Part 04: ...And it’s without doubt not holding hands.
Pressing his hand against the front of his suddenly all to tight jeans, he swallows a groan. This is not exactly what he’d planned. To get a hard-on from watching two guys kiss? Dean shakes his head to himself. Except. Well, watching them fuck their mouths with their tongues is such amazingly erotic image that it’s so not going to help the problem in his pants. Epecially not if Dean keeps staring like this. Fuck.
And how did they get from freaking out over the bruises on the kid’s arm to acting and kissing like they were in the middle of a porn movie anyway? Maybe it’s all the blood running to his groin instead of his brain, but he can’t figure that one out. Not just yet.
The only thing he does know for sure, is that the guys around here – drooling and staring atht the couple; and shut up, at least he’s not drooling! – must go home at night with jerk off fantasies to last for a lot of cold and lonely nights. And that’s what he’s going to do tonight, too. Since it’s too late to go out and get a chick – or guy – for himself and they’re have to get up early tomorrow and… yeah. So, yup, he’s going to jerk off in the shower, with his brother in the next room. Like a fucking horny teenager on vacation. Terrific! Rolling his eyes, he drowns another mouthful of beer.
At least it’s still somewhat cold. And cold is good, because in here, it’s getting more than a little bit warm. Not to say hot. And Justin and his ‘somethng else’ Brian? Are solely to blame for that.
“Allright. Time for us to go.”
Sam’s sudden declaration and the scraping of metal against wooden floor makes him jump. Or, all three of them, since Brian and Justin do to. And damn him to hell and back for forgetting Sams presence, even if it’s just for a moment. Now that he does remember, well, it works like a cold shower. Nothing to get rid of a hard-on faster than the immediate proximity of little brothers, at least to a certain degree. Yup. Plus, it got the two lovebirds to pull their tongues out of each others mouths so that he’s not… agh! There he goes again.
Biting his lips, Justin is not looking at Sam as he starts to get up, but him.
“You really have to?” He asks and Blondie sounds disappointed. Huh. Who would have guessed?
Dean commands his head to nod yes even though he wants to say no. “I’m afraid so, yeah, we’ve gotta get out early tomorrow, so it’s time for some siesta.” And they rarely ever manage that at night nowadays. Especially Sammy, with those freaky ass visions and dreams and nightmares and whatever the hell else. And damn that to hell and back anyway. Following his brother, he gets off the chair and reaches for his jacket. Manages to slip it on without wincing, too. Perhaps the beer did some good about numbing the pain after all.
Stuffing his hand in his pocket, Dean fishes for some cash, only before he manage to drag something up, a strong hand captures his wrist, stopping his effort short. Long, slender fingers curl around is hand like Sam’s did a while ago, but their grip is a lot less firm. Looking up, he meets beautiful hazel eyes, examining him like he’s the most fascinating thing ever.
Well, ever since the invention of double-headed dildos, but that’s a totally different topic. Or maybe it’s not, considering that look. Ahem. Dean freezes. “What?”
“Leave it.”
“Huh?”
“Geez, are you fucking hard of hearing? I said, leave. it. I’ll take care of it.”
“Dude, I can p--”
“I said to fucking leave it! Jesus! What the fuck is with people not accepting--”
Dean, annoyed, throws up his hands, effectively cutting him off. “Okay, okay buddy. Fine. If you insist, be my guest.”
He waits for Brian to let go of his hand, but that doesn’t happen.
Instead, he gets another one of these intense, scalding looks, a look that tells him exactly what it is Brian insists, and it’s without doubt not holding hands. More like holding each others dicks and Dean just about snorts at that; the vivid images his mind comes up with thinking that through? Are oh so comical, that it’s hard to keep a straight face. Except, well, X-rated thoughts should seldom be comical, if at all. And straight and hard shouldn’t be mentioned in a gay bar while he’s holding hands with a hot guy either.
Cock hardening all over again, it seems like the nerves in his hand or whatever are all wired to his groin these days. All work and no play makes Dean a very dull boy. Yeah, and easy to turn on. Oh for the love of… Christ, get a fucking grip! The thumb rubbing slow, suggestive circles on the inside of his wrist, however, isn't helping. The touch gives him goose bumps, makes him shiver and sweat at the same time. Dean clenches his jaw against the moan that’s threatens to rip right out of his throat. Fuck.
