Renegade Pt 4

Author: Linda Atkinson

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean/John

Rating: FRAO

Warnings: ***Extra Warning—Attempted rape in this part***Total AU. M/M sex. Violence. No one is related to anyone else so no Wincest. This story takes place in a world were the supernatural is a "normal" part of the world. Dean is a FBI Agent with the Paranormal Enforcement Division. Sam is his partner and a psychic who uses his powers for the bureau. John is an aging prostitute (and for the purposes of this story I changed John to JDM's real age of 40), who is also a witch.

A big Thank you to Sioux-sioux for all the Beta work, and the excellent suggestions on keeping this thing in line, and flowing smoothly.

The hotel parking lot was empty when the Impala turned the corner onto Main Street and slipped into a space just below the staircase to the second floor. The two men tumbled out of the car and took the stairs up to their room. Dean paused at the doorway, pulling John into his arms. He kissed the older man, sliding his hands through John's dark curls. "I'm sorry…about it being on the car, the first time; I wanted to do something special for you."

"What a dozen roses and a big heart-shaped box of candy? I'm not that kind of guy and neither are you." John smiled, tugging Dean's hands out of his hair. "It was special, and I'm not sorry it was on the car. That was really hot. For the record I do really love that car. I haven't felt like that about sex since Mary died. What I do, you know, for clients…there's nothing for me in that. They get what they wanted, I don't have to want it, just provide it. I haven't come with someone else in years."

Dean pulled him close, letting his lips drift across the curve of John's cheek, paint the thin skin of his eyelids, sweep down the bridge of his nose, finally finding his lips again. They stood draped in shadows for a few minutes before, regretfully, pulling apart.

The door was unlocked but Sam had salted the entrance. Dean and John carefully stepped over the line of crystals and went inside. The lights were still on; Sam seated on one of the beds with several stacks of printer paper surrounding him. He looked up as his partner and John came in the door.

Sam shot his partner a grim look. He could tell from the relaxed roll of Dean's gait, the slight swagger combined with an easy insouciance that Dean and John had finally gotten around to doing something about the underlying tension between them that had set Sam's nerves on edge for days now. Since neither man was sporting any serious bruising Sam was betting that they hadn't fought it out somewhere, so that left only one thing. And the teeth marks on John's neck just below his beard left very little to Sam's imagination.

Yawning hugely, Sam shifted the papers onto the table between the beds then turned to his partner. "Did you find the names?" he asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, we got all seven."

He leaned over the bed and dropped the slips of paper onto Sam's pile. Sam caught a whiff of gasoline as Dean passed him. He looked closely at both men, and then noticed the smudge of ash on John's face.

"So what did you run into?" he asked smiling. Dean shrugged but John settled on the foot of the bed. He rubbed at the spot adorning his face, and grinned.

"Zombie," he said. "A nasty one, too. I didn't realize the sons of bitches were so fast. I see why you guys keep cleaning those guns of yours. At first, I just thought that you got on off on it, but if I had to deal with those bastards all the time, I'd sleep with the damn gun."

"That would be Dean." Sam said snottily.

Dean flipped him off.

The younger agent grinned. "Guys, I'm whipped. How about calling it a night?"

John rose, "I want to get a quick shower, I've got powered zombie all over me." Dean slid up behind him, and pressed his face into John's neck.

"Shower tomorrow, I want to smell me on you tonight."

The black Cadillac Escalade was obviously out of place in the dirt and gravel parking lot of Tony's Diner in Barstow. The two men and one woman were as out of place as the car. The larger of the men, dressed in a cream colored linen suit and tan shirt was talking on a cell phone, giving whoever was on the other end a play by play account of what they saw.

The other man, smaller and somehow more deadly looking was passing a trio of photographs around the room, making a nuisance of himself with the staff. Tony himself was on the verge of kicking the three out, but something about the two men set his nerves on fire. Hoping to get rid of them he glanced at the photos then frowned. Picking up the last picture he nodded. "Yeah, I definitely remember this guy, the witch. He healed my cook's arm."

"Did they say where they were going?"

Tony shrugged. The woman got into the picture then. "Can you just show me where they were sitting?" she asked politely. Tony felt very uneasy about this, but he nodded, taking them to the rear corner woman slid into one of the seats while the two men stood guard around her. She placed both hands on the table, and jerked as a vision hit her. The room spun around her, and she could just make out an image of John Winchester sitting at the table talking to a little boy. Later she saw the cook come and take him through the back. Rising quickly she moved to the door to the kitchen and placed a hand against the wall. "They went to a motel, close to here to spend the night. I can pick up the trail there."

