Crave the Dark Illusions 3/3 (Supernatural)
Title: Crave the Dark Illusions
Author: 0perseda
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/character: Dean/OMC, Dean/Sam
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 13,000
Kink/Warnigngs: Slash, prostitution (adult and references to underage), incest themes, dub-con, drug use, angst, UST, language, violence
Notes: Many thanks due to my last-minute beta, eboniorchid. Remaining mistakes are all mine.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor its characters. This is entirely for fun, not profit.
Summary: Set mid season four: Sam and Dean are investigating a series of rent-boy murders when Dean discovers something new, and personal boundaries get crossed.
Artist: Art by the talented lightthesparks. Thanks so much! Check out other pieces from a variety of fandoms and leave feedback on this art here.
Sam hadn’t slept all night cause he stayed up waiting for Dean. Well, not only honest worry kept him restless. Everything Dean had said replayed over and over in his mind, along with images of fire and brimstone. And demons. Ruby let slip that she’d been human once, and Sam wondered… Dean had said he’d almost forgotten who he was. How far had Dean gone down the road to becoming a demon?
And what exactly was the process? Were they tortured into mindlessness and then retrained into whatever the upper-level demons wanted? Based on what Ruby had said, the hierarchy of demons was pretty extensive, and she certainly exhibited fear upon mention of -
“Fuck!” Sam shouted into the empty motel room, throwing his pillow at the wall. He needed to get the truth out of Dean because if he didn’t, the scenarios he kept coming up with… and not being able to settle the matter for his brain… each minute his imagination just went more and more…
Only his need to know was balanced, this morning, with a fear to know. What if the torments he was imagining were cotton candy and kittens compared to what Dean really experienced?
Then, shying away from exploring those thoughts, he fell right back on the second-most insistent worry keeping him from sitting still: He’d had dirty, fucked-up, hot fantasies about his brother haunting his brain since dinner, recurring all night, alternating with the vivid suspicions of things Dean might have endured in Hell. One minute his mind would flash Hieronymus Bosch paintings of insane orgies, shifting to visions of some of the horribly-maimed bodies he’d seen over the years as a Hunter… and then he’d remember the sinful pleasure on Dean’s face when he’d licked and sucked meaty juices from his fingers.
At dawn the horniness subsided, and he decided to never think again about - and definitely never admit to anyone else - how he’d jerked off twice while thinking about Dean’s lips and ass and wondering…
Oh, God. Sam groaned and rubbed at his temples, exhausted but lower belly tingling again. Atypical horniness had subsided, but it so wasn’t gone yet.
Had he passed some point of no return? Now that the amazing sensations and possibilities had imprinted on his libido, would Sam always, forever-fucking-more, see Dean as someone to… Wow. Thing was, over the hours he became less and less disturbed by the concept. His thoughts shifted more and more to excitement and wondering why they never experimented before.
Sam needed to get out of the motel room and get distracted. For the first time in his life, he accepted that too much thinking was bad for him. They had a case to solve. People were getting murdered, and Sam was just lying there wanking - literally and mentally.
He got cleaned up and ready to go in record time, considering he had to stop and jerk off just one more time before he could finish his shower. It had to be the drug leaking from Dean’s skin or breath and contaminating Sam because even as a spotty adolescent he never recovered like this with nothing but his hand and fantasies to goad him on.
Relieved for the moment, the worry returned, and he checked his phone to see if Dean had left a message. Nothing from Dean, but the other Hunter on this case had texted.
My apartment @ 8. Compare notes.
It had been sent around six in the morning, and Sam wasn’t surprised he hadn’t noticed. At least he’d caught it in time to make the meeting.
Except, of course, that Dean had the Impala. Sam checked his watch and called a cab.
The drug dealer was a scruffy-looking guy in his fifties.
He wasn’t at all what Dean had expected, and with his practical clothes and a sharp eye, he reminded Dean a little of Dad, even down to the way he checked his ankle holster when he got out of his car. It was an absent-minded gesture, a habit burned into his routine from long years of wariness, a practice learned by men like cops or Hunters.
Hadn’t Sam said there was another Hunter in town?
Dean’s good mood plummeted. This guy was the drug dealer - Dean had seen it with his own eyes. And it looked like he might also be the Hunter Sam mentioned. So what kind of a drug did a Hunter deal? So it was new and amazing with no apparent dangers or side effects. Sounded too good to be true. Was he using magic he gleaned from witches over the years? Or maybe he had a freakish Malaysian talisman or a deal with a demon to get the not-quite-natural drug recipe of a lifetime? Whatever it was, there’d be a catch. There always was.
The real question was, who paid for it and how? Beyond the money, who paid the paranormal cost in souls or blood or energy? Dean suspected it was those dead kids, the ones who’d had crappy lives to begin with and then got murdered and mutilated and dumped in the street like trash.
