A/N: Since this story is being monitored by Nazis, I am now allowing Anonymous reviews. Everyone who wants to comment on this fic can now do so in privacy and in peace, without further harassment. Any and all anon flames will be deleted. Period.
Everyone should be able to read and review any fic on this site without interference from Zatnikatel's group. It's interesting that her supporters always portray her as the poor little victim. She's not a victim, and neither am I.
GoodSamaritan, I highly doubt that you and your people are everyone out here on FFnet and LJ. I've received some interesting emails these past few days. It's a shame when reviewers have to resort to creating spare logins and can't use their own pen names for fear of being harassed by a group of nitwits. I understand their reluctance. They don't want to be flamed by you people or have their own stories boycotted because they reviewed this fic.
I want to thank everyone for their support. It's much appreciated.
Zatnikatel, you have your Gabriel Bender fics and I have mine. I haven't asked anyone to boycott yours.
Chapter 6 – dream a little dream
"Sam?"
Sam didn't move. The ropes were tight around his wrists, but there was still a little give there, enough that he could work with. He rotated his left wrist slightly. Their first mistake was typing his hands behind his back.
And his ankles weren't bound. Second mistake.
He kept his eyes closed, allowed his head to hang forward, his chin almost touching his chest.
The demon sounded bored. "Okay, now, Sammy boy. Enough playing possum. I know you're awake. Open your eyes or I'll slice your eyelids off with your own knife."
Sam blinked and opened his eyes.
"That's better," the thing purred. The teenaged boy it was wearing was tall, with shaggy brown hair. He was sixteen, a little shorter than Sam had been at that age. Sam froze when the kid stalked around the chair he was tied down to. A quick look down at himself revealed that the chair was just a large wooden, straightbacked chair with arms.
When he kid walked around to the front of the chair Sam moved his hands, just a little.
"Heard a lot about you," the demon muttered. "You realize how many of my kind you've sent back down to Hell these past four years?" It shook its head. "Not to mention how many innocent humans you've slaughtered. You're not even trying to save people anymore, are ya?" It clicked its tongue.
The kid leaned forward until they were nose to nose, his black eyes shining with excitement. "Wonder what Dean would say if he could see you now?"
"Fuck you."
The demon blinked. "Maybe later." It stuck out its tongue and licked the tip of Sam's nose. The stench of sulfur nearly took Sam's breath away. He jerked backwards, gagging. It straightened up and grinned. "Tasty. I can tell you where Dean's not. He's not down in Hell. We checked."
Sam glared at him.
"Aw, c'mon, Sam. Lighten up. You gotta admit yourself, you gave us the idea for this. You were so worried that we had big brother, that he was possessed, I figured that a good idea was a good idea." The kid stood there and eyed Sam up and down. "Open wide, Sammy boy. From now on, I'm driving."
The boy's mouth stretched open, and thick black smoke boiled out. The front part of the coil looked like a face, mouth turned up in a happy grin.
Sam moved.
The chair lifted up as the ropes loosened and fell away. Sam actually grinned to himself, teeth bared, feral, as the face in the smoke recoiled. Its mouth formed an O of surprise. Sam put his shoulder into the kid's stomach as he drove forward, pushing hard with his legs. He drove the top of his head into the underside of the kid's jaw, and the boy went limp as they slammed into the wall.
The demon settled down over Sam's head and shoulders. For a moment he couldn't see. He could hear the thing in his ears, screeching, wailing.
---letmeinletmeinletmeinletmein---
The smoke lifted up and away. It flowed out the open window and up into the moonlit sky.
Women needed all that talk about faith and spirits, and that was fine for them. Abraham Bender believed in what he could see, hear and touch. He was content with his place in life. There was something to be said for having his own land, being able to do any damn thing he wanted on his own property.
As the oldest of the three brothers it was Abraham's right to claim his sister as his wife. It was their way, and always had been. Abagail Bender couldn't keep a baby inside her; there was something wrong with her woman parts. Some months she bled, some months she didn't. Pa was pleased two years later when she presented him with two fine strapping boys, first Jerry, and then Lee, a year later.
She was barren after that, but he had his boys now. She'd given him two sons, and that was worth something at least. Abagail was tall and sturdy, not bad to look at, and she knew her place. She cooked and took care of the boys.
They hunted humans twice a year, and the extra meat was good to have around, especially in the winter time. The boys grew up wide-eyed and eager, and they trailed after Pa, Jeremiah and Gabriel, watched everything they did.
Pa preferred to dress the meat himself; he was picky about that, preferred lean cuts. He sliced off the fat whenever he could.
Gabriel taught the boys how to rig a wire snare that would slash a hamstring muscle pretty good. It could hobble a human and leave a blood trail that was easy to follow.
Jeremiah was more hands on. He liked to use a club on the meat they hunted. Jerry and Lee were fast learners.
The good times rolled on, but they had to end sometime, and they did.
