Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10725060.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester, Ellen_Harvelle, Jo
      Harvelle, Ash_(Supernatural), Original_Characters, Bobby_Singer
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Serial_Killers, Serial_Killers, Serial_Killer_Sam,
      Serial_Killer_Dean, Emotional_Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological
      Abuse, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, Murder, Mind_Games, Alternate_Universe_-
      Supernatural_Elements, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Evil_Sam
      Winchester, Forced_Voyeurism, Public_Blow_Jobs, John_Winchester's_A+
      Parenting, John_Knows, Child_Neglect, Past_Child_Abuse, Past_Rape/Non-
      con, Implied/Referenced_Torture, Bottom_Dean_Winchester/Top_Sam
      Winchester, Sam_is_a_bad_man, Sam_Winchester's_Demonic_Powers, POV
      Outsider, POV_Alternating, John_Finds_Out
  Series:
      Part 3 of Crossroads
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-25 Completed: 2017-05-06 Chapters: 11/11 Words: 13239
****** Same kind of bad as me ******
by PessoasLily
Summary
     Dean is trying to do everything he can to prove he's worthy of
     Sammy's love after messing up their last murder. John tries to save
     Dean before it goes any further. Sam has his own agenda.
Notes
     Title from Tom Waits' Same_Kind_Of_Bad_as_Me
     Chapter title from Tom Waits' Green_Grass
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Lay your head where my heart used to be *****
The night of Ruby’s murder, Sam makes love to Dean slow and deep. He’s
attentive, generous, puts Dean’s pleasure before his own. Tells him how proud
he is, how much he's loved. Dean soaks it up like an infusion of healthy blood,
an inhalation of fresh air on the other side of a locked window. Dean’s body is
overstimulated and he comes untouched. Dean doesn't stop crying.
This pleases Sam.
Sam can't remember the number of times he makes his brother come. The days
after Ruby’s murder he feels manically giddy, his murderous desire replaced by
insatiable lust. Dean takes him into his body as if made of water. Everywhere
Sam moves, Dean yields.
It's difficult for Dean to keep up but he doesn't stop trying, his once put on
bravado now circumspect acquiescence. He seeks guidance in all things. When
asked what he should eat at a local diner, Sam tells him to eat whatever he
wants. The confused, adrift look Dean gives him both amuses and impresses Sam.
Dean broke like a rotten stick. Sam orders all his meals after that. Dean is
overjoyed.
He knows Dean needs more work; Sam's lifelong project only barely making it
over the second hurdle. He hadn't anticipated Dean acting on his bout of
conscience. That's a mistake that cannot be repeated. Although Sam never had
any intention of letting Dean go, he still needed to show Dean his place. Above
all else, Dean fears abandonment.
Sam is not done punishing him for his transgression, and though the abandonment
card has been played, Sam thinks he has just the right thing to keep Dean on
the straight and narrow. Nobody likes competition, after all.
Before he punishes Dean further, Sam needs Dean to realize he has no one else,
nowhere left to go. The biggest wrench in this being, of course, John. Sam is
aware their father has been keeping tabs on them, doing much of the same
research Dean did to track Sam's kills.
Now, though, John's come to different, albeit accurate, conclusions about Sam
and his plans for Dean. Sam would be disappointed if he hadn't. He's been
leaving big enough bread crumbs.
Sam wakes Dean again to fuck him. Dean's barely awake, grumbles a bit before
realizing it's Sam, then sits up in a panic hoping Sam is not upset. Sam
doesn't bother reassuring him, just rolls him over, climbs on top and sheathes
himself in Dean's heat.
Still wet and loose with lube and come from earlier fuckings, Sam rides him
hard, balls slapping in time with his frantic thrusts. Dean moans, cants his
hips to give Sam better access, squeezes tight and bears down, anything he can
do to heighten Sam's pleasure. Normally Sam would come and leave Dean to fend
for himself. It builds on Dean's desperation. Tonight, Sam needs Dean strung
out, completely wrecked.
Sam’s been sucking bruises on his back, his neck, leaving teeth marks on his
thighs and chest. Dean's nipples have been sucked so raw they're permanently
erect, red swollen nubs begging for more attention.
This fucking, though, this fucking Sam needs Dean to feel. It must bruise and
damage, it must hurt and ache. Sam needs Dean limping, wincing when he sits,
crying out when he moves too quickly. Sam needs everyone to know Dean's been
fucked hard and put away wet. Well, not everyone. Just their very special
guest.
Sam looks at the clock and smiles. Any minute now. He picks up his pace, his
brutal thrusts making Dean weep and beg, then he stills as he fills his brother
up. He flips Dean over, takes his cock deep in his mouth until it hits the back
of his throat and Dean comes with a shout.
That's when the doorbell rings.
Dean glances in the general direction of the sound and Sam tells him to get up
and answer it. Dean is so eager to obey he doesn't bother putting on clothes.
His fucked out ass leaking come, his hard stomach covered in the stuff.
Sam hears Dean undo the deadbolt, the lock on the handle, then open the door.
Dean gasps, “Dad?”
Showtime.
***** The Visit *****
Chapter Notes
     Dean faces another test when John comes for a visit.
John stood in the doorway, taking in a stunned silent Dean. It's worse than he
feared. Dean's body is littered with evidence of Sam's abuse. Bruises, bite
marks, signs that Dean's been whipped with a belt.
Dean tries to speak, fails, and tries again. He begins to tremble, the early
stages of shock, and John wants to comfort him. Tell him none of this is his
fault. John's here to save him. Everything will be ok.
John doesn't get the chance. Sam struts up, naked and smelling like sex, and
puts his arm around Dean's shoulder. Dean instantly calms, looks up to Sam in
abject adoration and leans into the touch. It's so much worse.
“What brings you here, John. It's a little late for a family reunion,” Sam
says, leaning over to kiss Dean on the mouth. John sees Dean open up, watches
as their tongues tangle. He's going to be sick.
“You know why,” John replies, clenching his fists in order to prevent him from
lashing out.
“I do. But I think Dean needs to hear it.”
“I'm here to stop you. You can't keep doing this to him,” John gestures to
Dean. “You're destroying him.”
Dean looks up at Sam, this time in confusion. “What's he talking about, Sammy?”
Sam kisses Dean's head, whispers something in Dean's ear, and Dean turns around
and heads into one of the backrooms to obey whatever order Sam's given him.
“You might as well come in,” Sam says, turning his back on John. He's so self-
assured he doesn't fear John will attack him. He's not wrong. John needs Sam
alive. Dean is in no state to accept John's help if he feels his master is in
danger. “Want some coffee? I know you've had a long drive.”
So Sam has been tracking him. John had his fears, asked Ash to look into how he
might be doing it but so far they've got nothing. It's like Sam is omniscient.
However he's keeping tabs on John, John has to hope he can't see what he's
planning. “Coffee's fine.”
Sam is rummaging around the kitchen when Dean returns holding a pair of pajama
bottoms. “Thanks, baby. Why don't you go sit on the couch while I fix us some
drinks. Then John can tell you why he's come.”
Dean hesitates, looks to the coffee pot. “ I can make that for you, Sammy.”
“Thank you but I've got it. Go out to the living room like you were told.”
Dean turns on his heels and rushes out.
“Jesus Christ, Sam. How can you treat him like that?”
With the coffee started, Sam grabs the pajama bottoms he set aside and puts
them on. “Like how? The dutiful soldier? A machine designed to mindlessly kill?
No, John. That was always your thing.”
“We're saving people,” John yells. “I never taught Dean to kill humans.”
“You also never taught him to not take pleasure in the hunt. But you two get
off on killing monsters. The truth is, Dean's always been a killer at heart.
I'm just redirecting his efforts.”
“To what end? Kill your girlfriend? Random strangers? You've got to know he
takes no pleasure in that. He's just mimicking you.”
Sam pulls out two coffee mugs and a glass. Dean must not have coffee
privileges.
“So you say.” Sam replies, handing a cup to John. “You still take it black, I
presume.”
John nods and turns toward the living room. Sam follows, coffee for him, milk
for Dean in hand.
Dean is sitting on the couch, still naked, and looking around nervously. His
face lights up when he sees Sam. Sam hands him the milk, sits down beside him
and sips his coffee. He waits for John to continue.
John sets his coffee on the table, untouched. Dean finishes his glass of milk
in a few large gulps and puts his glass next to John’s.
“Dean,” John says, “please look at me.” Dean looks to Sam for direction and Sam
nods his head. Dean looks to John and waits, not wanting to speak out of turn.
“Dean,” John begins again, “I know about the murders. About Jessica and Ruby,
the others. They weren't your fault. Sam is manipulating you.”
