pleasing his boyfriend.
They kept going at it for a long time, at least ten minutes passing with just
Dean adding fingers and stretching Sam open, at one point using something cold
but reassuring him it was just lube, while the younger boy’s keens and wanton
whines were muffled by the warm cock he was trying to take in deeper, relaxing
his throat muscles and willing himself to make Dean moan as he massaged his
balls while swallowing around him and sucking him nice and slow, then faster.
Faster did not end up being a good decision, as that might have been more
pleasurable for the boy, but it also meant the tip of his cock bumped into the
back of Sam’s throat more times than not, resulting in him gagging and heaving.
He kept at it for a while longer, trying to block out the squelching sounds
Dean’s fingers in his loosening hole were making, along with those that his own
mouth emitted, the obscene slurping and wet noises probably turning his face
and ears into a deep shade of red, then let out a small whimper of loss when
the boy pulled out his fingers, Sam’s mouth suddenly empty as he got hauled
back and turned around, everything happening so fast he barely registered when
Dean’s lips crushed against his in a passionate kiss.
He could taste it, could taste his own freaking ass on Dean’s tongue, but the
kiss was too good and, honestly, at this point he didn’t really care about
weird or lewd, or morally wrong or even disgusting, because everything that
involved the boy was just simply perfect.
Dean licked the other’s lips when they parted, before flashing him a nasty
grin. “You’re surprisingly good at that… Sure you haven’t done it before?”
Face burning, he shook his head and kissed the boy’s nose. “Nope. Only you.”
“Born to please me, then,” he teased, placing a kiss of his own on the corner
of Sam’s lips, then glanced at the pillow. “Lie down on your stomach. I wanna
make good on my promise.”
“What promise?” he asked, blinking at the other.
Dean grinned. “The one about making love to you, of course.”
“Oh…” he remarked, eyes suddenly looking anywhere but the boy as he pursed his
lips. “I see.”
“Yep. So how about you be a good boy and let me love yah?” Dean wiggled his
eyebrows when Sam looked back at him, then they both burst out laughing, first
Sam then Dean.
“Yeah, okay,” he said with an embarrassed smile, before quickly pecking the
boy’s cheek and crawling off his lap, then laid down on the bed, burying his
face in the pillow which he also took a hold of with his hands.
He could feel it as Dean moved on top of him. First, he listened to the boy
remove each article of clothing that remained, then suddenly he was on top of
him, leaving a trail of kisses down his back until he reached Sam’s ass, where
he gave it one lick before pressing two wet, lubed fingers inside him and going
back to stretching and opening him up as thoroughly as possible, not stopping
until he had four fucking fingers inside him, by which time he was a complete
mess, needy moans muffled as he buried his face in Dean’s pillow that smelled
just like him, the scent relaxing him.
When the boy did pull out his fingers after a very long time, he straddled
Sam’s hips and kissed his ear, before whispering, “Are you ready…?”
“Stupid question,” he mumbled, then glanced back at Dean and playfully licked
his chin. “You know I am…” Dean’s face split into a wide smile, Sam laughing
lightly and burying his face back into the pillow when the boy licked the spot
behind his ear, before withdrawing and stroking the other’s ass, softly and
slowly. Then Sam gasped, the high-pitched sound of his breath hitching muffled
by the fluffy pillow as Dean rubbed his erection against the cleft of Sam’s
ass, then very carefully slid it down and over to his hole, before pushing the
head inside. His grip tightening on the pillow, he forced himself to relax,
which surprisingly came easier this time that they were using lube, then after
around a minute he wriggled his ass, signaling for Dean to keep going, which he
did almost right away. Grasping Sam’s waist, he gradually sank in further,
deeper and deeper, the feeling making the younger boy whimper in slight
discomfort, until he was all the way in, after which he paused and waited for
Sam to get used to the feeling, which was nice and considerate, but he was
horny and wanted the boy to move, even if it might cause him a little bit of
pain.
But as he found out while in a demon blood induced state, a little bit of pain
wasn’t so bad.
He rolled his hips, which was Dean’s cue to start moving. The boy lowered
himself as far as he could without actually pressing his chest against the
other’s back, before beginning to move, slowly pulling out until only the tip
remained inside, then thrust it back in just as aggravatingly slowly,
continuing his drawn-out pulls and pushes until Sam was keening, desperately
trying to spread his legs which wasn’t such an easy task with them trapped
between Dean’s own, long limbs.
“Sammy,” the boy panted, hooking his arms under the younger boy’s shoulders and
lightly kissing the wounds on his neck. “God, Sammy. So good, so…so fucking
good for me. Never wanna leave, want to just stay like this forever, love you
forever.”
