Running with the Devil Pt 1
Fandom: Supernatural
Parings: John/Bobby, Dean/OMC, Sam/Dean
Rating: FRAO
Warnings: Wincest (Sam/Dean), explicit M/M sex, violence, lots of car related dialogue thanks to my son
Summary: The Winchesters and Bobby take part in a 1500 mile illegal road race across the USA to track a demon that is running motorists off the course and sucking their souls out.
The harsh glare of sodium lights reflected off the low hanging clouds. Not even a hint of pale moonlight breaking through. Wind whispered through the bare limbs of thick rooted trees lining the streets. Far into the distance the street curved into a parking lot for a huge cement walled building.
In the parking lot a multitude of glittering automobiles sat in neat rows. Although a few of the metallic beasts were modern cars, high performance vehicles that were low to the ground and aerodynamic, many of the cars were massive monuments to by-gone days. The Chevy Bel Aire was among the more popular models but many kinds of classic cars cluttered the silent parking lot.
At the far end of the lot sat a 1949 Mercury, the huge machine painted a gleaming black with neon green flames following the flowing lines of the chassis. The flames met at the back of the car mid-trunk flowing up and around a glowing green human skull, vacant eye sockets staring at the night.
The driver of the Merc was a young man; his smooth tan skin glowed beneath a hint of blond stubble on his cheeks and chin. His dark blue eyes were hooded, carefully concealing his thoughts. He moved with a smooth, insouciant grace so uncommon in such a young man. Sighing he took a sip out of the coffee cup he held cradled in one palm shrugging his shoulders under the black leather of his duster.
At the opposite end of the lot was a 2007 Lamborghini Gallardo SE the driver leaning casually against the side of the car as if he didn't know that he possessed one of the most sought after cars in existence. The crowd swirled around the lot, talking to the drivers and taking pictures of the automobiles. When the sea of humanity came to the Lamborghini the driver moved aside smiling,
"Hey, you came to see the car not me," he said graciously, stepping out of the picture.
His voice was cool and smooth, touched by childhood years of living in some European place, and it sent a shiver down the spine of the woman holding the camera. He winked and she felt herself caught up in his gaze almost as if she dare not look away.
Cassidy Collins finally dragged her eyes away from the face of the Lamborghini's driver and snapped the shot. She giggled as he bowed to her, ushering her onward to the next car. When she had made the circuit the only car that she had not photographed was the '49 Merc.
Cassidy stepped around a red cone marking a rough spot in the asphalt and headed back to the car. The driver also moved away when she raised the camera. He didn't offer to speak to her or even smile, and she was caught by a sense of overwhelming sorrow in his stance. She couldn't figure it out. What did he have to be sorry about? He was obviously rich if he could afford a tricked out muscle car, and this car was tricked-out to the nth degree. And he was beautiful, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him, and young. Cassidy would say he was only a few years younger than her twenty-five except for the infinite ages that rested in his eyes. Once again she felt a shiver run along her spine.
"Well, that's it," Cassidy muttered under he breath.
She turned her digital camera over and began running through the photos on the viewer just to be sure that they had all come out okay. She smiled again. There was the tall, skinny Asian guy, who owned a graphic design company, in his 2004 Ferrari Enzo. Beside him was a middle-aged couple in the 2007 Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren 722, both bankers. The list went on. Only in America could you run across multi-millions of dollars of steel and the wide variety of human flesh to pilot them. A small raised platform was situated roughly in the middle of the ring of cars. A man in jeans and a dark sweater jumped up on the stage and went to the microphone.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we're all gathered here tonight for the Route 66 Rod Run. The course takes us from San Bernardino, California, to St. Louis, Missouri, all along old state Route 66. What's at stake is a million dollar prize and the glory of knowing that you and your automobile are the best this country has to offer. We will start the race in two days time, from the staging area outside San Bernardino. You all have your maps and your routes marked. The point is to get from one side of this great land of ours to the other in as little time as possible. Remember we will be picking up a few more entrants at the starting point in San Bernardino so plan well. And also remember that the road doesn't run straight through anymore. It's up to you how you get around those obstacles but you will start and finish on Route 66."
