Disclaimer: Not owning anything, duh. A.N. Look, I get it. I'm not happy with what has to happen. Dean isn't happy. Nobody's happy. I mean, this is the chapter with Rape. There's a high chance you won't be happy either, but hopefully, you'll be entertained. ;D (You did see the warning in chapter one, yeah? So you wanted to see this?)
It's only when Sam isn't in sight anymore that Dean's brain comes back online, and he realizes that fuck, he's forgotten to check in with the local authorities. Plus, he needs a couple things...He needs to review his priorities. (Sam has always been the priority, though. That's the problem. No wonder he got distracted.)
Instead, he busies himself for the moment by picking his brother's attire for tonight. The tightest pair of jeans he owns, a dark green tshirt (he's never going to admit why, and Sammy's gorgeous in anything at all anyway) and a hoodie. Ok, yes, maybe he's going for the style Sam had when they got together again, ages ago. After all, his boy still looks mid-twenties, a marvel of the patented Benton recipe. Boxers Sam isn't too fond of, given that it's likely they won't survive the night.
When his brother comes back, dripping, in a skimpy towel (probably not as tiny as it looks, but Sam is a visual trick in his own right), Dean very nearly ruins his own plans. It can't hurt to wait one more day, can it?
But then Sammy calls for him, soft, hesitant, and Dean's sharply reminded of how selfish that would be. "Clothes are on the bed, puppy. I'm showering myself then I'll swing by to check in with the police, see if there's any news. I'll bring back dinner. Is pizza ok?"
"Of course".
Dean takes a deep breath and gets into case mode. No distractions. Nothing but ruthless efficiency. He doesn't have to actually like anything that's going to happen from now on, but he's going to see that the plan flows perfectly.
Four minutes shower. FBI suit on. Say goodbye to Sam, squash down the instinct to kiss him. Drive to the police station and introduce himself. The locals are all too eager for anyone to help with the well-off dudes being literally ripped apart - three of them, by now. When Dean mentions that he's seen more cases like this, and that their killer has hopped state lines more than once (which is all true), they would happily put him in charge. Any information is at Dean's disposal, and yes, there is a club where the victims' paths intersected. Perfect. Dean promises to call back when he has a plan of action for them.
Next, an electronics store. Earpieces for both of them. plus a near-invisible mic for Dean. With these specific ones, he can do more than talk Sammy through anything, though. The press of a button, and Dean will be able to use it to listen in to whatever is happening on Sam's side. Yes, he'll keep him in his sight, as much as possible. But one more little assurance can't hurt either of them. (Or maybe yes, but not in any way that counts.)
He thanks the clerk, pockets them, and moves on.
He's noticed a pizza place when picking their motel. Car windows rolled down - too hot not to, even in early October - and a sudden, delicious waft of scent had made him turn around. Fragrance is always a good cue to find somewhere nice to eat at, and they deserve a little treat. Instead of a couple of pizzas, he picks a lot of slices so they'll have many different toppings to choose from. He even makes a point of getting a few vegetable ones for Sammy (eggplant, and it's only half a joke). If the only healthy (maybe) thing on most of them is the tomato sauce...well, Dean's gotta eat, too.
He should stick to case mode, seriously. But Sam, who was listening to some documentary on the tv, - Dean can just glimpse the ocean's depths before the screen goes black-, turns around at the door opening. His baby brother full-on grins at him, dimples appearing, and Dean's heart melts a little. If he's distracted... This is Sammy. What the hell else should he be thinking about?
He puts the pizza down on the table, and then, he lets himself go all...domestic. Or as close to it as they ever get. Dean can't ever admit it - not if he doesn't want a beating that might leave him needing to get an extra or two himself - but he hasn't dallied in fixing Sam only because no random eye will ever fit in his baby brother's gorgeous face. An angle that should be long-fulfilled, every time they play, but still, the pleasure spikes he's getting lately are hard to fight.