Sam bit the pillow and mewled in response, bucking his hips and humping the bed
while Dean fucked slowly into him, nice and sweetly, lovingly, and it wasn’t
enough. He took it for a few more minutes, until he just couldn’t anymore, and
he weakly got on his elbows before turning around, whining when the boy’s cock
slipped out of him but it was a necessary loss for what he was doing.
Frowning, Dean licked his lips and asked, “What are you doing? Sam, no, that
will hurt…”
But he shook his head and stayed in the new position, lying on his aching back
while spreading his legs because he wanted, needed to look at Dean while having
sex, a primal instinct screaming at him to be as close and intimate to his mate
as possible. “I don’t care. Please, Dean…want you like this. Please…” he begged
miserably, reaching out and pulling the boy down into a hopeless kiss, which
quickly turned hot and passionate, lasting until Dean let out a small growl and
eased away, gazing at Sam hungrily.
“Fine… Fuck, fine,” he growled, before moving closer to the other, then lined
his cock up with the waiting hole and carefully slid back inside, both of them
sighing in pleasure.
Getting filled like this should’ve been odd, but it was only exhilarating to
Sam now, long moans ripped out of him each time Dean thrust forward, first in
slow and drawn-out moves, then at a steady, slightly faster pace, keeping the
gasping boy’s legs spread with his hands planted on his thighs. Each slam of
the boy’s hips pushed one wanton moan out of him after another, his hands
somehow finding their way to the other’s back and clawing at the skin there
like some needy little puppy, legs rocking in the air as his knees were nearly
pressed into his chest, making him realize just how agile and flexible he
really was.
“Dean, oh Dea—” he whined, then was cut off by his own cry of intense pleasure
as what must’ve been his prostate got hit dead on, his back seriously hurting
now, but his joy, lust and pleasure was so much greater than pain, overriding
it almost completely as Dean gently fucked him into the mattress while groaning
and whispering all kinds of praises, of words of worship and adoration in his
ear, which just made it even harder for Sam to control himself.
He threw his head back, letting the boy lick at his throat as he wrapped his
arms around the other’s neck, hanging on as if he could actually somehow fall
from the bed, arching his back and letting out a whimper that was really just a
little sob when Dean began kissing and sucking, biting at his shoulders and
chest, all the while keeping up his thrusts that were gradually turning faster,
but never rough or brutal. Always sweet and loving, always passionate, Dean was
truly making love to Sam, and that had the younger boy nearly on the verge of
happy tears, this feeling of being so completely loved threatening to burst his
heart with delight.
It wasn’t too long before he could feel his orgasm creeping up on him,
especially when the boy took a hold of his leaking cock and began giving it
firm strokes and quick pumps, Sam losing it pretty soon after that. He gasped,
moving his hips back and forth, then squeezed his eyes shut as he came with an
incoherent moan of words, along with Dean’s name, his abdomen contracting with
tiny spasms, riding out his orgasm as the boy kept stroking him, then just as
he was coming off the afterglow, he made another little sound as he felt Dean
coming inside him, hard and deep while pressing their sweaty, sticky chests
flush together.
They lay there, panting and warm, their limbs tangled together, for a very long
time, just enjoying this blissful moment filled with sweet kisses and
affectionate nuzzles, before Dean carefully pulled out of him and turned them
around, kicking at the blanket until it would obey and let itself be pulled
over their exhausted bodies as the boy flopped onto his back, pulling Sam with
him.
Wrapping his arms around the other and pulling him close, obviously cuddling,
Dean took a deep breath and let it out as a satisfied sigh, before kissing
Sam’s head. “It’s only six, but how about we stay in bed until mornin’?” he
asked, while absentmindedly playing with the tired boy’s shaggy, sweaty hair.
Humming in agreement, as he didn’t quite feel like moving at all either, Sam
trailed his finger up Dean’s chest before splaying his hand on his collarbone.
“Mhm… Sounds perfect,” he mumbled. “Wanna stay like this forever.”
He both heard and felt the boy chuckle, then whisper, “Then that’s what we’re
gonna do. Staying together…forever.”
Dean pulled him impossibly closer, and Sam smiled, broad and happy, because
this was it. For so long he wanted another life, wanted to know where he truly
belonged, but now he was certain that he has found it. Here, it didn’t matter
if he wasn’t normal. Here, the world could turn upside down and go crazy, he
wouldn’t care. Nothing mattered, nothing could bring him down anymore, no
demons or terrifying danger, no fucked up crap this unpredictable world could
throw at him, because here, he was safe.
He finally found home, a place where he belonged and knew he could survive in,
and it was right here, in Dean’s arms…
 
                                    THE END
                                        
Chapter End Notes
     Well...here we are. This is it. A big thank you to everyone who read
     the story, and an even bigger one to those that left comments. <3
     Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
     Have a nice day!
     Toodles~
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