Fic: Rule of Thirds (3/6)

[firesign10]

Back to Part 1, Chapter 2



Victor could never have anticipated the amount of time he would spend in the Impala. Hours upon hours, days upon days, trekking back and forth across the country in a myriad of quirky angles and corkscrews and squiggles. The supernatural world had no regard for efficiency or gas mileage, so they might be hunting boggarts in Maine one day, then heading down to Texas for coyote kitsunes. North, South, East, West, and every direction in between; endless miles unspooling under the tires of the Impala, demarcated only by gas stations, shabby motels and seedy bars, punctuated by bloody fights and burning corpses.

When Victor had originally thought about joining Sam and Dean, it had been on a theoretical level; he knew there were nasties to kill, people to save. It turned out that there was also a constant level of gruntwork that he'd never realized before. Grave-digging was probably the most frequent thing; unsettled spirits needed to have their bones dug up and their remains doused with salt and gasoline, then torched. What he didn't know was that the average grave took four or five hours to dig up--that was four or five hours of sweaty, back-breaking labor. It was no wonder that Sam and Dean had the muscular physiques that they did.

Of course Victor had many useful skills already, courtesy of his FBI training. He was a crack shot, familiar with many different weapons. He understood the value of research, the techniques for interviewing witnesses, the science of extrapolating theories from information. Despite that, there was a lot for him to learn.

For the moment, Sam and Dean only took on the simplest hunts as they introduced Victor to their world, choosing salt and burns, planting hex bags to dispel poltergeists, things of that ilk. Dean didn't want to take on anything as strong as a black dog or a werewolf. “Werewolves and vampires are crafty as fuck and crazy strong; I don't want you to tangle with them just yet,” he explained to Victor. “Best we stick to the lower level stuff for now, let you get acclimated.”

Fine, Victor thought rebelliously. I am only a fully trained and accredited Federal agent, after all. He felt Dean was being a little over-protective, but it wasn't his call. He'd agreed to follow Sam and Dean's direction, and he was going to stick to his agreement.

Victor was used to research, having spent hours investigating profiles, case histories, working with field operatives' reports and federal databases. Under Sam's tutelage, he learned to read various weather charts and agricultural reports, checking out things like thunderstorm activity, crop death, and cattle mutilations. While he'd been used to online databases, now he had to use micro-fiches in little county libraries, and sit around in diners and bars to sift out information in local papers. When he spoke with witnesses, he learned to soft-pedal his inquiries rather than come in with the aggressive persona he was used to, flashing his badge and knowing a cadre of men backed him up. Sam showed him how his no-nonsense federal agent approach scared and intimidated rural and small town inhabitants, how using a little charm and ingenuousness instead could coax information from skittish or reluctant sources.

It was clear to Victor that Sam and Dean each had their own different strengths and styles. Dean was a little more direct, had a little more subtle authority to wield-he didn't intimidate unless he meant to, but you absolutely took him seriously with his gruff voice and no-nonsense look. Sam, by contrast, was all puppy-dog eyes and soft voice, patting hands and nodding sympathetically. “You have to find what works for you,” Dean told him. “It'll come to you. Sometimes you're going to want that full-out Fed authority, but other times, it'll be overkill.”

Every so often, they took a break, spending a night or two without a particular destination. Any likely-looking town, a bar with a pool table, a reasonably clean motel with a diner nearby sufficed. They'd go out for drinks, stay up late, enjoy a moment of respite. The next morning they'd nurse hangovers over greasy breakfasts and a pot of coffee. Maybe they'd find a laundromat and wash their grimy clothes, or Dean might do a little work on the Impala. The next day, they'd head out again, following the call of the hunt.

The motels were always small--sometimes little cabins, other times a just a strip of half-a-dozen tawdry rooms planted in the middle of nowhere. Even his extensive traveling as an agent hadn't prepared Victor for the kind of places they stayed. If it wasn't the haphazard cleaning and cheap, sketchy linens, it was the eye-searing range of décor, some of which was so horrendous that it appeared to be from an alien planet. Sam and Dean always ordered a room with two queens, and Victor got his own room. With so many hours spent in the Winchesters' company, he valued his little time of privacy.

He tried to not notice if both of the Winchesters beds were slept in or not, with varying success. More often than not, only one was.

One night where a large amount of tequila was involved, Victor blurted the question out.

“What's with the single...I mean, your room, it only...” Victor's voice trailed off quickly, but the question hung in the air. He wished he could take it back, but nobody ever said drunk and smart.

Sam and Dean both stiffened, loose hands curling into fists. “What are you asking?” rasped Dean, green eyes fixed on him intently, despite the amount of liquor he'd consumed.

“I just...uh, nothing. Nothing, man.” Victor shook his head, flapping a hand in disavowal. He might be curious, but he didn't want to antagonize his partners. It didn't even matter to him, he was just curious.

Sam got up and walked off toward the men's room, back still stiff. Leaning close, Dean said, “Think about this, dude, and about how much you really want to know. You can't unring the bell.” He got up and followed Sam. Victor studiously didn't watch them, instead wondering what would end up happening now that he'd flapped his gums like that.