Sam leans down and whispers something in Dean's ear. Dean smiles.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Dean says. “Jess’ death was a
tragedy. As for this Ruby person. Never heard of her.”
John just gapes. He's convinced more now than ever that Sam has Dean in his
complete thrall. He needs to get Dean away from here, break through Sam's
conditioning.
“You know that's not true, Dean. You've known about Sam's murders since you
were both children. I know you thought they were wrong back then, that you were
protecting him by covering them up. You don’t have to do that anymore. Let me
help you. If you come away with me I can protect you.”
“Protect me from what? Getting my arm broken by a wraith? Getting pushed down
the stairs by an angry ghost? When have you ever protected me?”
John's not sure if this is Sam he's hearing or thoughts Dean’s long suppressed.
He hasn’t been the best parent but he’s tried to do right by his boys.
“I’ve tried. I’m sorry I wasn’t always there for you. That I’ve been a bit too
focused on finding Mary’s killer.”
“A bit,” Sam smirks. “That’s putting it lightly.”
John looks briefly to Sam, sees the barely disguised hate and rage, and turns
his attention back to Dean.
“It hasn’t been easy. For any of us. But this, what you’re doing with Sam, you
have to know that’s wrong.”
Dean goes to speak but Sam holds up his hand to stop him. “It hasn’t been easy
for you? What have you gone through that you haven’t cured with a 5th of
bourbon?”
“You stop right there. You don’t get to talk to me like that. I’m your father.”
“The father that left a 12 year old without enough money for food and rent, so
the boy had to suck off the apartment manager so he and his 8 year old brother
wouldn’t end up on the streets? That father?”
John, aghast, looks to Dean to see if it’s true. Dean just tucks himself
further into Sam.
“You’re lying!”
“Am I? Why don’t you ask Dean.” Sam looks at Dean, gives a short nod, and Dean
reluctantly speaks.
“It’s true,” Dean says barely above a whisper.
“And when Dean got pneumonia and nearly died? Who took him to the hospital?
Made sure he had medication, warm blankets and fucking food?” Sam continues,
rage building. “You? Father of the year? No, it was me. His 11 year old
brother.”
It makes sense now, Dean’s desperation to cling to Sam no matter the
circumstance. John has completely and utterly failed to protect him.
“You don’t know us at all. And you sure as hell don’t know what’s good for
Dean.”
“I know what you’re doing to him isn’t good. He won’t even talk to me without
your permission. You’ve turned him into your fucking slave! Does he have an
original thought of his own anymore?”
John sees Dean wince and has a brief pang of guilt but presses on. “Look what
you’ve turned him into,” gesturing to Dean’s naked and bruised skin. “That’s no
way to treat anyone, let alone family.”
Sam gives John a calculating smile and John feels a shudder run through him.
“No? You’ve spent his entire life moulding him into your perfect soldier.
Everything he does is a cheap imitation of your tough guy act. From the music
he listens to the jacket he wears. Even his car is you. You know nothing about
the real man.”
“And you do? You think this is the real Dean?” John gestures to Dean’s nudity,
hoping it will encompass everything he doesn’t want to think about.
“Everything Dean and I do is consensual.” Sam sets his coffee down and moves
his hand over to Dean’s flaccid cock and begins to stroke. Dean pushes his hips
up, begins to hump Sam’s hand.
“It’s fucking incest, Sam! What is wrong with you?”
“I love Dean and he loves me. We’re all we’ve ever had. You were a passing
stranger.” Sam tightens his hand around Dean’s cock, quickens his moments.
John can't believe what he's seeing, feels like he’s going to throw up.
“Does Dean know you’ve been steadily setting him up to frame him for all the
murders?” That gets Dean’s attention. His hips falter and he looks at Sam.
Sam’s gaze remains on their father, his hand continuing to stroke.
“Have you ever wondered why Sam keeps sending you all his trophies? I bet
you’re even wearing some of them.”
Sam smiles, his eyes briefly landing on Dean’s ring, the bracelet.
“Jesus,” John whispers, a mix of shock and pain. “You are.”
“Sammy?” Dean looks to his brother, uncertainty laced with fear. Good. He’s not
so far gone he’s above self-preservation.
“Don’t worry, Dean,” Sam soothes. “You know I would never let anything happen
to you. Right?”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean replies, not exactly appeased but unwilling to pursue it
further.
“If you think you can come here, stir up trouble and toss out false accusations
to lure Dean away from me, you’re more delusion than I thought.”
“Dean,” John says, once again trying to reach the man directly. “You’re in
danger. Sam isn’t going to save you when the police come to arrest a drifter
with a criminal record. Your cache of Sam’s trophies are sure to get you the
death penalty.”
Dean doesn’t look at his father, doesn’t respond but he isn’t as hard as he
was. John is getting to him.
Sam leans down and whispers something in Dean’s ear. Dean’s eyes widen in
surprise but he nods his head. He gets up off the couch and sinks to the floor
between Sam’s knees. He reaches for the waistband of Sam’s pajama bottoms and
Sam lifts his hips to help Dean get them off.
“Stop right now, Dean.” John commands. “Don’t you fucking dare.” John reaches
for his weapon but he’s too late. Sam has the Colt in his hand, had it
somewhere on the couch that John didn’t see. He points it at John’s chest.
“You wouldn’t dare. You kill me and Dean is gone.” John says, not entirely sure
he’s telling the truth.
Dean sits up on his knees, takes Sam’s cock in his hand and directs it to his
mouth. John hears the first sound of slurping and has to force the bile down.
John might as well be a potted plant for all the concern Dean has about his
presence, him witnessing this.
Sam raises an eyebrow and gives John a half smile. “You think? I don’t have to
kill you. All I have to do is shoot you in the knee, call the police and say
you barged in here making all kinds of accusations. You think I’m trying to
frame Dean? Imagine what I’ve got on you.”
Sam runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, pushes his head down further on his
cock. Dean hums and John sees Sam’s slight reaction to the vibrations -
pleasure.
"Fuck, Dean. That mouth. Those cocksucking lips. You were born for this. That's
it, sweetheart, little deeper. Use your tongue." Sam never takes his eyes of
John. There's an unholy gleam that John recognizes but can't define.
John feels his stomach sink. This isn’t going how he’d planned.
Sam continues, “You carry around a serial killer’s wall in that journal of
yours. I’d like to see you explain to the police you were just killing
monsters. Think I can convince them you saw Jess as a monster trying to tear
apart your family?” Sam’s smile now is blinding, evil.
“You breeze into towns, do your thing without a thought to what evidence you
leave behind. The police don’t make the same distinction as you do. To you, a
monster is a monster. To them, you’ve butchered hundreds of tax paying
citizens.”
John begins to sweat. Nothing Sam is saying is wrong. He just didn’t think.
He’s just as fucked as Dean. Sam has a long history of academic achievement,
encouraged no doubt, by teachers and counselors who took pity on him because of
his unstable home life and absentee father. Sam has a full scholarship at a
prestigious university and John hasn’t filed a tax return since Mary died.
His momentary panic distracts him just enough that he forgets his oldest is
sucking Sam’s cock. Sadly, this is his only card to play.
“You think you’ll get to go to law school, become a lawyer, when you’re fucking
your brother?” John doesn’t take his eyes off Sam’s, not wanting to see what
Dean’s doing and obviously enjoying. The gun in Sam’s hand doesn’t waver and
neither does his hand on the back of Dean’s head. He’s begun to thrust upward
into Dean’s mouth.
“You can’t prove a thing, old man. According to anyone who looks, I’m just a
good brother helping out a brother that went a little wayward. And Dean is here
to comfort me in my time of grief.”
Sam smiles that smile that makes John’s hair stand on end and gestures toward
Dean, “He’s pretty good at comforting me.” John hears the sucking sounds
increase and Sam pushes Dean’s head down briefly, then closes his eyes for a
second as he comes down Dean’s throat. "Come on, Dean. Keep swallowing like I
taught you. Let me feel your throat tighten around me, milk me with your
throat."
When Sam opens his eyes, John thinks he sees solid black before Sam blinks it
away.
“Christo,” John says.
Sam smiles and gives a little shake of his head. “Oh John, always thinking of
the little picture while drowning in the big one.”
Dean sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth. “Back up on the couch,
sweetheart,” Sam commands. Dean moves to comply without looking at John. John
is completely invisible.
“I won’t let you do this to Dean,” John insists. “I just won’t.”
“And your plan to take him from me? What was it? Luring him out of the house
while I’m in class, drugging him and taking him to Bobby’s panic room.” Sam
shakes his head again. “So predictable John.”