Dean took a deep breath and licked his lips, ideas forming of the all the appropriate ways he could hurt this bastard before letting him die. So what if he was human? If he’d been using Hunter knowledge and paranormal shit to hurt children, Dean was more than prepared to take him down. Sam might want to call the police or whatever… So it was a good thing Sam wasn’t there, and Dean didn’t plan to call him unless he found out the guy was possessed. He’d call Sam for back up if the guy was possessed by a demon.
Otherwise? Dean grinned, feral. Otherwise, he didn’t want an audience.
Sam met the Hunter in his apartment on time.
“The ‘sorry’ on the post-it was a nice touch,” was the first thing the man said to Sam.
“I thought it was appropriate after I picked the lock and let myself in.”
They sized each other up in the doorway, and Sam found the Hunter to be as expected, if a bit older. He was a cross between Bobby and Pastor Jim, which seemed like an odd combination at first. The man - Max Rascon, likely not his real name - had a soothing, wise voice like Jim, but he moved and dressed like Bobby. Too similar. Sam almost asked if there were some secret Hunter uniform he’d have to wear if he made it past fifty.
“C’mon in, kid.”
Sam crossed the salt line at the doorway and accepted a splash of holy water while running his own tests which were less obvious. Since he’d started drinking from Ruby, he could sense demons. It took some concentration, and the awareness was subtle, but it was clear whether a body was possessed.
Max was clean.
“All right, then. What can you share with me about these murders?” Sam asked.
“Well, all the stuff I’ve got up here is probably the same as what got you to town in the first place.” He gestured around the cluttered apartment. “You already took a look, right? I got the newspaper clippings and autopsy reports and crime scene photos, both official and my own. But down in the basement I got some other stuff locked up, stuff that’s harder to explain away if I got caught with it. This building is mostly empty, but not completely, and I don’t want to end up in jail for working a job. Again.”
“Yeah, been there.” Sam nodded. “What kind of evidence did you find?”
“It’d be easier to show you cause really… I’m not sure what it is.”
An alarm went off in Sam’s head, but it was weak enough he could convince himself it was paranoia. Regardless, he planned to be on his guard when he followed this stranger into the basement of an abandoned building. Without Dean for backup. He considered sending Dean a text at least so, worst case scenario, Dean knew where to come find his corpse and get revenge, but Sam was certain this guy was a Hunter, and what reason would a Hunter have to kill another? But Sam let Max lead the way, keeping his guard up and senses alert.
Even with all that, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Sam walked down the basement steps after Max and then stood dumbfounded by the creature chained to the wall. It lay sleeping on the cold cement, bald head resting on its hands, and its rich purple skin was marked in lines of red blood and scrapes like road rash. It jerked awake when the two Hunters got closer, rising into a sitting position to stare at them, and when its opalescent eyes fell on Sam, he leaned towards it with an ache to help it, to touch it… to touch himself…
“Wait, no way… Is that what I think it is?” Sam asked and shook his head, resisting the pull. “How did-“
Everything went black.
When Dean snuck into the basement, he distanced himself from his feelings and compartmentalized as much as he could.
First he noticed the low keening noise underlying everything, which he thought might be machinery because the drone was so consistent and low-pitched. He took in the rest of the sounds before he went down the stairs, hoping to avoid dropping into the center of a bad-guy convention. Over the noise of the machine, there was the Hunter’s voice. It was muffled, but Dean was sure it was the drug dealer. He’d talked a lot with the buyers when Dean followed him earlier, and his voice was distinctive and smooth, and it carried.
Then a different voice spoke up, spit and fury and as familiar to Dean as his own.
What the fuck Sam doing down there? Dean couldn’t make out individual words, but Sam was definitely threatening the guy. Under all the bluster, though, Dean noticed deep rivers of panic.
He had to shut down hard on his first instinct to run in there, guns blazing. He bit his lip and cursed under his breath, gaining control but not happy about it. How the fucking hell did Sam get down there? And when? He should still be fuming angry in the motel room, waiting for Dean to show up. Instead he screws up, which was rare for Sam, and gets nabbed by the bad guy.
Dean sighed and got his head back in the zone, listening. There were no other voices, no other sounds Dean could be sure belonged to extra people, and with Sam already in the basement, Dean’s plan to do careful reconnaissance was shot. Didn’t matter if the guy was possessed or if he had a handful of quiet buddies, Dean was going in alone. Now.
Gun ready, he took a deep breath and headed down the stairs.
Sam had woken up tied to a chair, securely. His hands were bound to the arms of the chair, his ankles to chair legs, and the chair itself was crazy sturdy. Sam found that out right away when his adrenaline-fueled freak-out wasn’t enough to break the thing into splinters. In fact, he was barely strong enough to move it. It was ridiculous.
His fellow captive was still secured to the wall. The creature stared at Sam and hummed at a low rumble that seeped into Sam’s chest and made him nervous. They were separated by about eight feet, which allowed Sam a bit of relief as the purple-skinned thing couldn’t reach him. But what did the humming mean? He hadn’t seen the thing’s teeth. Was it carnivorous? Was it hungry?