Clearing his throat to get rid of the huge lump, he says, “Uhm, dude; my hand?” Not that he doesn’t like this, far from it, it’s that he likes it too much. That’s the problem. And the reason he needs it back. Aside from shooting monsters in the face, of course!
And Dean’s not gonna walk out of the door like this, not with a major hard-on and his brother right next to him. That would be kinda hard to explain. Pardon the pun. Brian’s eyes never leave his the entire time, though. It’s like the rest of the bar, the rest of the world doesn’t exist while they look at each other across the one, maybe two feet seperating them. Suddenly he can understand very well why Justin seems so smitten with the brunet. He is, no doubt, something else.
When Brian finally does let go, it’s not without a knowing smile and a glance toward his crotch. And Dean could fucking kick his own ass for that. There’s no way to hide how much this little, uh, ‘tete-a-tete’ has effected him. And there might have been no reason to if it wasn’t fot his little brother. Great. But – thank you Jesus – Sam’s still busy messing with… something. Probably the rest of their first aid shit--er, kit.
Rolling his eyes, he takes a step back and adjusts his jacket. It’s better to get far, far away from Brian before he does something he might regtret later. Looking at Sam to distract him, he says, “Keys?” Sam throws them at him without looking up. “Thanks dear.”
“Shut up Dean.”
“Yeah, yeah. So, try to avoid the dark alleys in the furture, blondie. Wouldn’t want that sweetheart of a boyfriend of yours to go nuts, would we?” Oh yeah, payback is a bitch, he thinks, willing his dick to please calm down, and one does good to remember that. Apparently the guy can take as good as he gives, because he merely shrugs, tongue firmly in cheek.
Justin laughs, too. “No, better not.”
Sam says his goodbyes as well, but as soon as Dean’s turning to leave, Justin calls after him. “Dean.” The blond waits for him to turn around before he goes on, “Thank you. I mean it.”
They stare at each other for a long moment, the surroundings fading away once again, before he murmurs, “Nah, don’t mention it.” The kid’s smile follows him when they set out. On their way to the exit, though, it’s very amusing to see how many guys watch Sam and him – or their asses anyway – leave, but not one makes a move to approach them. If Sammy notices the looks, he’s good at not letting it show.
Outside, the air is cold but clear and that helps to clear the haze in his head, as well as the semi hard-on between his legs. Taking a deep breath, he thinks it’s very good to be ouf of there, otherwise who know what could have happened. They both walk in silence, the street buzzing around them with people and noises and colors and lights, and it’s almost too much. It takes some time before they get back to where he’d parked the car hours ago.
Only when they get in the car, Dean about to drive off, does Sam break the mutual silence: “Like a blind chicken?! Dude. Seriously?” Dean opens his mouth, but he closes it again when he discovers there is nothing to say. Instead, he laughs, shrugging sheepishly. Sam laughs too. “Yeah that’s what I thought. Now get us back to the motel, I want to sleep. And look at your arm again.”
“Sam.”
“I don’t want to hear a word from you.”
So Dean shuts up.
~~I~~
The next night finds them back on Liberty. Or close by anyway.
It is stil bizarre to see how different the same street can look depending on what time of day it is. Or night. In the daylight, when they had been back here checking out the place and the house they’d finally managed to locate, it hadn’t looked so gloom. Now? Halloween Special came to mind. However, they’ve been out here stalking the streets for far too long, his hands feeling more and more like ice sticks than body parts. And no signs of their supernatual beasties either. Terrific. To think that those people in their homes or bars had no idea what was going on this second just outside their backyards.
What’s even worse is that they have no idea what is going to happen. They know they are hunting a ghost, a malevolent spirit, but it’s not enough. Dean hates to walk into something as blind as they do tonight, but they have to try or someone’s going to die tonight and they’ll never figure it out. See, it’s like this. Ever since this killing spree had started three years ago in Colorado, once a month - the night of the new moon - a person would disappear, only to show up a day or two later. Dead, of course. Some were stabbed, some strangled, other bled out from wounds he doesn’t want to think about.
A few were almost ripped to shreds.