Later, after the lot had cleared out, Cassidy headed back to her own car. Nothing as expensive, or elegant, as the cars in the race. She drove a small sedan that got good gas mileage. Three cars passed her as she left the Merc, the Enzo and the European guy's Lambo. The high performance cars passed her like she was standing still and disappeared into the night.
Jonathan Soupanthong pulled his Enzo out into the empty road carefully. Despite the car's reputation as one of the world's fastest automobiles Jon was a considerate driver. He loved the car too much to abuse it; in fact, he saw the car not as possession but as a validation. His parents had come to this country from Laos, fleeing the war in Vietnam. They arrived at Ellis Island with nothing more than a desire for a better life. Jonathan was living proof they had gotten it. Both his parents had died citizens of the country that had adopted them. But Jon was American born, his father had been so proud of that.
Jon pulled the car onto the main road headed toward the freeway and San Bernardino. He glanced back when headlights flashed in his rearview mirror. With a frown Jon guided the Enzo over to the curb giving the other car plenty of room to pass. But the other car dropped its speed following Jon to the curb. He was beginning to get nervous and sped up, knowing that his car could outrun most of the cars at the show. But the car behind him sped up as well, pacing him, staying just on his tail.
Finally, with a dismayed shout Jon stepped on the gas, the car surged forward, wind whistling around the cab. He smiled, until a few seconds later when the other car appeared right behind him headlights painting his rear windshield. Blinded by the glare Jon jerked the wheel a little too hard; the Ferrari jumped the curb hitting a power pole at almost two hundred miles per hour. The metal screamed as the pole parted the engine from the passenger cabin, Jon was flung forward secured by his seatbelt but slammed face first into the airbag and the car split in two and was flung across the road.
With a moan the man inside the car rolled his head back, wincing as his back was engulfed by a burning pain. A figure approached the remains of the Ferrari. The engine was scattered all over the road, but, in a testament to good design, the cockpit was still whole. The door creaked when the dark figure jerked it open and flung it into the street. Jon screamed, as much as he could with the airbag pressing against his chest, as the man's yellow eyes locked onto his. With a groan he tried to roll, tried to slide away as cold, iron hard fingers pinched the flesh of his neck. Jon's head tipped back, his mouth gaping in a silent scream and the white-blue wisp of his soul poured out. The dark figure inhaled deeply, moaning in appreciation. The younger ones were always so good.
It was hot, but Bobby Singer shivered despite the heat. Panting he shook his head slightly trying to keep the moisture beading on his forehead from falling into his eyes. He was flushed and sweaty, but he supposed the fact that he had a six-foot two inch, one hundred and ninety pound man straddling his hips might have something to do with it. John groaned rocking just slightly and Bobby spit out a curse. With a grin John lifted himself up, knobby knees digging into Bobby's hips and ground himself down. Bobby hissed and jerked as his cock sank deeper into John.
"Johnny, let me come," he hissed.
John laughed. A low dirty sound that rumbled in the back of his throat. Bobby sighed, he'd come when John was good and ready. Somehow when they started this Bobby had been surprised as hell when John wanted to bottom, now he knew why. John was control freak enough that he was a goddamn master at topping from the bottom.
"I mean it Winchester," he hissed again, "Move your tight ass."
John grunted, rising up and dropping down a few times in quick succession and Bobby's eyes rolled up in his head. He hung just on the brink until John leaned back and pinched Bobby's balls between his thumb and fingers. Bobby moaned. Desperate he grabbed John's cock and jacked it a few time, but John was only half-hard, still riding the orgasm he'd had when Bobby blew him about thirty minutes ago.
Finally, when Bobby thought he was going to lose his mind, he felt John stir, hardening under his touch and he smiled triumphantly. John uttered a loud string of expletives and thrust into Bobby's fist. He jerked John's cock hard, sending him into orgasmic frenzy again and John's body heaved and jerked until Bobby felt his balls draw up tight, and he shot his load deep into John's bowels. They lay side by side Bobby grinning like a lunatic. Who knew that taciturn John Winchester was a screamer in the sack?