The Wayside Motel looked every bit as unappetizing a place as Marcus had ever seen. The buildings were run down, peeling paint and broken windows. The parking lot held a handful of cars, all parked around the central area of the hotel's three wings. Shirley got out of the Caddy and headed for the stairs. She paused letting her hand rest on the bent and rusted railing. "Yes, they were here. I'm beginning to see a pattern," she said.

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I see a pattern too. They're doing what everybody on the run does--using cash to cut the paper trail, and moving from place to place pretty damn fast. You don't have to be a psychic to see that one, Shirley."

She shot him a look, and pulled her hand away from the railing. "They're heading East. I got that much, and if I'm not mistaken Mr. Carter has his network out looking for the car."

Jack Carter was seated at his desk when the phone call came in. A man from the newspaper in Jerome, Nevada of all places had called. He had seen three men fitting the description of the two agents and Winchester the day before, staying at the Best Western Hotel. And as far as he knew they were still there.

Carter hung up and punched in Marcus's cell phone number. The big man answered his voice tense with anger. "Yeah, boss. We're tracked them to Barstow, but its slow going. Oh yeah, where? Huh, where the hell is that? Don't worry I'll MapQuest it on the laptop. Shirley's picking them up, but it's hard over so long a distance and these guys Morgan and Bennett they're no fools, they don't make it easy." Marcus flipped the phone closed. "Okay we gotta pack it up. Boss said one of his guys called from some Ass Backward little shithole called Jerome, Nevada."

The other man made a motion with one shoulder, jerking his head toward the woman, but Marcus shook his head. "Marcus, you want me to drive. If we break it up we'll get there without having to stop."

"Yeah sure Charlie. I'm gonna stretch out in the back and snooze a bit. I'll spot you when we get down the way. If we switch over we'll be there in the by nightfall." He passed the keys to the other man, and they got into the car. Shirley felt a prickle of unease as they passed the hotel. But she looked out at the bland, barren desert passing by and let her senses stretch out searching for the three men.

Sam closed the book he had been reading and rubbed his hand over his eyes. It had been a long and boring day at the library looking through old bound copies of Jerome's only daily newspaper. He had cross referenced all the children's names Dean and John had gotten off grave markers with the surnames of families whose houses had burned down in 1996. Of the seven cases, only two of the infants' remains had not been found.

He added those names to a running list he had compiled on his laptop. So far the demon had killed one hundred and fifteen children, out of the one hundred and twenty-eight fires, meaning that thirteen children were unaccounted for. Over the past few days Sam had hacked the medical database for medical records on all the children who had presumably died in the fires. Only the thirteen missing children had paranormal abilities-including John Winchester's son Christopher.

Winchester's case was ground zero-which made sense because he was present at the ritual of summoning. Sam had even researched Elliot's and Carter's families, but neither man had a child who had been born in 1996 so they had been spared. Of course they had given the demon free passage, and that meant that when he and Dean went to Washington with the tape both men would be facing the death penalty as accessories before the fact for a grand total of three hundred and forty-nine counts of murder, not to mention the illegal summoning and granting the right of passage to a felon demon. Neither man was going to see the light of day outside of prison again, and if Sam had anything to do with it they would both go to the gas chamber.

Glancing at his watch Sam closed the books, shut down computer and gathered all his papers together. John and Dean would be meeting him for dinner in a few minutes. The other two men were spending the day going through their weapons and supplies. John had also mentioned that he needed supplies from the herbalist for various incantations. Dean had said they needed to restock on rock salt, and he wanted to pack more shotgun shells. He had also mentioned that he wanted to teach John how to fire a gun. The older man hadn't been too keen on that though, so Sam was wondering how that had gone.

The sun was setting as he walked out of the library to the bench where he was supposed to wait for Dean and John. He glanced up at the sky, taking in the pale lavender overlain by deeper shades of gray and blue. A few stars were twinkling above the thin line of amber sunlight still painting the tops of the hills. With a grin Sam dropped his bag on the bench and glanced down the street.

In a few minutes the Impala pulled up. John was hanging over the rear seat, talking and laughing more than Sam could remember ever hearing him do either, and Sam sighed. Either he and Dean had done more than shoot targets out in the pasture they were going to or John had taken to guns in a big way. From the smooth glow on Dean's face he didn't think it was the latter.