He sat there for a while, finishing his beer and throwing back another shot before he wondered where the Winchesters had got to. He got up to look around, not that the bar was all that large. They weren't at the pool table, they were obviously not at the bar itself, and so finally he went to the men's room, half to look for them and half to relieve his full bladder.

As soon as he pushed the door of the men's room open, he could hear both of them. Sam was panting, and his tousled dark brown hair could be seen above one of the stall doors, flopping around rhythmically. The rough voice urging him on could only be Dean. Eyes dropping down, Victor saw two pairs of legs inside the stall, one with jeans pooled around his spread ankles, the other with a belt dangling undone. Victor couldn't see more of Dean than that, but he could clearly hear him grunting above the smacking noise of flesh slapping against flesh.

“Gonna come, baby,” Dean's rough voice growled. “Come with me, come on...”

Sam uttered a soft, high cry, and the smacking stopped. Victor pictured them grinding together as they spent themselves, biting his lip to stay silent himself. Pressing his hand down on his sudden erection, Victor left the men's room, hurrying back to their booth to hide his arousal under the table. He signaled for a round of shots, and they arrived just as the Winchesters returned.

“Hey, good job, man!” Dean spoke approvingly, clapping Victor on the shoulder. He seemed perfectly normal, no longer pissy and definitely not at all like he'd just banged his brother in the men's room.

Sam looked a little the worse for wear, with his hair still messy, cheeks pink, as he sat down rather gingerly. Victor tried very hard not to think about how tender Sam's ass must be right now, but it was difficult and he found himself fidgeting as he tried to shift his ramrod-hard dick into a more comfortable position. Dean peered at him curiously.

“You okay there, Vic?”

“Yeah, just umm...jeans a little tight. I must be gaining weight with all the beer we're drinking.” Victor stumbled over the lie.

Dean winked at him. “Or maybe you see something you like here tonight, got a little boner going on? Dude, you got your own room, don't hesitate to grab a little action. Right, Sammy?” He thumped Sam's chest, dropping his hand down and apparently squeezing his brother because Sam suddenly yelped. Dean withdrew his hand and laughed.

He just fucked his brother. His crazy-hot, built like a brick shit-house brother. It should bother me, but all it does is make me feel is horny as hell. Victor grabbed his beer and guzzled some, desperate to change the topic from sex to anything else in the entire world, like perhaps nuclear destruction. His cock gave a little traitorous jump.

“So, uh, what's up? I mean, where are we heading next?” Victor stuffed a chip in his mouth before he said anything more stupid.

“Eh, dunno. Nothing's showing up right this second. I vote we sleep in tomorrow and see what the wind brings.” Dean ruffled Sam's hair. “What do you think, Sammy? Wanna sleep in?”

“There's bound to be something turn up tomorrow. We don't have to rush anywhere for the moment, so yeah, let's catch up on a little...sleep.” Sam's last word ending in a yelp again, and Victor realized that Dean's hand was missing from the table.

Fuck me...he's feeling Sam up under the table... Victor's disobedient dick blurted out pre-come, soaking a spot into his boxers. He stood up abruptly, clattering the glasses on the table. “Okay! I'm gonna go now! To sleep! Yeah, so...good night!”

He hurried away, anxious to get into his solitary room and free himself from his clothing, eager to take himself in hand and jerk off. He ignored how he was getting used to masturbating to thoughts and images of Sam and Dean.

And now, he could add their sounds. He shivered and walked faster.



Victor woke to loud banging on his motel room door. He jumped out of bed and looked through the peephole, where a green eye stared back at him. Grabbing a t-shirt to hold over himself, he unlocked and pulled open the door, revealing a grinning Dean.

“Rise and shine, Vic my man! Breakfast is calling! Get dressed and meet us at the diner. Sam's already there.”

“Okay, yeah, be right there. Order me some coffee!” Victor replied with false heartiness. He shut the door and looked around for his clothes, kicking his soiled boxers from the night before out of the way and pulling a fresh pair from his bag. Brushing and rinsing hastily, he grabbed his tablet and walked across the street to the diner, where Sam and Dean already had appropriated a booth.

Sliding into the empty side of the booth, Victor gratefully sipped the coffee Dean had ordered for him. The waiter came over and they gave their orders, relapsing into a pleasant silence as coffee was ingested all around.

“So what do we have?” asked Victor. The sluggishness he'd felt at first getting up began to dissipate with the hot caffine. His body was still moving slowly, but his mind was getting online.

“Eat first,” said Dean gruffly.

“How'd you sleep?” asked Sam. He looked particularly relaxed this morning, Victor thought casually. He promptly clamped down on that train of thought before he started pondering about the causes of Sam's relaxed mood.

“Fine, fine. Guess all that tequila helped.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, that was a good night last night. What do you think, Sammy? You have a good night?” He elbowed Sam in the side, and Sam elbowed him back.

“Stop it, you oaf.” Sam huffed and crossed his arms to barricade himself from further attack.

“Sure thing, princess,” said Dean, mimicking him prissily.

Victor watched the display of brotherly bickering and tried to tell himself he'd imagined everything else. Maybe it really had been all that tequila. Agave-induced hallucinations. Yeah, that was it. Mexican madness.

