Winchesters and other SPN characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. This story is being written for Entertainment only, not money
Over Drive
Chapter 7
On the Way Home
From Chapter 6
He first went looking for something to wear and found the servant's locker room. Scraping together what he could he took everything to his bath room, robbing the bodies' clothing of any money along the way. Finally dawn was approaching and he was ready to go.
He had taken the burka and the sandals and doused them in Zachariah's blood then left them there. It was his only attempt at subterfuge. Maybe the police would think that the poor little, fragile Omega had been carried off by the nasty murderer. He only hoped that news of the murders would somehow get to John Winchester's attention. The man would understand what had happened and Dean liked the idea of John spending his last days looking over his shoulder for the despised omega son.
Chapter 7
Dawn was breaking over the hills behind the brother's house as Dean drove away from his personal Hell. He had a general idea of where he was and roughly knew where John Winchester's cabin stood. Remembering the drive with Zachariah he knew how long he was going to be on the rod.
Before leaving the blood soaked mansion he had stood in the shower, cleaning the brothers' blood from every inch of his skin. The water had run red for so long he had become bored. It took three washing before the shampoo bubbles were white. He had to be careful after that. The blood was everywhere and he didn't want to smudge any of the footprints.
He dressed in a loose pair of black pants and an overly large white shirt from one of the lockers. The shoes he found were a little large but with the addition of a leather belt he felt he could pass as someone who just liked comfortable clothes not a kid playing dress up.
He was in a diner an hour later when the first of the News stories appeared on the T.V. playing quietly above the serving hatch. 'Three Bodies found in Riverton Mansion' the captions blared. Ritualized murders, satanic symbols, witchcraft, black Sabbath; everything he had hoped for flashed across the screen. Even the request for help locating a possibly kidnapped Omega appeared. The media was going for his story, hook, line and sinker.
He didn't know or even care what the cops thought of the whole thing. A story with this level of sensationalism would certainly reach John Winchester's ears. Dean was pleased. He finished his omelet and got back on the road.
A hundred miles closer to Daddy Dear and Dean decided to stop for lunch. Each news hour was still leading with breathless descriptions of the Riverton Massacre. Dean smiled. His art project had a name. There was no way that John would be able to miss this one. There was a monster loose. John might even come when called like a good dog. It was early days yet but there were all these hints about ritualistic trappings. Dean needed to get to John first or he'd be chasing the man all over the landscape.
Some of the thrill would be gone if John didn't understand the message. He wanted his father nervous and on edge.
He parked his pert ass on a counter seat and ordered a burger. He was just finishing up when someone intruded on his personal space. Someone took a loud obnoxious breath. Dean suddenly remembered his Alpha brother being able to scent an Omega from the other side of a bar. He glanced to his right.
"Well, aren't you the prettiest little thing," a husky bearded man sat down at the counter beside Dean.
"What're you doing out here on your own, Omega?" the man leaned close, inhaled Dean's musky scent and then whispered in his ear. Dean turned his head away and moved his plate over. The counterman looked up at the movement but didn't interfere.
"You selling boy?' the man went on and then looked around obviously. "Where's your pimp? What are you going to cost me? I'll go pretty high for a sweet young thing like you."
Dean shuddered and stood up. Walking to the register he dropped money and left. Once outside he leaned against the wall for a minute to get control again before heading for the car. There was a quick scrabbling noise behind him and he heard the bar door open and close. He started to sprint for the car but a heavy hand grabbed his arm and spun him around.
"That's not nice, boy." The guy from the diner growled. "I made an offer and you walked out. Rude." He started pulling Dean in the direction of an eighteen wheeler parked nearby. ""Come on, I'll show you my bunk."
Dean twisted and broke the man's hold on his arm. This time he made it all the way to the driver's door of the car before the man caught him again. Dean was spun around and painfully slammed against the car. The man caged him with arms braced on the roof. "Pretty little thing like you out here on all your own." He nuzzled into Deans neck. "You smell all tasty and sweet, boy. You come with me. I'll take care of you right."
The trucker started to slide his hands down Dean's arms. Before he was completely incapacitated Dean managed to pull his knife from his waistband and shove it up under the guy's chin. "I can take care of myself," Dean answered and pricked the man's chin with the shiny silver blade.
"Son of a bitch!" the man yelped and backed up. "You'll pay for that with your ass, Omega bitch."
Dean pulled the car door open behind him. He waved the knife at the man and quickly slipped into the driver's seat. He managed to lock the door before the guy's meaty hand grabbed at the door handle. Starting the engine Dean pulled out fast enough to almost take the guy's hand with him. There was more shouting and cursing but Dean was out and on the road before the man got up off his knees. Now Dean just had to watch the rear view mirror to make sure he was not pursued.
Taking the next exit off the interstate he made a number of sudden turns and hid out behind some trees off a skimpy side road. He was shaking from the adrenaline surging through his body in response to the trucker's rape attempt.
His experience of the realities of an Omega's life in public was extremely limited. His first month as an omega was spent in John Winchester's cabin. The next three months was spent as a sex slave. The idea that he could no longer walk around in public without protection was just now sinking in. Everything had been ripped away. Everything was lost; his pride, his identity as a hunter, his ability to function in a world where he couldn't even have lunch on his own. All he was now was a wet hole to fuck. His only value was defined by a single organ buried between his legs.
The fire in his gut was stoked even higher. Here he was, huddling behind some trees like a fearful little bitch. He should be out there cutting the damn trucker's neck. Through his fury though he held fiercely to the rapidly receding tail end of his common sense; leaving a blood trail behind could get him caught before he got to John Winchester. Yes, he wanted to gut the trucker but that would take his eye off the prize. He needed to focus on John Winchester dead at his feet, such a lovely picture. The trucker wouldn't even know what a lucky son of a bitch he was.
Dean sat patiently in the car until well after sunset, coming down off his adrenaline high. The chill of the night was creeping in and his thin white shirt was inadequate protection. In this gritty, dusty world even the moonlight was obscured. The sullen grey clouds that were the normal sky in the latest edition of paradise lost moved around overhead like dirty sheep in too small a pen.
He turned the engine over and crept out from behind the trees with the lights off. It felt good to move again. It restored his pride to be actively pursuing a goal. Anything was better than hiding like prey. He flicked on the heat and the radio.
Winding his way back to the Interstate he pulled off again to the side to watch the traffic. It was early evening and traffic was fairly active. Maybe everyone was still headed out for dinner or coming back home. He fiddled with the station button and found the News. Yes, the triple murder and presumed kidnapping was still leading here at the top of the hour. He had been right to let the trucker go. Another knife murder would have called the cops down on him.
He licked his lips. A cup of coffee would be perfect but he had learned his lesson; no more unaccompanied trips to diners. He'd have to find a drive through. Pulling back out on the road again he felt like he was back in charge. Keeping an eye out for flashing signs in front and blue cop car lights behind he fell into new dreams of blood. A vision of John Winchester dead with cold fish eyes and a gaping mouth enticed him on like a siren's song.
