Fic: Rule of Thirds (6/6)
Part 2, Chapter 4
They fell into a relaxed routine, the solitude of the woods lending itself to setting their own pace. They took turns cooking breakfast, lingered over coffee. The stronger Victor felt, the more training they did. There was always shooting practice and knife throwing, the latter a completely new skill for Victor. The Winchesters had been keeping up with running and sparring practice, and as Victor continued to regain his strength, he began to join them. Evenings were spent cleaning guns, cooking dinner, maybe having a few drinks. There was a shelf of old paperbacks, and Victor was a little surprised to see Dean sitting down with Vonnegut's Welcome to the Monkey House. “What? I read!” he said huffily, walking outside to sit on the rickety porch.
Victor felt sheepish. “I didn't mean to offend him,” he confessed to Sam. “I just didn't picture him as reading for pleasure.”
Sam shook his head. “I know. He knows too. He's just spent so may years being pigeonholed as 'the pretty one' or not as academic as me that he's a little sensitive about it. Don't worry, he knows you respect him. Don't say anything, just let it blow over.”
Victor didn't bring it up again, but that night he gave Dean a particularly enthusiastic blow job, including cleaning him up with soft kitten-licks afterward. Dean pulled Victor's head up to his and kissed him soundly. “We're good.” Dean cuffed Victor's head lightly. “But you're doing all my dishes the rest of the week.”
Victor laughed. And did the dishes.
Dean volunteered to do the weekly supply run that Thursday. Victor offered to go along-he kind of loved the cabin and the woods, but he wouldn't say no to seeing something else for a few hours. Plus Dean always got a lot of snacks and forgot some of the real things they needed. Although somehow he always remembered coffee, beer, liquor, and bacon.
They drove off, Sam reassuring them he'd enjoy a couple of hours alone. “He just wants to look at porn,” Dean said, rattling faster over the dirt road than Victor would have.
“I thought that was you,” Victor replied, resolutely not watching branches whip past the window.
“Oh yeah, that is me,” said Dean, crowing with laughter.
They reached the town and gathered what they needed. Loading up the car, Dean drove to the outskirts before pulling over. “We don't get a signal back there, so when we come into town, we check messages. Hunters know we're not yet back on active duty, but there's still information sharing and such. We arranged it with Bobby before we got here that we'd check every Thursday.”
Dean spent several minute scrolling through his phone, muttering under his breath at times, making faces at it. Then he got very still, a serious look on his face, and Victor felt a little nervous.
“What's up?”
Dean shook his head. “Let's get back home, I'll tell you and Sam at the same time.” He headed out of town, and Victor sighed, impatient to know what the news was, but resigned that Dean wouldn't say anything until he was ready.
Sam came out to help unload the Impala, immediately catching on that something was up. He didn't even bother asking, and Victor was again impressed at how well these two knew each other and how smoothly they operated together.
Once the groceries were stowed (and the beer in the fridge), the three hunters sat down.
“There was a message from Bobby,” began Dean. “More signs are cropping up that are connected to Lilith.”
Sam and Victor remained quiet. The name alone struck a chill in Victor, and for the first time in a long time, the images of flames and a crashed helicopter surfaced in his mind.
“It looks like things are ramping up,” continued Dean.
“Ramping up to what?” asked Sam, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“No one knows yet. Just the frequency of supernatural events has sped up. So,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bobby's decided to call a meeting. A...summit, if you will.”
“A meeting of who?” asked Victor.
“Of hunters. All the hunters he can contact and gather. He thinks if we all get together, we can share our various contacts and intel, maybe come up with a plan to deal with Lilith.”
Quiet fell again. Victor mulled the news over. It made sense to him. When the Bureau had a major threat of some kine, whether it was a serial killer or a terrorist, they mounted a task force. Pool the resources.
“It makes sense to me. I'm in,” he said.
Dean nodded. “I thought you might be, but it's your decision. Sammy?” He turned to look at his brother, eyebrow raised.