Unless Sam is a mind reader, there’s no way he should know that. John hasn’t
even contacted Bobby to ask him for the room. He hasn’t called anyone nor
written it down.
Sam gives him another one of his knowing smiles, then it falters into a vicious
sneer. The whole time the gun in this hand hasn’t wavered. How can his arm not
be tired?
“Know this, John Winchester. If you try to take Dean from me I will make you
suffer in ways even the worst of your monsters can’t imagine.”
“Dean,” John pleads, trying to reach him. “Can’t you see how wrong this is?
Don’t you understand I’m trying to help you. Sam is going to get you killed.”
Dean laughs, actually opens his mouth and makes a sound unprompted by Sam.
“That’s rich. Coming from the man who gave me a 45 when I was 7.”
“I was trying to help. Keep you safe. You know what’s out there.”
“Yeah, and I don’t want anything to do with it. That part of my life is over.
Keep your crusade to yourself.” Sam looks at Dean, pleased.
“Dean,” John tries again but Dean interrupts.
“Just go. We don’t want you here. I don’t want you here.”
John starts to protest but Sam stands up. Dean adjusts Sam’s pants, pulling
them up over his now flaccid cock. Dean is a machine attuned only to Sam and
Sam’s needs.
“I think you heard the man,” Sam says. His smug, satisfied smile making John
want to rip his face off.
“This isn’t over,” John says, standing up and heading toward the door. “I will
stop you, Sam.”
“And you will avenge Mom’s death. Yada yada yada.” Sam rolls his eyes and
gestures to the door.
John opens it, slams it behind him.
He needs to call in help.
***** Nightmares *****
Chapter Notes
     A short chapter to check in on Dean. I hope you enjoy. Comments are
     always welcome and appreciated.
Dean started having nightmares.
At first he dreamt about the murders. Jessica's betrayed tears, Ruby's
anonymous suffering. He'd be standing near them, Sammy with a blade in his hand
cutting and carving, saying how disgusting they were, how killing them was a
service to society.
Then the dream would change and it would be Dean bound to the table, Dean tied
to the chair. He'd look into Sammy's eyes and see nothing but hate. Sammy would
say he never loved him. He wished he killed him instead of Jessica. He should
never had sent those trophies, never given Dean the ring.
Dean would cry and ask what he'd done wrong. What he could do to fix it. Sammy
would laugh and say nothing. There was nothing to fix. Dean was unworthy.
Sammy’d find another. Dean would fight against his bindings, try to reach out
and touch Sammy’s arm. Sammy would pull away, tighten the ropes without
touching him.
Eventually Dean would beg to die. He would tell Sammy life wasn't worth living
without him. He was sorry for saying all those mean things. Sorry for
questioning him and not obeying. He would do better. He'd do what he was told.
If Sammy gave him another chance, Dean would be anything he wanted him to be.
Sammy would say it's too late. He'd found someone else. He’d already moved on.
Then he’d release Dean from his bonds. Tell him he wasn't worth killing. Dean
was already dead to him. He'd tell Dean to go back to John. Go back to hunting
the demon that killed their mother. It was all he was good for; avenging the
death of a woman who probably didn't love him either.
Dean would wake in a cold sweat and find Sammy staring at him. His blank
expression giving nothing away. Sammy would ask Dean what he was dreaming about
and Dean would jump into Sammy’s lap, wrap his arms around him and beg him to
never let go. For a long moment that felt like perpetual dying, Sammy would say
nothing, do nothing. Then he'd wrap his arms around Dean.
“All you have to do is be a good boy. Can you do that for me, Dean?”
Dean would say yes. Offer up his lips and his body to be battered and used.
He'd say Sammy was his master, his god. He'd never disappoint him again. Please
please, don't leave him. Give me a chance.
“I won't leave you if you do what you're told,” Sammy would say. And Dean would
agree. Dean would consent.
Sammy would kiss Dean's forehead, pull him to his chest. Dean would bury
himself in Sammy’s scent. Dean wouldn't see Sammy’s eyes turn black and his
face break out in a smile that was colder than death.
***** A good man is hard to find *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: Contains mentions of sexual abuse of a child. If this is a
     trigger, you might want to skip this chapter.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Sam wasn’t a good man. All his life he knew something was off.
His first kill was at 8 years old. Dean and he were staying at some shithole
apartment in Stockton, CA that had as many heroin addicts as it did
cockroaches. Their dad was off on some crap monster hunt; a ghost or a witch or
a fucking goat in a tutu. It didn’t matter. What did matter was John left 12
year old Dean with 200 bucks and a promise he’d be back in a week. He was gone
for a month.
Sam would later learn John hooked up with some bitch from Lodi while Dean was
sucking off the manager just to keep them housed. What little food they had
Dean stretched out, going without so Sam never felt hungry. Dean would steal
day old bread from the grocery store, pocket candy bars and gum, rummage
through the garbage can outside restaurants. Anything to keep them from
starving to death.
There was an old lady across the hall that wanted to call CPS but Dean talked
her out of it. Everyday he’d tell her their dad would be back tomorrow. She
took pity on them and brought over leftover spaghetti and pea soup when she
could spare it.
It was only later that Sam understood why Dean never let that old lady call for
help. He didn’t want to be separated from Sam. Even as a child, Dean couldn’t
be without him.
The apartment manager was a 36 year old junkie, fat and balding, sickly
looking. He had rotten teeth from years of meth use and his breath smelled like
ass. The rent was only 3 days behind when he showed up at the door demanding
payment. He told Dean he didn’t care if his father would be back soon, or if
his mother needed a few more hours on her back in the streets. Either he got
his money or they were out. Dean whispered something in the man’s ears and the
man's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He followed Dean into the only
bedroom, a drafty piece of shit with nothing but a dirty mattress to sleep on,
and fucked Dean’s small face until his voice was hoarse. He didn’t even bother
to do up his pants as he left the apartment, stopping briefly to give Sam a pat
on the head like he was a good dog.
Sam cut his balls off with a butter knife, stuffed them in his mouth and stole
his heroin. The guy was so high when he opened the door that he didn’t see the
2x4 Sam was holding, didn't see the blow coming when Sam knocked him out. Sam’s
only regret is that he had to stuff a pair of dirty underwear in the guy's
mouth to keep him from alerting the neighbors. He would have loved to hear the
fucker scream. Sam ending up selling they guy’s heroin back to the dealer for a
cut rate and a promise that the dealer would keep the new manager off their
back until their dad retrieved them. The cops didn’t care much for junkies who
killed each other and the murder remains unsolved.
For days Sam kept an on eye Dean, making sure he didn’t have some fucking mouth
VD. Sam didn’t know much about sex then but he’d heard enough people talking
about junkies and shared needles to know letting one come down your throat was
a nono.
Dean never talked about what happened. Never made Sam feel bad about what he
had to do for him. He treated Sam like he always did. Loving, affectionate and
protective. Sam didn’t know much about love; the feeling foreign to his strange
brain, but he did know that he’d kill anyone who tried to hurt Dean again.
Sam knew it would take a while but he promised himself when John came to get
them, smelling like whiskey and cheap perfume, that one day he’d kill the
selfish sonofabitch.
He’d sell his soul to the devil before anyone hurt Dean like that again.
Chapter End Notes
     I mentioned that this chapter contains mentions of sexual child
     abuse. I don't believe in "child prostitution". Regardless of who
     propositioned who, a child lacks the agency to make these kinds of
     choices. A child is not a sex worker.
***** Sins of the father *****
Chapter Summary
     John goes for help.
“I'm going to kill him,” John said as he pushed open the door to the Roadhouse
and took in the bored expressions of hunters sipping bourbon and piss warm
beer.
“I take it the visit with the boys didn't go over so good,” Ellen said as she
polished a glass and set it down next to a row of others.
Jo filled a shot glass with two fingers of Johnny Walker Blue, took in John's
countenance, and left the bottle.
John picked up the whiskey, tossed it back and poured himself another. “You
should have seen him, Ellen. Covered in bruises, smelling like... He winced
every time he sat down. And all the while looking at Sam like he hung the
fucking moon. Sam had him…” John couldn't finish the sentence, wanted to burn
the memory from his mind. He tossed back another.
“Had him what?” Jo asked, curious in the way the young are when they stick
their hands into a tiger cage.
“Never you mind, JoAnna Beth. Go back and see to the inventory I've been asking
you to do for a week.”
“But Momma,” Jo protested, “If Dean's in trouble, I want to help.”
“You can help by minding your own damn business. Now get,” Ellen said, waving
her bar rag at the swinging door to the backroom.