This thing was still new to them, new for both of them as far as men went as well. And even though it had not been of their own choosing neither one was complaining. Six months had come and gone since John and the boys had been nailed by a semi truck and ended up in the hospital. After John had destroyed the demon that had killed Mary in the hospital boiler room he had been despondent, thinking that he had condemned his older son to death, but fate sided with the Winchesters more often than it should, and Dean had survived. They had spent the next few weeks at Bobby's while John and the older man got the Impala into shape.
After Dean was back on his feet, the four men had begun hunting in earnest. Even though the demon that had killed his wife and almost destroyed his family was dead, John found out he was in too deep to give it up. Primarily because while the one demon was dead there were plenty more yellow-eyed freaks that had clawed their way out of hell who had one name on their lips - Winchester. And they had all come to call. Bobby had gotten sucked into it by association.
This particular development was the result of a run in with a nasty little vengeance demon. It was a curse, one they had been heartily enjoying ever since. It had taken them almost a month to track down the demon and try and force it to make a deal to lift the curse. By that time both men were reluctant to end their relationship, and when the time came they chose to dispatch the demon and keep their affair intact. And neither one of them regretted that decision in the least. It gave them an edge in hunting together, and if the truth was told John had finally admitted to himself that for the first time since Mary died he wanted someone to touch him. The fact that it was a cantankerous old hillbilly like Bobby didn't matter in the least.
Bobby had discovered that in the old Roman and Greek culture they would have been called Shield mates, two men who fought side by side and would give their lives for one another because of the sexual bond between them. The bond was a given, but what Bobby hadn't counted on was the falling in love part. Now he was lying on his bed, drowsy, with John a warm, heavy weight in his arms.
"Johnny, we got to get up the boys will be back soon."
"The boys know we're fucking, or God knows they ought to, as loud as you are."
Bobby sputtered, but before he could say anything there was a tentative knock on the bedroom door. Sam's voice carried in from the hall.
"Hey, Dad, are you guys decent?"
John leaned up on one elbow winking at the older man and yelled,
"Sure we're two of the most decent guys you know."
The door swung open and Bobby flinched but John refused to budge off his chest so the older man was forced to lay naked in front of his lover's two sons. Sam looked up, squawked and skidded to a halt. His older brother, trailing behind him, rammed into Sam at full speed sending the younger man sprawling. Dean looked up and hurriedly turned around.
"Shit, Dad. This whole new lease on life thing is getting pretty freakin' old, Dude."
From the floor Sam chimed in,
"Dad, I asked if you two were decent."
John's mocking laughter washed over them.
"Yep, but what you should have asked was, are we naked."
Dean rolled his eyes.
"Thanks a lot, Dad. Now I think I'm gonna need therapy."
"What'd I always tell you boys? If you want the right answers you've got to ask the right questions. What do you want?" John asked moving enough that Bobby could fish the sheet off the floor and throw it over them. Dean apparently was more resilient than he claimed because he bounded into the room and parked himself on the foot of the bed. Sam rolled over onto his back and lay on the floor. John looked over the end of the bed.
"Get up off the floor, Sammy."
"No, I'm just going to lay here and let my head stop spinning, thank you very much."
John sighed and shrugged. Dean shot his father a look, and then held up a section of the newspaper and a sheaf of printed pages.
"Got something. There's this hush-hush illegal road race that everybody knows about and nobody does shit to stop that runs along old state Route 66 from California to Missouri. They have it four times a year, only this year it's been delayed."
"And why is this of any interest to us?'" Sam asked from the floor.
John frowned at his younger son again.
Dean snorted.
"Because six of the drivers have turned up dead this year."
Bobby shrugged taking the newspaper.
"Yeah but these people are driving a shit load of expensive automobiles. Could just be thieves."
"None of the cars were stolen. All wrecked and I mean, wrecked, and the owners all found dead. Not a mark on them. The only thing the reporter says is that they all had the same expression on their faces. It looked like they all were scared to death."