Later on Pa took a woman whose car stopped on the highway. She was a petite little thing, with long wavy brown hair. Pa had needs, and it wasn't enough to fuck the ones they hunted sometimes. He named her Grace, and he called her "Ma" all the time. She didn't seem to mind. She was shy and seemed grateful that he didn't kill her. She was a keeper, so Pa kept her.
Lee and Jerry accepted her without much fuss. They were good boys, the both of them.
Missy was born a year later. She was Pa's own special little girl, eager and cunning with bright, wild eyes. By the time Missy was nine Pa had gotten tired of Grace, so he got his ax and took her out into the barn. She wasn't his kin. Not really. The winter was cold and hard that year, and the pickings around Hibbing were slim.
Grace tasted tender and kind of bland.
One night years later Pa, Lee and Jerry sat in the truck on the parking lot of Kugel's Keg. The Keg was a usually good place to find someone to hunt. It wasn't the only place, of course. There were others, either rest stops, taverns or diners. The highways were always good. Cars and trucks broke down all the time.
The door to the Keg swung open, and a young man walked out. The kid moved like he could handle himself, all right. He was broad shouldered, muscular and agile.
Jerry huffed. "Lookit the pretty boy," he growled. "Pa, you gotta let us hunt this one."
Pa leaned forward. His eyes widened, then went to slits.
It was a perfect moment. Pa saw and smelled wet blood on the fallen leaves. He could hear Jeremiah and Abagail scream loud and long, but all he could feel was the weight of his shotgun in his hands, all he could see was the shocked look on his younger brother's face as Gabriel lay dying and breathed his last.
"A-bra-ham…p-pleas'…dun't hurt me… any…mor'…"
Right then and there, Pa knew. Knew he'd been forgiven his sins. The proof was right there, in front of him, wide green eyes and bow legs. All this was meant to be, because there was no one else on the parking lot at the time. It was a sign, a damn big one. What were the odds that he and Jerry and Lee would be out on a hunt this very same night, sitting on this very same parking lot, just in time to see this particular kid walk out?
The hair was cut shorter, darker and spiky, but it was Gabriel. There wasn't any doubt.
"Go. Go! Get him to stop," Pa growled as he pushed at Jerry. "Go on now."
Jerry frowned, but he scrambled out of the trunk like he was told. The big lug tried to act conspicuous, but the boy knew something was up, especially when Lee got out seconds later and followed Jerry.
Even though Jerry and Lee were half head taller and broader than he was, the younger man didn't blink, didn't lose a step. Pa could see him settle himself, ready to uncoil, and there was no doubt in Pa's mind that his boys were going to get their asses kicked.
Sure enough, a moment later Jerry was sprawled on the ground on his back. Lee was on his knees.
The kid with Gabriel's face turned to face the headlights of Pa's truck.
Hours later Pa sat by Gabriel's bedside and held his hand. Gabriel's eyes changed in the light, went from light green to darker green, and then back to light again. Pa figured that was because of the pain and the drugs.
"Forgive me," Pa whispered. "Never got to tell you. Never had a chance. Wasn't you with Abagail. I know that now. It was Jeremiah. They were together, but I thought it was you."
Gabriel blinked slowly. Those eyes of his lightened, pale green. "…gotta get back to Sam," he whispered breathily. "…Dad said…tol' me to take care'a Sam…"
Pa wiped his forehead with that cool cloth, and Gabriel flinched violently. "You sonofabitch," he slurred, "…leave me alone… gotta go…I gotta…"
He tried to struggle up, weakly, but with his left arm and leg splinted like that, Gabe wasn't going anywhere on his own for a while. He swallowed thickly, eyes glazed over, filled with shifting shadows. "Abra-ham…'m warm again…"
All Pa could do was nod.
Gabriel came back wrong, but he came back. Pa figured it wasn't up to him to question the Lord's work. Maybe hitting him with the truck was a little much, but Pa had to made sure that he stayed this time.
There were bad days, later on, when Gabriel limped around the house. His eyes were too wild, too bright, and several times they had to tie him down on the bed while he cursed at them.
"Stop touchin' me, y'hear me? Gonna kill you when I get up from here…"
Those days Gabriel didn't seem to recognize Missy, and Pa hated to see that. "It's okay, Missy. It's all right. He came back a little wrong, that's all," Pa said gruffly. "He'll come back to you. You'll see."
Gabe always did, until the night Lee and Jerry came back without him.
Abraham Bender never considered himself to be religious, but he had a sense of things. Gabriel was family. He'd come back home once before. There was no reason he couldn't come back a second time.
Pa waited for a sign.
Sometimes he could feel the tat over his heart, even now, years later. It was just his imagination; Sam knew that. Carrying around an anti-possession amulet was a good idea; getting the symbol as a tat was even better. It was the image of a black pentagram surrounded by a ring of black flames. Amulets could get lost; tattoos were permanent. Unless, of course, he got his heart ripped out by some fugly, in which case being possessed by a demon would be the least of his worries.
