Fic: Beggars in the House of Plenty (Supernatural/Heroes crossover AU) Part I
Title Beggars in the House of Plenty (Part I)
Fandom: Heroes/Supernatural (AU for both)
Rating:: NC-17
Pairings: Sam/Peter, hints of Nathan/Peter
Warning: D/S play, Consent issues relating to mistaken identity, mild violence
Word Count: 13,800
Author's notes: This is the long, long, long, long overdue fic which pinkfinity bought for Sweet Charity last year. Thanks to pinkfinity for being infinitely patient, and redandglenda and jaune_chat for the beta help. Apologies to John Patrick Shanley for shameless misappropriation of his title.
Summary: Peter is tired of the pressures of his family’s work at Petrelli International, and looks for the safety and acceptance he needs from a man who might have something to do with the mysterious problems plaguing the family.
“Hey Elle.” Peter leaned against the reception desk and flashed her a winning smile. “Is my brother in?”
Elle grinned back at him. “Petey boy! What brings you to the big boys’ floor? Shouldn’t be in school?” She leaned forward conspiratorially, pushing her chest out in an unsubtle suggestion. “Or are you skipping class? I hear girls like that bad boy thing.”
“Elle, I like nursing school. Why would I skip class?”
“To hang out with me?” Elle twirled her pen around a lock of her shiny blonde hair. “I could take a late lunch.”
“It’s four o’clock.”
“A coffee break, then. I know where there’s an empty supply closet.”
“Is he in?” Peter pointed to the office door as he moved toward it.
“He’s in a meeting, Peter. Peter!”
Ignoring her, he pushed open the door and strode into the office of Nathan Petrelli, CEO, Petrelli International. The room was enormous. The far wall consisted of floor to ceiling windows, which right now showed a spectacular view of the city bathed in the thin sunshine of a spring afternoon. Among the array of old fashioned, grandly scaled furniture (a huge mahogany desk that had belonged to Peter’s great grandfather, a handsome Empire sofa upholstered in the style of Louis XVI, a full-sized grand piano) a few touches of modern aesthetic stood out: the trim line of a state-of-the-art computer monitor, a sleek metal chair behind the desk, and an elegantly curved mirror beside the door. The old man hadn’t been in the ground a month, and already Nathan had started to make changes here in the seat of his company’s power.
The sound of a clearing throat drew Peter’s attention to Nathan, who sat at the head of the massive conference table at the far left side of the room. In the chair to Nathan’s right sat a white-haired man Peter had no trouble recognizing.
An irritated frown momentarily creased Nathan’s brow before he caught himself and returned his mask to cold neutrality. “I’m in a meeting, Peter,” he said evenly. “As I’m sure Elle told you.”
“Hello Mr. Linderman.” Peter gave a casual wave to the man, a member of the board of directors to whom, Nathan had told him many times, he was supposed to show the utmost respect. “What’s goin’ on?” He turned to Nathan. “I need to borrow a car.”
“Wait outside,” Nathan said stiffly, “And I’ll talk to you when we’re done here.”
“This’ll only take a second.” Peter threw himself down in one of the chairs at the conference table. He let the chair spin around twice. Nathan gritted his teeth and was ready to let loose a scathing reply when Linderman stood up.
“I really must be going anyway, Nathan.” He shook Nathan’s hand warmly, then turned to Peter. “Don’t give your brother too hard a time, dear boy.” He clapped Peter on the shoulder and walked out.
“So, about a car,” Peter said as soon as the door closed behind Linderman.
“No.” Nathan gathered his papers from the table and headed to the desk without a backward glance. “Since you insist on behaving like a spoiled child, I don’t see why you deserve any privileges.”
“Privileges,” Peter snorted. “Like getting an audience to see you once in a while. Is that so much to ask?”
“So you charge in here whenever you want and try to embarrass me in front of a board member. Very mature.” He yanked open a desk drawer and began pulling out papers.
“Car, Nathan.”
“I said no.”
Peter sidled over to the desk and leaned against it lazily. “You have seventeen cars at the house. You can spare one.”
“Eighteen. Still no.”
“I have a date.”
That got Nathan to stop shuffling papers for a second. “What’s her name?”
“His name is Sam.”
“No. No, Peter.” Nathan stepped out from behind the desk to take Peter by the shoulders and fix him with the same scathing look he used on misbehaving subordinates. “Not this again. Not right now. We don’t need any more bad press while the investigation’s going on.”
“If you don’t give me a car, we’ll take the train,” Peter said. He reveled in the way Nathan’s eyes narrowed further with each word. “We’ll make out in public. I’ll see if we can find some photographers.”
“Peter,” Nathan said warningly.
“Maybe if I get really drunk--.”
“Fine.” Nathan grabbed the phone on his desk. “I’ll have Elle arrange a car. And a driver.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Nathan.”
“Car and driver. My final offer.”
Peter considered, and finally nodded. “Fine.”
Peter waited until Nathan dialed to add, “By Sam I meant Sam Winchester.”
He enjoyed the outraged cursing that echoed down the line and half-deafened Elle.
--
“Forget for a second that he’s a Petrelli,” Sam said.
“Forget--?” Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles were white. “You are trying to get me fired, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t done anything wrong here.”
“Except say yes. To a client!”
“Technically his brother is the client. Your client, since apparently you don’t trust me enough to let me help.”
“Or I don’t want you to flunk out of lawyer college,” Dean snapped. “Besides, if there’s any chance I’m wrong, and the mob really did kill old man Petrelli, I don’t want-.” He stopped himself and pointed a finger accusingly at his brother. “No, Sam. You are not distracting me with that crap again. You can’t go out with this guy.”
Sam glared back at him.
“What?” Dean demanded.
“You know who you sound like.”
“Don’t say Dad.”
“Okay,” Sam said with a smirk. “I won’t say it.”
“Damn it, Sammy. I’m trying to keep you safe. Think for one damn second about what Nathan Petrelli will do when he finds outs his brother’s dating the hired help. That man’s a shark.”
“All the more reason not to break his brother’s heart.”
“Break his heart?” Dean tore his eyes off the road to search for clues in his brother’s expression. “Damn it. This isn’t a first date, is it.”
“Not exactly.” Sam settled back in the passenger seat and looked like he was trying not to fidget.
“How long?”
“A couple months,” Sam shrugged.
“Before we took this case?” Dean said incredulously. “What the hell, Sammy? You didn’t think to mention this earlier? How did you even meet?”
“That’s the joy of being a student, Dean. I go to these things called classes. Other students are there.”
“Yeah well,’ Dean grumbled. He found it difficult to stay pissed when Sam had actually managed to grasp some piece of a normal life for himself. Still, that didn’t mean he had to be happy about the situation. “With what we’re paying to send you there, you should be studying, not flirting.”
“What?” Sam laughed. “Okay, I know that’s not what you think school is for. Now you’re just pouting.”
“You could’ve told me before now,” Dean said with a sideways glance. He didn’t like the idea of Sam lying to him.
“He didn’t want his brother to know yet.” Sam at least had the grace to look guilty.
Dean decided to press his advantage. “Is he even old enough to date?”
“He’s older than me,” Sam said indigently.
Dean snorted.
“He’s hot though, right?” Sam asked as he elbowed Dean.
“Maybe.” Dean shrugged, but he didn’t reach over to smack Sam, which was as close as he was willing to go towards granting his approval.
“You still pissed?”
“Yes. And if you think telling me gets you out of telling Bobby, you’re dead wrong.”
“Dean!”
“Nope.’ Traffic started to clear up ahead, and Dean gleefully stepped on the Impala’s gas. “If I have to tangle with Nathan Petrelli over this, you get to deal with one pissed off Bobby Singer.
“Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
--
Peter arrived at Sam’s building at exactly five o’clock. He wasn’t usually so punctual, but Emile, the driver Nathan had saddled him with, had expressed a strong opinion about their schedule. Sam came bounding out to the curb seconds after Peter texted him.
He slid into the town car, kissed Peter hello, then glanced at Emile. “What’s with the muscle?”
“He’s just a driver,” Peter muttered.
“Sure. Like Dean’s just a bodyguard.”
“I’m pretty sure Emile doesn’t know three ways to kill a man with a piece of pie,” Peter whispered.