Yeah, Sam is a grown man, more capable than most, and even with his sight dimmed, he can mostly handle himself. And some days, he's Dean's good puppy and lets him do anything, and loves being pampered afterwards. But Dean gets to take care of Sam now, in minute ways, stupid ways Dean would feel awkward about even suggesting in other situations, and it throws him – both of them, probably - back to when they were kids. Back when Sammy was way too adorable (not that he still isn't), his wellbeing Dean's only job, and they were each other's whole world. With occasional intrusions from dad, true, but he's long gone. Nothing to distract them from each other now.
Sam follows the scent and comes to the table, and Dean feeds him, bite by bite. Gotta make sure his baby boy doesn't get himself messy, after all. And if Sam nibbles Dean's fingers, too... well, he's not complaining. In fact, he might giggle a little. He steadfastly ignores the teasing when Sam's tongue comes out to play, too, taking controlled breaths. If this is payback, it's not like he doesn't deserve it.
Dean's eyes never leave him, and god, but he loves this kid (retirement age, if they were anything close to normal, and still his kid). He'd give him anything - do anything. Happily.
Still, at some point, he says, "You got your share. Now here, let me..." and cleans his mouth up with a paper napkin. In another situation, Sam might balk at that, but he's been lulled into complaisance, taken care of by his big brother, and he obediently lets him.
If Dean eats his slices one-handed, the other playing with Sam's hair, his puppy leaning into it, until he's nuzzling Dean's arm...There's no reason not to. He's going to brush it back into order later. Not that all tousled Sam wouldn't be sexy as hell, but - there's an image he wants to project.
Like he's going to help Sam brush his teeth, just because he can. And kiss him afterwards, to make sure he's done a good job. Help Sam put his earpiece on.
Then...they really have a case to get to.
They get lucky, and Dean finds a parking spot right in front of the club. "Show time," he says, squeezing Sam's nape because he can. "I'm going in. You follow me in forty seconds. I'll be your eyes."
Because that's the plan. An Amazon might find something to object about in a damaged partner. A Vetala probably would pounce at the chance, but Sam can see the point in not letting a monster know his weak points. Their actual target isn't going to notice, though, if Dean does his job the right way. Keep his eyes on Sammy (really, it's harder to look at the rest of the environment, if anything). Let him know where to go, when to sidestep someone, his voice a low rumble in Sam's ear. He leans against a wall, arms crossed, glaring at anyone who even looks like they might be planning to approach him. In a different life, he'd love this place - the music is even decent. But he's not here to enjoy himself.
"Stop hunching, baby. Can't hide the goods we're trying to sell. You're a snack, own it."
That startles Sam into a brilliant smile, dimples and all, but he listens. A quick once-over assures Dean that a lot of people would love to get to know him better, about yesterday.
Preconceived ideas are stopping most of them, though. The majority of the girls who've noticed him are giving very obvious signals, long looks and open body language, but they're actually waiting for him to approach them. In fact, a few look ridiculous, trying to accentuate how delicate and possibly frail they are, as if they'd crumble without the Great Wall of Sam to hold onto. They just don't get it. Even if he was actually here to pull, hale and free and in the mood for fun, Sam would never deign to give any of them a look.
Fact is, Sam can be wild in bed when he's in the right mood. He'd never go for someone he would be concerned about accidentally trampling, on any level. Gender or size of his partner doesn't matter. What's important is that he can trust them to sharply remind him where the boundaries are, should he too enthusiastically leap beyond them. Someone with enough fire to contain him if necessary. Not mere sugar that'd end up sticking to his sole like old bubblegum. If he can't unwind without being afraid for his lover, where's the fun in that?
This is why - if this night wasn't orchestrated by Dean in the first place, if Sam was really here simply for a good time - the Amazon would actually be a perfect choice. Dean doesn't know her, of course, but one should be prowling the club today, and she fits the profile. Head held high, confident stalking towards the table Sam settled himself at with his beer. (One. It doesn't even count.) Dean knows a warrior when he sees one. Bronzed gold curls frame an objectively beautiful face, lips softening in a seductive smile only when she's three steps from his brother.