“Fine. But this isn't over!”
If John wasn’t so tired he would have watched her ass as she walked away.
Still, just thinking about it made him semi-hard, and he reached down to adjust
himself while Ellen had her backed turned.
“I said get, JoAnna Beth!” Ellen picked up a shot glass for herself, poured two
fingers from John's bottle and tossed it back, not even wincing at the burn.
Turning her attention to John, she leaned over the bar and whispered, “Talk to
me.”
John swallowed around the lump in his throat, took another shot to buy time,
then whispered, “He's fucking him, Ellen. Dean showed up naked at the door, Sam
too, and Sam made him do things.”
Ellen didn't need John to elaborate. His green complexion and trembling hands
said enough.
“He knew I was coming. He meant for me to see Dean like that,” John said,
wiping his dampening eyes on the back of his hand.
“Ah, honey. I'm so sorry,” Ellen said as she reached over and squeezed John's
hand. “No word from Ash yet on how he's been trackin’ ya?”
John shook his head. Poured himself another drink. Tossed it back and poured
another.
“Hey, I know you're hurting real bad but you need to slow down. You ain't gonna
be in no condition to figure this out if you're too drunk to stand.”
“But, Ellen. The things I saw. What Sam made him do,” John shook his head as if
that would make the memories go away. “And Dean… Dean liked it. I don't
understand it but Dean liked it.”
“Well, maybe it's a bit of that syndrome people talk about. You know like in
hostage situations?” Ellen added, helpfully.
Ignoring her, John pressed on. “And Dean was so angry with me. I know Sam has a
lot of influence but this... this was rage. Disappointment and rage. They
said…,” John hesitated.
“They said what, John?”
Leaning closer to Ellen so the other hunters wouldn't hear, “They said Dean
sold himself. For money. When he was a kid.”
“Jesus Christ. Why would they say such a thing,” Ellen asked.
“I used to be away a lot. On hunts. I'd always leave them some money but
sometimes the hunt lasted longer than I thought. I was so focused on whatever I
was huntin’ that I never thought much about how they were fending for
themselves. When I came back, Sam was always fed, his clothes were clean. He’d
bitch about having to change schools. All normal stuff. I never looked too
closely at Dean.” John wiped more tears from his eyes. “What didn’t I see?”
Ellen didn’t fill the silence for him and he figured he deserved it.
John sighed, rolling the glass around in his hands, “I guess Dean took my ‘take
care of your brother’ a little far.”
“Don’t you dare, John Winchester. Don’t you dare blame those boys. If Dean had
to do such a thing it was because you weren’t there for them.”
“I know,” John yelled, attracting the attention of the few patrons at the bar
this time of night. Then, back to whispering. “I know I messed up. I should
have been there for Dean.” Looking at his empty glass, then up to Ellen’s
condemning face; John poured another and tossed it back. It didn’t burn like it
did at first. “I should have been there for Sam. Is it my fault? All these
murders? All this death? What if…?”
Ellen interrupted, “None of that matters now. You’ve got to focus on a way to
make this right. For both your boys.”
“What if Sam is too far gone?”
“You can’t think like that. You don’t give up on blood. No matter what.”
John rubbed a hand over his face. The alcohol adding to his road exhaustion.
“Hey, Ellen. You still got that room out back for drunk hunters?”
Ellen laughed and rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. Just don’t go scrounging
around in my liquor cabinet all night and stealing the good stuff.”
John laughed and agreed with a slight head nod.
“Jo’ll help you get towels and fresh linens. Who knows what the last hunter
drug in there.”
“Thanks, Ellen,” John hesitated. “I’d appreciate you not telling anyone what I
told you. About the boys. About Dean.”
“Don’t be such an idiot. Of course I won’t tell anyone.” Ellen reassured him
with a motherly squeeze to his shoulder. “Now get some sleep. Ash’ll be here in
the morning. We’ll figure this out.”
“Thanks.”
John found Jo in the stockroom, bent over a case of Colorado Wild Sage. The
things seeing her like that did to him made him feel inhuman, beastly.
“Jo,” he said, getting the desired yelp and little bounce from her small
breasts.
“Jesus, John,” Jo said with a smile. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on
a girl who’s always got a knife close at hand.”
He held up both hands in ‘I’m innocent’ gesture. Jo just gave another one of
her little girl giggles that went straight to his balls.
“Your mom said you could help me with some linens and towels.”
“Oh, crashing with us tonight?” Jo said, motioning him down a small corridor
and opening up a cupboard at the back.
“You two sleeping here now?” John asked, masking his excitement with innocent
curiosity.
“Yeah. Bar got broke into a few months back. Took the money in the register,
broke the bottles of liquor they didn’t feel were worth stealing. Mom wanted us
to stay close by in case they come back again.” Jo said, handing John some
sheets, a quilt and a fluffy towel.
“We get a lot of drifters in here, hunter and otherwise. I think she’s worried
people will see two women running a bar as an easy mark.”
John nodded, trying to still his racing heart. Jo would be here, under the same
roof. It was too good to be true.
Jo showed him to the room he’d be staying in, pointed to the rooms her and her
mamma used. Then showed him to the bathroom, the only one in the building that
didn’t smell like vomit and piss, and had the only shower.
“Take as long as you like,” Jo said. “The bar ain’t closing up for another few
hours.” Then, patting John’s arm lightly, she walked back towards the bar.
John watched her go this time.
Maybe he's just as big a monster as Sam.
***** 20 *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean wonders how much of what John said was true
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Tracking Sammy’s kills left Dean trembling and afraid.
As far as Dean could tell, Sammy had been killing since he was 8 years old.
His first kill was probably the apartment manager. At the time, the brutality
of the crime had police suspecting a serial killer. But since no other bodies
showed up, they concluded it was a drug deal gone very very wrong.
That was 1990.
There was the spate of missing pets, though Dean didn’t consider them on par
with murder.
Seven years later, in 1997, the body of Derek Mason was found. Also mutilated,
although in a different manner. The police had no motive, no leads. It remains
unsolved.
In 1998 the bodies of Catherine and Kelly Wright were found strangled and
buried in a shallow grave. Despite a massive public outcry for answers, the
police never had any viable suspects. The case remains open.
Michael Benton followed in 1999. Sammy was in his senior year. Dean believes he
is the original owner of the ring he still wears.
From this point, Sammy’s trail gets blurry.
Dean found a record for the accidental overdose of Harriet Baxter in the Palo
Alto Daily News. Her obituary reports she willed her small fortune to a local
animal shelter. Also noted, her 10 year old Corgi, Buttons, ran away a week
prior to her death. Sammy would have been 19, already at Stanford but not
dating Jess.
During the same year the bodies of two coeds, Amber Nelson and Bridgette Stone,
were found strangled in their dorm room. Police originally suspected the dorm
monitor because of his connections to a local drug dealer but he was cleared of
suspicion as he was in Alabama attending the funeral of his father.
Later, political science professor Martin Holloway was found murdered in his
apartment. Police suspected his estranged wife but given the high number of
broken-hearted lower classmen he left behind, the suspect pool was largely
unmanageable because every woman they spoke to expressed a desire to kill him.
After months of clearing alibis and student testimonies, police concluded it
was a random attack. The case remains open.
Sammy began dating Jessica Moore at the beginning of his Sophomore year. They
shared a world religions class. Jess was the aggressor but as noted in the
numerous character witnesses after her murder, the couple had seemed very much
in love and there were no signs of abuse.
During that same year the bodies of 3 individuals were found in various
locations in the Bay Area. Dean later concluded they were murders disguised as
monster attacks.
24 year old Taylor Price was found with his throat ripped out on a hiking trail
near San Jose.
36 year old Tamara Johnson was founding hanging from a banister in an old
Victorian in Sunnyvale. Dean’s interviews revealed many of the local population
believed the house was haunted.
47 year old Virginia Boucher was found in an abandoned warehouse, hanging
upside down over a bucket; her throat was slashed. Police believed the bucket
had been emptied at some point because it did not contain the amount of blood
she would have bled.
The only things these three murders had in common was the bits of verse left at
each scene. The police dubbed the killer Shakespeare. Not wanting to cause a
public panic over the possibility of a serial killer roaming the Bay Area, the
police kept the details of the notes private and waited for the next body. It
never came. These cases remain open.
The murders Dean couldn’t connect to names were the four attached to the
trophies Sammy sent him; a book of poetry, an ugly pendant, a box of cigars and
a blood coated blade. He also doesn't know the identity of the original owner
of his bracelet.
As far as Dean could tell, Sammy didn’t kill again until Jessica Moore and Ruby
Jessop, when Dean traveled to San Jose to investigate the monster lookalike
murders. It was 2002. Sammy was 20 years old.