Max had disappeared while Sam was out, so no clarification from him. Sam decided not to wait until Max came back to find out what the mystery creature’s humming meant. He struggled and pulled at the duct tape wrapped over and over around his limb. No success. He kept at it, but he’d made no progress when the pitch of the noise changed.
Sam looked over at the creature, but it wasn’t looking back at him anymore. It focused its gaze on the doorway. Max was back.
“I’m glad to see you woke up,” Max said. He took off his baseball cap and set it aside, which reduced the eerie pseudo-Bobby appearance. He had thick gray hair and no beard.
Sam started with bargaining. “Let me go right now, and I promise to forget we even met.”
“Can’t do that.”
“You have to, for your own good. I have a brother, and he’ll come after you. He might show up at any minute.”
Max just shook his head no.
“So what do you want from me?”
“What makes you think I want anything?”
“If I’m not dead yet, but you won’t let me go, there’s gotta be something you need me alive for. And I bet it has to do with… Hey, you never answered my question. Is it what I think it is? Is that creature an incubus?”
“Smart boy. You are exactly right.”
“But they aren’t corporeal. How can he be chained up and trapped here, physically?”
“They’re transient between the planes, not ghostly in the traditional, spirit-like sense…” Max chuckled and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Who would have thought I’d be giving a lesson at a time like this.”
Sam’s eyes locked on what Max was doing, and he licked parched lips before he speak again. “What do you mean, a time like this?”
“I gotta feed him,” Max said, and the droning noise rose to a higher frequency. Max pulled his shirt off, stepping up in front of Sam with a knife in his hand. “Sorry, but this won’t be very nice for you.” He started cutting Sam’s shirt off, sparing the skin so far.
“I mean it about my brother. He’ll-“
Heavy footsteps rushed into the room. “He wasn’t exaggerating about his brother.”
“Dean? Thank God.”
Max spun around Sam, pervert hands trailing over his shirtless skin, and then he pressed a cold knife blade against the front of Sam’s throat. He knelt behind Sam, using him as a shield, and while one hand held the knife, the other reached up under Sam’s arm to rest over his stomach. “Shit, that was fast. I’m impressed, kid, but drop the gun.”
Dean didn’t blink. He didn’t shoot, either.
“Come on, Dean. Take the fucking shot.”
“You shut your mouth.” Max reached his free hand over Sam’s balls and squeezed.
“Holy fuck!” Sam’s whole body jerked, but he was completely helpless, and he realized that was what Max wanted Dean to see. Max had the power to hurt Sam anyway he wanted, and with the knife at the front of Sam’s throat as it was, if Dean took the headshot, Max would pull the very-sharp knife over Sam’s throat as he fell back. Maybe. Max gambled on Dean not taking the risk.
Of course he was right.
“Okay, okay!” Dean turned the gun in his hand, finger off the trigger, barrel pointed at the ceiling.
“Don’t put your weapon down!” Sam shouted. “Look at that thing in the corner and tell me we’re gonna get out of here alive if you put your gun down!”
Dean crouched, hand and gun almost resting on the cement but not quite, and he looked over his shoulder at the incubus. “So that’s where the sound was coming from. What is it?”
“It’s a pet incubus, and I’m apparently his dinner if you put your gun down, Dean. I think I’d rather die quick if there are only the two choices.”
Dean froze in a squat, undecided. He hadn’t set his weapon aside, but he wasn’t getting back up again.
“Why do you keep it?” Dean asked of Max. “Somehow, you make the drug from it, right?”
So that was how Dean tracked him down so fast. He’d been working the case his unique angle, and they both ended up in the same spot. When they made it out of the basement - when, not if - Sam owed Dean an apology.
Max spoke up, breath warm against Sam’s ear. “I caught the thing by accident and experimented a little. Just being in his presence was a rush, and drinking his blood? I thought it might kill me, and I was fine with that, but when I was fine the next day and I did it again and again… So I thought, it’s about time I made some money from this fucking job. I lost my wife to this job, my house, my health… even got stuck in jail for a couple of years. Then most people don’t even thank me for saving them! I’d get out if I could, but it’s like I’ve got a target on my back after so many years neck deep in this shit. Damn it, you’re too young. You still have choices. You can’t understand what I’ve given up-“
That’s when Dean started laughing. “What you’ve given up?” He sounded manic. “You have no idea how bad it can get, so shut the fuck up about what the world owes you. How did those boys die, huh? And you were gonna kill Sam to feed your monster?” Dean stood up again, gun in hand. “Why did those boys die?”
Max’ tightened his hold over Sam’s chest, and the knife slipped a little, stinging. “Put your gun down.”
“No. This…it’s an incubus, it’s not like other demons. It doesn’t need to kill. Most of them aren’t bloodthirsty at all.”
“How do you know that?”
Dean laughed again with an even sharper edge to it. “I know demons, all kinds. Personally. Hey, incubus. Can we make a deal?”