“Of course. We have to go.” Sam's face was as serious as Victor had ever seen it. “We have to stop Lilith now, otherwise-we'll face something even worse.”
Victor stared at him. “Something...worse? What the hell is worse?”
“That's just it,” answered Dean. “Hell. To be specific, Lucifer.”
Victor felt his jaw drop. “Lucifer. Like...the Devil. That Lucifer.”
Sam nodded grimly. “That Lucifer.”
“Fuck me,” blurted Victor.
The Winchesters solemnity fell away as they burst into laughter. “Damn, Vic, right now?” said Dean with a grin.
Victor laughed with them. “Uh, no, that wasn't what I meant. Just-damn!!!”
“Damn indeed. All right, gentlemen, pack it up. We leave at dawn.” Dean paused by Victor, a hand on his arm. “Are you feeling okay? You up for this?”
“Damn straight. Try to keep me out of it.” Victor put a hand over Dean's. “But thank you.”
They went around separately packing up their things. After a quick dinner, they had a couple of shots before turning in. All three of them knew they needed to sleep before hitting the road in the morning, but they found themselves having a short session of slow, easy sex. It was soft touches, stifled moans and whispers, a sharing and giving of themselves to each other. Victor felt both loved and grounded, and that made facing the day a whole lot easier.
They didn't quite leave at dawn, but they left pretty damn early. A last pot of coffee was poured into go mugs, and they planned stop for breakfast sandwiches on the way. Dean stopped in town to gas up the Impala, and then they hit the open road.
Victor had never met Bobby Singer, but he looked forward to it. He'd head endless stories about Bobby, although prior to becoming a hunter, they were not necessarily favorable. It was clear how important the man was to the Winchesters, and how much they respected his knowledge and his skills, as well as the hunter community at large.
Two days of driving and a overnight in a sleazy pay-by-hour motel, and Victor finally saw the sign for Singer Salvage. A large, somewhat dilapidated house sat in a huge open area, with various barns and sheds dotted around and what appeared to be a gazillion old cars. Dean pulled right up by the house, and the front door opened with a big hound galumphing out.
“Rumsfeld!” cried Dean, petting the dog. It ran back and forth between Dean and Sam, bounded over to sniff at Victor, and then ran to the door as its owner emerged.
“Well, well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence,” said the man dryly. He was older, Victor could see gray mixing in with the brown of his beard, and was dressed in the usual flannel and jeans, with a cargo vest over the plaid and a battered ball cap on his head. “Come'ere, ya idjits.” He hugged Sam, who immediately dwarfed the older man, then turned to Dean and hugged him too.
“Bobby, good to see you,” said Sam, grasping Bobby's arm, his eyes affectionate.
“Sure is, Bobby,” Dean's face was wreathed in a smile as he approached for a hug.
“All right, now, don't get all sentimental on me.” Victor smiled at Bobby's mock-acerbic tone. “So you must be Victor Henriksen, formerly of the FBI.” No handshake was proffered yet.
“Yes sir, I am. Only now I'm Victor Henriksen, hunter.” Victor held his eye squarely. He knew Bobby had no reason to trust him; the man would just have to take his measure as he chose. “It's a pleasure. I know how much Sam and Dean respect you.”
“Uh-huh.” Bobby looked into Victor's eyes a moment, then jerked his head toward the house. “Everybody come on in now, no point standing around out here.” He stomped up the stairs with all three hunters following.
Other hunters had already arrived, and more arrived after Victor and the Winchesters. The house was full of hunters-mostly men, but a few women-milling around drinking beer. Victor thought this was where plaid flannel went when it died. Plaid of every colorway and description abounded; Victor almost felt the odd man out in his Henley.
He was introduced around endlessly. Most people were ignorant of his past history at the FBI, and he was content to let that be. It was mentioned several times that he was the sole survivor of the Monument blast, but even that was mostly acknowledged with a “Really?!” or “Wow!” and then conversation moved on. That was just fine with him. He preferred blending in.