It hurt like hell when he'd gotten it done, and most of the time he even forgot it was there, but sometimes Sam could feel the tattoo, flaring blackly over the space above his heart, especially when he came in close contact with a demon. It was one of the few times his imagination he let his imagination get the best of him.
The kid with the brown hair was still alive when Sam left, and Sam really wondered about that. In the past four years he'd gotten into the habit of cleaning up loose ends. Maybe he was sick and tired of smoke and fire. Maybe it was because with Sam gone maybe the demon wouldn't have any more use for the boy anyway. There was a time Sam would have waited until the kid woke up, talked to him, tried to make him feel better. Apologized, for cripes' sake. Not this time.
Whatever the reason, Sam left him alive and breathing. Dude was going to have issues enough as it was.
His cell went off as he turned the Impala onto the main highway.
"Sam?" John rumbled. "Don't hang up."
Sam rolled his eyes. Damn. "Not that you really seemed to care before, Dad. You left me, remember?"
John sighed. "I don't expect you to understand why I ---"
Sam huffed, abrupt and scornful. "Spare me. We were out here together, four months after Dean vanished. You ditched me. No note, no warning. I woke up that morning and you were gone. The more things change, the more they stay the same, huh?"
"Dean understood why it had to be that way. He never ---"
"Dean wouldn't have said a word to you. You know that. He thinks the world of you, and I'll be damned if I know why."
"Sam, I ---"
"Don't call me again, Dad." Sam flipped the phone shut. He imagined John pulling his cell away from his ear, imagined the great hunter John Winchester glaring at his phone.
Sam smiled, just a little.
It was just bruises, y'know? He wasn't gonna cry about it.
Dean held his breath as he leaned over and laced up his boots. His left hip hurt like a bitch. His shoulders ached too. Perks of the job, he thought grimly to himself.
He was stiff and sore from that last gig. Yeah, that was it. That 'geist they hunted the night before was a nasty bastard, and getting to its earthly remains hadn't been easy. They couldn't be in a basement or a yard somewhere. Oh hell, no, that would have been too friggin' easy. The bones were in a crawlspace, underneath the house. In the crawlspace with the rats and the roaches and the cobwebs. Another craptastic day at the office.
He listened to Sam in the shower, and by the time Sam came out half dressed in his pants and t shirt Dean had on his leather jacket. He could walk this off, whatever it was. "Dude, we're burning daylight. I need coffee. Now."
Sam's bitchface came out just then, and that was normal.
What happened after that, wasn't.
Something buzzed and murmured around his ears. He thought it was a fly or a mosquito at first, but then it sounded like words
...good boy...
And that was fucked up. He was hearing things.
...be a good boy...
He always fell asleep with the television on. Probably picked up some dialogue from some lame ass movie after Sam snagged the remote.
Yeah, that was it. Had to be.
He couldn't shake this feeling that something wasn't quite right. Dean checked the Impala's trunk again before they left the Starlight Inn. Bags of rock salt, check. Shotguns? Check. Holy water? Double check.
Sam stood there with his hands jammed into his jacket pockets, looking all big and goofy and totally amused. "You forget something, Grandma?"
Dean rolled his eyes at his brother. "Shut the hell up and get in the car."
They stopped for the night half a state later, at another skeezy motel. Dean used the john and stopped and stared at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. The underside of his neck, right underneath his jaw was red and tender. He leaned into the mirror and stared at his neck.
Teethmarks.
Mine now. The whisper was soft and rough. All mine.
Dean jerked as fingers slid over his shoulders, down his arms. He couldn't see anything, but he could feel it, against his clothes, then slick and wet against bare skin.
No…please…
So tight, John. You're so damn tight…
Dean's eyes widened. His heart hammered against his ribs. He had the sensation of being spread from behind, filled almost to the point of bursting. The feeling shifted in and out. He closed his eyes, leaned against the sink, gripped the porcelain so hard his fingers cramped. His balls and his cock ached. He felt twinges of pain, deep and sharp, all over his body. He felt violated, and worse yet he knew what had happened, what was still happening. He didn't want it, didn't want any of it. And he knew he could not stop it.
In that moment, Dean knew.
He knew what was out there.
…don't want you Dean. I want John…
What was waiting for him when he woke up.
Mine now, boy, all mine…
If he wanted to wake up.
Tired, Dean thought to himself. I'm so fucking tired. Just need to rest for a while. He leaned over, the top of his head touching the mirror, and the sense of fatigue settled over him, thick and heavy, past his muscles, right down to his core. Just need to rest. That's all. Just for a little bit…
The sensation of hands brushing over his body, teeth scraping against his skin fell away, and the sudden absence of feeling made him weak in the knees. Dean stumbled as he turned for the door. He could barely feel the doorknob as he turned it.
Sam sat at the table with his laptop, head down, his face set in a blank mask of concentration. Dean stared dully at his brother, and yeah, okay, that was good, that was right. That was what Dean wanted all along.
Just Sam and the open road and the hunt, that was all.
Dean crawled onto his bed, closed his eyes as his face hit the pillow.
It was good to dream.
Next post Monday.