Breathy panting filling the air. Skin smacking wetly on skin. Dean's hoarse voice exhorting Sam to orgasm.

No, definitely not a hallucination. All too vividly, Victor remembered his own body's eager response; his abrupt need to retire, his subsequent urgent jerk-off session as he lay on his lumpy mattress, his mind's eye filling in all that the stall doors had hidden from him. Wiping himself off with his boxers, belly messy from his ejaculation, muscles lax in post-orgasmic relief.

I have to stop this. It's ridiculous. I'm getting obsessed with them. Victor rubbed his face and shook his head to clear it. Looking up, he saw both Sam and Dean regarding him quizzically.

“You okay?” Dean asked. “Food's here. Looks like you need to eat, man.”

Victor looked down and saw the steaming plates. “Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just, uh, you know, just hungry. Must be a little hungover.” He dug in, faking a hearty appetite he didn't really feel. The food was good, though, and true hunger kicked in with the next few bites, letting him eat steadily and move past the urges and emotions of last night.

They went back and packed up their stuff afterward, reconvening at the Impala and stowing their bags in the trunk. As usual, Victor got in the back seat, which happily was full-size and had plenty of leg-room. “Can't beat an older car for space,” said Dean, and Victor gratefully agreed. At some point he'd have his own car again, but he wasn't ready to solo yet. The Impala's back seat was about as spacious as the front, so he was traveling comfortably.

“So where are we headed? What's up?” asked Victor, eager to begin the next hunt as well as get out of his own head.

Sam answered, “We're headed to Minnesota. Town near a lake has had some mysterious disappearances.”

Victor felt a little rush of excitement. “Not just a salt and burn, then?”

“Nope. You're graduating from beginner to intermediate,” said Dean, grinning into the rear view mirror.

“Do you already know what it is?”

“We have a guess, but we gotta do the legwork when we get there. Interview the families, research the history of the area. You know the drill.”

“Yeah, I got it. What's your guess, though?”

“Kelpie.”

“Kelpie? What's a kelpie?” That was a new one for Victor. He was sure it wouldn't be the last.

“Consider this a practice run. Look up kelpies, see what you can learn about them, and we'll make our plan when we get there.” Sam nodded at Victor. “There's a couple of books I'll get out of the trunk for you at the next stop, and you can use your phone as a wi-fi hot spot for your tablet.”

“Okay, I'm on it.” Victor felt pleased that they were on the move, and that they were moving up to a bigger, more dangerous hunt. He felt ready.

And maybe just a little nervous.



It was indeed a kelpie, a malevolent water spirit manifesting as a beautiful horse; in this case, a black mare. The kelpie lured children out into the water, where they were drawn to pet the pretty horsie. Unfortunately, when they petted it, their hands stuck to its magically gluey skin. Then the kelpie returned to the depths of the lake, taking the doomed children with it.

What Victor found that he wasn't ready for was a protracted fight in the freezing waters of Lake Carafell. It took all three men working together to take the kelpie down. While Victor had read that a silver bullet would dispatch the equine spirit, he didn't know how hard it would thrash and fight, making it difficult to get a clear shot. Dean and Sam finally were able to lasso it from opposite sides, wrangling it in place enough for Victor to make the kill shot. At least they could just let the body slip back into the lake.

Back at the Impala, they stripped off their wet clothes, heedless of their nudity, and got some dry ones on right then and there, throwing the wet things into plastic bags. Victor might have thought about sneaking a side glance to check out the naked Winchesters, satisfy his pervy curiosity, but really he was too focused on peeling off sopping wet, freezing fabric and getting on dry clothes. Even with that immediate changing, they were all shivering and chilled by the time they found a motel.

Of course it had a water theme, what with the proximity to the lake. Dean snorted at the “Lakeside Lodge” and “An Ocean of Water Fun” signs, both decorated with sea serpents. “Wrong beast,” he commented dryly. Sam barked a laugh, and Victor clamped down on any incipient laughter before he lost control from exhaustion and adrenaline.

Alone in his room, Victor took a long hot shower and dressed yet again, donning his heaviest sweater. The cold seemed to have sunk right into his bones. He texted Sam that he was heading to the restaurant down the block for something hot, and Sam answered that they would join him shortly.

'Shortly' turned out to be an hour. Victor tried very, very hard not to imagine what they were doing to warm up, with limited success while he nursed a mug of Irish coffee. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts warmed him up enough to take off his heavy sweater and be comfortable in his two layers of shirts.

Sure enough, Sam and Dean both had flushed faces and faintly damp hair when they arrived. “Had to take a hot shower, couldn't get warm,” Dean said, eyes flicking to Sam before meeting Victor's with a guileless look. Sam flushed pinker, studying the menu with unneeded intensity.

Victor groaned internally. The last thing he needed was more suggestions of Winchester intimacy, this time with a hot sexy shower involved. He already spent an inordinate amount of time visualizing his partners in various states of undress and activity.

“Think I'll get some soup,” said Sam. “Still kinda chilled inside.”

Dean snorted derisively. Victor thought he was going to lose his mind with one more innuendo. He jumped up from the booth.

