A Twist of Fate
Part Four (A)
May 1873
Sam was going to be tall. Of that, he was certain. He was only fourteen and already he was five foot eleven inches. Dean was tall-at eighteen he was a solid six foot one, but judging by the size of Sam’s own hands and feet, he strongly suspected that he was going to be even bigger than his older brother, and in their world an imposing height was definitely a good thing.
As Sam headed for home, striding confidently through the twisted maze of alleys and laneways that was his neighborhood, he noted with pride how people already shrank away from him. His shadow, thrown up on the alley walls behind him by the morning’s dawning rays looked big, dark and menacing and Sam was positive that one day he would be as imposing a figure as his shadow.
In many ways, Sam already seemed bigger than he was. He was Gordon’s right hand man and it was widely acknowledged (although never to Gordon’s face) that Sam was the brains of the crew. He had the protection rackets working like clockwork and since Sam had started researching and procuring the burglary and armed robbery jobs, there had been far fewer murders committed in the commission of their crimes, and fewer arrests too. The biggest benefit, though, was that Alastair was no longer providing the intel for the jobs, which meant that his cut of the burglary and armed robbery profits was much smaller. Gordon’s cut-and this was the significant part-was accordingly much, much larger; and he liked that-and therefore Sam-a lot.
Alastair didn’t like Sam very much and not just because he’d done him out of easy money. Alastair could sense that Dean’d had some experience in performing sexual services for men back before the Winchesters had joined the Unholy Trinity, and he knew that in large part, Dean’s continued, infuriating refusal to work in his brothels was because he’d promised Sam he wouldn’t do that sort of thing anymore. Alastair not only wanted Dean in his employ, but also in his bed and so far, he’d been completely unable to persuade him into it. Sam had it on good authority that Alastair’s patience was starting to wear thin, especially now that Dean was eighteen. It was a worry, but Dean had been deftly side-stepping the man’s advances for six years now and Sam knew that Alastair wouldn’t want to risk completely antagonizing Dean because he did earn a lot of money for the Unholy Trinity.
Dean was not only one of the best conmen the Trinity had, he also had a brilliant scam going making counterfeit national bank notes and was, under the title of ‘person or persons unknown,’ at the top of the Secret Service’s Most Wanted list. The thought made Sam shudder. If Dean were caught, he’d be hanged for sure. Then again, he himself ran the same risk every time he went out on a Job. They lived in a dangerous world and survival was by no means guaranteed. Just last year Ansem had been hanged. Scott and Billy were both dead too; Billy was ganked by the Dead Rabbits and Scott had gotten on Gordon’s bad side and been knifed in the back. And Artful Andy? He’d seen the writing on the wall when his older brother had been executed and had bought himself passage out to Victoria, Australia. Apparently there was a gold rush going on and he wanted a fresh start for himself; a new life. Sam was pleased for him, but he missed him a great deal and hoped that he was doing alright.
Sam started up the stairs towards the room that he and his brother shared in one of the better tenement buildings in the neighborhood. The stairs were barely rotted; only a couple of steps were dodgy; and the room itself was a decent size. Sam paused briefly at the door, just long enough to note that there was no sock hung on the door knob. He breathed a sigh of relief. The Job he’d just finished up had been tougher than expected and he wanted nothing more than to wash up, have a drink and fall into bed. If he’d had to sit out in the corridor for however long while his brother finished fucking his latest playmate, he would’ve been really pissed.
Dean went through women the way some men went through hot dinners; something new and different every day. Sam rubbed absently at his jaw. He still thought that Dean was over compensating for the things he’d been forced to do in his younger days; and the fact that a lot of men still looked at him like he was a tasty rabbit and they were hungry wolves; but the first (and last) time he’d mentioned this to Dean his brother had knocked him on his ass with a well-aimed punch to his jaw.
Sam entered the room and relaxed immediately; he was home. Of course, home would always be wherever Dean was, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t proud of this place. With the exception of Jo, none of their friends had a room as big and well-appointed as this. Jo lived in at Harvelle’s Whorehouse; she and her Momma had a comfortable private room off the main entertainment suite; so Sam wasn’t sure that was a fair comparison. In any event, his and Dean’s room was big enough for a proper kitchen table with four chairs, a couple of easy chairs, a couple of cupboards and-the thing Sam was most proud of-a proper four-poster bed, tucked away behind a thick canvas curtain. In these parts, very few people could afford more than a straw mattress on the floor and Sam was justifiably proud of the fact that he and Dean had a proper bed. There had been one or two suggestive comments made (by Alastair’s cohorts for the most part), but in an area where poverty was rife and space was at a premium, it wasn’t at all uncommon for siblings to share a bed. And in the middle of winter, when the temperature in New York had dipped to well below freezing, the opportunity to share body heat was invaluable. Dean and Sam Winchester slept together in only the most literal sense of the word; the fact that they were brothers aside, they were both far too interested in girls to look at each other with anything other than strictly fraternal love. Still, the many men who’d been on the receiving end of Sam’s cold, clinical violence would’ve been astounded to hear that the rage-filled maiming-machine who’d pounded them bloody had trouble falling asleep unless his big brother’s arms were wrapped around him. Sam sighed. Azazel hadn’t been too far off the mark when he’d told them they were unhealthily co-dependent.