“Not pie, maybe.” Sam and Emile gave each other a measuring glance in the rear view mirror until Peter pulled Sam away.
“Please tell me we’re not going to spend all night talking about our brothers.” Peter slid into Sam’s lap, straddling him. “Because I had some different ideas about what we could do.”
The dark glass partition between the passengers and the driver began to unobtrusively roll up.
“Where is Emile taking us, anyway?” Sam asked quietly.
“It’s a surprise,” Peter said. He kissed the side of Sam’s jaw.
“Give me a clue.”
“Do you have class tomorrow?” Peter’s hands went to Sam’s waist and began to untuck his shirt.
“No.”
“Good. Then we’re all set.”
“Peter, is this some elaborate scheme I’m going to regret going along with?”
“Probably not.” Peter ground down into Sam’s lap, where his cock had started to respond. “But it’d be a good idea to take care of this before we get where we’re going. “
“Is it a club?”
“What? No.” He went to work on deftly unbuckling Sam’s belt. “Like you’d have any fun at a club.”
“It’s just not my scene.”
“Sam, I know.” He dropped a kiss on Sam’s shoulder before starting to work at the button fly of Sam’s jeans. “That’s why we’re not going to one.”
“Fancy dinner? Am I dressed well enough for where we’re going?”
“Uh huh. Too well, actually.” Peter finally succeeded in tugging open Sam’s pants. “Better.”
“So why did we need a driver?” Sam was looking up at the ceiling now, wearing that determined look he got when he tried to make Peter work for his attention. Peter loved a challenge.
“We didn’t. I just wanted to distract Nathan.” He scooted backwards, maneuvering himself to the floor between Sam’s legs. “If he thought I was being a brat about borrowing a car, he wouldn’t look for anything else.”
“Are we going to get in trouble?”
“Probably,” Peter said thoughtfully, then licked the head of Sam’s cock.
“Are you sure pissing off Nathan is a good idea?”
“Again with the brother. Be careful, or I’m going to think you have a crush.”
“Uh huh. As if you never check out Dean’s ass.”
“Hey! Who am I with right now, huh?” Peter licked a stripe up the side of Sam’s erection. “Am I doing this wrong or something?”
“Nuh,” Sam grunted as Peter sucked the tip into his mouth. “That’s about right.” He slid his fingers through Peter’s hair. “I kind of like you like this.”
Peter drew back long enough to ask, “What, on my knees?” before diving back in.
“No, with your mouth full. One of the few things that shuts you up,” Sam said with a tentative smirk.
Peter started to pull back to toss out a pithy comeback, but Sam’s hand tightened in his hair, holding him in place. Peter moaned around Sam’s cock. His hand flew to his pants, which had suddenly become painfully tight.
“Okay?” Sam asked.
Peter managed to avoid rolling his eyes, and settled for smiling and nodding as best he could with a mouth full of Sam’s dick. They’d played this way before, but no matter how many times Peter told Sam he loved the dominant side of him, Sam still took impeccable care to make certain Peter wanted it. On the whole, the caution was another thing that endeared Sam to Peter: he was strong enough to take anything he wanted from Peter, but he never asked for anything Peter wasn’t anxious to give.
“Good boy,” Sam said softly, as if he was afraid Emile would hear through the glass.
Peter responded by swallowing Sam down all the way to the root. He unzipped his own pants and shoved his hand inside to wrap around his own throbbing cock.
Sam held firmly to his grip on Peter’s hair and began guiding Peter up and down, fucking his face slowly but steadily. “You like that?”
Peter moaned helplessly and used his thumb to spread leaking pre-come down the length of his cock and Sam filled his mouth.
“Of course you do. God, your mouth feels so good. You were right, you do look great on your knees.” Sam picked up his pace, dragging Peter’s mouth up and down his cock faster while his free hand came up to cradle the side of Peter’s face affectionately.
Peter moaned again at the rough treatment combined with the gentle words and touch, and the almost reverent look in Sam’s eyes. He sped up stroking his cock to synch with Sam pounding his throat. Though there wasn’t much room on the floor of the town car, Peter tried to spread his knees wider to give himself better access.
“Christ, Peter. You get off on being used like this? You like feeling like a little whore?” Sam’s voice sounded different: thick with lust and rough. His eyes widened and his skin flushed, as if he couldn’t believe himself capable of saying such things.
Peter just moaned helplessly as the deep rumble of Sam’s voice went straight to his cock. His eyes flickered closed and his hips jerked as he came into his hand. When he opened his eyes he realized that Sam had fallen still, and sat watching him with a half-smile.
“You do,” Sam said in wonder. “You really do get off on this. God, you’re…” He seemed to come back to his senses, then, and put on a more serious face. “Come on.” He renewed his grip on Peter’s hair and held him still while he thrust into his mouth. He only completed a few strokes before he yanked Peter down all the way, holding him pressed into the wiry hair of Sam’s groin, as Sam came down his throat with a delicious shudder.
When Peter finished swallowing, Sam let go and flopped back against the seat. Peter gasped for air first, then reached for a tissue from the seat-back compartment to wipe off his hand. Sam pulled him back up onto the seat, easily manhandling Peter to lean against his chest. “You okay?”
“You always ask that. I’m fine. More than fine. I’m actually working on a pretty nice post-orgasmic haze here.”
“Okay.” Sam tightened his arms around Peter’s waist. “I just don’t ever want to overstep… you know. Whatever this is.”
“Hey.” Peter scooted to the side so he could look at Sam. “I love everything you do to me. I can’t do this with just anyone, you know. It’s not exactly a good idea to announce to a prospective partner that you like to be held down and slapped around a bit. But I want to do this with you. You make me feel safe.” He resumed his position leaning against Sam’s chest. “Besides, you can’t say it’s not hot.”
“No, it’s definitely hot,” Sam said.
The car came to an abrupt halt, and Sam’s grip was all that kept Peter from being thrown off the seat. A sharp rap sounded on the partition, followed by Emile’s clipped tones. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Petrelli.”
Peter hastily fixed his clothes in a semblance of presentability and helped Sam do the same. “Come on.” Peter climbed out of the car and held out his hand. Sam took a moment to recover before unfolding himself from the seat, lacing his fingers, and emerging into the bright light of their destination.
They stood on the tarmac of a private airport. In front of them, a rolling staircase led up to a small plane with the Petrelli International logo stamped on the tail.
“Uh,” Sam said cleverly.
“Ever flow in a private jet before?” Peter asked.
“No,” Sam said slowly. Then he managed to smile at Peter. “If you’re trying to get into my pants, Mr. Petrelli-.”
“I don’t need a plane to do it,” Peter said. He stretched up to kiss Sam thoroughly, sharing the last salty taste of the semen he’d just swallowed. “Come on.” He grabbed Sam’s hand and tugged him toward the plane.
--
Luckily, the plane had a couch, and Peter was asleep in Sam’s arms shortly after take-off. Sam dozed awhile, sleeping off the post-sex lethargy and speculating idly about where Peter might be taking him. Sam had no idea how much time had passed when Peter started awake with a shout, his hand reached straight up and grasping at some invisible goal.
“What?” Sam asked, concerned.
Peter blinked at him, glanced around the cabin of the plane, and seemed to come back to himself. “Sam… Right.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just a bad dream. It’s nothing.” He shrugged and gave Sam a lopsided smile. “Just a weird dream.”
Sam hesitated. Peter looked more serious than Sam had ever seen him. “Do you want to talk about--?”
“No,” Peter said quickly. He rolled off the couch and stretched up. “No, it’s nothing. Anyway, I wanted to show you all the cool things about having our own jet. There’s a big screen TV, come on.”
Peter dragged him over to the well-stocked bar and grabbed them both a beer from the mini-fridge. “This is the way to travel, right?”
“I guess.” Sam cracked open his beer and took a swig as he glanced around the lavishly appointed passenger area. “There’s nothing wrong with the Impala.”
“Oh, the Impala.” Peter’s eyes got that dreamy, far-away look Sam had seen on him recently while he was turned on out of his mind.
“They all love the Impala,” Sam muttered.
“I mean, that’s a car, you know what I mean?” Peter said. “Nathan’s got lots of cars, but the Impala.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said dismissively, but really he was pleased that Peter could appreciate the Impala’s appeal.
