READERS: I need a monster prompt for the next chapter.
"I can't believe the judge gave us community service." said Boobs, stabbing a soda can with a pointy stick.
"We hacked into a police video feed." said Braceface, orange safety vest flashing in the noonday sun.
"The varsity soccor team spraypainted penises all over the school sidewalk!" Boobs yelled, hands up at the injustice of it all, "And they got in-school suspension!"
"They had a choice actually," said Braceface, nudging a coffee cup with her sneaker, "First time offenders can either serve thirty days, put in a hundred hours of community service, or..."
"Or what?" Boobs asked testily, not in the mood.
"Or they could read a book."
Boobs stopped and stared at her. "Read a book."
"Uh huh."
"And they said no?"
Braceface shrugged. "They're not readers."
"I wanna read a book!" Boobs flailed, "Where are we anyway?"
Their supervisor dozed in a nearby pick-up, unconcerned about her charges running off. The only business near this part of the campgrounds was a used tire shop, closed for the day, the window replaced with a piece of plywood that read WE ACCEPT CREDIT CARDS in contrasting spraypaint.
"The end of the world," said Braceface, hoisting the bag over her shoulder, "Let's step into the shade, I'm dyin' in this heat."
Casting another quick glance at their supervisor, they tiptoed into the trees, as inconspicuous as two traffic cones on a golf course in their orange vests.
"So you gonna go down to the store and pick up Forty Shades of Tweed?" asked Braceface.
"What? Ew," said Boobs, spearing another can with a dignified squick, "Have you read it?"
"No." said Braceface quickly, and they nodded in solidarity.
"I heard it's just more of the same," said Boobs, fluttering her eyelashes, "Oh my gosh, your shit is so tortured, teach me the power of Clit Fu after a thousand of pages worth of overwritten build-up."
"True that," said Braceface, "If no one's had sex by page three, it's a lost cause."
"There's not really that much trash back here," said Boobs, looking around, "I don't wanna get in trouble if Sheriff Sassy catches us off the road."
"The contractors dump stuff nearby, over where the counseler's cabin used to be," said Braceface, pointing, "Sheriff doesn't care so long as our bags are full, we could probably finds all kinds of crap."
"Awesome sauce, lead the way."
"What do you have against Forty Shades anyway?" asked Braceface as they walked toward the cabin, "I thought you were all 'Fanfiction is a supportive community fighting the Man'."
"The series it's based on was totally classist!" said Boobs, "Who am I gonna sleep with, the emotionally supportive blue collar brown guy I've known all my life-"
"-with the six-pack-"
"Holy shit yeah, was that ever a money shot," said Boobs, eyes glazing over at the memory, "Or am I gonna go with some Sparkle Pony in a million dollar house who cuts my food for me?"
"With no six-pack."
"Exactly! All those hot indigenous guys in their jean cut-offs, all showin' off their man-tits like they spent the morning dead-lifting a pallet of Greek Sailors. And the only girl in the pack had bad hair and no boyfriend. The message is clear," she said with a knowing air, "Being a werewolf queers you."
"You're just mad just Forty Shades isn't the gaysploitation lady wank novel you'd been hoping for."
"Oh come on, who wants to spend eternity as carnivorous jailbait playing dress-up with a bunch of drag queens? Anyway, my point," she said, raising the stick for emphasis, "Is that if the brown motorcycle mechanic had money, it'd be no contest."
"So you're into mechanics now?"
"No way," said Boobs, letting the stick drop, "I could never date someone dumber than me."
"I don't think it was the money," said Braceface thoughtfully, stabbing a used condom, "The vampire was a confessed killer."
"So?"
"I think she liked the risk," said Braceface, turning and dropping her voice, "Did you hear that?"
"I didn't hear anything."
Braceface held a finger to her lips, wide-eyed as she strained to hear. "Sounds like someone's running."
They looked at each other. "Who else would come out here?" asked Boobs.
It was louder now, not far from where they were standing, and they started as a figure burst out of the underbrush. He was all pinks and reds, red flannel shirt beneath a suede jacket, a bright striped scarf like a pack of Lifesavers around his neck, apple-cheeked from running, and he zig-zagged from tree to tree like a gazelle, leaping over fallen logs with his heels kicked back.
"No, don't go out there," hissed Braceface, yanking Boobs by the arm, "We don't know what he's running from."
"Let's go back to the road."
"No," said Braceface, looking over her shoulder, "He'll see us. The cabin's closer."
"I don't think-"
Suddenly a second boy dropped out of the trees right in front of the first. He was hard to see against the rest of the forest, for he was all over dirt and dry leaves, but he hit the ground running and reached out for the boy's scarf. Boobs latched onto Braceface's arm in fear. He looked huge silhouetted against the sun, a hatchet in one hand and a hockey mask for a face.
"Fuck this noise." said Braceface. And ditching their orange vests, the girls ran for the safety of elsewhere.
