Take Hell
bloodwritesSam was thirteen when he started getting the visions. Nightmares that woke him screaming in the middle of the night, nightmares that invariably came true.
"Don't go," he begged his father, as John prepared to leave on a hunt. "It's gonna go bad. You're gonna get hurt."
John left anyway.
They got the call three days later. John had walked into a hospital two states over, holding his guts in with his hands. It was exactly as Sam described, exactly as Sam had dreamed it.
It's always quieter in the diner on a weekend. Less truckers passing through, the traveling salesmen almost completely dry up. There's a few more families doing the road trip thing, but they're not remotely useful.
Right now there's a couple of regulars at the counter nursing their bottomless cups of coffee, but they never pay any attention to Dean, so he can safely ignore them right back. There's two frat boys in the corner, though, probably road-tripping, the faint scent of weed clinging to them.
They keep glancing his way. They'd make a nice change from sucking off grizzled truckers and cheap-suited salesmen.
Dean stuffs the last few bites of his burger into his mouth and washes it down with the remainder of his coke. "Catch you later, Sammy," he says, with his mouth still full. "Looks like a job."
Sam looks up from his book, a thick lore tome in Latin. He glances over at the frat boys and nods, only mildly interested. "Sure," he says. "Have fun."
"Always do." Dean walks to the corner and sits down at the frat boys' table. "It's a slow night," he says. "So what say I do you a deal?"
Half an hour later, he's standing naked in the frat boys' motel room, one of them on his knees in front with Dean's cock shoved down his throat, the other on his knees behind with his tongue up Dean's ass. Sometimes this job doesn't suck.
Hunters wanted Sam controlled, some wanted him dead. He was a threat. It wasn't natural to know things before they happened. It wasn't human.
Sam was meant to be some kind of demon messiah, the leader of an army that was going to lay waste to the world.
Dean limps back to their room sometime after midnight, showers and tries to slip into bed without waking Sam. It rarely works as well as he'd like.
Sam sits up and turns on the light. He's naked from the waist up, and the tattoos that cover his body are a sharp contrast against his pale skin. Sam's getting prettier every day, filling out in all the right places, and where once Dean couldn't possibly imagine his kid brother one day saving or laying waste to the world, it's impossible not to see it now.
"How'd it go?" Sam asks, still blinking blearily into the light.
"Not bad," Dean says. "Gave them the two for one discount because they were pretty and shared their weed." He grins, still buzzed. "I'll be feeling it for a couple days, though. They were enthusiastic. Tomorrow's Sunday. Thinking about taking it off."
Sam nods and slides back down under the covers. "You should. We could sleep in."
Dean switches the light off and wraps himself around his brother. Sam's taller than him now, though he's barely seventeen. It's proof that pretty soon Sam will be ready, and Dean won't be the provider and the protector anymore. It'll be the other way around. "Getting a bit pissed off with everyone asking when you're going to start, though. These two kept asking me to invite my 'boyfriend' to join in."
Sam snorts and rolls over to face Dean. "I would, you know."
"Yes, I know, you slut, but you're not gonna. And I'll punch the next fifty year old trucker who asks me when my baby brother's gonna turn eighteen."
Dean can barely see Sam's grimace in the low light. "Maybe I wouldn't do those ones. Just the good looking ones."
Dean sighs. "Not many of those, sadly." He leans in and presses his lips to Sam's mouth. "Now go to sleep."
Sam kisses him back, teases at the seam of Dean's lips with his tongue. "Did you blow them?" he asks, before trying to force his way into Dean's mouth again. "Did they come in your mouth?"
Dean moans an affirmative and lets Sam in. He brushed his teeth, gargled, always does, but Sam still goes looking for it, like he gets off on knowing that Dean's been sucking and fucking strangers.
"Both of them?" Sam mumbles against Dean's lips. "Tell me."
"One in my mouth, one in my ass," Dean says. He's getting hard, even though he got off twice with the frat boys, mostly thinking about what Sam would do to him afterward. "They totally spit-roasted me, Sammy."
Sam groans and pulls away, sits up, switches on the light, and wriggles out of his sleep pants. "Wish I'd seen that." He pushes Dean onto his back, and straddles him, one knee on either side of Dean's neck. Then he feeds Dean his cock. "I'm gonna watch," he says, his voice a little unsteady, as he pushes deep and starts to slowly thrust. He tips his head back, closes his eyes.