“Dean, no!”
“What the hell are you doing, kid?”
Dean shot at one of the chains, ricochet going wild. To Sam’s complete surprise, the chain he’d aimed at weakened enough for the incubus to pull one limb free from the wall. “I got a lot more bullets.”
“You can’t be serious. The bullets’ll bounce back and hit us!”
“I’m a gambler,” Dean said. He smirked at the incubus and walked right up next to him, then he asked Max, “Why did those kids have to die?”
“All right! I’ll tell you-“
Bang! Now the incubus had one leg and one arm loose.
“I said I’d tell you!”
Bang! Only one leg was trapped.
“Killing them kept the incubus docile!” Max was practically hyperventilating. “The incubus was too strong for the chains alone when I fed him on good, healthy sex. With those boys, it was… so wrong. That energy kept the creature alive but weak, and so I used those boys. I fucked them and cut them up while I did it, and it worked. So I kept doing it.”
Nausea boiled up in Sam with every word sliding into his ear. Dean’s face went gray. “What gave you the right?” Dean asked. “You gave up a lot for the job, so now you deserve to get away with being the monster?”
“But I always picked the ones no one would miss! They were probably diseased, definitely drug addicts…Just prostitutes. Who ca-”
Bang. Max fell back and to the side, hole in his forehead.
The knife clattered to the floor, and Dean flew the couple of feet over to Sam’s side. “You’re okay, right? When he said that, I reacted, I didn’t think… but I sorta planned for it, I swear. Cause when I walked over to the incubus, the guy turned and the knife moved to the side. You couldn’t see it, but I did plan it out to a point.” Dean rubbed his hand over Sam’s neck and sighed. “Just a scratch.”
“Still stings when you stick your grubby fingers in it.”
Dean grinned and patted the red line once more. “Want me to kiss it better?”
Sam froze. “Um…”
“Don’t worry, I’m teasing ya. The boring, innocent kind of teasing. The drug worked its way out of my system, so relax, I’m not going to take advantage of you being tied to this chair like a virgin sacrifice.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Sam swallowed after a couple tries.
“Unless you want me to?”
“No, of course not!” Though he kinda did. “Incubus still in the room. Dead guy staring at us.”
Dean cut through the tape and helped Sam stand. “What if the dead guy weren’t-“
Was he serious or not? “Let’s talk about it tomorrow?”
Dean shrugged. “Corpse is a turn off. Got it. So let’s take care of the incubus.” Dean shot the final chain.
This time, since Sam’s arms were free, he cursed and covered his head while the ricochet zinged past. “We could have found a screwdriver or the key or something not dangerous.” Then Sam registered what that shot meant. The incubus was free. With chains dangling loose from wrists and ankles, he stood straight and tall, taller than Sam, but lanky and exhausted. His face seemed kind, but how could Sam know for sure?
“Dean?”
“The incubi aren’t really demons, not like the others.” Dean locked eyes with the incubus. “Sometimes they visit one person too often, take too much… but humans are usually overflowing with sexual energy.” Dean chuckled. “I certainly have some to spare.” He reached out and urged the incubus into a kiss.
It started slow. The incubus was weak and passive at first, and Dean ran his hands over the smooth dark purple shoulders, pulling gently until their lips aligned. Then nips and licks, and the incubus stepped closer, pressing up against Dean and wrapping wiry muscular arms around him, chains clinking. The kiss deepened and went on, and Sam couldn’t look away. Then Dean moaned into the creature’s mouth, caught further in the moment, but that was it. The incubus withdrew, eyes glowing and healthy, and then he dematerialized back to the between-planes where he apparently belonged.
The chains clattered to the cement, jerking Sam out of his stupor.
“Let’s…” Dean cleared his throat and rubbed his lips and tried again. “Okay, let’s clean up and get out of here.”
They started wiping surfaces free of fingerprints.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
Dean was leaning over the chair but staring at the wall where the incubus had been. “I’m sorry I lied. You know, about stuff. It’s just… I’m sure you have questions, and I knew you’d have questions, and for most of it I didn’t even have the words... Maybe I never will. I won’t lie anymore, but I might never tell you anything, either. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“So we’re good?”
“I’m the one who owes you an apology, dude.” Dean shrugged in confusion, so Sam elaborated. “You showed up and saved the day and saved my ass -“
“Literally.”
“Yeah, you literally saved my ass even after I was a jerk to you about the job.”
“An emo, snobbish, hard-headed jerk.”
Sam rolled his eyes. He knew things weren’t resolved completely. They were both pretty fucked up, but as long as they were talking about it, he had hope things would get better. “Whatever. I guess I deserve it. But, come on, admit it: We’re even, but we both suck.”
“Oh, no Sammy, we’re not even.” Dean smiled. Like the incubus after Dean’s kiss, there was a healthy radiance back in Dean’s eyes, a light Sam hadn’t realized was missing until he saw it returned. “I bet I suck much harder than you… But we can find out for sure tomorrow.”