A soothing tone sounded from a speaker in the ceiling, followed by a man’s voice, “Gentlemen, we’re beginning our decent, and should be in the ground in less than ten minutes. Please prepare for landing.”
Peter took his beer over to a chair near the window and fastened his seatbelt. Sam took the seat next to him and leaned over to look out the window. Below them rolled endless acres of fields laid out like a patchwork quilt. “You took me to a date in… the great plains? What state is this, even?”
“You’ll see,” Peter said with a smirk. He refused to say anything more until they’d landed and were walking across the tarmac to a waiting car.
Sam squinted out over the flat, yellow sameness of acres and acres of wheat fields, yellow-gold in the waning sunset, and started to get an uncomfortable feeling. “Is this Kansas?”
“Yeah,” Peter beamed. “You said you and Dean hadn’t been back since we were kids, so…”
“Yeah,” Sam said tightly.
Peter didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “Come on.” He accepted the keys to a town car from a suited lackey and gestured grandly for Sam to get in the car. “I want to show you something.”
The roads were quiet this time of the evening, and Peter seemed preoccupied with the creased directions in his hand that he refused to show Sam, so Sam had plenty of time to take in the scenery. As they drew closer to the main part of the town, Sam started to recognize landmarks that confirmed his fears.
“This is Lawrence, isn’t it.”
“Uh huh.” Peter smiled broadly. “That’s the one. And we’re almost to where we’re going.”
Sam sunk lower in his seat as they drove by Guenther’s auto repair place. He willed Peter not to turn right at the stop sign, but he did. One block, two, three, and then Peter pulled the car over to the curb.
“We’re here,” he announced, and fairly bounded out of the car.
Sam followed more slowly.
“Tada!” Peter spread his arms to indicate the house in front of which they stood.
Sam didn’t really remember the place, but he’d seen pictures and heard stories enough to recognize the old Winchester home. The place where his mother had died. His father had always spoken of the place with a certain bitter longing. In the dying red light of the Kansas sunset, the place seemed to be on fire.
“Why did you bring me here?”
Peter’s smile faltered. “I thought you’d like to see your old place. One of our subsidiaries was buying up the land in this neighborhood for a new development. I got them to put the project on hold.”
“How?”
“Forged Nathan’s signature,” Peter said proudly. “Nobody in this town wants a fancy new development of McHouses, anyway. If some greedy corporation wanted to tear down my childhood home--.”
“Mansion,” Sam corrected.
Peter seemed not to have heard. “I’d feel like I was losing a part of myself.”
“Our childhoods were pretty different, Peter.”
“That doesn’t matter. Let me do this for you.” Peter grabbed Sam’s hands and looked up at him pleadingly. “I’ll buy the house, and you can do whatever you want with it. Rent it out, let it stand empty, whatever. But you’d have control. No one could take it away from you.”
“Peter, this isn’t--.”
“It’s not weird,” Peter said quickly. “I’m not buying the two of us a house or planning the names of our future children. I just found out about this and wanted to help.”
“You wanted to help?” Sam pulled his hands out of Peter’s grip and glanced over at the house.
“Yes.”
“Then let them tear it down.”
Sam turned away, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, and trudged off towards the center of Lawrence.
--
Peter found Sam in Tilly’s Tiddly Tap, perched on a stool at the end of the counter and frowning into his bottle. He settled on the neighboring stool and signaled the bartender for his own beer.
He sipped slowly and stole a glance at Sam. “We can go back whenever you want. Plane’s refueled.”
“Listen, Peter.” Sam heaved a sigh and continued to frown at his drink. “Private planes and shady real estate deals are not really my thing.”
“I overstepped my bounds. It was a stupid thing to do. I’m sorry.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Peter.”
“I know. I want to learn, though.” Peter scooted his stool closer and rested his leg against Sam’s. “Don’t shut me out.”
“Careful.” Sam jerked further away, restoring a respectful distance between them. “This isn’t the city.”
“Right.” Peter picked at the label on his bottle. “I didn’t grow up in a mansion, not really.”
Sam glanced over at him, which Peter took as encouragement.
“We spent most of our time in the townhouse in the city, not at the estate. I used to hate having to go out there when the family was hosting a brunch or a party, or whatever. For some reason I was always afraid I’d get lost. The place always seemed haunted to me.”
Sam stared into his beer, but he seemed to still be listening.
“My favorite place, though, was this little cabin we had upstate. Pinehurst. Nathan took me up there a few times. I think Dad hoped he’d make a man out of me: teach me to shoot a gun or build a fire or something. But mostly we swam in the lake and lay in the sun and just generally played around. Nathan was never more relaxed than when it was just the two of us out there. About six years ago Dad had the cabin torn down and built a lodge. It was supposed to be a surprise for Nathan and Heidi’s honeymoon. Man, I’ve never seen Nathan so pissed.” He smiled fondly. Sam didn’t smile back, just kept looking at him, puzzled.
“I guess what I’m saying is I’m sorry for projecting all my pent-up childhood home anxiety on you. On us. It was stupid.”
“Nah. It wasn’t stupid. My childhood was just tough, okay? You couldn’t have known.”
“Yeah, but--.”
A melodic blaring from Sam’s phone cut Peter off. Several seconds passed before Peter recognized “Eye of the Tiger.”
Sam looked appropriately chagrined. “I should get that.” He flipped open the phone. “Dean, what?”
Peter frowned into his beer. He hoped Dean wasn’t calling to bawl Sam out for going along with this trip. He knew Nathan was going to find out about this little excursion sooner or later, but he’d been hoping for later.
“Actually, no. We’re in Lawrence. Yeah, Kansas.” He waited, listening. “No, Dean, I’m fine. It’s not as if I’m missing any classes.” He paused, listening. “I just never expected to see the old house again.” Another pause. “And you think I don’t? Hold on. Peter.” Sam motioned him over. “We gotta get back. There’s…”
“What?”
“No, Dean, we’re coming now. Hold on.” He held the phone out to Peter. “He wants to talk to you.”
Peter pressed Sam’s phone to his ear. “What’s wrong?”
“Peter…” Dean said. “There’s been an accident.”
--
Sam poured a second scotch on the rocks for Peter and a straight whisky for himself from the plane’s bar and returned to sit next to him on the sofa. Peter wrapped his hands around the tumbler as if it could warm him.
“I should be there,” Peter said hollowly.
“We’ll be there soon.”
Peter sipped at his drink.
“Besides, you couldn’t do anything if you were there.”
Peter glared.
“I meant they’ll be okay until you get there,” Sam soothed. He wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder and didn’t object when Peter leaned into him. “Heidi’s still in surgery, Dean’s at the hospital with your brother and Mrs. P, and Bobby’s at the house making sure nothing happens to the boys.”
“Why would something happen to Simon and Monty?” Peter pulled away so he could look Sam in the eye. “Sam, what?”
Sam kept his eyes fixed on his drink. “They don’t think it was an accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“Apparently there was a van…” Sam said. He hesitated, but Peter’s presence wrung the truth out of him, like always. “They ran your brother’s car off the road.”
“They tried to kill him.”
Sam swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
Peter nodded, as if this turn of events wasn’t unexpected. He’d experienced enough of his family’s intrigues to expect that people would have reason to want Nathan dead. “Is Heidi going to be okay?”
“Dean said he’ll call when they know something, and…” Sam held Peter a little closer, as if bracing him for something. “He also said not to go to the hospital.”
“I want to see my brother.” Peter ungracefully extracted himself from Sam’s grasp and sprang to his feet.
“He’s fine, just a little scraped up. He was thrown from the wreck,” Sam explained. “Listen, Dean’s having a hard enough time keeping the reporters at bay as it is.”
“I don’t care about the media.”
“No, but your brother does. He doesn’t need another distraction.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Peter demanded, coming to stand directly in front of Sam.
“Just go home.”
“Bullshit.”
Peter’s cell phone chirped. With a final glare at Sam, he snatched the phone from his pocket and answered it.
“Peter.” Angela’s voice sounded both soothing and concerned. “Where are you?”
“On the plane. We’ll be on the ground in an hour. Ma, what happened?”
“Never mind that. I just need to know you’re going to be safe. Are you with the Winchester boy?”
“Yes,” he said reluctantly.
To his surprise, Angela said, “Good. You can trust him, Peter. Don’t leave his side.”