Yeah, the way they died was never the same, not once, but all of them, died of violent deaths. And without a doubt, were terrible excuses of human beings. Ironically, the way they died, they way they were killd, always resembled their ‘sins’, the way they wronged others. Which was the second thing all the victims had in common. The word SIN. Writing in blood, on the body or the place the corpse was found, engraved or burnt in flesh or whatever, it didn’t matter. There was always the word.
And the investigation their father had done on the killings, well, to say it painted a gruesome picture was an understatement.
But then, a little over a year later ago, the pattern suddenly changed.
The word was still the same, but ever since the headcount doubled; went from one up to two a month. And it weren’t exclusively the bad guys anymore either their ghosty went after. The difference was, from what their father had been able to figure out over years and distance, that the other victims had already been a ‘victim’ before they were murdered. Lots of them had a past of abuse, sexual abuse, rape, murder and horrible things like it. They always die the week after the bad guy kicks the bucket.
And that is exactly what Dean can’t get his head around. It’s nuts. And say about spirits and demons whatever you will, but there is always, always a logical pattern behind what they do. This? Is not. It is everything but logical. The whole case reminds him more of the actions of a wacky serial killer, a human one at that, than a ghost on a killing spree. Whatever the reason is, it gives Dean a headache. A nasty one.
Rubbing his cold hands on his jeans, he knows that it’s driving his kid brother just as mad. No matter how long and hard they stare at the research, no matter how they turn what they know over in their head, they can’t figure it out. Thair dad guessed that the rapant spirit is somehow tied to an object someone is howling all over the U.S., maybe even on a roadtrip. It would explain the different cities and towns those killings happened.
But the reverve killings? ‘Do ghosts follow each other around?’, Sam had asked one morning, only half joking, and yeah. As strange as that had sounded, it’s a possibilty. Or, better said, that it’s more than one ghost. Whatever it is, they’re going to figure it out before that ghosty slipps out of their reach yet again.
How exactly the ghost picked its target they had no idea. There’s enough violence in the world, so no telling where it’s going to happen next. They only know the when. Then again, it’s always the same neighborhood, often even the same street or block. And that is exactly how they find themselves where they are now. Had been last night, too, until Sammy had gone astray and found the pretty blond kid. Ah well, new night, new chance. The last victim of the ghost had been found around here. With pieces of flesh missing. Literally. Like it had been ripped or bitten out.
It makes his skin crawl just thinking about the picture he’s seen at the morgue. Shaking the disturbing memory off, or trying to anyway, he looks at his brother. “This time, we’re not gonna split up. Got that?”
Sam grins. “Yes. Once was enough.”
“Once?! Dude, we get crushed every freakin’ time we decide to split up! Why the hell do we still do that anyway?”
“Ignorance? Lack of common sense?”
“Right.” Dean holds up his hands. “Hey, you’re supposed to be the smart one, college boy, why ask me if you can’t figure it out yourself?”
They grin at each other, until the flickering of the streetlights gets their attention. The streets are empty, quiet, but Dean tightens his hand on his shotgun. The sudden noises coming from the EMF Meter make him jump. “Sorry.” Sam’s grin is everything but.
“Yeah, I’m sure you are.”
But there’s no time for more banter, because they have a ghost on the run and the blare of the EMF increases while they hurry down the fucking street. He still has no idea how they plan to find the one spirit in the middle of the neighborhood, but they have to as there’s no way someone else is going to die now that they have come this close to tracking it down. So they hurry and--
--Sam grips his arm, yanks him to a stop. Hard. Which just about results in him falling right on his ass. And, dude, so not nice. “What the hell, Sammy!”
“Dean.”
“Dude. What?!”
When he doesn’t answer, Dean turns to look at whatever his brother is staring at and… stops. Just stops. On the other side of the empty street, a shabby corner where the glow of the lanterns don’t quite reach, two figures stand. Two someones. And from the soft silhouettse, it looks like two kids. At first, he thinks they are normal, you know, like him, like Sam. Human. Alive. Wants to call out to them, ask what they are doing out here, alone, that it is not safe and they should head back home.
But Dean’s done this long enough, has seen things often enough to know it’s not like that.