"How long're we supposed to stay here?" asked Boobs, looking around as Braceface shut the cabin door behind them. The windows had busted years ago, too high up the wall for climbers, and the only furniture was an aged bunkbed with a horse blanket on top.
"Shut up and give me a foothold."
Together they climbed to the top bunk and hid under the mattress, peeking thru the end to watch for anyone in the window. They did not have to wait long.
Sam pressed his back against a wide oak, palms flat against the bark as he listened to the wind whistling thru the leaves. He was staring in the opposite direction, and didn't see the other hand creeping near, slipping around the tree toward his outspread fingers. When it got close enough to touch the ring on his right hand, he yelped and snatched it away.
"Yee!" he hissed, ducking as the hatchet buried itself an inch above his head. He ran, thinking the masked man would need more time to pull it free, and pitched forward as someone wrapped their arms around his legs.
"Get away from me..." Sam hissed, rolling over to get up, until a blow between his shoulder blades knocked the air out of him.
"When'd you get so easy to pin?" Dean asked, placing a boot atop each of Sam's arms, voice muffled behind the hockey mask.
"Get off!"
"That's it, fight me," he said, stretching his hatchet arm, "You been smellin' like Evil Cock since we left the house, gonna have to sweat it out of you."
"You didn't have to chase me with a fucking ax you maniac!"
"Yeah you're right," he said, stepping away and reaching under Sam's armpits, "It's not what I wanted anyhow." The boy struggled in his arms, curled into each other until Sam's forehead nearly touched the ground.
"Quit it!" said Sam, grinding against Dean's bluejeans as they knelt in the leaves.
"Quit squirmin' and hold onto my arm." he said, looping his left forearm across Sam's neck in a chokehold, but Sam fought it, inhaling the familiar smell of flannel and motor oil as his nails dug in.
Sam tilted his head to one side as a hand circled round his waist, sneaking over the fabric to press flat against his belly, feel the rise and fall of his chest. Hot breath lifted the hairs on his neck as a hand undid his belt and slipped past, and he felt a smile against his skin.
"Ah baby boy you been waiting for me."
He'd been hard for the whole chase, and as they struggled Sam felt a sympathetic bone press against his back. Leaves slipped beneath his knees, staining the expensive slacks he'd stolen for the Senator's interview earlier that day. He tried to push off the ground, but the smell of Dean was all around him, a warm hand against him, eager for him to yield, and he couldn't catch his breath.
"You dressed real fancy this morning, how'd the meeting go with the Senator?" asked Dean, feeling Sam jump in his hand at the mention of her, "She ask to measure your cock?"
With an angry snort, Sam twisted his hips and lifted Dean off the ground, flipping him over his head with a huff! and dashing away toward the trees. Dean swatted the air with a haymaker, catching his finger on the scarf, but Sam ducked out of it, pulling him off balance til Dean bounced against a tree and fell backwards.
"So that thing with the ghost in your head, was that a threesome?" Dean asked, feeling his scalp for lumps as he looked this way and that, "I'm counting that as a threesome."
He flipped the mask off, cursing himself for wearing something with such crappy peripheral vision.
"Why you gotta be into the freaky shit?" he asked, wrapping unwrapping the scarf around one hand like a boxer taping his knuckles, "How come the Nympho Cannibal Breast Monster never shows up on your radar?"
He tossed the scarf over a low, thick branch, hanging off it to test the strength.
"Cuz I'd totally hit that." said Dean, right as Sam snuck up behind with a kick to his instep. It would have been a good move if he hadn't gotten so close, and Dean got in an elbow to the gut, slowing him down so the next thing he knew he had his back to the tree.
"She's gotta know you stole the clothes," he said, securing Sam's wrists with the scarf so his arms hung straight over his head, "She's not stupid. Look at your hair, look at your nails. Boys like you walk into an Abercrombie store and mothers clutch their purses."
He grabbed Sam's ankles and bent him in half, the tree groaning under the weight. "Who you fooling with the clean-cut act?"
Sam hung from the branch, hands already going numb, hair in his eyes as he came to and realized his new position. "Nnnn..." he muttered, woozy as his boots were propped on Dean's shoulder, his slacks pushed down enough to expose him.
"The branch...won't hold me."
"Oh trust me," said Dean, undoing his own belt with his free hand, "The tree will give out before I do."
He spat into his hand, not intending anything drastic yet, just wanted to gauge the boy's reaction. "You'd rather do it somewhere else?" he asked, pressed hard against him, dripping clear slick.
Sam grit his teeth. He knew Dean was right, he could keep up a punishing pace when he wanted to, and the adrenaline had worn off, weakening him. It would be so much easier to be taken, and he closed his eyes as a cock slid between his pressed thighs, sliding against his own with a practiced friction that made him shudder unwillingly.
"So how was your dead man?" he asked, moving slow and attentive, "He can't have been that good, scouring the earth a hundred years to find his one true love. He even remember where to put it?"
"He didn't...need to remember..." said Sam haltingly, a hard glitter in his eyes.