“I...forgot something in my room. Be right back.”

He fled to the privacy of his room, fighting the urge to stick his hand down his pants and jerk off. He frowned at himself in the mirror. “Jesus Christ, I am a grown fucking man, I am not jerking off every second like a goddamn teenager!” He slapped a hand against the wall. “Get a fucking grip, Henriksen!”

He splashed some cold water on his face before returning to the diner. Dean and Sam looked at him with concerned faces.

“You all right, dude?” Sam inquired sincerely.

“Too much lake water? That stuff can make you sick as a dog. Ton of crud in there,” added Dean. He pushed a glass of water toward Victor.

“Yeah, that must have been it,” agreed Victor. Coming back to see their genuine concern for him soothed his hormonal flare. “Kinda went right through me.” He gulped the water.

“Ready for some food? Sam's getting soup and a grilled cheese, I'm going for a burger.”

“Yeah, soup sounds good.” Victor relaxed in his seat, happy to be in the relatively cozy company of men who understood what really went on in the world. Even if they did drive him a little crazy.



With the kelpie hunt successfully concluded, Dean deemed that Victor was ready for more intense hunts. He asked Sam what he thought one night, curious about his viewpoint.

“He did really well with the kelpie, that's for sure. He's got great focus-once he digs in, he doesn't quit.” Sad nodded his approval.

“True fact. Shoulda remembered that from his persistence chasing us,” Dean chuckled. “Funny to have that on our side now.”

“Exactly!” Sam handed Dean a fresh beer, clinking the bottle with his own. “He's already been kinda chomping at the bit. I understand we don't want him rushing into stuff he doesn't know yet, but yeah, I think we can step it up.”

“Cool. We'll take a day here and look for a bigger hunt.” Dean sighed. “That means we step up our pace too. Not so much lollygagging around.”

Sam nodded again. “Not that it hasn't been nice though.”

“Yep.” Dean put down his beer and bounced onto the bed. “What do you say, Sammy-shall we make the most of it?”

Sam drained his beer in one long pull and slammed the bottle down. “My thoughts exactly!”



In accordance with that resolve, the faintly vacation-like feel of their travels ended. Dean always knew that it would be short-lived, but it had been a great break; reduced pressure, easy hunts, time to take things a little slower. Their lives didn't often lend themselves to cruising in the slow lane.

They took a day to recuperate from the kelpie and look for a new hunt. Dean brought Victor up to speed on the new plan, and he eagerly agreed, clearly pleased that Dean thought he was ready for more. Dean took the afternoon to look the Impala over, doing an oil change and various little tweaks to make his Baby happy while Sam and Victor did a laundromat run. Dean figured they might as well refresh and recharge as much as they could before hitting the road again.

That next morning, there was no leisurely breakfast in the diner, no sitting around and lingering over coffee. They threw their bags in the Impala and made a quick stop at a convenience mart for breakfast burritos and coffee, then headed right off down the road with Sam scanning the newspapers and Victor checking out odd police reports online.

Sam scored a lead first. A small news story at the bottom of the Norfield News page three reported that neighboring town Moorsgrove was afflicted with several cases of unexplained vision problems, up to and including blindness. Some cases were accompanied by hearing loss as well. Speculation was that something had contaminated the local water source, and health officials were investigating.

“I never heard of contaminated water causing blindness,” Victor mused. “There was a case on House where water contaminated with bird guano caused neurological issues, but I don't remember any actual senses being affected.”

“Me either,” agreed Dean. “Well, it's not the most dangerous thing I ever heard, but a town full of blind and deaf people isn't so good either.”

“It's only a couple of hours away. Couldn't hurt to check out while we keep looking for something bigger.” Sam folded the paper up.

“Agreed. Moorsgrove, here we come.” Dean pressed firmly down on the Impala's gas pedal.

Arriving in Moorsgrove by early afternoon, the three hunters checked into the Blue Sunflower motel, whose décor lived up to its name with large blue flowers splattered across the bedspreads and walls alike. Dean saw Victor looking around in amazement, but Sam and Dean, both hardened veterans of motel-decorating misfires, merely shrugged.

They had plenty of time left in the day to change into their Fed suits and head into town for some information gathering. The plan was to start with asking questions while posing as investigators from the Water Safety Commission. Dean chose the local doctor as their first stop, his office housed in a small white Cape Cod, complete with white picket fence and a rustic-style signboard announcing “Dr. Neil Velo, M.D.”

Entering the lobby, Dean took the lead. He addressed the young blonde woman sitting behind the desk reading a magazine, “Excuse me, Miss. I'm Lars Ulrich from the Water Safety Commission, and these are my teammates, Hammett and Burton. We're checking out some reports of possible water contamination in this area. We'd like to speak to Dr. Velo immediately.” He winked at her, giving her his second-best smile. “I'm sure a pretty and capable young lady like yourself can help us with that.”

She smiled warmly, bubble-gum pink lipstick all shiny. “Of course. One moment, let me tell the doctor you're here.” She got up and went through the door labeled 'Patients', painted in the same rustic style as the doctor's sign outside.