“Ma--.”
“Someone within the company orchestrated this. We can’t trust anyone. Now that your father’s out of the picture, they’re all jockeying for position. But we can trust the Winchesters.”
“Okay.” Peter hadn’t thought that his mother would approve of Sam, but now she sounded completely confident in him.
“You say with him,” Angela said in a tone that left no room for argument. “I’ll be at the hospital.”
Sam’s phone broke into Eye of the Tiger. He grabbed it quickly. “What, Dean?” He walked away and lowered his voice below Peter’s hearing.
“Peter, are you listening?” Angela asked.
“Yeah.” Peter tore his eyes away from Sam.
“Sorry Ma.”
“Stay with Sam,” she went on. “Don’t come to the hospital. Don’t trust anyone, even if you think they’re a friend.”
“Ma, calm down. You’re upset, I get it, but it’ll be okay. You’re just worried about Nathan and Heidi--.”
“Promise me you’ll stay with Sam.”
Peter kept an eye on Sam, standing at the other end of the plane’s cabin and speaking softly into his phone. “Sure.”
“Say it, Peter.”
“I promise.”
“Good boy. Peter…” Angela’s voice softened. “Sometimes bad things happen. Bad things we have to go through. They may seem hard at the time, but really, they work out for the best. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, mom,” he said, worried. He’d never heard his mother talk like that.
“I love you.” She hung up without saying goodbye.
Sam snapped his phone closed and shuffled back toward Peter, head hung low and looking sheepish. “So hey, I know this might be weird, but Dean asked me to stay with you when we land. For…. protection.”
“I thought you quit your family’s business,” Peter grumbled.
“Yeah, I did. I’m out. But it’s not like the skills just disappeared when I went off the payroll. I’m still a Winchester.”
“And I’m still a Petrelli,” Peter said darkly.
Sam met his eyes unblinkingly. “We can’t choose our families.”
“Yeah.” Peter threw himself back onto the couch and picked up his drink. “You got that right.”
--
The plane taxi-ed up close to the private hanger. Sam watched Peter shift from foot to foot impatiently and shrug off all his attempts at conversation. As soon as the rolling stairs made contact, he dashed off the plane. Despite his longer stride, Sam had to work to keep up. Peter made a beeline for the limo parked next to the hanger. Beside the limo stood two people Sam didn't recognize: a skinny black man sporting an unpleasant sneer, and a bald guy with a round face and stupid-looking grin. They both wore suits, but they looked out of place somehow.
Sam caught Peter's elbow to stop him. “You know these guys?” he asked softly.
“No,” Peter said. “But my brother has a lot of people on his staff.”
Sam took a step in front of Peter and turned toward them men. “Where's Emile?” He called.
“That short guy?” the one with the sneer asked. “He's got the night off.”
Sam's fingers itched for a weapon. He hadn't worn a gun in two years, but old habits died hard. He usually had at least a knife, but not now. Not while he was with Peter, who thought of him as just another student. Sam took a solid stance and muttered to Peter, “When I say go, I want you to run for the hanger. Keep running until you find someone who works here, and then call the police. Got it?”
“Sam--,” Peter hissed.
“Don't argue.”
“Welcome back, Mr. Petrelli.” The bald man palled open the back door, and his creepy grin spread into a leer. “We'll take you to see your brother.”
“Come on, Sam.” Peter tried to push past, but Sam blocked him.
“Wait,” he snapped, voice low. He kept his eyes on the men by the limo. “Hey,” he called. “We're going to take a cab instead. So you guys can head out.”
The two men shot each other an unreadable look. The sneering man spoke up. “We're supposed to take you to be with your family. Mrs. Petrelli's orders.”
Behind Sam, Peter sucked in his breath sharply. Sam eyed the distance between him and the men, and again lamented the lack of a gun. All four of them stood still for a long uncomfortable moment.
Then the skinny man took a slow step toward Peter. “Mr. Petrelli, if this man is bothering you, we can help.” He glanced at Sam, and his eyes flashed telltale black.
“Peter, go!” Sam sprang into action. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter turn to run. The bald man thrust his hand forward, and Sam braced himself for the blunt force of a demon's telekinetic strength. Instead, the man threw something blue that glowed and swirled like fire, and it shot straight toward Peter.
“No!” Sam ran two more steps and reached the limo. He launched a kick at the open door of the limo. The edge caught the bald man in the side of the head and sent him slumping to the ground. Sam glanced quickly at Peter and was reassured by the sight of him pulling himself off the tarmac next to a black patch of soot where the weapon the man had thrown--had it been a grenade?--had missed him.
Sam whirled to face the other man, who still wore a self-assured smirk. “Sammy Winchester,” the possessed man chuckled. “An unexpected pleasure.”
Sam took a surreptitious scan of the area, looking for anything he could use against this demon: salt, iron, anything. He saw nothing helpful. Still, any time he spent distracting this demon was time Peter could use to get away. Sam stood firm and snarled, “I'm not afraid of you.”
“Maybe not.” The demon nodded his head to the side, and Sam risked a glance. His heart sank when he saw that Peter, instead of running away like a sensible person, stood a short distance away, watching them.
The man changed. Sam pivoted to the side, but the guy turned and plowed a first into Sam's belly with inhuman strength. With all the wind knocked out of him, Sam stumbled backwards. He barely got his arm up in time to block a follow-up kick, and off-balance as he was, he left himself open to a savage blow to the stomach. Sam countered with a jab of his own, but the demon laughed and hooked a foot behind Sam's ankle to send him tumbling to the hard asphalt.
The demon jumped on top of him and let loose a flurry of punches. Trapped between his opponent and the hard ground, Sam could only bring his arms up to try to shield himself from the onslaught. Under one blow, Sam felt something crack and give in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw a flash of blue light, the same as when the bald man had activated that weapon. Sam closed his eyes, certain he was about to die. Instead, he heard a ground-shattering boom. Screaming echoed over the tarmac, and Sam's attacker stopped his assault.
Sam pried his eyes open to take in the sight of the smoking shell of the limo. The bald man screamed mindlessly and batting at gasoline-fueled flame climbing over his clothes. The demon was nowhere to be seen.
“Sam!” Peter crouched beside him, wild-eyed with worry. “Sam!”
“Hey,” Sam tried to say, but when he moved, a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest robbed him of his breath.
“Lie still. You've probably got a broken rib.”
Sam thought it didn't take a nursing student to figure that out, but he couldn't say so.
Peter laid his hands lightly on Sam's chest. “Don't talk. Try to take shallow breaths. You'll be okay, Sam. You'll be fine. Just hang on.”
Surprisingly, Sam did feel okay. The sharp pain had started to fade, and his breath came more easily. Probably he was going into shock.
“Sam?” Peter sounded shaky. “What…? Does this hurt?” He pressed his fingers against the left side of Sam's ribcage.
Sam sucked in a breath, expecting pain, and stopped when he realized that neither the pressure from Peter's hand or his own breathing actually hurt. “Peter?”
“Uh…” Peter leaned back on his heels and stared down at his hands. “I guess it wasn't as bad as I thought.”
Sam pushed himself upright, half expecting to go down again in agony, but he felt fine. “Where's the de--the other guy?” he asked. Sirens wailed in the distance, and crew from the hanger were creeping closer to check out the still-burning limo, and the charred and still-screaming bald man, but there was still no sign of the demon-possessed man who'd attacked them.
Sam scrambled to his feet. If he had to tell Dean he and Peter had been attacked by a demon without knowing why or where it had gone, he'd never forgive himself. After hesitating only a second, he pulled the anti-possession charm Bobby had given him from around his neck and pressed it into Peter's hand. “Hold onto this, understand?” he said. “Stay here!” He spotted a tire iron, probably thrown clear when the limo's gas tank went up. He shrugged off his hoodie, wrapped it around his hand to protect himself from the heat, and snatched up the weapon.
Then he took off running around the side of the hanger, away from the gathering crowd.
Sure enough, the man who'd attacked him stood near the fence, dialing a cell phone. Sam ran all out, hoping to take advantage of the element of surprise. He made it to the man just as he was turning, and slammed a home-run hit directly into the demon's chest with the iron bar. The demon screamed in pain and stumbled back into the fence. Sam raised the bar for another blow.