"You think I didn't know you were up there?" he asked, his face very close, "That some spook had it's hands all over you, and now I gotta stand by while the Tits McCarthy makes fuck eyes at you?"
Sam said nothing, but smiled as if he'd just realized something.
"Aw come on, make some noise ya candy ass." said Dean, smacking him underside, "No one else's around to hear it."
Inhaling, Sam bounced on the branch, not enough to break it, but enough so that he could get a better grip on the scarf. And hauling himself up, he stepped off of Dean's shoulder and wrapped his legs around the branch, enough so that he could get in one solid right hook even with his hands bound.
"Should've gotten a higher branch." Sam muttered to Dean, as he jumped to his feet and arighted his clothes, estimating he had another five seconds before Dean came to.
"Officer I swear she looked older than twelve." Dean said, holding his hand out in front of him, seeing double.
Sam whipped behind the cabin door, dropping the thick wooden latch and bracing himself against it, a Cheshire smile on his face. He'd suspected something about Dean for a while now, and it made him laugh. He was so distracted by this new realization that he failed to notice the two girls hiding on the top bunk, holding their breath as his laughter shook the cabin, and they were beginning to wonder what the hell was so funny when the hatchet came thru the door right next to Sam's face.
We're going to die. Boobs thought, squeezing Braceface's hand in the dark.
Sam's head bounced against the wood, and his laughter subsided into something lighter, an affectionate smile toying at his lips. The ax was playing his favorite song.
"There you are." he whispered, as Dean's hand thrust thru the gap and reached for the latch. He stepped away to the center of the room, well aware of Dean's range once he got past the door.
"Fucking make me work for everything-" said Dean, kicking the door in, letting it swing shut behind him. He was blind for about a second, and in the time it took him to adjust to the gloom Sam kicked the ax away into the corner, grabbing his right hand.
"Sammy?"
When he didn't get a reply right away, his instincts kicked in, thinking someone else was with him, and he drew the boning knife he kept in his belt, blade flat against Sam's belly.
Sam held the knife in both hands. "It's me, don't worry."
"Fuck I nearly gutted you."
Sam shushed him, placing a hand on the back of his neck and gently steering him toward the floor, knife still on his skin. When he was lain flat, he guided the blade slowly up inside his shirt, whispering against the warm flesh inside, until it reached all the way up and pressed against his mouth. He smiled. Sam was a very different boy in the dark.
Dean understood. He yanked back, and tore thru the shirt, ripping it cleanly down the middle, flicking the knife in an upward flourish at the end as it fell away on either side. The smell of boy was intoxicating, and he buried his face in the warm belly.
"So you gonna tell me what's so funny?" he asked after a time.
Sam smiled. "You like her."
Dean froze, but suddenly he was hard as a diamond and Sam laughed.
"You're totally hot for a Republican Babe."
He blushed furiously, hiding his face as they rest of their clothes made it into a corner. "Am not."
"Bet she's got a great gun collection."
"Quit it." he said, pulling him up so they were sitting together, and began to remove his own shirt.
"She'd probably say yes, ya know," Sam whispered.
He pressed his mouth to his, and they fell to the floor again, wrapped up in each other for the first time in days. Dean allowed himself to dig into the dark soil of his imagination, of walking in on the Senator and John, the look of surprise on their faces. The extended hand of invitation...
"No," he said to the room, "Don't even think about it."
"How is she different from any other chick?" Sam asked reasonably, "We have fun for one day and then we're out of town, ships in the night."
"Aren't I enough?" he asked, trying to keep the note of pleading out of his voice.
"Were you scared I was gonna die back there?" Sam whispered, fingers laced in Dean's hair.
Dean didn't answer. He didn't want to have to lie.
"Cuz the soldier, he could have stomped on me like a cheap watch. Same with all the others," he said, pulling Dean up to his face, "But he didn't."
He wrapped his legs around his waist, lifting him with his hips until the floorboards creaked.
"They all pull the trigger, but the bomb never goes off," he said, the ring resting lightly against his cheek, "Not for them."
"That last guy..." Dean hesitated, that awful despair of being strapped to that chair, wondering where Sam was, wondering who he was with. If Sam was any different with other creatures.
"...was trouble, I know." he said, rolling over so he was on top, and began kissing him feverishly, "He had enough black science to fill the graveyards and I fucked him. I fucked him til the house shook. Until his soul was lost. Until he came blood," he said, showing his teeth as he emphasized the next words, "Not. Enough. Gun."
"So that's my saving grace?" he asked, his hands on his waist, "You shoot me but I don't die?"
Something twisted in Sam's face, whether in anger or desire or both, and he rushed Dean into the bottom bunk, out of sight of the witnesses on top.
They clung to each other as the bed buckled and swayed, not understanding anything Dean shouted and unable to make out whatever Sam was telling him, over and over in that strange voice of his like a litany of violence. And when it was over, much much later, and the boys had left, the girls reached out from the bed, and found it a good six inches away from the wall.