The End
Part 1 | Part 2
Art Post
Author: 0perseda
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/character: Dean/OMC, Dean/Sam
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 13,000
Kink/Warnigngs: Slash, prostitution (adult and references to underage), incest themes, dub-con, drug use, angst, UST, language, violence
Notes: Many thanks due to my last-minute beta, eboniorchid. Remaining mistakes are all mine.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor its characters. This is entirely for fun, not profit.
Summary: Set mid season four: Sam and Dean are investigating a series of rent-boy murders when Dean discovers something new, and personal boundaries get crossed.
Artist: Art by the talented lightthesparks. Thanks so much! Check out other pieces from a variety of fandoms and leave feedback on this art here.
Sam hadn’t slept all night cause he stayed up waiting for Dean. Well, not only honest worry kept him restless. Everything Dean had said replayed over and over in his mind, along with images of fire and brimstone. And demons. Ruby let slip that she’d been human once, and Sam wondered… Dean had said he’d almost forgotten who he was. How far had Dean gone down the road to becoming a demon?
And what exactly was the process? Were they tortured into mindlessness and then retrained into whatever the upper-level demons wanted? Based on what Ruby had said, the hierarchy of demons was pretty extensive, and she certainly exhibited fear upon mention of -
“Fuck!” Sam shouted into the empty motel room, throwing his pillow at the wall. He needed to get the truth out of Dean because if he didn’t, the scenarios he kept coming up with… and not being able to settle the matter for his brain… each minute his imagination just went more and more…
Only his need to know was balanced, this morning, with a fear to know. What if the torments he was imagining were cotton candy and kittens compared to what Dean really experienced?
Then, shying away from exploring those thoughts, he fell right back on the second-most insistent worry keeping him from sitting still: He’d had dirty, fucked-up, hot fantasies about his brother haunting his brain since dinner, recurring all night, alternating with the vivid suspicions of things Dean might have endured in Hell. One minute his mind would flash Hieronymus Bosch paintings of insane orgies, shifting to visions of some of the horribly-maimed bodies he’d seen over the years as a Hunter… and then he’d remember the sinful pleasure on Dean’s face when he’d licked and sucked meaty juices from his fingers.
At dawn the horniness subsided, and he decided to never think again about - and definitely never admit to anyone else - how he’d jerked off twice while thinking about Dean’s lips and ass and wondering…
Oh, God. Sam groaned and rubbed at his temples, exhausted but lower belly tingling again. Atypical horniness had subsided, but it so wasn’t gone yet.
Had he passed some point of no return? Now that the amazing sensations and possibilities had imprinted on his libido, would Sam always, forever-fucking-more, see Dean as someone to… Wow. Thing was, over the hours he became less and less disturbed by the concept. His thoughts shifted more and more to excitement and wondering why they never experimented before.
Sam needed to get out of the motel room and get distracted. For the first time in his life, he accepted that too much thinking was bad for him. They had a case to solve. People were getting murdered, and Sam was just lying there wanking - literally and mentally.
He got cleaned up and ready to go in record time, considering he had to stop and jerk off just one more time before he could finish his shower. It had to be the drug leaking from Dean’s skin or breath and contaminating Sam because even as a spotty adolescent he never recovered like this with nothing but his hand and fantasies to goad him on.
Relieved for the moment, the worry returned, and he checked his phone to see if Dean had left a message. Nothing from Dean, but the other Hunter on this case had texted.
My apartment @ 8. Compare notes.
It had been sent around six in the morning, and Sam wasn’t surprised he hadn’t noticed. At least he’d caught it in time to make the meeting.
Except, of course, that Dean had the Impala. Sam checked his watch and called a cab.
The drug dealer was a scruffy-looking guy in his fifties.
He wasn’t at all what Dean had expected, and with his practical clothes and a sharp eye, he reminded Dean a little of Dad, even down to the way he checked his ankle holster when he got out of his car. It was an absent-minded gesture, a habit burned into his routine from long years of wariness, a practice learned by men like cops or Hunters.
Hadn’t Sam said there was another Hunter in town?
Dean’s good mood plummeted. This guy was the drug dealer - Dean had seen it with his own eyes. And it looked like he might also be the Hunter Sam mentioned. So what kind of a drug did a Hunter deal? So it was new and amazing with no apparent dangers or side effects. Sounded too good to be true. Was he using magic he gleaned from witches over the years? Or maybe he had a freakish Malaysian talisman or a deal with a demon to get the not-quite-natural drug recipe of a lifetime? Whatever it was, there’d be a catch. There always was.
The real question was, who paid for it and how? Beyond the money, who paid the paranormal cost in souls or blood or energy? Dean suspected it was those dead kids, the ones who’d had crappy lives to begin with and then got murdered and mutilated and dumped in the street like trash.