The demon grinned, then, and threw back his head. The last thing Sam saw was black smoke rushing toward him.
--
On to Part II
Fandom: Heroes/Supernatural (AU for both)
Rating:: NC-17
Pairings: Sam/Peter, hints of Nathan/Peter
Warning: D/S play, Consent issues relating to mistaken identity, mild violence
Word Count: 13,800
Author's notes: This is the long, long, long, long overdue fic which pinkfinity bought for Sweet Charity last year. Thanks to pinkfinity for being infinitely patient, and redandglenda and jaune_chat for the beta help. Apologies to John Patrick Shanley for shameless misappropriation of his title.
Summary: Peter is tired of the pressures of his family’s work at Petrelli International, and looks for the safety and acceptance he needs from a man who might have something to do with the mysterious problems plaguing the family.
“Hey Elle.” Peter leaned against the reception desk and flashed her a winning smile. “Is my brother in?”
Elle grinned back at him. “Petey boy! What brings you to the big boys’ floor? Shouldn’t be in school?” She leaned forward conspiratorially, pushing her chest out in an unsubtle suggestion. “Or are you skipping class? I hear girls like that bad boy thing.”
“Elle, I like nursing school. Why would I skip class?”
“To hang out with me?” Elle twirled her pen around a lock of her shiny blonde hair. “I could take a late lunch.”
“It’s four o’clock.”
“A coffee break, then. I know where there’s an empty supply closet.”
“Is he in?” Peter pointed to the office door as he moved toward it.
“He’s in a meeting, Peter. Peter!”
Ignoring her, he pushed open the door and strode into the office of Nathan Petrelli, CEO, Petrelli International. The room was enormous. The far wall consisted of floor to ceiling windows, which right now showed a spectacular view of the city bathed in the thin sunshine of a spring afternoon. Among the array of old fashioned, grandly scaled furniture (a huge mahogany desk that had belonged to Peter’s great grandfather, a handsome Empire sofa upholstered in the style of Louis XVI, a full-sized grand piano) a few touches of modern aesthetic stood out: the trim line of a state-of-the-art computer monitor, a sleek metal chair behind the desk, and an elegantly curved mirror beside the door. The old man hadn’t been in the ground a month, and already Nathan had started to make changes here in the seat of his company’s power.
The sound of a clearing throat drew Peter’s attention to Nathan, who sat at the head of the massive conference table at the far left side of the room. In the chair to Nathan’s right sat a white-haired man Peter had no trouble recognizing.
An irritated frown momentarily creased Nathan’s brow before he caught himself and returned his mask to cold neutrality. “I’m in a meeting, Peter,” he said evenly. “As I’m sure Elle told you.”
“Hello Mr. Linderman.” Peter gave a casual wave to the man, a member of the board of directors to whom, Nathan had told him many times, he was supposed to show the utmost respect. “What’s goin’ on?” He turned to Nathan. “I need to borrow a car.”
“Wait outside,” Nathan said stiffly, “And I’ll talk to you when we’re done here.”
“This’ll only take a second.” Peter threw himself down in one of the chairs at the conference table. He let the chair spin around twice. Nathan gritted his teeth and was ready to let loose a scathing reply when Linderman stood up.
“I really must be going anyway, Nathan.” He shook Nathan’s hand warmly, then turned to Peter. “Don’t give your brother too hard a time, dear boy.” He clapped Peter on the shoulder and walked out.
“So, about a car,” Peter said as soon as the door closed behind Linderman.
“No.” Nathan gathered his papers from the table and headed to the desk without a backward glance. “Since you insist on behaving like a spoiled child, I don’t see why you deserve any privileges.”
“Privileges,” Peter snorted. “Like getting an audience to see you once in a while. Is that so much to ask?”
“So you charge in here whenever you want and try to embarrass me in front of a board member. Very mature.” He yanked open a desk drawer and began pulling out papers.
“Car, Nathan.”
“I said no.”
Peter sidled over to the desk and leaned against it lazily. “You have seventeen cars at the house. You can spare one.”
“Eighteen. Still no.”
“I have a date.”
That got Nathan to stop shuffling papers for a second. “What’s her name?”
“His name is Sam.”
“No. No, Peter.” Nathan stepped out from behind the desk to take Peter by the shoulders and fix him with the same scathing look he used on misbehaving subordinates. “Not this again. Not right now. We don’t need any more bad press while the investigation’s going on.”
“If you don’t give me a car, we’ll take the train,” Peter said. He reveled in the way Nathan’s eyes narrowed further with each word. “We’ll make out in public. I’ll see if we can find some photographers.”
“Peter,” Nathan said warningly.
“Maybe if I get really drunk--.”
“Fine.” Nathan grabbed the phone on his desk. “I’ll have Elle arrange a car. And a driver.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Nathan.”
“Car and driver. My final offer.”
Peter considered, and finally nodded. “Fine.”
Peter waited until Nathan dialed to add, “By Sam I meant Sam Winchester.”
He enjoyed the outraged cursing that echoed down the line and half-deafened Elle.
--
“Forget for a second that he’s a Petrelli,” Sam said.
“Forget--?” Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles were white. “You are trying to get me fired, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t done anything wrong here.”
“Except say yes. To a client!”
“Technically his brother is the client. Your client, since apparently you don’t trust me enough to let me help.”
“Or I don’t want you to flunk out of lawyer college,” Dean snapped. “Besides, if there’s any chance I’m wrong, and the mob really did kill old man Petrelli, I don’t want-.” He stopped himself and pointed a finger accusingly at his brother. “No, Sam. You are not distracting me with that crap again. You can’t go out with this guy.”
Sam glared back at him.
“What?” Dean demanded.
“You know who you sound like.”
“Don’t say Dad.”
“Okay,” Sam said with a smirk. “I won’t say it.”
“Damn it, Sammy. I’m trying to keep you safe. Think for one damn second about what Nathan Petrelli will do when he finds outs his brother’s dating the hired help. That man’s a shark.”
“All the more reason not to break his brother’s heart.”
“Break his heart?” Dean tore his eyes off the road to search for clues in his brother’s expression. “Damn it. This isn’t a first date, is it.”
“Not exactly.” Sam settled back in the passenger seat and looked like he was trying not to fidget.
“How long?”
“A couple months,” Sam shrugged.
“Before we took this case?” Dean said incredulously. “What the hell, Sammy? You didn’t think to mention this earlier? How did you even meet?”
“That’s the joy of being a student, Dean. I go to these things called classes. Other students are there.”
“Yeah well,’ Dean grumbled. He found it difficult to stay pissed when Sam had actually managed to grasp some piece of a normal life for himself. Still, that didn’t mean he had to be happy about the situation. “With what we’re paying to send you there, you should be studying, not flirting.”
“What?” Sam laughed. “Okay, I know that’s not what you think school is for. Now you’re just pouting.”
“You could’ve told me before now,” Dean said with a sideways glance. He didn’t like the idea of Sam lying to him.
“He didn’t want his brother to know yet.” Sam at least had the grace to look guilty.
Dean decided to press his advantage. “Is he even old enough to date?”
“He’s older than me,” Sam said indigently.
Dean snorted.
“He’s hot though, right?” Sam asked as he elbowed Dean.
“Maybe.” Dean shrugged, but he didn’t reach over to smack Sam, which was as close as he was willing to go towards granting his approval.
“You still pissed?”
“Yes. And if you think telling me gets you out of telling Bobby, you’re dead wrong.”
“Dean!”
“Nope.’ Traffic started to clear up ahead, and Dean gleefully stepped on the Impala’s gas. “If I have to tangle with Nathan Petrelli over this, you get to deal with one pissed off Bobby Singer.
“Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
--
Peter arrived at Sam’s building at exactly five o’clock. He wasn’t usually so punctual, but Emile, the driver Nathan had saddled him with, had expressed a strong opinion about their schedule. Sam came bounding out to the curb seconds after Peter texted him.
He slid into the town car, kissed Peter hello, then glanced at Emile. “What’s with the muscle?”
“He’s just a driver,” Peter muttered.
“Sure. Like Dean’s just a bodyguard.”
“I’m pretty sure Emile doesn’t know three ways to kill a man with a piece of pie,” Peter whispered.
“Not pie, maybe.” Sam and Emile gave each other a measuring glance in the rear view mirror until Peter pulled Sam away.