Finally Bobby called everyone together in the dining room, with people also clustered in every doorway into the room. The dining room table and chairs itself had been cleared, and Bobby stood in the middle of the room addressing the crowd.
“Okay, we got to do some serious talking here. And when I say talking, I mean planning. Something's moving out there, and it's pretty bad. We need to stop it, because if we don't what comes after it will be even worse.”
“What's that?” Someone spoke from the crowd.
“Lucifer.” Bobby shut his mouth with a snap and waited for the inevitable hubbub to die back down.
“Okay, now I know you might think this is all moonbeams and fairytales, but it's the truth. Lilith is here to prepare the way for Lucifer, and I think I speak for all of us when I say we don't want to fight the Devil. So let's fight Lilith and stop the whole shebang now. Let's pool our knowledge and our resources so we can figure out how to stop Lilith and thereby stop Lucifer.”
He stopped speaking again., letting his eyes roam the hunters packed around him. Victor saw heads nodding, even though he also saw expressions of shock or disbelief.
“Sam and Dean Winchester are here today. Sam, Dean, come on up.” They'd been standing behind Victor, and he felt them shift as they moved around him and walked up to Bobby.
“Now these two are about the best hunters around, bar none. They were raised in the life, and I know they've saved a lot of y'all and helped y'all. I'm delegating them as co-captains of this motley army, as there'll be too much for one man to do. Sam's going to be in charge of lore and research as well as his own fighting division, and Dean's going to handle tactical planning and strategy. They'll talk to each of you, find out where best to place ya. Understood?”
A noise of assent rolled through the room. Victor looked around. He felt scared about a battle he knew nothing about, with forces that used to be Bible stories but now were real. He also felt inspired. Bobby might be an older good ol' boy with a pick-up truck and a beer belly, but clearly a sharp mind lurked inside that baseball cap, and a valiant heart beat beneath that cargo vest.
Sam and Dean towered over Bobby, and they looked every bit the heroes-tall, handsome, strong. Victor felt his heart lurch inside his chest. Do not tell me I'm falling for those big lugs, Victor scolded himself. They are their own world. Someday I'm going to have to leave, and they will continue on together forever. Don't do it.
He knew it was too late to warn himself, and when the time came, he'd have to deal. It's not yet, though. Not for a while.
Victor could be content with that.
Sam and Dean came up to him. “Last chance, Vic. I know this isn't what you originally signed on for, so no foul if you want out.” Dean's face was grave, his back stiff.
“That's it. No one is going to blame you-” Sam joined in.
“Oh, shut the fuck up already. I'm in. Now lets go get out stuff from the car, okay?” Victor punched Dean in the shoulder and elbowed Sam.
They laughed, a moment of humor and affection in the shadow of the oncoming war. Heading out to the Impala, Victor took the momentary break from the crowd to tug on Sam's and Dean's sleeve.
“Listen, since we're having the serious talks today-I just want you to know, I'm in for as long as you want me. I know the day may come-probably will come-when we'll want to or need to split up. But until then...I'm with you. I'm yours.”
Victor searched their eyes, hazel and green. Both pairs looked back at him, speaking of affection, trust...love. “We know. We feel the same way.”
They hugged, arms around each other in a tight little circle, shutting out the tension and noise around them. Victor positively felt a current of emotion go through them all; the circuit was complete.
“Okay! Enough with the chick flick!” Dean broke the circle, releasing the trunk and propping it open with a sawed-off. They removed their duffles and backpacks, then Dean lifted the false bottom. Victor never failed to be impressed with the breadth of the arsenal the Winchesters carried.
In silence they surveyed the gear, each man arming himself with his chosen weaponry. With a thump that echoed across the bones of the old dilapidated cars, Dean slammed the trunk closed.
“Come on. We've got work to do.”