Dean took a deep breath and licked his lips, ideas forming of the all the appropriate ways he could hurt this bastard before letting him die. So what if he was human? If he’d been using Hunter knowledge and paranormal shit to hurt children, Dean was more than prepared to take him down. Sam might want to call the police or whatever… So it was a good thing Sam wasn’t there, and Dean didn’t plan to call him unless he found out the guy was possessed. He’d call Sam for back up if the guy was possessed by a demon.
Otherwise? Dean grinned, feral. Otherwise, he didn’t want an audience.
Sam met the Hunter in his apartment on time.
“The ‘sorry’ on the post-it was a nice touch,” was the first thing the man said to Sam.
“I thought it was appropriate after I picked the lock and let myself in.”
They sized each other up in the doorway, and Sam found the Hunter to be as expected, if a bit older. He was a cross between Bobby and Pastor Jim, which seemed like an odd combination at first. The man - Max Rascon, likely not his real name - had a soothing, wise voice like Jim, but he moved and dressed like Bobby. Too similar. Sam almost asked if there were some secret Hunter uniform he’d have to wear if he made it past fifty.
“C’mon in, kid.”
Sam crossed the salt line at the doorway and accepted a splash of holy water while running his own tests which were less obvious. Since he’d started drinking from Ruby, he could sense demons. It took some concentration, and the awareness was subtle, but it was clear whether a body was possessed.
Max was clean.
“All right, then. What can you share with me about these murders?” Sam asked.
“Well, all the stuff I’ve got up here is probably the same as what got you to town in the first place.” He gestured around the cluttered apartment. “You already took a look, right? I got the newspaper clippings and autopsy reports and crime scene photos, both official and my own. But down in the basement I got some other stuff locked up, stuff that’s harder to explain away if I got caught with it. This building is mostly empty, but not completely, and I don’t want to end up in jail for working a job. Again.”
“Yeah, been there.” Sam nodded. “What kind of evidence did you find?”
“It’d be easier to show you cause really… I’m not sure what it is.”
An alarm went off in Sam’s head, but it was weak enough he could convince himself it was paranoia. Regardless, he planned to be on his guard when he followed this stranger into the basement of an abandoned building. Without Dean for backup. He considered sending Dean a text at least so, worst case scenario, Dean knew where to come find his corpse and get revenge, but Sam was certain this guy was a Hunter, and what reason would a Hunter have to kill another? But Sam let Max lead the way, keeping his guard up and senses alert.
Even with all that, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Sam walked down the basement steps after Max and then stood dumbfounded by the creature chained to the wall. It lay sleeping on the cold cement, bald head resting on its hands, and its rich purple skin was marked in lines of red blood and scrapes like road rash. It jerked awake when the two Hunters got closer, rising into a sitting position to stare at them, and when its opalescent eyes fell on Sam, he leaned towards it with an ache to help it, to touch it… to touch himself…
“Wait, no way… Is that what I think it is?” Sam asked and shook his head, resisting the pull. “How did-“
Everything went black.
When Dean snuck into the basement, he distanced himself from his feelings and compartmentalized as much as he could.
First he noticed the low keening noise underlying everything, which he thought might be machinery because the drone was so consistent and low-pitched. He took in the rest of the sounds before he went down the stairs, hoping to avoid dropping into the center of a bad-guy convention. Over the noise of the machine, there was the Hunter’s voice. It was muffled, but Dean was sure it was the drug dealer. He’d talked a lot with the buyers when Dean followed him earlier, and his voice was distinctive and smooth, and it carried.
Then a different voice spoke up, spit and fury and as familiar to Dean as his own.
What the fuck Sam doing down there? Dean couldn’t make out individual words, but Sam was definitely threatening the guy. Under all the bluster, though, Dean noticed deep rivers of panic.
He had to shut down hard on his first instinct to run in there, guns blazing. He bit his lip and cursed under his breath, gaining control but not happy about it. How the fucking hell did Sam get down there? And when? He should still be fuming angry in the motel room, waiting for Dean to show up. Instead he screws up, which was rare for Sam, and gets nabbed by the bad guy.
Dean sighed and got his head back in the zone, listening. There were no other voices, no other sounds Dean could be sure belonged to extra people, and with Sam already in the basement, Dean’s plan to do careful reconnaissance was shot. Didn’t matter if the guy was possessed or if he had a handful of quiet buddies, Dean was going in alone. Now.
Gun ready, he took a deep breath and headed down the stairs.
Sam had woken up tied to a chair, securely. His hands were bound to the arms of the chair, his ankles to chair legs, and the chair itself was crazy sturdy. Sam found that out right away when his adrenaline-fueled freak-out wasn’t enough to break the thing into splinters. In fact, he was barely strong enough to move it. It was ridiculous.
His fellow captive was still secured to the wall. The creature stared at Sam and hummed at a low rumble that seeped into Sam’s chest and made him nervous. They were separated by about eight feet, which allowed Sam a bit of relief as the purple-skinned thing couldn’t reach him. But what did the humming mean? He hadn’t seen the thing’s teeth. Was it carnivorous? Was it hungry?