Dean pulled the car onto Main Street and headed toward the downtown area, and the single strip of motels and restaurants in Jerome. They had just passed the entrance ramp for the 10 Freeway when a black Cadillac Escalade pulled onto Main Street after them. Sam was all but asleep in the front seat when a blinding pain hit him. He jerked forward rubbing his temples. Dean shot him an uneasy glance knowing that whatever vision his partner was having was a bad one.

Sam writhed in agony. The pain swept up his spine and exploded behind his eyes. Grasping his head in his hands he tried to ride it out.

The warehouse was damp, and empty. The sounds of footsteps echoed hollowly in the dim light. Three figures appeared in the vacant doorway, silhouetted against the backdrop of harsh, orange halogen security lamps. The largest of the three, undeniably male, figures was dragging a shorter man behind him. With a grin he jerked the man's arm sending him spinning to the ground.

With his arms bound behind his back the smaller man fell heavily to the ground and lay stunned. Swiping one foot back the bigger man kicked the fallen man, his face twisting into a grotesque grin when he groaned in pain. A deep voice rumbled in Sam's head, "Hey Charlie, go guard the door."

"Why there ain't nothin' out there to guard it from?" Charlie snapped, but seeing the look on the bigger man's face he backed away. "Sure thing Marcus, just leave some for me, okay."

"Sure thing," Marcus said with a sneer. "After all Johnny here is like a doorknob, everybody gets a turn…"

Laughing at his own joke Marcus shoved his foot into the small of John's back, pinning him to the floor. He reached down unfastening his trousers, and crouched down. John kicked at him, but Marcus had about fifty pounds on him, and the kick was badly aimed. The big man swiped his hand down connecting solidly with John's cheek, the skin split and John's head rocked back. Marcus was on him and John cried out struggling futilely. In the end John wasn't moving much, and when the big man was finished he wrapped his hands around John's throat and squeezed until John wasn't breathing either.

Sam hissed in pain. "Pull over," he said through clenched teeth. Dean pulled the car to the curb, and Sam staggered out vomiting in the gutter. He leaned against the car when he could straighten up and drew in a deep breath. Dean was out of the car, and behind him offering his partner a bottle of water. Sam rinsed his mouth and spat into the gutter again. John came around the door, touching Sam on the shoulder. The younger man jerked away, and John backed up looking bewildered and a little scared.

"I'm sorry," he said and Sam felt like a jerk. It wasn't John's fault Sam had the vision and it sure as hell wasn't his fault that John was going to get raped and murdered. Dean was going to have a fit when Sam told him this one. He looked up at John and offered him a weak smile.

"It's okay. I just get startled when they hit, sometimes if it seems too real. I mean it's always real, but it can be changed. We can do stuff to change them sometimes." Sam sank into the front seat, not noticing the black Caddy sitting at the red light. The driver lingering just a bit too long before making a right turn onto the side street."

John looked doubtful, and Dean motioned the older man over. "I need to talk to Sam about his vision. Why don't you walk down to the Denny's and get us a table. We'll be there in just a few minutes."

"Yeah, sure." John smiled; he ducked his head down looking at Sam. "He doesn't look so good. Maybe you should just take him back to the hotel. It's not far; I can walk from the restaurant."

"No, we'll be there. Sam just needs a few minutes to unwind." Dean smiled at John, waving him away. He watched for a few minutes as John wandered down the sidewalk and made a right turn at the light toward the Denny's parking lot.

Sam was sitting in the front seat, his hands were trembling, and he still felt ill. Taking a deep breath he looked up at Dean. "Sorry, sometimes they just hit me wrong, especially when they're so violent." He glanced around the door frowning. "I need to talk to John about my vision…it concerns him."

Dean grunted. "Yeah, we'll talk to him at the restaurant; do you feel like getting something to eat?"

Rising from the seat Sam grabbed Dean's arm. "What do you mean at the restaurant, where is he?"

"I thought he was bugging you so I told him to walk down to the Denny's and get us a table." Dean said with a grin. The look on Sam's face wiped the grin off. Suddenly

Sam shoved Dean away.

"You did what? Dean you know he's in danger. Carter's men have to be after us by now. Oh God, we have to find him." Sam slid into the car, slamming the door. Dean looked at his partner's panicked expression and ran around the front of the Impala. He cranked the engine over.

"I'm sure he's okay…."

"No, he isn't. My vision…in my vision I saw John being raped and murdered."

Sam pushed his hair out of his eyes. Dean's face was stark white and his fingers were clenched around the steering wheel so hard that Sam was afraid he'd drive the car into a lamppost.