She asks if the seat in front of him is free, and -with Dean's okay echoing in his ear - Sam assents, with a grin of his own. On the way here, Dean explained to him that the monster is hunting successful people (not really characteristic for Vetalas, but maybe these ones have standards). So, when she asks what brings him here, Sam says, "Making the most of my holidays. Sometimes you just need to get as far as possible from work and unwind, you know?" From the way she's already brushing his wrist, light and teasing, she does.
She wants to know what work is, obviously. Dean's about to suggest something, when he hears Sam explain, "Snatched by a great law firm right out of Stanford. I love it, mind. Helping people, and...well, winning." It's a great answer, of course. But Dean can't help the stab - does Sam regret losing that? Or is he just going with an answer easy for him to remember - not too far from (what should have been) the truth.
"And If it pays well too, it's a plus, right?" she asks, not even subtle.
Sam chuckles. "Right, but you can't let work take over your life. What do you do?"
Dean makes him add, "Wait, don't tell me, I'll guess. Olympic athlete? I'd be cheesy and say model, but you're more powerful than that."
"You'd be cheesy and get closer to the truth. I'm a photographer. I just apppreciate a good work out."
Things flow smoothly after that. Every now and then, Dean interrupts Sam, when he sees him start tensing, promising he's looking for the Vetala's partner, in and outside the club. She's nowhere to be seen, though. He isn't actually moving, of course. Just staring at the both of them, at the way she gets ever more physical, her voice a warm croon. The way Sam lets her, according to the plan.
"Maybe her partner's sick, or busy. Waiting for her to bring a meal home. Gotta find their hideout," he interjects at one point.
Just in time, too, because she asks, "Mine or yours?" thirty seconds later.
"Yours," Sam replies, and gets up to follow her, confident that Dean has his back. That he's not going to let him stumble, and if she's going to attack outside, she'll get what's coming to her. And if she prefers her victims sweet and willing - why knock someone out when you can bring them home on their own legs to be a shared meal - the Impala is going to follow them, like the shadow of death. They'll regret what they've invited...for the short rest of their lives.
The Amazon leads his brother in - pretty house, two floors, garden. Their future kid will like it, for all the half a morning she might live there. Dean hopes the monster'll keep her hands on his brother enough to avoid having him stumble into any corners, now that he can't help. He gives them time to reach a bedroom before walking through the garden, as if he belongs there, and quietly picking the locked door.
"Please," he hears, and he knows Sam isn't begging her. He's hoping to be extracted before anything happens he can't control.
"How polite," she purrs, "don't worry; I don't tease."
"I'm here, puppy," Dean breathes. It's a risk, but he couldn't stay in the car. Couldn't help himself. "Looking for the other one; other victims, maybe."
A shocked huff tells him that this one is as much into manhandling her partners as the one he'd met long ago. "Until then, enjoy." He smirks to himself.
Sam's "Wait, wait, wait" sounds just a touch panicked, and if the plan wasn't so important, it'd be enough for Dean to toss it down the drain. "Condom."
"Finished them, sorry," she replies, "but I'm very, very healthy, and you're smart and obviously are too. You don't want to actually stop, do you?"
Sam moans, already a little wrecked, and Dean tries his best not to actually go upstairs and peek. From personal experience, he bets she squeezed him. Maybe after rubbing all over him. After what Dean did this afternoon, no wonder his puppy's needy.
"I do!" almost a yelp. And sure, it's great, but Sam wasn't supposed to assume things would get so far, so why does he?
"Fuck," Dean hisses. This is what he wants, he reminds himself for the hundredth time. To ease Sam's mind, he hurriedly adds, "Nothing yet."