“What is it about the heartland that renders people devoid of taste?” murmured Victor. Sam muffled a laugh behind his hand. Dean was about to comment back, but the door opened and the blonde receptionist beckoned them inside. She took them down the hallway, past doors on either side that Dean assumed were exam rooms, and left them at the door with a Peanuts “The Doctor is IN' sign on it.

Dean rapped on the door and a voice called “Come in!”

Dr. Velo was an older man, white hair thick on his head, rail-skinny in a navy blue button-down shirt and khakis with his lab coat billowing around him. He shook hands with all three men, smiling amiably and fairly radiating goodwill. “Gentlemen, very nice to meet you. What can I do for you today?”

Dean plunged right in. “Doctor Velo, I'm Lars Ulrich from the Water Safety Commission. My team and I are here investigating these reports of sudden blindness and deafness in the area. We're concerned that the water may be contaminated in some way, resulting in these afflictions. Can you tell us what's happening to your patients?”

“No, I've never come across anything like this before. Some residents are only experiencing blurred vision, but others have it to the point where their vision has been occluded significantly or even completely. The hearing loss is rarer, but it's total.” He shook his head, his face solemn. “Damn shame. I don't have any clue how to correct or prevent it yet.”

Sam asked, “Is age a factor at all? For instance, is there a greater percentage of older patients?”

“Nope. It's all across the board age-wise. I've got a fifteen-year-old and a sixty-five-year old that are both affected, and every age in between. No kids below teens, though.”

“Where is the town's water source located? Perhaps we could go check that out.” Victor's voice carried all the calm assurance of his agent-persona. Dean nodded approvingly.

“Of course. It's a reservoir, down Roosevelt Street until you pass the town limits, then it changes to Sanctuary Road. You'll see the fencing on the left, and the signs of course.”

“Okay, we'll be right on that then. Thank you, Doctor. We'll do our best to help clear this up. We'll get back to you when we know something,” said Dean briskly. All three men shook Dr. Velo's hand again as they departed.

They returned to the motel, changing out of their suits and into jeans and boots, anticipating a hike around the reservoir. Guns were stashed in pockets and waistbands, and Dean carried a duffle with several other sundry weapons along with salt, matches, and the like.

Finding the reservoir was easy-the town was not large, and the roads were just as the doctor had described. The countryside was pretty enough with sprawling green fields, the occasional clump of maples and oaks, and various wildflowers along the side of the road.

They parked near the fence gate, taking the duffle with them as they scaled the fence, preferring not to cut the chain lock. A walk of a few yards brought them to the water's edge, dark green and lapping at the rocky edge.

“Doesn't look bad-I don't see any dead fish or anything,” observed Victor.

“No unusual or unpleasant smells either,” added Sam.

“You two head around that way a little bit, I'll look over here. Stay in voice contact,” ordered Dean. He went left and the other two went right.

Dean looked back, checking on Sam and Victor's progress, and was relieved to still see them, albeit further ahead up the edge of the reservoir. Turning to address his own path, he saw...something ahead. He squinted to get a clearer view, but the figure remained unclear.

“Okay, just what the heck are you now?” he murmured, walking cautiously up to where the figure had just been. Nothing remained there-no matted grass, no trace of footprints, no trail.

He texted Sam. Something weird here. Humanoid figure, but blurry. No tracks.

Sam responded, We saw nothing here, but let's fall back and confer. We thought we heard something too.

Okay, meet back at Impala.

Dean turned and hastened back to the car.



“This is often the most dangerous part of a hunt,” Dean explained to Victor as they sat over drinks later. “When you've spotted or discovered that something is in fact wrong, but you don't know what it is yet. When you don't know what's going to happen next or what your target is capable of, things can get very tricky very fast.”

“Yes, it's easy right now to underestimate or miss something crucial. More importantly, something dangerous.” Sam's face was serious. “Now we dig in and try to find out what we can. We'll hit the local library, the internet, use what clues we've found--”

“I know how clues work,” said Victor, letting impatience color his voice. “Research is research, no matter the subject or the resources.” Generally he'd been content to let the Winchesters set the pace, but he'd been on second string long enough, and it was getting annoying.

He didn't miss Sam and Dean's exchange of glances. “Look, we get this has been moving slowly, probably much more slowly that you're used to,” admitted Sam. “But we have two goals here. One is to give you a cohesive kind of training, which most hunters usually don't get, and the other-”

“The other is to keep you from getting killed because you didn't know something you needed to know.” Dean's tone was gruff. “So suck it up, buttercup. You walk when we say walk, and you run when we say run.” He swallowed the shot that appeared before him. “This is not a democracy. This is staying alive.”

Victor looked down and saw a shot in front of him too. He regarded it a moment. Could he keep doing this? Go at their dictated pace, take their orders, after being an independent agent for so long?

Shit, he knew they weren't even up to the gnarly stuff yet.

Memories of the destroyed Monument police station rose up in his head. Rubble, fire, ashes, and bodies. Lots and lots of blood.

“Okay. I get it,” he said, and downed his shot as well.



Researching the town's history showed the usual deaths and scandals that all small towns dealt with. There were lovers' quarrels, illicit births, curious deaths, and the like; Sam sighed as he scrolled through micro-fiches of local news. Nothing looked particularly odd or out of place.