John cocked an eyebrow.
"Literally, scared to death?"
With a grin Dean nodded.
"They're holding the start of the race for a month, until they can get six more cars."
"Well, how can we deal with this?" Bobby asked.
Dean shot him a look.
"Half the cars entered are classic muscle cars. I'll guarantee that none of them run like the Impala. Sammy and I can enter the race in the old girl. Dad, you and Bobby just need to come up with a car."
John shrugged but Bobby looked at him.
"Well, I have a friend who has access to some pretty sweet rides. We'll see what he can come up with on short notice. Okay, so we head to San Bernardino."
Two weeks later the cars were packed. Sam and Dean were driving the Impala which Dean and John had modified by super charging the engine. John and Bobby, on the other hand, were driving a 2006 Dodge Viper SRT/10 with a Heffner Twin Turbo engine that Bobby's 'associate' had loaned them.
Dean ran his hands lovingly over the smooth, black paint of the Viper.
"Bobby, man, how did your friend get a hold of this car?"
"He owns it, fair and square. I cleaned a poltergeist out of his mother's house. He's a very good son."
"I didn't know you knew any rich people. What's the guy do?"
"Well," Bobby said stalling, "Let's just say he's a nice Sicilian gentleman who owns Pizza stores in Chicago, Vegas and LA. And they move a lot of cheese between those three cities in big trucks with guys named Guido and Vinnie driving. If you get my drift."
It took them three days to drive to California. They turned into the side street leading to a vacant lot that was the starting point for the race. With the Viper and the Impala the race had a full line up of vehicles. Dean cruised past the row of cars looking over the competition. Beside his dad and Bobby in the Viper there was a '49 Mercury, a black Lamborghini, a blue and white Shelby Cobra, a Mercedes, an Aston Martin, a 2007 Bugatti Veyron, a 1997 McLaren F1, and a 2007 Porsche 911 Turbo.
He was impressed by the variety and the dollar amount of the automobiles. As they entered the staging area a couple of pretty girls were handing out flyers and a young man in a black suit motioned them into line with the others. Dean glanced at the flyer then passed it across the seat to Sam. He shrugged. The pink sheet announced an informal picnic at the staging area for all the drivers. He looked in the rearview mirror as his dad pulled the Viper into the lot, and took the flyer as well.
Once they were parked John and Bobby slid the doors open and stepped out of the car. A cute young woman with a digital camera was moving down the line taking photos of the cars. She smiled at John and leaned in enough that her arm brushed his hip. Bobby looked down then slid his arm behind the younger man's back. The girl raised an eyebrow.
"I need your names for the entry records."
"Bobby Singer and my partner, John Winchester," he said with a wide grin.
John shot him a look over her head. But Bobby held his ground. She looked from one man to the other, and winked at John. Bobby huffed.
"You mean your driving partner," Cassidy said slowly.
John was sure that she was just egging Bobby on. He took the bait and jerked John closer. Before John could object Bobby plastered a kiss on his lips. Then nodded at the young woman.
"Get it, sweetheart."
Giggling she finished filling out their forms and handed Bobby a copy. He had the good grace to blush when she patted his arm. Laughing to herself she moved over to the Impala.
John shot Bobby a look.
"Why don't you just piss on me next time, Singer?"
"You'd probably just get off on it if I did," Bobby snorted.
John leaned over running a hand up the older man's arm.
"Would you?" he whispered, and Bobby's face pinked nicely. John bellowed with laughter.
Cassidy looked over her shoulder at the two older men then grinned at the good looking blond leaning against the '67 Impala. She glanced from him to the other good looking blond down the way with the '49 Merc. Damn what was it with blonds and muscle cars? She felt like she had hit the jackpot. Until she saw the tall, lanky guy get out of the other door of the car. She flicked her gaze to Dean.
"You two aren't gay too are you?"
"Huh," Dean asked stupidly and Cassidy signed, even if he wasn't gay he was dumber than a brick. Dean glanced at his dad and Bobby.