That there is no reason to call out to them, to warn them. They are not alive, not anymore and probably not for a long time. And never again will they be. Already dead eyes lock with his and he can't help the shiver running through him. Faster than his eyes can see, the two figures are gone. He expects an attack, something, but nothing happens. Habit makes Dean raise his shotgun in defense. A habit that saved his ass and a lot of others on numerous times, and he’s not sorry for reacting to it on instinct. He’s not going to risk letting his guard down.
But when he can see them yet again, they are further away down the street, still watching. They’re are switching position again and again, back and forth, back and forth, never approaching either him or Sam, so fast he’s getting dizzy. And Sam normally is a magnet for all things supernatural, especially ghosts and malevolent cords. If it was anyone else, even a dog, Dean would think these two were trying to get them to follow. He and Sam share a brief look and Dean knows they’re thinking the same thing.
Why not? It’s worth a shot.
So here they go again, running through the darkness, chasing they go after them. And they are NOT splitting up damnit, not again. Oh, hell, no!
But who ever said it was goddamn difficult to chase someone corporal – thank you, Sammy – through dark streets clearly never had to deal with following two ghosts – paranormal and not corporal – through the same scenery. Flashlights and all. Duh. Obviously.
They chase them for what feels like hours, but can't be more than a few minutes – chase them until they suddenly disappear. Standing at the mouth of another dark alley, and Dean has a sudden flashback to the night before; blond hair and blue eyes, and geez, this is so not the time to go down that road. They need to find the ghost, and they need to do it fast. If it’s not already too late. And anyway could that annoyingly voice of reason shut up for a minute? Now, that would be great.
Without a word, Sam raises his gun while Dean gets the flashlight to work. It almost slips from his hand when the EMF comes alive, louder than before. So, yeah, definitely in the right place. Nodding to each other, Sam and Dean slowly walk forward into the shadows, they’ve done it a million times before. A couple of steps into the alley, where the light doesn’t reach anymore – and isn't that a déjà vu? – the beam of the flashlight catches on—something. Something red. Liquid.
Oh fuck. No need to actually check it, Dean already knows it’s blood. A lot of blood as it is, little drops leading deeper into the darkness. The giant knot in his gut tightens. Something already happened here, he knows it for sure when the beam catches on a shoe. A single white sneaker, now dyed red with splotches of blood. Not blinking, he keeps on walking until he finds the other shoe. It’s still attachted the a foot, but it’s not white anymore for it lies in a puddle of more blood.
Behind the large dumbster, half sitting, half lying, they find the body of a young man, lifeless, dead eyes staring into a darkness behind them that might even be darker than the night itself. The kid looks like he was beaten with a leather belt or something like that, and to his absolute horror and disgust, Dean realizes that he’s right, that the boy was actually beaten to death. It resembles the other guys dead.
They way he looks, there’s no need to check for a pulse. Dean does it anyway. There’s nothing but cold skin and flesh and blood, no sign of life whatsoever. He’s been here for some time now. Kid breathed his last breath hours ago; alone, afraid and in pain. The thought almost brings Dean to his knees. Instead, he briskly rubs the hand that is not covered in blood and God knows what else over his face, violently scrubbing his short hair. Why this surprises him, well, that’s a good question considering how the other one had been killed.
Or, no, slaughtered might be a better term for that bloodbath.
He shudders involuntarily. Better not think of it.
“There’s nothing we could have done, Dean. We didn’t know.”
No, they didn’t, they couldn’t know. And you know what? Iit still sucks.
Turning away, Sam calls 911. It’s all there’s left to do now.
The drive back to the motel is made in silence, both busy with their own thoughts, while Dean tries to not drive them into a tree. He’s tired, but he knows the nights not over yet. They need cash and even though he’d rather sleep for the next 24 hours, he knows it’s not an option. At least not now. Not yet. When they return to their room, Dean gets the first shower just because, and at the time they’re both done, Sam offers to drive him to the next bar so he can have a few more drinks than usual.
So he can let go, is what Sam doesn’t say but for once, Dean accepts without protest. They need money, and he’d like to forget the last 10 hours ever happeneds. Once he’s dressed, he throws Sam the keys and Sam takes them without a word. They leave the motel room like they arrived.
In silence.
- TBC