“Please tell me we’re not going to spend all night talking about our brothers.” Peter slid into Sam’s lap, straddling him. “Because I had some different ideas about what we could do.”
The dark glass partition between the passengers and the driver began to unobtrusively roll up.
“Where is Emile taking us, anyway?” Sam asked quietly.
“It’s a surprise,” Peter said. He kissed the side of Sam’s jaw.
“Give me a clue.”
“Do you have class tomorrow?” Peter’s hands went to Sam’s waist and began to untuck his shirt.
“No.”
“Good. Then we’re all set.”
“Peter, is this some elaborate scheme I’m going to regret going along with?”
“Probably not.” Peter ground down into Sam’s lap, where his cock had started to respond. “But it’d be a good idea to take care of this before we get where we’re going. “
“Is it a club?”
“What? No.” He went to work on deftly unbuckling Sam’s belt. “Like you’d have any fun at a club.”
“It’s just not my scene.”
“Sam, I know.” He dropped a kiss on Sam’s shoulder before starting to work at the button fly of Sam’s jeans. “That’s why we’re not going to one.”
“Fancy dinner? Am I dressed well enough for where we’re going?”
“Uh huh. Too well, actually.” Peter finally succeeded in tugging open Sam’s pants. “Better.”
“So why did we need a driver?” Sam was looking up at the ceiling now, wearing that determined look he got when he tried to make Peter work for his attention. Peter loved a challenge.
“We didn’t. I just wanted to distract Nathan.” He scooted backwards, maneuvering himself to the floor between Sam’s legs. “If he thought I was being a brat about borrowing a car, he wouldn’t look for anything else.”
“Are we going to get in trouble?”
“Probably,” Peter said thoughtfully, then licked the head of Sam’s cock.
“Are you sure pissing off Nathan is a good idea?”
“Again with the brother. Be careful, or I’m going to think you have a crush.”
“Uh huh. As if you never check out Dean’s ass.”
“Hey! Who am I with right now, huh?” Peter licked a stripe up the side of Sam’s erection. “Am I doing this wrong or something?”
“Nuh,” Sam grunted as Peter sucked the tip into his mouth. “That’s about right.” He slid his fingers through Peter’s hair. “I kind of like you like this.”
Peter drew back long enough to ask, “What, on my knees?” before diving back in.
“No, with your mouth full. One of the few things that shuts you up,” Sam said with a tentative smirk.
Peter started to pull back to toss out a pithy comeback, but Sam’s hand tightened in his hair, holding him in place. Peter moaned around Sam’s cock. His hand flew to his pants, which had suddenly become painfully tight.
“Okay?” Sam asked.
Peter managed to avoid rolling his eyes, and settled for smiling and nodding as best he could with a mouth full of Sam’s dick. They’d played this way before, but no matter how many times Peter told Sam he loved the dominant side of him, Sam still took impeccable care to make certain Peter wanted it. On the whole, the caution was another thing that endeared Sam to Peter: he was strong enough to take anything he wanted from Peter, but he never asked for anything Peter wasn’t anxious to give.
“Good boy,” Sam said softly, as if he was afraid Emile would hear through the glass.
Peter responded by swallowing Sam down all the way to the root. He unzipped his own pants and shoved his hand inside to wrap around his own throbbing cock.
Sam held firmly to his grip on Peter’s hair and began guiding Peter up and down, fucking his face slowly but steadily. “You like that?”
Peter moaned helplessly and used his thumb to spread leaking pre-come down the length of his cock and Sam filled his mouth.
“Of course you do. God, your mouth feels so good. You were right, you do look great on your knees.” Sam picked up his pace, dragging Peter’s mouth up and down his cock faster while his free hand came up to cradle the side of Peter’s face affectionately.
Peter moaned again at the rough treatment combined with the gentle words and touch, and the almost reverent look in Sam’s eyes. He sped up stroking his cock to synch with Sam pounding his throat. Though there wasn’t much room on the floor of the town car, Peter tried to spread his knees wider to give himself better access.
“Christ, Peter. You get off on being used like this? You like feeling like a little whore?” Sam’s voice sounded different: thick with lust and rough. His eyes widened and his skin flushed, as if he couldn’t believe himself capable of saying such things.
Peter just moaned helplessly as the deep rumble of Sam’s voice went straight to his cock. His eyes flickered closed and his hips jerked as he came into his hand. When he opened his eyes he realized that Sam had fallen still, and sat watching him with a half-smile.
“You do,” Sam said in wonder. “You really do get off on this. God, you’re…” He seemed to come back to his senses, then, and put on a more serious face. “Come on.” He renewed his grip on Peter’s hair and held him still while he thrust into his mouth. He only completed a few strokes before he yanked Peter down all the way, holding him pressed into the wiry hair of Sam’s groin, as Sam came down his throat with a delicious shudder.
When Peter finished swallowing, Sam let go and flopped back against the seat. Peter gasped for air first, then reached for a tissue from the seat-back compartment to wipe off his hand. Sam pulled him back up onto the seat, easily manhandling Peter to lean against his chest. “You okay?”
“You always ask that. I’m fine. More than fine. I’m actually working on a pretty nice post-orgasmic haze here.”
“Okay.” Sam tightened his arms around Peter’s waist. “I just don’t ever want to overstep… you know. Whatever this is.”
“Hey.” Peter scooted to the side so he could look at Sam. “I love everything you do to me. I can’t do this with just anyone, you know. It’s not exactly a good idea to announce to a prospective partner that you like to be held down and slapped around a bit. But I want to do this with you. You make me feel safe.” He resumed his position leaning against Sam’s chest. “Besides, you can’t say it’s not hot.”
“No, it’s definitely hot,” Sam said.
The car came to an abrupt halt, and Sam’s grip was all that kept Peter from being thrown off the seat. A sharp rap sounded on the partition, followed by Emile’s clipped tones. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Petrelli.”
Peter hastily fixed his clothes in a semblance of presentability and helped Sam do the same. “Come on.” Peter climbed out of the car and held out his hand. Sam took a moment to recover before unfolding himself from the seat, lacing his fingers, and emerging into the bright light of their destination.
They stood on the tarmac of a private airport. In front of them, a rolling staircase led up to a small plane with the Petrelli International logo stamped on the tail.
“Uh,” Sam said cleverly.
“Ever flow in a private jet before?” Peter asked.
“No,” Sam said slowly. Then he managed to smile at Peter. “If you’re trying to get into my pants, Mr. Petrelli-.”
“I don’t need a plane to do it,” Peter said. He stretched up to kiss Sam thoroughly, sharing the last salty taste of the semen he’d just swallowed. “Come on.” He grabbed Sam’s hand and tugged him toward the plane.
--
Luckily, the plane had a couch, and Peter was asleep in Sam’s arms shortly after take-off. Sam dozed awhile, sleeping off the post-sex lethargy and speculating idly about where Peter might be taking him. Sam had no idea how much time had passed when Peter started awake with a shout, his hand reached straight up and grasping at some invisible goal.
“What?” Sam asked, concerned.
Peter blinked at him, glanced around the cabin of the plane, and seemed to come back to himself. “Sam… Right.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just a bad dream. It’s nothing.” He shrugged and gave Sam a lopsided smile. “Just a weird dream.”
Sam hesitated. Peter looked more serious than Sam had ever seen him. “Do you want to talk about--?”
“No,” Peter said quickly. He rolled off the couch and stretched up. “No, it’s nothing. Anyway, I wanted to show you all the cool things about having our own jet. There’s a big screen TV, come on.”
Peter dragged him over to the well-stocked bar and grabbed them both a beer from the mini-fridge. “This is the way to travel, right?”
“I guess.” Sam cracked open his beer and took a swig as he glanced around the lavishly appointed passenger area. “There’s nothing wrong with the Impala.”
“Oh, the Impala.” Peter’s eyes got that dreamy, far-away look Sam had seen on him recently while he was turned on out of his mind.
“They all love the Impala,” Sam muttered.
“I mean, that’s a car, you know what I mean?” Peter said. “Nathan’s got lots of cars, but the Impala.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said dismissively, but really he was pleased that Peter could appreciate the Impala’s appeal.
A soothing tone sounded from a speaker in the ceiling, followed by a man’s voice, “Gentlemen, we’re beginning our decent, and should be in the ground in less than ten minutes. Please prepare for landing.”