"He took a right at the corner, and then its just a few feet to the entrance of the parking lot. He's probably still walking." Dean muttered. Sam nodded absently. But John wasn't in the parking lot. They took a few seconds to walk through the restaurant only to find that John wasn't there either. Dean's expression got grimmer with every second that passed.

The car spun out of the parking lot. "Okay, what about your vision? Where was he when he…when it happened? What did you see in the background?"

Sam closed his eyes. "It was a warehouse. From the looks of it, it was abandoned. It was dark and grimy. I saw two men dragging John in, then the big man raped him and strangled him."

"Warehouse? When John and I were looking through the cemeteries yesterday, the last one we searched was Spring Hill. It's down this street and there's an industrial complex across the road from it. At back of the complex there was a couple of steel roofed buildings, cement tilt-up walls. Think that might be your warehouse?"

"Yeah," Sam said, "Cement walls, I thought that was kind of odd, but the walls were dank looking, moldy almost, but it was so dark."

Marcus yanked the Escalade's rear door opened. He twisted a fist into John's collar and pulled him out of the vehicle. John stumbled and Marcus shoved him to the ground. He wrapped his hand around John's skull and slammed him down, kicking him in the hip. John cringed and Marcus yanked him to his feet.

"You should have just stayed out of this, whore." With a grin Marcus raised his hand. It was only a backhanded slap but it all but knocked John off his feet. With a snarl John shoved his hand into his pocket, and flung a handful of powder at the bigger man. Uttering an incantation he ducked back as flames erupted in Marcus' face. John turned and fled.

Charlie was at the door, and he hit John mid chest with his shoulder. The air whooshed out of John's body with a grunt and he fell. Marcus stalked to the door, and slapped John again.

"You get the duct tape," he asked.

Charlie raised a hand, producing a roll of silver tape. Marcus ripped off a length and clapped it over John's mouth then jerked his arms behind his back and bound his wrists together.

"Let's see you try that again. I'm gonna make you sorry that you didn't just keep your mouth shut and your legs spread. It's all you're good for anyway."

The big man dragged John to his feet, and pushed him into the room. The three men stood silhouetted in the harsh orange light of the streetlamps in the parking lot. Marcus hustled John into the room. John balked and Marcus slapped him. Without his arms for balance John fell to the floor and lay stunned.

"Get up," Marcus hissed. When John failed to respond the other man kicked him, rolling John over onto his back.

Working his thick fingers into his waistband Marcus unfastened his trousers, then turned grinning to Charlie. "Go guard the door."

Charlie shrugged, "Just save some for me."

Marcus chuckled and bent down grasping John by the front of his shirt. He yanked and the material parted leaving John's chest bare. Marcus frowned at the noise Charlie was making at the door, he half rose snarling.

"Jeeze will you shut up? I can't concentrate with all this noise…

Pausing Marcus noted that the doorway was empty. He cocked his head; maybe Charlie had to go take a leak. Turning he grabbed John again, but footsteps echoing hollowly caught his attention. With one hand twisted in John's torn shirt he stood up jerking John half way off of the floor.

A shadowy figure stalked across the floor, gun raised. Light from one of the half-painted windows fell across a cold hard face. Marcus felt his stomach drop. He let John drop heavily to the floor fumbling for his gun.

Dean smiled and said, "Go ahead. It'll make the report look that much better."

Marcus paused hand half way to his pocket. "What report?"

"The one I have to file for killing you." Dean offered the bigger man a grim smile. Marcus held his hands out to the side, turning slowly toward the younger man. With a grin he slid back and put both hands on the top of his head.

"I surrender. I mean, with Carter's connections I'll be out by three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

Dean raised the .45 and pulled the trigger. Marcus body jerked as a single shot hit him mid-forehead. His eyes wide John watched from the floor as Marcus' body, seemingly unaware that it was dead, staggered one step forward then crashed to the ground. With a shudder John decided that if the damage the gun had inflicted on a zombie was bad, what it did to a living body was so much worse.

Dean bent down carefully lifting John up. He reached out and pulled the duct tape gently free. John spat on the floor. Not looking up Dean used his pocket knife to cut the tape at the older man's wrists.

"You killed him." John said in a strangled voice.

Dean shrugged.

"Won't you get in trouble for that?"

"He was a dangerous felon in the commission of a crime. He was trying to rape you. I had no choice. Nobody will make a fuss."

"He was surrendering…"

"No, he wasn't. He would have tried something, guys like him always do. Besides he was dead the second he put his hands on you. He just didn't know it."

TBC