Dean had already thrown in the towel on library time and was out talking to people, seeing if he could suss out anything likely. After checking in with Sam, Victor went back to the hotel room to look through the lore books they had with them.

Sam scrolled through another newspaper fiche and abruptly stopped. A mysterious death, sure, but this time out at the reservoir itself. Betsy Meyers, a twenty-three year old piano and chorus teacher at the local high school, had been found dead on the grassy bank that ran alongside the reservoir. Ligature marks on her neck turned out to be made from piano wire, and her ears and eyes were bloody from being clawed. Her killer had turned out to be a love-crazed teenager, a boy besotted with her, who-having been rejected by the object of his affections-had subsequently turned on her in rage. Not satisfied by simply strangling her, he'd then tried to claw out her eyes and ears so that she could not see or hear anything in heaven without him, according to his subsequent confession.

Crazy people, Sam thought. He printed out the article, reading it over again on paper. What they do for love.

He laughed sardonically at himself. Who am I kidding? I'd do...I've done...for Dean...

He wouldn't let himself finish his own thought, instead texting Dean and Victor that he had a lead and to meet him back at the motel.



When Sam finished relating Betsy Meyers' sad story, Victor snapped his fingers. “I think I found something that works with that.” He rummaged in the pile of books on the rickety table. “Something about death and music and what they referred to as-oh here, yeah. 'Passionate death.' A crime of love, mixed up with the passions of music and art.”

“What happens?” asked Dean, popping the cap off a beer with his ring. He handed the bottle to Sam, did the same again and gave it to Victor before finally opening one for himself.

“So sometimes they just become a ghost, like usual. But sometimes they become something even more lost in between planes called a blurr, spelled with two Rs. They appear as a blurry figure and leave no traces.” Victor sipped his beer.

“But what about the blindness and deafness thing?” asked Sam. “How does that tie in?”

“The killer clawed at her eyes and ears,” said Victor. “He took her senses even from her corpse. So...”

“So now she's blinding and deafening others.” Dean clicked his tongue. “I bet we look into our victims, they'll have some thread in common about love and the arts.”

“Okay then. We have a theory. Next question-what do we do about Blurry Betsy?”

“I vote we do a salt and burn. Just because she's a different flavor of ghost doesn't mean she isn't a ghost. I bet she'll respond to the regular ghost take-down.” Dean got up and stretched. “Victor, you and Sam find out where ol' Bets is buried and we'll toast some bones tonight.”

Victor didn't even mind looking up Betsy's grave-site, he was so pleased to have solved his first supernatural case. Sam evidently understood, as he clapped Victor on the back.

“Nice work. Just guess who's going to end up digging.” He winked at Victor.

Even that prospect didn't deter Victor's satisfaction.



The salt and burn of Betsy Meyers went as well as could be expected. Digging up a grave was never fun, and Victor had dug enough by now to know how much work lay ahead of him. Sam dug in the beginning as well, but once the hole was a few feet deep, there was really only room for one digger. As the new man on the team, that often fell to Victor. He figured it was part of the price of his apprenticeship.

In the meantime, Dean and Sam kept an eye out for Betsy. Victor had also done enough salt-and-burns by now to know that spirits and ghosts did not appreciate having their space invaded, and were prone to throwing shit around. Shit like rocks, and weapons, and heavy objects that hurt like hell as well as being potentially fatal. The hunters always had salt rounds and iron crowbars handy to dispel any such angry visits.

Betsy followed the usual pattern of belligerent resistance. She swirled dirt and rocks around threateningly, but Sam and Dean were alert and kept dispelling her manifestations before anyone got hurt.

“If we're lucky,” Sam said as he threw salt and gasoline on Betsy's remains, and Dean dropped a lit matchbook, “the blind and deaf effects will disperse when she's gone, and everyone will be back to normal. It's not a guarantee, but we've seen things like that happen.”

“That would be fantastic.” Victor felt hope for the afflicted townsfolk rise inside his chest.

“Yeah, but it doesn't happen all the time, so be prepared,” Dean said grimly.

With Betsy appropriately dispatched, they dragged themselves back to the motel. Dean made Victor sit on a towel so he didn't get dirt all over the back seat of the Impala. He took a quick shower back at the motel, the water making him initially feel like he was coated with mud. Clean and exhausted, he fell into bed immediately.

Sadly, no news of any miraculous recoveries greeted them in the morning. The three men exchanged somber looks over coffee and toast; no one had an appetite for anything more. They were in the Impala and heading out of town within the hour.



While pleased about putting down the blurr, Victor could see that Sam and Dean shared his dismay about Betsy's disposal not eliminating the suffering of the victims. Sam, Dean, and Victor sat around in the bar a dozen towns away, drinking beers slowly while they attempted to make their peace with that.

“So, a lot of the times, when you gank the creature in question, the ill effects they've inflicted are reversed,” explained Dean to Victor. “Your curses, cursed objects, a lot of witchcraft and spells, and so on, that's what happens. But sometimes whatever they did stays done, even after they're killed. Unfortunately, the blurr fell into that category.”