Max had disappeared while Sam was out, so no clarification from him. Sam decided not to wait until Max came back to find out what the mystery creature’s humming meant. He struggled and pulled at the duct tape wrapped over and over around his limb. No success. He kept at it, but he’d made no progress when the pitch of the noise changed.
Sam looked over at the creature, but it wasn’t looking back at him anymore. It focused its gaze on the doorway. Max was back.
“I’m glad to see you woke up,” Max said. He took off his baseball cap and set it aside, which reduced the eerie pseudo-Bobby appearance. He had thick gray hair and no beard.
Sam started with bargaining. “Let me go right now, and I promise to forget we even met.”
“Can’t do that.”
“You have to, for your own good. I have a brother, and he’ll come after you. He might show up at any minute.”
Max just shook his head no.
“So what do you want from me?”
“What makes you think I want anything?”
“If I’m not dead yet, but you won’t let me go, there’s gotta be something you need me alive for. And I bet it has to do with… Hey, you never answered my question. Is it what I think it is? Is that creature an incubus?”
“Smart boy. You are exactly right.”
“But they aren’t corporeal. How can he be chained up and trapped here, physically?”
“They’re transient between the planes, not ghostly in the traditional, spirit-like sense…” Max chuckled and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Who would have thought I’d be giving a lesson at a time like this.”
Sam’s eyes locked on what Max was doing, and he licked parched lips before he speak again. “What do you mean, a time like this?”
“I gotta feed him,” Max said, and the droning noise rose to a higher frequency. Max pulled his shirt off, stepping up in front of Sam with a knife in his hand. “Sorry, but this won’t be very nice for you.” He started cutting Sam’s shirt off, sparing the skin so far.
“I mean it about my brother. He’ll-“
Heavy footsteps rushed into the room. “He wasn’t exaggerating about his brother.”
“Dean? Thank God.”
Max spun around Sam, pervert hands trailing over his shirtless skin, and then he pressed a cold knife blade against the front of Sam’s throat. He knelt behind Sam, using him as a shield, and while one hand held the knife, the other reached up under Sam’s arm to rest over his stomach. “Shit, that was fast. I’m impressed, kid, but drop the gun.”
Dean didn’t blink. He didn’t shoot, either.
“Come on, Dean. Take the fucking shot.”
“You shut your mouth.” Max reached his free hand over Sam’s balls and squeezed.
“Holy fuck!” Sam’s whole body jerked, but he was completely helpless, and he realized that was what Max wanted Dean to see. Max had the power to hurt Sam anyway he wanted, and with the knife at the front of Sam’s throat as it was, if Dean took the headshot, Max would pull the very-sharp knife over Sam’s throat as he fell back. Maybe. Max gambled on Dean not taking the risk.
Of course he was right.
“Okay, okay!” Dean turned the gun in his hand, finger off the trigger, barrel pointed at the ceiling.
“Don’t put your weapon down!” Sam shouted. “Look at that thing in the corner and tell me we’re gonna get out of here alive if you put your gun down!”
Dean crouched, hand and gun almost resting on the cement but not quite, and he looked over his shoulder at the incubus. “So that’s where the sound was coming from. What is it?”
“It’s a pet incubus, and I’m apparently his dinner if you put your gun down, Dean. I think I’d rather die quick if there are only the two choices.”
Dean froze in a squat, undecided. He hadn’t set his weapon aside, but he wasn’t getting back up again.
“Why do you keep it?” Dean asked of Max. “Somehow, you make the drug from it, right?”
So that was how Dean tracked him down so fast. He’d been working the case his unique angle, and they both ended up in the same spot. When they made it out of the basement - when, not if - Sam owed Dean an apology.
Max spoke up, breath warm against Sam’s ear. “I caught the thing by accident and experimented a little. Just being in his presence was a rush, and drinking his blood? I thought it might kill me, and I was fine with that, but when I was fine the next day and I did it again and again… So I thought, it’s about time I made some money from this fucking job. I lost my wife to this job, my house, my health… even got stuck in jail for a couple of years. Then most people don’t even thank me for saving them! I’d get out if I could, but it’s like I’ve got a target on my back after so many years neck deep in this shit. Damn it, you’re too young. You still have choices. You can’t understand what I’ve given up-“
That’s when Dean started laughing. “What you’ve given up?” He sounded manic. “You have no idea how bad it can get, so shut the fuck up about what the world owes you. How did those boys die, huh? And you were gonna kill Sam to feed your monster?” Dean stood up again, gun in hand. “Why did those boys die?”
Max’ tightened his hold over Sam’s chest, and the knife slipped a little, stinging. “Put your gun down.”
“No. This…it’s an incubus, it’s not like other demons. It doesn’t need to kill. Most of them aren’t bloodthirsty at all.”
“How do you know that?”
Dean laughed again with an even sharper edge to it. “I know demons, all kinds. Personally. Hey, incubus. Can we make a deal?”
“Dean, no!”
“What the hell are you doing, kid?”