"Lemme," comes through. It doesn't really matter, though. She's likely as healthy as a horse, and no matter who actually puts it on, Dean bets that condom won't stay on till the end.
"She's hot, you know. You lucky dog," he mumbles. "Looks almost a little like Jess." Maybe it's the worst idea ever, but it's true, too, and Dean's always had trouble holding his tongue.
Dean's loitering inside a monster's house, trying not to do something stupid like actually interrupting - or jerking off. The last thing she needs is some more random samples to pick from.
But damn, even with just the audio - it's difficult. Every groan, bitten off moan and harsh pant erodes his control just a little bit more. There's her voice, too, praising and goading and at one point screaming enough that he can hear her without his nosy little tech. The neighbors are probably well aware, too.
Between that, and the thuds of furniture - yeah, she definitely favors the same athletic, wild sex of her many times gran (or grand-aunt, maybe... man, it's weird that an Amazon's generation is a couple years) Dean had the shameful pleasure of meeting.
All he can do is wait it out, ignore the images flashing in lurid detail in his mind - and be quiet. Sam's gonna be done, and then Dean can actually collect him. Preferably without meeting the owner of the house. Or renter. Whatever. Not that it matters - but the most random thoughts are still some form of distraction, and my does he need one right now.
If he had more self-preservation, maybe he would just turn everything off, for a while at least. There's enough to be sussed from what he can hear naturally to keep him on edge, after all. But he can't give up even one single breath of Sam. Not when he has the option to have it.
His heart swells with love and pride - and breaks a little, because he doesn't deserve this - when he hears Sam's suppressed sobs, choked behind grinding teeth. His puppy is holding back by sheer force of will, denying himself the orgasm he'd be begging for in a frenzy if Dean was in bed with him. Waiting her out, until Dean comes to murder her, and in any other situation, he'd put all of them out of their respective miseries. But he can't. He has to break his brother.
"Puppy?" He rumbles. For a moment he wonders if this is all it's going to take, but the near-whimper that answers him (him, not the fucking Amazon on top of Sammy) means he needs to do better. "It's a bust here." Lingering a little on the word, grin in his voice. A desperate groan answers him. "Entertain me. Her cunt tight?" Not like she's going to find it odd if he starts singing her praises.
Instead of a reply, he hears a screeched, "What the fuck is that?"
And then, far, way too far for things to be going well, Sam, grunting out, "...A kink thing?" as if he's not sure himself.
Oh fuck. Fuck fuckity fuck. Dean knows how Sam can get, when he's at the end of his rope. His boy, shuddering like he's being electrocuted. No wonder the earpiece fell out.
"Bastard," she hisses, and from how clear it comes across, Dean's betting she's claimed the earpiece.
"Thought you could have him?" Dean sneers back. Can't help it. "He's on loan, darling. Picked you myself. But I'm all for mutual satisfaction, understand? Just give it back, and I promise you. I'll give you what you really want."
"Your owner seems to think you're his to give - or take," she snarls. Sammy's been quieter than her, till now, but this time it's his wrecked moan Dean hears clearly through the floor.
Knowing this can't last long, he takes out a leaflet of the motel they're staying at and leaves it on a table, peeking from under a flower vase to make sure it won't accidentally fly away. He writes "If you wanna play more" on it in big, blocky letters.
"I have you now," she continues, "and you're going to come for me..if you want to go back."
Dean's waiting to hear another moan, or even a keen... but Sam doesn't make a peep. Not enough for the mic to pick up now it's not on him anyway. He frowns, and a second later she huffs, "I guess you can come and collect your pet. I'll unlock the door."
Dean looks suitably shocked when she stalks downstairs and growls a, "What?" at him.
"Door was open, as you said. Maybe Sammy distracted you from locking it, in the first place? I mean, I get that..." He shrugs.
"Maybe," she concedes, pointing upstairs with a thumb. Dean doesn't like the edge to her smile, now. Not at all.