“Which sucks. Although at least we stopped it from harming anyone else,” added Sam, picking at the label of his beer. His mouth turned down at the corners, and his face looked drawn, making his cheekbones even more pronounced.

“So we lick our wounds tonight and tomorrow we find a new hunt,” said Victor, forcing a confidence he didn't entirely feel. He'd learned a lot on this last hunt, but he was unhappy they hadn't been able to help actually cure the victims. Still, Betsy Meyers had been laid to rest.

“Yup,” said Dean, draining his beer. “Time for a little r&r. I'm gonna get us some drinks, and maybe chat up that cute little redhead who's been giving me the eye. Check out that ass!” He got up, taking his empty bottle with him, and sauntered over to the bar.

Victor watched him with surprise. He knew that Dean used to be a pussy-hound in the past, but figured that had ended whenever he and Sam had started...whatever their thing was. He glanced at Sam, concerned for him, but Sam appeared relaxed and unconcerned.

“So, is Dean really going to pick her up?” Victor asked, deciding to test the waters. He usually preferred to leave his questions about their relationship unasked, but tonight his curiosity got the better of him.

“Probably,” said Sam casually. “He better bring our drinks first though, before he decides to disappear for a while.”

Doesn't this bother Sam at all? Victor slugged his beer down, apprehensive about a confrontation erupting between Sam and Dean, especially a drunk Sam and Dean. He'd seen enough wrangling between them to know there would be blood, broken furniture, and possibly broken bones too. “I'm hitting the head.”

Sam nodded in acknowledgment. Victor wound his way between the tables and chairs to the men's room. As he pushed past the bathroom door, that image of Sam and Dean fucking in a stall surged unbidden back into his mind, and he bit his lip as he tried to push it back out.

He closed the stall door behind him and leaned against it, cool metal against his hot forehead. “What the hell is going on with them?” he asked himself quietly. “What. The. Hell. And why do I care? It's not my business.”

Undoing his fly, he went ahead and relieved himself. It's not your circus, man, he told himself sternly as he zipped up and went to wash his hands. But since they worked together and essentially lived together, it was hard not to be concerned on their behalf. Or his own behalf. Or pissed. Or...a little turned on.

Why isn't Sam pissed? Am I missing something? Is it a gay thing?

Re-entering the bar, he glanced first at the bar itself. No Dean. Maybe he wised up? Maybe Sam said something after all? Relieved, he went back to their booth, where Dean, Sam, and six shots of tequila, a shaker of salt, and a bowl of lime wedges were waiting.

“Vic! Pony up, man. Don't keep the liquor waiting.” Dean pushed a shot glass at him.

“You got it,” Victor answered, smiling and picking his glass up. They clinked and shot, then clinked and shot again. Jose Cuervo burned down his throat and immediately sparked a glow of well-being inside him as he bit into his lime wedge.

“Don't wait up,” Dean said, standing up and winking at them both. He returned to the bar and the little redhead, who Victor did have to admit had not only a great ass, but sweet tits and a pretty smile.

“Sam?” Caution warred with tequila in Victor's mind.

“Yeah, what is it, Vic?” Sam was looking at his phone.

“Nothin'. Never mind. I'm, uh, gonna get a beer. You want?”

“Sure, thanks.” Sam didn't even look up.

Fuck. Maybe he is pissed. Victor walked to the bar. Am I really going to get in the middle of this? Be cool, man.

The memory of finding one of his not-yet-then-ex-wives naked in their bedroom with a neighborhood friend still seared in his mind, despite the five or six years of time that had passed. He hadn't thought about that in a while, but the burn of the moment still stung nonetheless.

“Yeah, guess I'm gonna do it,” he said to himself. “Here goes nothing.” He went up to Dean at the bar, nudged him while signaling for service.

“Dude, you mind? Little busy here.” Dean frowned at him, one arm curled snugly around the redhead's waist.

“Can I talk to you a sec, man?”

Dean rolled his eyes, but whispered in Redhead's ear. She giggled and said, “I'll just go use the little girl's room.” Kissing Dean, she added, “I'll be right back, lover boy.”

Both men watched her sashay off to the restrooms, that ass swinging hypnotically. Victor had to applaud Dean's taste, if not his tact.

“I have to ask, man. What is going on?” Victor accepted his and Sam's next beer from the bartender.

“What are you talking about?” Dean looked at him quizzically.

Victor sighed. Bending his head close to Dean's ear, he whispered, “Dude, I know. Like, I know. About you and Sam. So why are you seducing little miss redhead there?”

Dean pulled back, looked at Victor in surprise. “Oh. Well, okay then. We were trying to keep it on the down-low, but--”

“Not that low,” Victor hissed. “Believe me. I got eyes and I got ears. So why are you chasing pussy here? Right in front of him?”

“Because I like pussy.” Dean snickered and took a pull at his beer. “It's sweet and tight and delicious, and why not? Don't you know the saying? “If God didn't mean for us to eat pussy, he wouldn't have made it look like a taco.”” Dean threw back his head and laughed at his own joke.

Victor ignored Dean's ribald comment. “What about Sam?” He couldn't help staring daggers at Dean. Didn't he get it?