Dean shot at one of the chains, ricochet going wild. To Sam’s complete surprise, the chain he’d aimed at weakened enough for the incubus to pull one limb free from the wall. “I got a lot more bullets.”
“You can’t be serious. The bullets’ll bounce back and hit us!”
“I’m a gambler,” Dean said. He smirked at the incubus and walked right up next to him, then he asked Max, “Why did those kids have to die?”
“All right! I’ll tell you-“
Bang! Now the incubus had one leg and one arm loose.
“I said I’d tell you!”
Bang! Only one leg was trapped.
“Killing them kept the incubus docile!” Max was practically hyperventilating. “The incubus was too strong for the chains alone when I fed him on good, healthy sex. With those boys, it was… so wrong. That energy kept the creature alive but weak, and so I used those boys. I fucked them and cut them up while I did it, and it worked. So I kept doing it.”
Nausea boiled up in Sam with every word sliding into his ear. Dean’s face went gray. “What gave you the right?” Dean asked. “You gave up a lot for the job, so now you deserve to get away with being the monster?”
“But I always picked the ones no one would miss! They were probably diseased, definitely drug addicts…Just prostitutes. Who ca-”
Bang. Max fell back and to the side, hole in his forehead.
The knife clattered to the floor, and Dean flew the couple of feet over to Sam’s side. “You’re okay, right? When he said that, I reacted, I didn’t think… but I sorta planned for it, I swear. Cause when I walked over to the incubus, the guy turned and the knife moved to the side. You couldn’t see it, but I did plan it out to a point.” Dean rubbed his hand over Sam’s neck and sighed. “Just a scratch.”
“Still stings when you stick your grubby fingers in it.”
Dean grinned and patted the red line once more. “Want me to kiss it better?”
Sam froze. “Um…”
“Don’t worry, I’m teasing ya. The boring, innocent kind of teasing. The drug worked its way out of my system, so relax, I’m not going to take advantage of you being tied to this chair like a virgin sacrifice.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Sam swallowed after a couple tries.
“Unless you want me to?”
“No, of course not!” Though he kinda did. “Incubus still in the room. Dead guy staring at us.”
Dean cut through the tape and helped Sam stand. “What if the dead guy weren’t-“
Was he serious or not? “Let’s talk about it tomorrow?”
Dean shrugged. “Corpse is a turn off. Got it. So let’s take care of the incubus.” Dean shot the final chain.
This time, since Sam’s arms were free, he cursed and covered his head while the ricochet zinged past. “We could have found a screwdriver or the key or something not dangerous.” Then Sam registered what that shot meant. The incubus was free. With chains dangling loose from wrists and ankles, he stood straight and tall, taller than Sam, but lanky and exhausted. His face seemed kind, but how could Sam know for sure?
“Dean?”
“The incubi aren’t really demons, not like the others.” Dean locked eyes with the incubus. “Sometimes they visit one person too often, take too much… but humans are usually overflowing with sexual energy.” Dean chuckled. “I certainly have some to spare.” He reached out and urged the incubus into a kiss.
It started slow. The incubus was weak and passive at first, and Dean ran his hands over the smooth dark purple shoulders, pulling gently until their lips aligned. Then nips and licks, and the incubus stepped closer, pressing up against Dean and wrapping wiry muscular arms around him, chains clinking. The kiss deepened and went on, and Sam couldn’t look away. Then Dean moaned into the creature’s mouth, caught further in the moment, but that was it. The incubus withdrew, eyes glowing and healthy, and then he dematerialized back to the between-planes where he apparently belonged.
The chains clattered to the cement, jerking Sam out of his stupor.
“Let’s…” Dean cleared his throat and rubbed his lips and tried again. “Okay, let’s clean up and get out of here.”
They started wiping surfaces free of fingerprints.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
Dean was leaning over the chair but staring at the wall where the incubus had been. “I’m sorry I lied. You know, about stuff. It’s just… I’m sure you have questions, and I knew you’d have questions, and for most of it I didn’t even have the words... Maybe I never will. I won’t lie anymore, but I might never tell you anything, either. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“So we’re good?”
“I’m the one who owes you an apology, dude.” Dean shrugged in confusion, so Sam elaborated. “You showed up and saved the day and saved my ass -“
“Literally.”
“Yeah, you literally saved my ass even after I was a jerk to you about the job.”
“An emo, snobbish, hard-headed jerk.”
Sam rolled his eyes. He knew things weren’t resolved completely. They were both pretty fucked up, but as long as they were talking about it, he had hope things would get better. “Whatever. I guess I deserve it. But, come on, admit it: We’re even, but we both suck.”
“Oh, no Sammy, we’re not even.” Dean smiled. Like the incubus after Dean’s kiss, there was a healthy radiance back in Dean’s eyes, a light Sam hadn’t realized was missing until he saw it returned. “I bet I suck much harder than you… But we can find out for sure tomorrow.”
The End
Part 1 | Part 2
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