Chapter Two
Vis got uncomfortable about a week after Dean and Sam got home. They didn't usually go this long without beginning discussions about another hunt. Something was off, and Vis wanted to know what it was.
"When are you guys leaving again?" he asked carefully one day as they were sitting at a small diner in town for dinner. The place was empty except for them and an old man drinking coffee at the counter, and the diner's college-aged waiter was watching Vis, making his stomach get butterflies every time he looked up, but he did his best to focus on his family instead.
"We're not sure yet," Dean replied. "We've been thinking and, we're getting older now. Maybe we'll run more of information."
"Information?"
"Yeah," Sam said, "our Uncle Bobby used to run a decent network of making connections, being the guy you send people to when you're pretending to be FBI, helping research."
"You guys aren't that old," Vis said, surprised by what Sam was saying. "I thought you liked hunting." He glanced up as the waiter walked passed their table, blushing furiously as the young man winked at him.
"We do – are you okay?"
Vis looked at his father and nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I'm... I'm fine. Absolutely fine." He took a drink of his glass of water before continuing, "So you're just. Just going to stay home all the time? But how are you gonna get money and—"
"We run a credit card scam," Dean whispered, "we don't need to worry about money. And even then, I could work at the garage downtown or something, and you're going to go to college and—" The look on Vis' face made Dean stop. "Why do you look like you want to stab yourself in the eye?"
"I've been thinking," Vis tried to pick his words carefully, "and I'm not so sure about going to college anymore, Dad."
Dean raised his eyebrows and gave Sam a sideways look. "Why not?" He didn't care, he knew that Vis would find something to do in life regardless of whether he went to college or not, but he had been hearing about college plans for the last four years, and never once had not going come up.
"Well, it's just, somebody has to keep up with the whole Winchester name, right? And unless you guys have more kids I don't know about—"
"You want to be a hunter?" Sam asked.
Vis casually put a French fry into his mouth, leaning his elbow on the table. He glanced up and caught the eye of the waiter again. He cursed in his head as he looked away to answer Sam, "Well, yeah. I want to change the world, that's what you guys do. Saving people, hunting things, the family business. It's been in your family for, like, generations, right?"
"That's true," Dean replied. "Look, you can do whatever you want to do with your life, but hunting is—"
"—is dangerous. I know. Dad, I know. I saw the thing that got Mom. I've bandaged you up, and I've seen your friends who have stumbled in at one a.m. covered in blood and bruises. I want you to teach me how to be a good hunter like you, how to save people's lives. If I could save just one person's life, it would be worth even losing my own."
Dean leaned back in the diner booth, looking at Vis with what Vis thought was a little bit of admiration. Vis looked up and caught the waiter's eyes again. The waiter ran a hand through his dark hair and flashed him a smile, gesturing for him to come over. Vis swallowed and looked down at the table, biting his lip.
"What do you keep looking at?" Sam looked behind him and Dean, searching for whatever was catching Vis' attention.
"Nothing! I wasn't looking at anything," Vis promised. The waiter tapped his watch and held up seven fingers. He got off at seven. Vis glanced at Sam's watch. It was six fifty-three. "You guys should go home. I'm going to walk across the street to the book store. I'll be home by eight, yeah?"
Dean sighed. "Alright." It was obviously hard for him to say it, but they had agreed to Vis having a little bit more freedom in exchange for him promising that he would answer his phone no matter how mad he was. Sam paid for their meal and then the three walked outside. Vis crossed the street and pretended to be heading for the book store until Dean and Sam were out of sight, before he returned to the diner.
xXx
By seven-ten, Vis was sitting on the counter of the diner's locked bathroom, his legs wrapped around the college boy's torso and their lips pressed firmly together. He could feel the older boy's fingers digging into his thighs as his own hands were placed on the back of the boy's neck.
"Vis," the older boy said softly as they surfaced for air. His name was Dustin, and he had been working at the diner for a year. He refused to call himself Vis' boyfriend because Vis was 'too young' for him, but still Vis found himself in the diner's bathroom at least once a week. "Vis. Jesus Christ."
Vis smiled at him. "What?"
"You're so hot," Dustin whispered. He moved to suck on Vis' neck. "Seventeen looks so good on you."
"I'll bet eighteen will look even better to you." Vis said it with a slight venom. Dustin just liked the making out, he just wanted sex, but Vis wanted him to look at him like a person instead of a toy. Dustin knew that Vis, even though he showed up to every single chance of meeting up they had, was unhappy, so he silenced him with another rough kiss.
He wrapped his arms around Vis' middle and pulled him to his feet, before slamming him against the wall and grinding against him. Vis let the older boy do whatever he wanted to him, it was easier than protesting and he liked Dustin far too much to protest. That's how, forty minutes later, he found himself scrambling around a public bathroom in an attempt to get all of his clothes back on his body and fix his hair as the older boy continually hugged him from behind and tried to convince him to go to his apartment for 'round two' and something about what a great guy he was, if only he was older, which he scoffed at. He always felt bad after he spent time with Dustin, but he couldn't find it in him to kick the habit.
It was also how, at eight-fifteen, he finally walked into his house to find his father and uncle sitting at the kitchen table with a dark-haired man in a trench coat.