“Oh Jesus, Vic. Okay. Come on over here.” Dean got up and pulled Victor off to the side, talking into his ear with a low, intense voice. “Listen, Sam and I-we're together, yes. Together now, together forever. We can't not be together. We belong together in every way. It may be sick to the rest of the world, and it may be wrong and what the fuck ever to everyone else, but that's just how it is. It's not wrong for us--it's how we work best together.” He looked fiercely at Victor. “You have to decide for yourself if that's a problem for you. It isn't for us. And while we do keep it quiet, it's just because the rest of the world won't really understand.”

Victor felt relieved to finally hear it out in the open. “I got it. And no, it's not a problem for me. I get that not all the regular rules apply here, and I get what's between you. I see it and I understand. But then, why her? Why go chasing that?” He nodded toward the bar, where Redhead had returned. “Not that she's not a hot ticket, but...” Dean nodded and smiled at her, holding up a finger to say one minute.

“I love Sam. I love having sex with Sam. But sex is not all that our relationship is built on. And that means once in a while, I like a nice, juicy pink taco on the menu. The same goes for Sam. He has a type, and it's not me, so sometimes he needs to...satisfy that urge.” He nudged Victor. “In fact, looks like he's going to tonight.”

Victor looked over and saw Sam still sitting at their table, but no longer alone. A curvaceous blonde sat with him, laughing and trailing her finger down his arm. Sam himself was laughing, and Victor marveled at the unaccustomed lightness in his expression, his dimples flashing in full force at her. They stood up and Victor saw she was tall, busty with a trim waist. Something tickled at his memory; there was something familiar here, someone he'd seen.

He sucked in his breath as he connected the dots.

“Jessica,” he breathed. “She looks like Jessica.” Dean nodded.

“Every so often, he finds someone that reminds him of her. And me? I let him.” Dean's expression was sober now. “I know where we are. I know he's mine and I'm his. But sometimes he needs to...revisit that moment where his life was almost normal with a beautiful, tall blonde girl. And I'm cool with that. Just like he gets that I need to play every so often. It's not a matter of gay versus straight. Sex-it's more fluid than that. And this? In the end-it makes us stronger.”

Victor watched Sam and the tall blonde leave the bar. Dean nodded. “There ya go. So now, I'm going to go back to my date, and Sam's going to go with his date, and later we'll have our own special date. So, you're off duty tonight, Vic. Go ahead and find a date of your own if you want.” He slapped Victor on the back and returned to the redhead, who greeted him with open arms and an open-mouthed kiss.

Victor returned to the booth, sitting down and drinking his beer. Dean had given him a lot to think about. Victor had always considered himself heterosexual, had never really thought about any other possibility. Until now, when living with two strapping, hot men who were dicking each other had apparently introduced some new desires for Victor. He'd never given any thought to having sex with a man before, but now?

Would I really...go there? Do that? Or is it just fun to think about? Victor had to think about it seriously, because...damn. This train of thought was both disturbing and arousing, judging by the way Not-so-little Victor was perking up. He wondered if just being celibate for so long was leaving him on the edge. Maybe...

“Maybe I just need a little mud for my turtle,” he murmured, chuckling at the phrase one of his old team-mates used to use. “Maybe I need to take Dean's advice.”

He looked around the bar. Being in an unfamiliar place, he was mildly reluctant to hit up a white girl-it was hard to know the attitudes of a small town, and he didn't want any potential trouble. The only ladies of color, however, were clearly with someone, and for sure he wasn't going to poke any hornets' nest there either.

Someone slid into the booth seat across from him, and Victor started. He hadn't even noticed the man approaching him.

“Hey, easy there, dude.” Chocolate eyes set in a handsome, cocoa face calmly looked into his. “I saw you scoping out the place, and thought I might inquire as to what kind of entree you were looking for.” One thickly-lashed lid dropped in a slow wink. “Thought perhaps you might like chicken and steak, if you catch my drift.” He slid a hand over Victor's wrist, soft pink palm resting warm on Victor's skin.

“Oh, uh...” Victor felt flustered. He'd never been picked up by a guy before. “I'm not sure, I never--”

“Ah, you never ordered tall, dark and handsome before?” A rich chuckle, and Victor felt a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Well, baby, I can help you with that. You're quite the fine-looking man, and I'd be happy to introduce you to a...whole new world.” Another squeeze on his wrist, and Victor's dick twitched. Clearly it approved of this flirtation.

“I think...I'd like that, if you don't mind taking it slow,” Victor said. “I'm Vic.”

“Hey, Vic. I'm Dennis, and it is positively delicious to meet you.” He stood up, tugging gently on Victor's hand. Dennis was a little shorter than Victor, with a trim, compact body, and he suddenly found himself curious to explore what lay beneath Dennis's long-sleeved knit shirt and dark, snug jeans.

“I have a room at the motel down the street, if you like to join me there for a drink?” Victor put some money under his beer bottle for the waitress.

“I do like.” Another wink, and Dennis turned toward the door, giving Victor an eyeful of perky round ass. “Come on, Vic.”

Vic went.

Part 2, Chapter 2