Dean chokes on his brother's thick cock, tears stream from his eyes.
"Yeah, I can see," Sam breathes, and he rocks his hips in circles. "He rimmed you before he fucked you." He groans, and Dean tastes salt at the back of his throat. "You liked it."
Sam grunts, and his thrusts go jerky. "You came with his tongue in your ass, Dean, so hot." His cock swells and leaps on Dean's tongue, then he floods Dean's throat.
Dean swallows convulsively as Sam pulls out, climbs off of him, and flips him onto his stomach. Sam wriggles down Dean's body, kicks his legs apart and drags a thumb into the crack of his ass. It slips easily into Dean's loose hole, too soon after being fucked by the frat boy to offer any resistance. "Soon, Dean," Sam breathes, warmth washing over Dean's backside. "We won't need them. We won't need anyone, I can feel it."
Dean can feel it, too. He can see it from the corner of his eye, when he doesn't look directly at Sam, and the words and symbols tattooed onto his skin seem to shift and shimmer. Dean has identical markings, but his never do that. "Yeah, Sammy." He squirms, spreads his thighs apart. "You'll be unstoppable."
Sam slides his thumb out of Dean's ass and wriggles down, licks over his hole. "We'll be unstoppable, Dean." He licks again, wriggles his tongue against Dean's hole without penetrating. "Together. Just like we've always been."
Dean writhes with pleasure, stretched open by Sam's tongue, questing, searching out the lingering taste of the frat boy. He doesn't know if he'll be doing that once Sam's ready, doesn't know if Sam'll be chasing the taste of other men when everything changes, or if Sam will be the only one that touches him then. He doesn't care. As long as he's with Sam, as long as they stand together, even if the whole world comes tumbling down around them.
They started running, didn't stop until Sam found the spells and symbols that would hide them, from hunters, from demons, from anyone who sought them out. They had them drawn on their skin, a permanent cloak.
They stopped running.
Dean's been away from the life for years, but he can still spot a hunter easy. There's a knife in the man's boot, a handgun under his jacket, a pentagram hanging around his neck, and Dean got all that the moment the guy walked through the door. The shifty alertness, even as he sits at the counter and devours a plate of greasy food, reminds him too much of his father for the man to be anything else.
Once, Dean would have grabbed Sam by the wrist and they would have high-tailed it out of there, crossed a couple of state lines before they slowed down.
Now, they look at the occasional hunter that passes through as an opportunity.
Dean approaches him now without fear of being recognized. Sam watches intently from the booth, his barely touched breakfast growing cold in front of him, and takes care to cover the book he's reading.
The hunter doesn't have a room, isn't stopping for the night. He tells Dean he's a salesmen, but Dean's fucked enough salesmen to know that's not true, even if he hadn't made the guy as a hunter the moment he laid eyes on him.
Dean takes the man to the room he shares with Sam.
A few months back, a demon turned up at the truck stop. Sam drew it there, he said, called to it, and it came right to their room. It fucked Dean in their bed while Sam watched, just walked around the room, examining them from all angles, and the demon never knew. Only Dean could see Sam, until Sam wanted to be seen.
Afterward, Sam pulled the demon right out of the body it was in, black, oily smoke pooling at it's feet before the body fell.
Sam fucked Dean afterward, didn't even let him shower first, whimpered as he came, filling Dean's ass with his come. "I'm not ready," he whispered as they lay together on filthy sheets. "Soon."
"He knows." They're the first words out of Sam's mouth when Dean emerges from the bathroom.
Dean glances down at himself, at the lines and patterns and ancient words that paint his bare chest and arms. "No way." Something like panic still grips his heart. "What do we do?"
"Nothing," Sam whispers, perfectly calm. "I'm ready, Dean."
"Did you bring him here?" If Sam's not ready, it could be too late. Hunters talk, that man could be calling someone right now.
Sam shakes his head. "Chance, Dean. But it's time." He lifts his head, right before the door breaks down, falls inward with a rain of splinters from the hinges and an almighty crash.