"Oh no, this is my brother Sam. I see you've met my dad and my uh….stepfather."
Sam shrugged and Cassidy looked at them.
"Stepfather?"
"Good a name as any. I guess." Sam added smiling. "They live together."
"I need your names for the race records, and a photo of the car. It's really nice." she slid a hand over the fender and Dean shot her a look.
"Take it easy on the old girl. She's kind of temperamental," he said.
Cassidy sighed yet again.
"Names," she said tapping the clipboard. The camera swung around her wrist. Dean offered her a grin.
"Dean and Sam Winchester. That's the Winchester brothers not like we're gay or anything," he said and she rolled her eyes.
"No, I think your dad has the gay part of the family covered."
Dean shrugged, but he liked her. She was a little shorter and rounder than his usual playmates but what the hell? She was perky. And she didn't take crap off anybody. He could deal with that. Sam settled against the car watching as, once again, his brother had his pick-up engine revving. The girl was more Sam's type than Dean's but he didn't think that he stood a chance, not that he wanted one. Lately Sam was aware of the fact that he wasn't so much jealous of Dean's innumerable women but more jealous of the fact that the women had Dean. He shuddered, just thinking about what his father would say about that.
Dean settled in at one of the folding tables ready to dig into the food piled on the plate in front of him. He surveyed the crowds. There were too many prospective bodies that could be sheltering a demon for him to make a quick decision. Sam pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. Glancing at his brother the younger man jerked his head in the direction of the other tables.
"So have a favorite yet?"
Dean shook his head waiting until John and Bobby sat down then looking over at the older men. John cocked his head nodding in the direction of a guy about the same age as his sons, sitting alone at a table smoking a cigarette.
"All the cars have two drivers except two, the Merc and the Lamborghini. The kid in the Mercury is giving me a vibe. Don't know why, I recited a couple of lines from the ritual for exorcism right behind him and he only looked at me funny. No hissing or screaming."
Bobby nodded. "The only other single driver is a Doctor Francois Rosier, a French research scientist. He's driving the Lambo. I got my money its one of them so we need to keep track of their whereabouts."
Sam shrugged. "Some demons work in pairs so it could be anyone of the others though too. It's too early to tell."
His father nodded. "As much as I hate to admit it we got no way of telling until someone else dies. We'll pace the guy in the Lambo. You boys keep tabs on the kid in the Mercury."
Later John found himself separated from the others. When he turned around the young man driving the 1949 Mercury was standing behind him. The kid smiled at the older man, moving in close, invading his personal space. John found himself staring at the boy's smooth, tanned face. His eyes lit up as he leaned in close enough to John that he could feel the younger man's breath on his face. John took a shaky step backwards and muttered,
"Christo."
The boy smiled.
"You got a thing for Latin, don't you John?"
"How'd you know my name?"
"It's been bandied around in the circles I travel, well…traveled."
Trying to muscle his way past the kid John found himself caught in eyes so blue he felt like he was drowning.
"What do you want?"
"Don't discount the obvious. You're a good looking guy, John. Maybe I just want to see you spread out on your back under me," he said with a grin.
Stepping forward the younger man slid his hand down John's chest letting his fingers trail lightly over the prominent bulge in his jeans.
John swallowed. "I…uhh…I can't."
"Feels like you can. Oh, but I forgot about poor sweet Bobby. You're big on fidelity; I mean you never once screwed around on her…for twenty-two years. I gotta say I like a man who's loyal. Do you love Bobby?"
Closing his eyes against the intense blue gaze John stammered, "Yes."
"Well, far be it for me to stand between a man and his soulmate."
With a wink the younger man strolled away, leaving John shaking and aroused. He fled the isolated corner back to the table where the others were sitting. Grabbing Bobby's hand he tugged the other man to his feet. Bobby almost dropped the coffee he was holding and finally dug his heels in and pulled John to a halt.
"John, what the hell?"
John shoved his hips into the other man's backside uncaring of the stares of his sons.
"Hotel, Singer. Now."
TBC