Peter took his beer over to a chair near the window and fastened his seatbelt. Sam took the seat next to him and leaned over to look out the window. Below them rolled endless acres of fields laid out like a patchwork quilt. “You took me to a date in… the great plains? What state is this, even?”
“You’ll see,” Peter said with a smirk. He refused to say anything more until they’d landed and were walking across the tarmac to a waiting car.
Sam squinted out over the flat, yellow sameness of acres and acres of wheat fields, yellow-gold in the waning sunset, and started to get an uncomfortable feeling. “Is this Kansas?”
“Yeah,” Peter beamed. “You said you and Dean hadn’t been back since we were kids, so…”
“Yeah,” Sam said tightly.
Peter didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “Come on.” He accepted the keys to a town car from a suited lackey and gestured grandly for Sam to get in the car. “I want to show you something.”
The roads were quiet this time of the evening, and Peter seemed preoccupied with the creased directions in his hand that he refused to show Sam, so Sam had plenty of time to take in the scenery. As they drew closer to the main part of the town, Sam started to recognize landmarks that confirmed his fears.
“This is Lawrence, isn’t it.”
“Uh huh.” Peter smiled broadly. “That’s the one. And we’re almost to where we’re going.”
Sam sunk lower in his seat as they drove by Guenther’s auto repair place. He willed Peter not to turn right at the stop sign, but he did. One block, two, three, and then Peter pulled the car over to the curb.
“We’re here,” he announced, and fairly bounded out of the car.
Sam followed more slowly.
“Tada!” Peter spread his arms to indicate the house in front of which they stood.
Sam didn’t really remember the place, but he’d seen pictures and heard stories enough to recognize the old Winchester home. The place where his mother had died. His father had always spoken of the place with a certain bitter longing. In the dying red light of the Kansas sunset, the place seemed to be on fire.
“Why did you bring me here?”
Peter’s smile faltered. “I thought you’d like to see your old place. One of our subsidiaries was buying up the land in this neighborhood for a new development. I got them to put the project on hold.”
“How?”
“Forged Nathan’s signature,” Peter said proudly. “Nobody in this town wants a fancy new development of McHouses, anyway. If some greedy corporation wanted to tear down my childhood home--.”
“Mansion,” Sam corrected.
Peter seemed not to have heard. “I’d feel like I was losing a part of myself.”
“Our childhoods were pretty different, Peter.”
“That doesn’t matter. Let me do this for you.” Peter grabbed Sam’s hands and looked up at him pleadingly. “I’ll buy the house, and you can do whatever you want with it. Rent it out, let it stand empty, whatever. But you’d have control. No one could take it away from you.”
“Peter, this isn’t--.”
“It’s not weird,” Peter said quickly. “I’m not buying the two of us a house or planning the names of our future children. I just found out about this and wanted to help.”
“You wanted to help?” Sam pulled his hands out of Peter’s grip and glanced over at the house.
“Yes.”
“Then let them tear it down.”
Sam turned away, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, and trudged off towards the center of Lawrence.
--
Peter found Sam in Tilly’s Tiddly Tap, perched on a stool at the end of the counter and frowning into his bottle. He settled on the neighboring stool and signaled the bartender for his own beer.
He sipped slowly and stole a glance at Sam. “We can go back whenever you want. Plane’s refueled.”
“Listen, Peter.” Sam heaved a sigh and continued to frown at his drink. “Private planes and shady real estate deals are not really my thing.”
“I overstepped my bounds. It was a stupid thing to do. I’m sorry.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Peter.”
“I know. I want to learn, though.” Peter scooted his stool closer and rested his leg against Sam’s. “Don’t shut me out.”
“Careful.” Sam jerked further away, restoring a respectful distance between them. “This isn’t the city.”
“Right.” Peter picked at the label on his bottle. “I didn’t grow up in a mansion, not really.”
Sam glanced over at him, which Peter took as encouragement.
“We spent most of our time in the townhouse in the city, not at the estate. I used to hate having to go out there when the family was hosting a brunch or a party, or whatever. For some reason I was always afraid I’d get lost. The place always seemed haunted to me.”
Sam stared into his beer, but he seemed to still be listening.
“My favorite place, though, was this little cabin we had upstate. Pinehurst. Nathan took me up there a few times. I think Dad hoped he’d make a man out of me: teach me to shoot a gun or build a fire or something. But mostly we swam in the lake and lay in the sun and just generally played around. Nathan was never more relaxed than when it was just the two of us out there. About six years ago Dad had the cabin torn down and built a lodge. It was supposed to be a surprise for Nathan and Heidi’s honeymoon. Man, I’ve never seen Nathan so pissed.” He smiled fondly. Sam didn’t smile back, just kept looking at him, puzzled.
“I guess what I’m saying is I’m sorry for projecting all my pent-up childhood home anxiety on you. On us. It was stupid.”
“Nah. It wasn’t stupid. My childhood was just tough, okay? You couldn’t have known.”
“Yeah, but--.”
A melodic blaring from Sam’s phone cut Peter off. Several seconds passed before Peter recognized “Eye of the Tiger.”
Sam looked appropriately chagrined. “I should get that.” He flipped open the phone. “Dean, what?”
Peter frowned into his beer. He hoped Dean wasn’t calling to bawl Sam out for going along with this trip. He knew Nathan was going to find out about this little excursion sooner or later, but he’d been hoping for later.
“Actually, no. We’re in Lawrence. Yeah, Kansas.” He waited, listening. “No, Dean, I’m fine. It’s not as if I’m missing any classes.” He paused, listening. “I just never expected to see the old house again.” Another pause. “And you think I don’t? Hold on. Peter.” Sam motioned him over. “We gotta get back. There’s…”
“What?”
“No, Dean, we’re coming now. Hold on.” He held the phone out to Peter. “He wants to talk to you.”
Peter pressed Sam’s phone to his ear. “What’s wrong?”
“Peter…” Dean said. “There’s been an accident.”
--
Sam poured a second scotch on the rocks for Peter and a straight whisky for himself from the plane’s bar and returned to sit next to him on the sofa. Peter wrapped his hands around the tumbler as if it could warm him.
“I should be there,” Peter said hollowly.
“We’ll be there soon.”
Peter sipped at his drink.
“Besides, you couldn’t do anything if you were there.”
Peter glared.
“I meant they’ll be okay until you get there,” Sam soothed. He wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder and didn’t object when Peter leaned into him. “Heidi’s still in surgery, Dean’s at the hospital with your brother and Mrs. P, and Bobby’s at the house making sure nothing happens to the boys.”
“Why would something happen to Simon and Monty?” Peter pulled away so he could look Sam in the eye. “Sam, what?”
Sam kept his eyes fixed on his drink. “They don’t think it was an accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“Apparently there was a van…” Sam said. He hesitated, but Peter’s presence wrung the truth out of him, like always. “They ran your brother’s car off the road.”
“They tried to kill him.”
Sam swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
Peter nodded, as if this turn of events wasn’t unexpected. He’d experienced enough of his family’s intrigues to expect that people would have reason to want Nathan dead. “Is Heidi going to be okay?”
“Dean said he’ll call when they know something, and…” Sam held Peter a little closer, as if bracing him for something. “He also said not to go to the hospital.”
“I want to see my brother.” Peter ungracefully extracted himself from Sam’s grasp and sprang to his feet.
“He’s fine, just a little scraped up. He was thrown from the wreck,” Sam explained. “Listen, Dean’s having a hard enough time keeping the reporters at bay as it is.”
“I don’t care about the media.”
“No, but your brother does. He doesn’t need another distraction.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Peter demanded, coming to stand directly in front of Sam.
“Just go home.”
“Bullshit.”
Peter’s cell phone chirped. With a final glare at Sam, he snatched the phone from his pocket and answered it.
“Peter.” Angela’s voice sounded both soothing and concerned. “Where are you?”
“On the plane. We’ll be on the ground in an hour. Ma, what happened?”
“Never mind that. I just need to know you’re going to be safe. Are you with the Winchester boy?”
“Yes,” he said reluctantly.
To his surprise, Angela said, “Good. You can trust him, Peter. Don’t leave his side.”
“Ma--.”