20 murders in the span of 12 years and these are the ones Dean knows about. How
many more people had Sammy killed?
Dean would be lying if he said his recent total submission to Sammy had nothing
to do with his fear of him. Combined with the constant gut churning anxiety of
getting caught for Jess and Ruby’s murders, Dean felt real terror at the
prospect that Sammy might tire of him and make him his next victim.
There was also Dean’s complete lack of alibis for the time of almost all of the
murders. Sure, he’d worked odd jobs here and there but he was always paid under
the table. Not only was it unlikely that his former employers would remember
him, he knew they’d all deny employing him to avoid getting fined for tax
evasion.
Dean was well and truly at Sammy’s mercy. A position Sammy seemed all too keen
to keep him in.
Dean burned the paper he’d been making notes on, got undressed and waited for
Sammy by the door. He would be good. He had to be.
Chapter End Notes
     I went back through the original stories in this series and believe I
     got all the murders I'd included. If you see one I missed, please let
     me know!
     Thanks for reading. Comments always welcome.
***** Taken in hand *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Dean was a wild bird born to be tamed. Much like the ancient art of falconry,
Sam has spent a significant amount of his life training his wild brother to
trust his hand and no other. John sabotaged his efforts on more than one
occasion, mishandling Dean, neglecting his needs, abusing him. If Sam knew then
how easily John could upset the delicate balance between tamer and tamed he
would have slit John's throat as soon as he could wield a knife.
John is upsetting Dean's fragile responsiveness again. It just won't do.
When Sam came home to find Dean naked and on his knees near the door he was
delighted. Then he smelled the faint traces of smoke, like a matchbook set on
fire; all match sticks inflamed in one heated breath. Dean was hiding
something.
Placing his book bag on the entryway table, Sam ran his fingers through Dean's
soft hair, tugging it back so Dean would look up at him. “Are you prepped?”
“Yes, Sammy,” Dean replied, eyes darting around Sam's face, avoiding direct eye
contact.
This would not do at all.
“Follow me.” When Dean made a motion to stand, Sam put his hand on his shoulder
and pushed him down. “Crawl.”
Sam walked into the kitchen, never doubting Dean would obey, and pulled out a
straight back chair from the dining table. Sam stood in front of it as Dean
slowly make his way in, and waited for Dean to kneel in front of him. When Dean
got to him, Sam bent over, placed his finger under Dean's chin and tilted his
head up.
“Do you have something you want to tell me?”
“No, Sammy. Nothing's new.” Dean responded, still trying to avoid Sam's eyes.
“Ok. But remember I gave you a chance to come clean.”
Dean sucked in a deep panicked breath, began to say something before Sam put a
finger over his mouth. “You had your chance.”
Dean's eyes began to water.
“Undress me,” Sam said, standing back up to his full height. “Do my shoes and
pants on your knees. You can stand to remove my shirts.”
Dean moved quickly to obey but Sam stilled his hands. “This isn't a race, Dean.
You might want to take your time. You don't know what I have in store for you.”
Dean's eyes widened in alarm and he slowed his movements. Untying Sam's boots,
removing them and setting them gently aside. Removing Sam's socks. Then
kneeling up to undo Sam's belt. Dean unbuckled it, pulled it out from the loops
and moved to set it aside. Sam stopped him.
“Keep that on the table. I'm going to need it.”
Dean nodded and tried to swallow against the dryness in his throat. He undid
the button on Sam's jeans, pulled down the zipper and pushed the pants down,
pulling them off one leg at a time, Sam lifting his foot to accommodate. Dean
went to pull down Sam's boxers but he stilled Dean's hands.
Shoving Dean's face forward, Sam ground his hard clothed cock against Dean's
face, his mouth.
“Do you feel that, Dean. How hard I am?”
“Yes, Sammy” Dean said a little breathlessly.
“Do you think you deserve my cock?”
Dean must have thought it was a trick question because he stuttered before he
answered. “I.. I deserve it if you think I do.”
Sam smirked, still rolling his erection over Dean's face. “Teacher's pet.”
“Take them off,” Sam commanded.
Dean did as he was told. Sam's hard cock springing forward and hitting him in
the face.
Sam began to stroke himself, one hand clasped tightly around his cock, the
other on Dean's forehead, holding him far enough away that Dean's darting
tongue couldn't reach him. “I'd love to feel your lips wrapped around my dick.
Feel your wet, tight heat. But you've been a bad boy, haven't you?”
“No! Sammy I promise I've been good.”
“What did you do today?”
“I looked for a job like you said. I washed Baby. Read that book you gave me.”
“And what were you burning? The help wanted ads or my book?” Sam picked up his
pace, a bead of precome slipping out. He leaned forward and wiped it on Dean's
lips. Dean stuck his tongue out and licked it, then chased Sam’s cock with his
mouth as he pulled away.
“Please, Sammy. I want to taste you.”
“Do you deserve a taste?’
Dean shook his head in denial. “It was nothing, ok. Just some notes for a hunt
nearby. I know you don't want me hunting any more. I…”
“So you burned them so I wouldn't find out?”
“Yeah.” Dean's hands began tremble, his knees hurt from kneeling so long on a
hardwood floor.
“Naughty. But you want to know what I think you were doing?”
Dean shook his head, then quickly nodded.
“I think John got you so spooked that you were making a list of my crimes,
seeing if I really am trying to frame you.”
Instead of denying it, Dean asked, “How?”
“Did I know? Let's just say a little bird told me.”
Sam carded his fingers through Dean's hair. “You should have been that little
birdie. Why must you insist on lying to me? Do you not trust me?” Sam moved his
hips forward, brushing the tip of his cock over Dean's lips, leaving a trail of
precum. “I can't give you what you want if you don't trust me.”
Dean stuck his tongue out, licked his lips and the tip of Sam's cock. Sam
pulled back again. “Nuh uh. Naughty boys don't get treats.” Pushing Dean away,
Sam released his cock and stood tall over Dean again. “Finish undressing me.”
Dean struggled to get up from his kneeling position and reached out to brace
himself on Sam's thigh to prevent falling. The fall placed him once again face
level with Sam’s hard cock. Dean moved to kiss it but Sam grabbed his hair and
pulled him back.
“Am I going to have to start your training from the beginning, Dean?”
Dean pulled away, mumbled an apology and got to his feet.
Dean moved his hands to Sam’s dress shirt, undoing the buttons one by one, then
pushing the shirt off Sam’s shoulders and setting it neatly on the table. Next
he grabbed the hem of Sam’s t-shirt and lifted it over Sam’s head. It got stuck
on his chin and Dean had a brief moment when he felt like laughing until he
pulled it off and saw Sammy’s stormy eyes. He folded the t-shirt up and placed
it over the button down.
Finished, Dean put his arms down by his sides and waited for further
instructions. Though both men were naked standing mere inches from each other,
Dean never felt more exposed or powerless in his life. Sam had never looked
more powerful. Sam’s eyes were slits of hazel when he reached up a hand to
place around the back of Dean’s head. Dean flinched.
“What have I ever done to you to make you so afraid of me, Dean?”
“I’m not afraid, Sammy. Promise.” Dean replied, his body thrumming with tension
as he tried to remain still and take whatever Sam was going to do to him.
“Do you not like the way I touch you? The way we make love?”
“‘course I do.”
“Then why do you shy away?” Sam asked, resuming his move towards Dean's head,
running his fingers through the short hair in the back, then down Dean's strong
back. “I like touching you. I like how your body responds.”
“I'm afraid, Sammy.” Dean whispered, trying to remain still as Sam's hands
explored his body. Sam ran both hands down Dean's arms, brushed fingers over
his always sensitive nipples, traced little patterns over yellowing bruises.
“Are you afraid I'm going to hurt you like I hurt Jess?” Sam said, leaning down
to put a nipple in his mouth and give it a playful lick, a gentled bite.
“Sammy,” Dean moaned, the constant mix of terror and pleasure heightening every
sensation. “I. I don't … don't know. Dad,” Dean stuttered out.
Sam bit down harshly, not enough to tear the skin but enough to send a message.
Dean gasped, lifted up on his tiptoes but was prevented from moving away by
Sam's teeth around his nipple and hand on his hip.
“You don’t belong to John. You belong to me. Why must you insist on making
everything about him,” Sam asked angrily, gripping Dean’s hips hard and
bringing their bodies flush together.
The feel of Dean, naked, hard and trembling sent a volley of confused feelings
through Sam. fuckpunishfucklovepunishfuck
Tendering, Sam said, “John really did a number on you. He was wrong, you know.