"Sam and Dean Winchester," the hunter says, and there's a gun in each hand, one pointed at each of them. "There's a lot of people think you're dead, but I know those symbols, and there's only two people could be using them."
Dean looks at Sam, for direction, for something. He doesn't look scared, or even concerned. There's a spreading smile on his lips, and what skin is exposed shifts and shimmers and the tattoos just slip off his skin. "We needed time to prepare," he says, and then reaches out, puts his palm on Dean's forearm.
Dean's tattoos slide off and disappear, and though he's only wearing a towel and water is still beading on his skin, he feels naked without them.
"We're not hiding anymore," Sam says.
The hunters eyes go wide, as though he's seeing them as they really are for the first time. "Freak," he says, then his eyes flick to Dean. "And Dean. Your father will be so proud he raised a whore."
Sam growls, and his arm shoots out, like it did when he killed the demon, and the hunter goes flying back against the wall. His guns fall to the floor. "Dean looked after me," he spits. "We were being hunted."
"Because you're a freak," the hunter rasps, clawing at his throat as though there's something wrapped around it. He slides up the wall, feet leaving the floor, and starts to make choking sounds. "Dangerous."
Sam throws his head back and laughs. "I was thirteen years old. I was a kid. I was no threat to anyone, and maybe I could have helped. With me on your side, we could have wiped demons off the face of the earth. I can do that, you know? I can kill them. Not just send them back to hell, but erase them completely. But hunters decided I had to be erased. My own father wanted me watched, wanted me controlled." Sam drops his arm and looks at Dean, and the hunter collapses to the floor, gasping for breath. "We had to leave, and we had to keep running, had to hide. Dean kept us alive, made sure we could survive." He reaches out, pulls Dean to him, kisses him hard. "He's the only thing I care about now."
They both look back at the hunter on the floor. There's a shocked, disgusted look on his face, and then his eyes flick toward one of his guns, only an arms-length away. He reaches for it.
Sam looks at it, and it skates across the floor, out of reach. "None of you can stop me, now. Not hunters, not demons. You'd be amazed what I can do." His eyes jerk back up. "Are they coming for us?"
The hunter says nothing, just stares up at Sam defiantly.
"Good," Sam says, glances at Dean and smiles. "This time I'm ready." Then he jerks his hand, like he's gripping something, yanks it sideways.
The hunter's neck snaps, and he slumps to the floor. Sam stares down at the body, tips his head to the side. "I could read his mind," he murmurs. "He put the word out. They'll be coming for us."
Dean stares at him, so many thoughts in his own mind that he can't keep up, can't sort them and make sense of them. They're not hidden anymore, they'll be hunted like monsters. "You killed him," Dean says, his voice shaking. "He was human, and you killed him."
"I did, didn't I." Sam lifts his eyes from the hunter's body, fixes them on Dean. "I'll kill anyone who tries to stop us, Dean. I don't care who they are."
"That's not how it's supposed to be." Dean takes a step back, suddenly afraid, of Sam, of his baby brother, because they were supposed to make the world a better place, drive out the demons and the monsters. They were supposed to make the world safe, prove to the hunters that Sam wasn't a freak. "They were right," Dean says. "Oh, god, Sammy. They were right."
Sam tips his head to the side, and watches Dean like he's trying to make sense of him. "Everything's going to be okay," he says, and his voice is soft and smooth and soothing. "Everything's going to be fine."
Dean's heart stops pounding so erratically, and he catches his breath. "Everything's fine," he repeats back. "It's all okay." He glances down at the hunter on the floor, and he understands. They've got to stop anyone who opposes them, and if that means killing them, it's for the best. "We're ready for them."
Sam smiles and wraps his arms around Dean from behind. "We are." He kisses the back of Dean's neck, tugs the towel from around his waist and lets it fall to the floor. "Let's go to bed," he says, seemingly uncaring that the door is on the floor and they can be seen from the parking lot if anyone should pass by. "I watched him fuck you." He pushes Dean down onto his hands and knees on the bed. "I watched him do this." He twists his fingers into Dean's hair and yanks his head back, and then undoes his belt. "I watched him do this." He drives his cock into Dean's ass in one hard thrust, and then he folds himself over Dean's back and groans. "We're going to rule the world, Dean. We're going to take the world, and then we're going to take hell. None of them can stop us now."
fin