“Someone within the company orchestrated this. We can’t trust anyone. Now that your father’s out of the picture, they’re all jockeying for position. But we can trust the Winchesters.”
“Okay.” Peter hadn’t thought that his mother would approve of Sam, but now she sounded completely confident in him.
“You say with him,” Angela said in a tone that left no room for argument. “I’ll be at the hospital.”
Sam’s phone broke into Eye of the Tiger. He grabbed it quickly. “What, Dean?” He walked away and lowered his voice below Peter’s hearing.
“Peter, are you listening?” Angela asked.
“Yeah.” Peter tore his eyes away from Sam.
“Sorry Ma.”
“Stay with Sam,” she went on. “Don’t come to the hospital. Don’t trust anyone, even if you think they’re a friend.”
“Ma, calm down. You’re upset, I get it, but it’ll be okay. You’re just worried about Nathan and Heidi--.”
“Promise me you’ll stay with Sam.”
Peter kept an eye on Sam, standing at the other end of the plane’s cabin and speaking softly into his phone. “Sure.”
“Say it, Peter.”
“I promise.”
“Good boy. Peter…” Angela’s voice softened. “Sometimes bad things happen. Bad things we have to go through. They may seem hard at the time, but really, they work out for the best. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, mom,” he said, worried. He’d never heard his mother talk like that.
“I love you.” She hung up without saying goodbye.
Sam snapped his phone closed and shuffled back toward Peter, head hung low and looking sheepish. “So hey, I know this might be weird, but Dean asked me to stay with you when we land. For…. protection.”
“I thought you quit your family’s business,” Peter grumbled.
“Yeah, I did. I’m out. But it’s not like the skills just disappeared when I went off the payroll. I’m still a Winchester.”
“And I’m still a Petrelli,” Peter said darkly.
Sam met his eyes unblinkingly. “We can’t choose our families.”
“Yeah.” Peter threw himself back onto the couch and picked up his drink. “You got that right.”
--
The plane taxi-ed up close to the private hanger. Sam watched Peter shift from foot to foot impatiently and shrug off all his attempts at conversation. As soon as the rolling stairs made contact, he dashed off the plane. Despite his longer stride, Sam had to work to keep up. Peter made a beeline for the limo parked next to the hanger. Beside the limo stood two people Sam didn't recognize: a skinny black man sporting an unpleasant sneer, and a bald guy with a round face and stupid-looking grin. They both wore suits, but they looked out of place somehow.
Sam caught Peter's elbow to stop him. “You know these guys?” he asked softly.
“No,” Peter said. “But my brother has a lot of people on his staff.”
Sam took a step in front of Peter and turned toward them men. “Where's Emile?” He called.
“That short guy?” the one with the sneer asked. “He's got the night off.”
Sam's fingers itched for a weapon. He hadn't worn a gun in two years, but old habits died hard. He usually had at least a knife, but not now. Not while he was with Peter, who thought of him as just another student. Sam took a solid stance and muttered to Peter, “When I say go, I want you to run for the hanger. Keep running until you find someone who works here, and then call the police. Got it?”
“Sam--,” Peter hissed.
“Don't argue.”
“Welcome back, Mr. Petrelli.” The bald man palled open the back door, and his creepy grin spread into a leer. “We'll take you to see your brother.”
“Come on, Sam.” Peter tried to push past, but Sam blocked him.
“Wait,” he snapped, voice low. He kept his eyes on the men by the limo. “Hey,” he called. “We're going to take a cab instead. So you guys can head out.”
The two men shot each other an unreadable look. The sneering man spoke up. “We're supposed to take you to be with your family. Mrs. Petrelli's orders.”
Behind Sam, Peter sucked in his breath sharply. Sam eyed the distance between him and the men, and again lamented the lack of a gun. All four of them stood still for a long uncomfortable moment.
Then the skinny man took a slow step toward Peter. “Mr. Petrelli, if this man is bothering you, we can help.” He glanced at Sam, and his eyes flashed telltale black.
“Peter, go!” Sam sprang into action. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter turn to run. The bald man thrust his hand forward, and Sam braced himself for the blunt force of a demon's telekinetic strength. Instead, the man threw something blue that glowed and swirled like fire, and it shot straight toward Peter.
“No!” Sam ran two more steps and reached the limo. He launched a kick at the open door of the limo. The edge caught the bald man in the side of the head and sent him slumping to the ground. Sam glanced quickly at Peter and was reassured by the sight of him pulling himself off the tarmac next to a black patch of soot where the weapon the man had thrown--had it been a grenade?--had missed him.
Sam whirled to face the other man, who still wore a self-assured smirk. “Sammy Winchester,” the possessed man chuckled. “An unexpected pleasure.”
Sam took a surreptitious scan of the area, looking for anything he could use against this demon: salt, iron, anything. He saw nothing helpful. Still, any time he spent distracting this demon was time Peter could use to get away. Sam stood firm and snarled, “I'm not afraid of you.”
“Maybe not.” The demon nodded his head to the side, and Sam risked a glance. His heart sank when he saw that Peter, instead of running away like a sensible person, stood a short distance away, watching them.
The man changed. Sam pivoted to the side, but the guy turned and plowed a first into Sam's belly with inhuman strength. With all the wind knocked out of him, Sam stumbled backwards. He barely got his arm up in time to block a follow-up kick, and off-balance as he was, he left himself open to a savage blow to the stomach. Sam countered with a jab of his own, but the demon laughed and hooked a foot behind Sam's ankle to send him tumbling to the hard asphalt.
The demon jumped on top of him and let loose a flurry of punches. Trapped between his opponent and the hard ground, Sam could only bring his arms up to try to shield himself from the onslaught. Under one blow, Sam felt something crack and give in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw a flash of blue light, the same as when the bald man had activated that weapon. Sam closed his eyes, certain he was about to die. Instead, he heard a ground-shattering boom. Screaming echoed over the tarmac, and Sam's attacker stopped his assault.
Sam pried his eyes open to take in the sight of the smoking shell of the limo. The bald man screamed mindlessly and batting at gasoline-fueled flame climbing over his clothes. The demon was nowhere to be seen.
“Sam!” Peter crouched beside him, wild-eyed with worry. “Sam!”
“Hey,” Sam tried to say, but when he moved, a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest robbed him of his breath.
“Lie still. You've probably got a broken rib.”
Sam thought it didn't take a nursing student to figure that out, but he couldn't say so.
Peter laid his hands lightly on Sam's chest. “Don't talk. Try to take shallow breaths. You'll be okay, Sam. You'll be fine. Just hang on.”
Surprisingly, Sam did feel okay. The sharp pain had started to fade, and his breath came more easily. Probably he was going into shock.
“Sam?” Peter sounded shaky. “What…? Does this hurt?” He pressed his fingers against the left side of Sam's ribcage.
Sam sucked in a breath, expecting pain, and stopped when he realized that neither the pressure from Peter's hand or his own breathing actually hurt. “Peter?”
“Uh…” Peter leaned back on his heels and stared down at his hands. “I guess it wasn't as bad as I thought.”
Sam pushed himself upright, half expecting to go down again in agony, but he felt fine. “Where's the de--the other guy?” he asked. Sirens wailed in the distance, and crew from the hanger were creeping closer to check out the still-burning limo, and the charred and still-screaming bald man, but there was still no sign of the demon-possessed man who'd attacked them.
Sam scrambled to his feet. If he had to tell Dean he and Peter had been attacked by a demon without knowing why or where it had gone, he'd never forgive himself. After hesitating only a second, he pulled the anti-possession charm Bobby had given him from around his neck and pressed it into Peter's hand. “Hold onto this, understand?” he said. “Stay here!” He spotted a tire iron, probably thrown clear when the limo's gas tank went up. He shrugged off his hoodie, wrapped it around his hand to protect himself from the heat, and snatched up the weapon.
Then he took off running around the side of the hanger, away from the gathering crowd.
Sure enough, the man who'd attacked him stood near the fence, dialing a cell phone. Sam ran all out, hoping to take advantage of the element of surprise. He made it to the man just as he was turning, and slammed a home-run hit directly into the demon's chest with the iron bar. The demon screamed in pain and stumbled back into the fence. Sam raised the bar for another blow.
The demon grinned, then, and threw back his head. The last thing Sam saw was black smoke rushing toward him.
--
On to Part II