He’s always been but he was wrong that I’m trying to hurt you.” Sam placed a
chaste kiss on Dean’s lips, then kissed along his throat, jaw to stop and
whisper in his ear. “I’m the only monster you’ll never have to fear or worry
about killing.”
“Sammy,” Dean breathed, boldly placing his arms around Sam’s neck and pulling
him in for a kiss. Sam responded, giving Dean the moment he needed to gain his
composure, slow his rabbiting heart, before taking control of the kiss.
Sam’s kisses demanded. Sam’s kisses consumed.
“I’m going to sit in this chair and you’re going to ride me,” Sam said, pulling
away from Dean as Dean’s lips chased the kiss.
“Go get the lube,” Sam directed.
“I have some by the couch,” Dean supplied, rushing off to retrieve it. Sam
thought Dean looked like a child eager for cake. His confusing emotions
switching from terrorized to needy with one reassuring sentence from Sam.
Dean returned and Sam said, “Lube my cock. I hope you prepped yourself well
enough. It’s all you’re going to get.”
Dean opened the bottle, squeezed a good amount into his hand and closed his
fist over it, warming it before he applied it. Dean was learning. Dean could be
good.
Sam pulled Dean over and let Dean straddle his closed legs. “Make it quick. I
want to be inside you.”
Obediently, Dean massaged the lube on Sam’s hard cock, then absentmindedly
wiped his hand on Sam’s shirt. Sam laughed at his look of panic.
“Dean, it’s ok. There are lots of people who need to be afraid of me but you’ll
never be one of them.” Sam reassured, putting his hands on Dean’s hips and
lifting hip up. “Now, ride me.”
Dean braced his hand on Sam’s shoulders and grabbed his cock with his other
hand, lining it up with his loosened hole. The sound they both made as Sam
entered, as Dean beared down and Sam filled Dean, deep and complete, echoed
obscenely in the cold kitchen.
Sam ignored Dean’s painted expression and moaned, “Fuck, you’re tight. Always
so fucking tight.”
Sam’s long legs braced between his own, his large cock impaling him, the praise
spurred on Dean to lift up and glide back down. The height of the chair made it
difficult for Dean to get any traction, and soon Sam was fucking up faster than
Dean could slam down. Dean’s nipples taught and needy brushing against Sam’s
chest every time he fell forward.
“So good. So fucking good for me. Such a good boy,” Sam praised, his thrusts
picking up causing Dean to hang loosely around him like a ragdoll. Sam used
him, abused his prostate whenever he found the spot, and Dean keened and
begged.
“I’m good for you, Sammy. I’ll be good. Lovemelovemeloveme.” Dean’s litany of
revealing babble egging Sam on. Sam fucked faster, harder and Dean held onto
his shoulders for the ride.
“Grab your cock,” Sam instructed. “Fuck your hand while I fuck your ass.” Dean
reached for his cock so fast he scratched Sam’s stomach. Sam laughed at the
sting and held on tighter, balls high and ready to spill.
“That’s it baby. Fuck that hand. Squeeze tight around me. Let me feel it when
you come.”
As if waiting for permission, Dean came on a long, breathless moan. Sam
followed, pushing himself deep into Dean and filling him up.
Both men struggled to breathe, Dean casually draping himself around Sam’s
sweaty neck. No longer aware enough to remember to be afraid. Sam kissed Dean’s
hair, his cheeks. A slow, languorous kiss on the mouth. “So beautiful. So
perfect.”
“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean sighed. Too high on endorphins to be aware when Sam’s
mood shifted.
“You never have to worry about me hurting you, Dean.”
“I know, Sammy.” Dean interrupted.
Sam grabbed his face in both hands and Dean stilled when he saw Sam’s
expression. “You never have to worry about me hurting you but if you make a
list like you did today, I’ll kill your precious Lisa and her son in ways so
brutal they’ll have to use a mop to clean them up.”
“I…” Dean tried but his response was stalled by Sam’s kiss.
“No. Don’t say anything. Just be a good boy and do as you're told.”
“Ok, Sammy.” Dean said, face pale and once pleasure drunk body now swallowed by
dread.
“Good. Now let's get cleaned up and talk about what we’re going to do with
John.”
Chapter End Notes
     Comments always appreciated.
***** John Winchester *****
Ellen would have to be dumb, deaf and blind not to see the way John Winchester
leers at her daughter. Bill had his concerns, but Jo was just a little girl the
time and John weren’t like that, and Bill said there weren’t a better hunter
out there. Fat lot of good it did him in the end.
Maybe it’s John getting Bill killed that has her suspicious now. They way he’s
been crazy about his boys, going on about Sam being the devil and whatnot,
Ellen’s been getting the feeling that John’s not all that stable. And having
him anywhere near her Jo makes her skin crawl.
She don’t know about the sex stuff. If it’s true or if John is shining her for
sympathy. If it is true she reckon it ain’t her business nohow. The way them
boys were raised, mommaless and practically daddyless, it ain’t no wonder
they'd be close. Maybe not that close but the way Sam’s girlfriend died, in a
fire just like his momma. Well, let’s just say she wouldn’t be surprised.
She regrets letting John stay at the Roadhouse. His temper gets worse the more
he drinks, and the more he talks about his boys, the worse his drinking gets.
She’s cut him off a time or two but the poor sonofabitch would start bawling
about Sam and demon blood and other such nonsense, that she give'd him a drink
just so he don’t scare off her other customers.
He says Dean ain’t been returning his calls. Says there’s been reports of more
murders near Sam’s school. Ellen asked other hunters if they might be monster
related and they said they’d look into it. After John overheard her, he mostly
kept to his room, and when Ellen got a peek at his wall, covered with pictures
and newspaper reports of missing folk, she decided it were best if she let him
do his thing in private.
Ellen told Jo to steer clear of him, and after Jo said John accidently walked
in on her when she was showering, Jo’s got it in her to mind her momma for the
first time.
John’s been at the Roadhouse for a month or so when Dean calls. Dean asks for
his daddy, says he worried about him and the crazy things he’s been saying, and
wonders if she’ll keep an eye on him.
John overhears and practically rips the phone out of the wall trying to get to
it.
Ellen watches John’s face pale, mumbles a bunch of stuff to Dean about not
worrying and that he’s on his way, then he’s dropping the phone and running out
the door without so much as a explanation.
Ellen picked up the phone to see if Dean was still on. Dean sounded spooked,
asked Ellen what got John all riled up. Said he didn’t know what John was
talking about. Ellen told him what little she knew and Dean asked her to call
if he came back.
After she hung up, she asked Ash if he could maybe trace John’s phone. If he
was going off the deep end, those boys needed a heads up.
“Yes ma'am, I can.”
“Thanks, Ash.” Ellen said.
Then, calling out for Jo, Ellen said she best pack a bag. See if they can keep
that fool John Winchester from killing someone.
***** The unpickable lock *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Dean is bound to a table with padlocked metal cuffs when John finds him. His
body is cut up, bruises and whip marks littering his pale frame. Dean sees John
and bursts into tears, relief evident on his marred face. Unable to speak
through the rag stuffed in his mouth, he mumbles words John is too stunned to
try to comprehend.
One of his boys did this. He's paralyzed at the sheer horror of it. He stands
dumb and still, taking in the horrifying truth. Sam is a killer. Sam was going
to kill Dean.
John is going to kill Sam.
Finally shaking himself out of his stupor, John moves into action. He pulls out
his picklocks and tries to undo the locks only to discover they’re no ordinary
padlocks. By the looks of it, they’re military grade, unpickable with an anti
drill shield that turns with the bit to deny the drill any bite. The only way
Dean’s getting out of these is if he finds the key. He could try to cut the
cuff but then he’d have to leave Dean behind to get a bolt cutter, and he
couldn't be sure he wouldn't cut Dean in the process. He’s not leaving Dean
here for Sam to come back and finish the job, but he can’t remove the cuffs
without Sam’s key.
He’s fucked.
He removes the rag from Dean’s mouth and Dean continues to cry. His words
little more than pained moans.
“It’s going to be ok, Dean. I’m going to take care of you.”
Dean shakes his head, looks at the locks and his belly and that’s when John
notices the scalpel. It’s covered in blood. Dean’s blood. John picks it up in a
rage, waving it around and yelling about how he’s going to fucking kill Sam.
That’s when the door to the barn bursts open. Ellen, Jo and Sam standing there,
all with guns pointed at him.
“Put down the knife, John.” Ellen says, hand steady and ready to fire.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Ellen? I didn’t do this.” John says,
motioning to Dean.
Dean fights against the cuffs on the table and begins to plead. “Please, you’ve
got to get me out of here. He’s fucking crazy.”
John looks to Dean, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Please, Sammy. Help. Please. Get him away from me.” Dean’s tear and blood
streaked face making the scene all the more dramatic.
John is stupefied, dazed, by Dean’s bald faced lie, and then he’s moving
forward, waving the scalpel at Sam. “You did this! You’re making him lie!”
“You’ve been torturing me for hours,” Dean screams. Then pleading, “Sammy,
please. Get these fucking cuffs off me. Get them off! I can’t breathe. I can’t
breathe.”
Jo runs over to Dean, holding his bound hand and telling him everything is
going to be alright.
“You fucking liar,” John yells, the hand holding the scalpel dangerously close
to Dean’s face. “He put you up to this,” pointing the scalpel at Sam. “You’re
setting me up!”
“I always knew you’d take your obsession with me too far, John,” Sam says
before rushing forward and knocking John to the ground. They scuffle and John
cuts Sam with the scalpel while Ellen looks for a place to aim that won’t hit
Sam.
“Please,” Dean begs Jo, “Someone fucking untie me!”
John kicks and screams, yells at Sam. Calls him a murderer, calls him the
devil. Sam fights to get the scalpel out of John’s hand and Ellen comes over
and hits John in the head with the butt of her gun.
John is unconscious in an instant.
When he comes to, he’s in handcuffs in the back of a police car.
John overhears a police officer talking to Dean. They’re trying to get his
cuffs off. “He called from the road. Asked me to meet him here,” Dean’s saying.
“When I got here he hit me on the head and I woke up on this table.
“We’re going to need a key for these unless we call the manufacturer.” One
officer says. “Has anyone checked that guy's pockets,” gesturing at John.
Two police officers come over, one putting on a pair of gloves to reach into
John’s pockets. “Do you have anything sharp inside your pocket, sir,” the
officer asks.
“Why am I in handcuffs? I didn’t fucking do this. Arrest him,” John yells, head
gesturing to Sam. “He’s the fucking murderer. He did this to his brother.”
“Answer the question, sir. Do you have anything sharp in your pockets,” the
officer repeats.
“No I don't have anything fucking sharp in my pockets,” John screeches.
“I want you to hold still. I’m going to search your pockets now. If you
continue to struggle Officer Morrison won’t hesitate to use his taser.”
“I don’t have the fucking keys. Check that guy,” again gesturing to Sam.
The officer puts his hand in John’s pocket and pulls out a set of small keys.
He hands them over to the other office, who’s also wearing gloves and they
return to the barn to attempt to unlock the padlocks.
“That fucking bastard put them in my pocket,” John yells, throwing himself
about in the back of the car, trying to struggle out of his restraints.
“I’m going to need you to calm down, sir.”
“I am fucking calm. You’re arresting the wrong guy!”
“I have four witnesses who say differently,” the officer says and begins to
read John his rights.
John watches as they use the keys retrieved from his pocket to unlock Dean.
Dean rushes forward and puts his arm around Sam. Sam kisses his hair and
murmurs comforting reassurances.
A medic with a stretcher enters the barn and Dean is hoisted onto it and
wheeled over to a waiting ambulance.
John hears bits of muttered conversation between the officers, Jo, Ellen and
Sam.
“He’s been saying all kinds of crazy stuff…”
“His wall is covered in pictures and newspaper clippings…”
“He’s always had it out for Sam though I don’t know why. Sam’s a good boy…”
“He walked in on me when I was in the shower…”
“Dean called and asked me to look after him, said John was saying crazy stuff…”
John feels sick. His entire world imploding in one perfectly crafted con.
John feels eyes on him and looks over to see Sam standing near the back of the
ambulance. Sam looks at him, smirks a little and winks.
Chapter End Notes
     One more chapter after this, folks! I hope you've enjoyed it so far.
***** Walter Bluett *****
Chapter Notes
     This was supposed to be the last chapter but I think we need a little
     more of Sam before it's truly complete.
     Thanks for reading!
John Winchester may go down as one of the most prolific serial killers in
history.
As FBI Special Agent Walter Bluett examined just one of many “kill walls”, he
was amazed by the breadth of depravity employed and was certain it would take a
team of psychological analysts to unravel Winchester’s mind and motivations.
His journal, the first of many trophies found in the backroom of some hole in
the wall owned by friend Ellen Harvelle, was a how-to-guide to homicidal
psychopathy. The most curious thing about the room and the journal was
Harvelle’s response.
“Things ain’t always what they seem. John’s a killer alright, and for what he
done to Dean he deserves to go to prison, but...I’m just saying things ain’t
always what they seem.”
She stopped talking at this point in her interview and said if they were
charging her for something she wanted a lawyer. The detective had no choice but
to let her go. He did inform her they had the right to call her back should it
be warranted.
Investigators looked into Harvelle, and aside from reports that her husband was
killed during a hunting trip with John, the woman was clean. Her bar, on the
other hand, probably had about a dozen health violations. The Roadhouse was a
shithole.
The same evasiveness was found in her daughter, Jo Harvelle. Jo offered up a
different perspective of the man. She said he was always watching her; even as
a little girl, he always had eyes on her. She said he “gave me the creeps.”
There was no evidence of sexual abuse and since Ms. Harvelle indicated
Winchester’s behavior continued into her adulthood, investigators believed she
may have been one of his future targets.
Another patron of The Roadhouse, Ash Skynyrd, who asked investigators to refer
to him as Dr. Bad-Ass, offered up the most illuminating view. He said that
Winchester referred to himself as “a hunter” who was on a mission to rid the
world of evil and avenge the death of his wife, Mary Winchester, who he
believed was killed by someone Winchester referred to in his journal as “The
Demon”.
Winchester’s journal was filled with dehumanizing monikers. Rugaru, Shtriga,
Black Dogs, Djinn, Wraiths, Ghouls; all with crude drawings of how he saw them
and graphic descriptions of how he killed them. Winchester’s methods of murder
spanned the spectrum, from decapitation to immolation, and one indicated he
used a stick dipped in lamb’s blood. His journal listed locations, names, and
dates where he encountered and “took care of” these “monsters”. Investigators
used his journal as a road map to track down 103 confirmed missing or murdered
persons. His wall indicated that there may be as many as 20 more.
What’s most extraordinary is that when contacting field offices, agents
reported Winchester often engaged the help of local law enforcement to track
his targets. Using a stunning array of false identities and credentials,
Winchester was able to commit his crimes and leave without ever becoming a
suspect.
During questioning at various precincts, agents found many officers to be as
vague and evasive in their retelling of events as the Harvelles. Agents
concluded it was an attempt to distance themselves from their complicity in
Winchester’s crimes, but it still rankled Bluett. The FBI didn’t care about
local PD being duped by a master conman. They needed answers so they could find
the bodies of as many of the victims as possible. The families deserved to
know.
Another curiosity, though shelved in the back of the kaleidoscope of
curiosities, was again found at The Roadhouse. When agents first descended upon
the building, its regular patrons fled. On foot, by car, some outright running
down the middle of the dusty road. It took over a dozen agents to collect them,
and Bluett is still unsure if they got them all.
Again, interviews with the patrons were found to be frustrating dead ends. Both
as to the nature of John Winchester and why they fled. John Winchester wasa
loner. Quite. Kept to himself. Loved his wife. Doted on his boys. Folks around
here don’t talk ill of one another. Given Winchester made no attempt to hide
his crimes from Mr. Skynyrd, Bluett found it doubtful that none of them
recalled seeing Winchester behave in a suspicious or alarming manner.
The interviews investigators began to rely on the most were those with his
sons, Sam and Dean.
Sam told a twisted tale of child neglect and abuse, beginning when he was 6
months old and thrust into the care of his 4 year old brother, Dean. After the
house fire that claimed the life of their mother, the one John Winchester
believed was caused by “The Demon”, John essentially left his children to fend
for themselves. They had no stable home, moving from city to city, living in
motels, rundown apartments and sometimes in their car.
In spite of this Sam Winchester excelled academically. He credits his success
to his older brother, who he claimed, “always put me first”. There were
indications that John physically abused the older sibling and reports that the
boys were left for so long that Dean had to resort to prostitution when he was
as young as 12 to keep them housed and fed.
One of John’s murders is believed to be that of apartment manager, Baxter Ford.
Ford was found castrated, his testicles sewn into his mouth, and the coroner
indicated he died from severe blood loss. Sam confirmed that Ford sexually
abused Dean in exchange for allowing them to stay in the apartment while John
was away.
This murder was inline with Winchester’s philosophy that only “monsters”
deserved to die. It didn’t explain the mutilation and murder of 19 other
victims on The Roadhouse wall, including several of Sam’s childhood classmates.
It was not unheard of for Winchester to kill children. He had killed several
children he referred to as “Skinwalkers or Kitsune”, but there was no
indication that any of these children were the typical “monsters” he hunted,
and in fact were often people loosely associated with Sam or Dean.
Psychological profiler, Denise Haywood, believed these murders were done as a
way to further isolate and control the boys.
For the majority of the 20 murders listed on the wall, Winchester had a
corresponding trophy. A ring, bracelet, a lock of hair, and things as bizarre
as a box of cigars. Though detective reports did indicate some of the items as
reported missing, other items were the only clue that a crime had been
committed. For example, John had the hair of Derek Mason, Michael Benton’s
ring, both reported as taken during their murders, but investigators found
bonds stolen from the safe of Harriet Baxter, who was presumed to have died of
an accidental overdose. An antique Colt she also kept in her safe has yet to be
found.
It was truly bizarre. It was like Winchester was a murderer of multiple
mindsets. He killed for revenge, he killed for his delusions, and he killed to
keep his children in line.
Agents later raided the house of Bobby Singer, a man who is believed to have
offered confirmations of Winchester’s aliases. Singer’s house was a serial
killer’s haven of its own, and after cadaver dogs were brought in, the bodies
of 22 people were found. Many of the same forensic countermeasures were used,
though primarily fire. The indication that salt was also used baffled forensic
technicians.
Singer’s house was filled with books on monster mythology. His walls and floors
covered in bizarre symbols. When questioned about the bodies and the things in
his house, Singer just responded, “I want my lawyer, ya idgit.”
An FBI agent that specializes in cults and religions was brought in to see if
Singer and Winchester worked as a pair. She said that although they shared
similar psychopathologies, and sometimes used each other for cover, there were,
amazingly, independent serial killers.
John Winchester was arrested for the kidnapping and assault on Dean Winchester
and was held without bail while investigators sought more information to link
him to his other crimes. At first Winchester was belligerent, continuing with
the same mantra that it was Sam, his youngest, who committed all the murders
found documented on The Roadhouse wall. He accused Sam of bewitching Dean, said
his boys were in a sexual relationship.
Investigators were reluctant to look into the nature of the Winchester boys’
relationship because once on paper, even if proved false, it was impossible to
erase. Given Sam’s desire to become a lawyer one day, they decided against it.
Sam Winchester would say his brother brought him comfort during his grieving
period after the murder of his girlfriend. A murder police were now convinced
was committed by John.
When John Winchester was questioned about his journal and his association with
Bobby Singer, he clammed up and asked for a lawyer.
As if this sordid tale couldn’t get any more bizarre, after a visit from his
court appointed lawyer, Winchester asked to see the detectives again and
confessed, in great detail, to every murder. He even admitted to a large string
of corpse desecrations. When local jurisdictions were given authorization to
exhume the remains, they found all the were bodies burned. Some of the corpses
were over a 100 years old. It was incomprehensible.
States began lining up to extradite him, DAs coming out of the woodwork, all
claiming they should have the right to try Winchester first. When reports of
his crimes hit the press, the FBI took heat for not having connected any of the
murders before. When the nature of his delusion became known, his propensity
for killing people who he deemed to be mythical monsters, reporters started
calling him the Nightmare Killer. It was, in a word, a nightmare.
Walter Bluett had never drank more in his life.
***** Sam Winchester was having a good day *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Sam Winchester was having a good day.
Dean was riding his cock like a pro, Dean’s hands braced behind him on Sam’s
thighs; his own fat cock slapping against his abdomen as he moved. A steady
stream of, “Sammy, please please please, Sammy,” poured from Dean’s kiss
swollen lips. Sam had already come but Dean kept on riding, squeezing him tight
until Sam started to get hard again.
Sam grabbed Dean's cock, told him to show him how he'd fuck Sam if he ever let
him (he never would), and Dean fucked his hand, his movements frantic and
desperate, each thrust making him clench harder around Sam. It was bliss. Dean
wiggled and gasped, keened and begged, dug his nails into Sam's flesh. Dean was
still wearing the tie he wore in court. Sam told him to keep it on and used it
like a leash to pull Dean down for kisses.
Dean was beautiful at John’s hearing; trembling, and crying big fat tears as he
gave his witness statement to the jury before John’s sentencing. It augmented
his dramatic testimony, his years of neglect and abuse suffered at John’s
hands, John tricking him into going to the barn. The painful realization that
his father didn’t love him, his father wanted him dead. The jury looked into
his big green eyes, with long damp lashes and couldn’t help but love him and
want to punish the bad man who hurt him. Dean is so lovable after all.
John had to be restrained, his harried public defender attempting to soothe the
man who said he’d been possessed by a demon when he confessed to all the
crimes. He continued to claim Sam was the murderer who’d bewitched his little
brother. Sam was the devil. A demon. Not his son. He asked the judge to throw
holy water on them, said Christo dozens of times.
If John had a better attorney, John’s behavior made one hell of a case for an
insanity plea. As it was, John’s history as a hunter and his connection to so
many monsters he’d actually killed made mounting any defense impossible. John
was a liar, conman, and thief who spent his days pretending to be law
enforcement to track down his prey. Who would believe a word he said?
Really, Sam didn’t have to do much work at all. He had one of his demons
possess John long enough to confess to crimes he’d committed and the ones Sam
had, pulled the demon just in time for the trial, and John’s stunning yet
impossible recanting served only to make him appear more cruel because now he
was refusing to help the FBI locate the bodies.
“I did good today, Sammy,” Dean asked, his face and chest flush from sex as
much as the joy of making Sam proud.
“You were perfect. Everyone loved you.”
It was true. The jury ate up every stuttered word, every wiped away tear.
Afterward, Sam let Dean blow him in a stall in the courthouse bathroom. A few
of the spectators walked in and he listened to them talk about what that awful
man had done to those poor boys, what a good brother that younger one was for
looking after his older sibling. And, I sure hope those boys can recover from
this.
Just hearing it made Sam come down Dean’s throat. Dean choked a little but kept
on swallowing. He was so very good.
“And you, Sammy. You love me?”
“Always, Dean. Always. Don’t stop. Keep fucking yourself on my cock. Show me
how much you love me.”
With that, Dean came. But he kept right on fucking, bearing down and clenching.
“I love you, Sammy. Always. Anything anything you want.”
John was convicted on all charges and sentenced to life in prison without the
possibility of parole for the abduction, torture and attempted murder of his
son, Dean Winchester.
Sam felt bad about having to hurt Dean but it was the only way the assault
would be believable. He considered tossing a demon in him so Dean wouldn’t have
to feel it, but that part of Sam, that he was half-demon himself, was a
conversation he was putting off. Dean still had hunter instincts, a hunter’s
moral code. Dean would come to accept it in time but he was still dealing with
the guilt over what they were doing to John.
There were risks involved in exposing John’s crimes as a hunter. Since John and
Dean traveled together so much, Sam had to stifle any investigation that
questioned Dean’s involvement. He had demons in the FBI and many at the local
law enforcement level. He made sure they all testified that John worked alone.
It was much like putting out dozens of little fires on the outskirts of a huge
firestorm meant to keep burning. But Sam was up to the challenge and would do
anything for Dean.
The most compelling testimony came from Ellen and Jo. They testified to John’s
unhealthy obsession with Sam, his deteriorating mental state, the wall he had
of various murders throughout the country. Other hunters were none too pleased
with them but weren’t in a position to come to John’s aid. Exposing themselves
to clear John of the crimes committed by Sam meant exposing their own hunter
deeds. They reasoned the law caught up with some of them eventually and it was
worth the greater good to let John go down. They steered clear of California
after that. None of them wanted anything to do with Sam Winchester.
The best part? This was only the first in a long line of trials John had
waiting for him. Most of them happening in states with the death penalty.
Sam flipped Dean over and began pounding into him. Dean’s moans, memories of
his crocodile tears, and the knowledge that Dean would do and say anything he
wanted made Sam want to consume, shove himself so deep inside that Dean would
never get away. Given what happened in court, Sam supposed he’d already done
that.
Sam was in a sea of good feeling on a day of good fortune.
Today was the day he killed John Winchester.
Chapter End Notes
     So Sam is half-demon, which makes him infinitely more powerful than a
     boy with demon blood. I am going to explore this more in the next
     part.
     Thanks for reading, kudos and comments!
End Notes
     Another installment of my Winchesters at the crossroads series. We'll
     be seeing a bit of Sam's POV this time around.
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