Dean wasn’t in the main part of the room, but Sam could hear splashing coming from the tiny annex off to the side. Here, they had set up a tub, a wash basin and a commode and although there wasn’t room for more than one person to enter the annex at a time, the boys relished having a private area set aside for washing and grooming. Sam took a deep breath and sighed happily. One of the things he loved most about their home was the clean smell. Dean had fixed up the fire place with a proper chimney that exhausted the smoke outside, and had used his connections to get them real, properly fitted glass windows. Nothing in their room was rotted or broken, they kept the place clean, and Dean even had sweet-smelling incense burning around the place, a trick he’d learnt from a Chinese girl.
Sam moved quietly across the room until he was leaning in the annex door way. The tub was half full of steaming water and Dean was standing next to it, toweling himself vigorously.
‘Morning Professor,’ he grinned pushing past Sam and heading for the curtained off area they used as a bedroom. ‘Tub’s still hot if you wanna wash up.’
When they’d first arrived in New York, Sam had wanted to go to school badly, so Dean had organized for him to attend the local mission school a few days a week. He’d spun a huge yarn about their parents having a dairy farm just outside of town and his good looks and quick tongue had deflected all requests to meet their parents for a good long while. Ma and Pa can’t leave the farm, the cows are calving; the cows are sick; they’ve just got a big order in and they’re milking 24/7. Ma and Pa can’t read, he’d told them when they’d tried to send notes home. It had taken nearly a year for the teachers to realize that there were no parents and never had been, and Dean had had to yank Sam from class quick smart and go into hiding to avoid the attentions of the Children’s Aid Society who wanted to put them both in an orphanage. Dean and Sam had conned the teachers at the mission school into thinking they had parents with a dairy farm for eight whole months, and even though Azazel had taken a razor strop to both of them when he’d found out what they’d been up to, he had been impressed. The lesson hadn’t been ‘don’t pull cons’ it had been ‘don’t pull cons without permission.’
Sam was a very able student and even though he’d been forced to drop out of education, he’d learnt almost as much as the mission school had to teach him anyway. Since then, he’d been self-taught; buying books and reading up on mathematics, history, philosophy, science, and law every chance he got. Dean had been teasing him with the nickname ‘professor’ since Sam was ten, but Sam was smart enough to know the teasing merely camouflaged Dean’s pride in his gifted little brother.
Sam waited until Dean was dressed in his underclothes and then said:
‘Dean?’
When his brother looked at him he straightened up and let Dean see the pain he was in; the way he was favoring his left arm.
‘Fuck,’ said Dean, ‘Dislocated?’
‘Yeah. Could you pop it back for me?’
Dean nodded.
‘Anything else I need to know about?’
Sam unbuckled his trousers, peeled back his bloody underwear and showed his brother the knife slash across his hip.
‘It’s just a scratch,’ he said, ‘but the knife was a bit rusty.’
‘Shit,’ Dean poked at it gently with his fingers, ‘it’s already starting to heal. Give it a good wash in the tub and we’ll get it disinfected with hooch. Let’s get your shoulder sorted. On three, okay?’ he put his hands on either side of Sam’s left shoulder.
‘C’mon Sam, you’ve gotta relax or it’s gonna hurt like hell. It’s alright. I’ll give you fair warning before-’
He slammed Sam’s shoulder back into position.
‘Sonovabitch!’ Sam yelled, ‘You call that fair warning?’
Dean shrugged. ‘If I give you fair warning you tense up. Gotta catch you by surprise.’
He disappeared from the annex, giving Sam time and privacy to strip his clothes off and get into the tub. He was back almost as soon as Sam was in the water with a tumbler of whiskey which he handed to his younger brother.
Sam took a sip and raised an eyebrow. ‘The good stuff, huh?’
‘So what happened?’
Sam almost shrugged, but then thought better of it.
‘The barber? Over on Orange Street? Decided to take pride in his Irish heritage. We got there to pick up The Trinity’s weekly tribute and he told us our services were no longer required, the Dead Rabbits were looking after him now. There was a short, heated conversation, he got a lucky swipe in with the knife, Jack and I showed him the error of his ways and he paid what was owed.’
‘And the shoulder?’
Sam took a long drink, his eyes averted.
‘That was an accident.’ He looked up. ‘Gordon kinda lost it when I told him about the barber. I didn’t get out the way quick enough.’
Dean’s eyes darkened.
‘Sonovabitch,’ he muttered. ‘One day I’m gonna rip that asshole’s head off!’
Sam grinned. ‘Okay so now that you’ve done your Mother Hen routine, you wanna get outta here? Let me bathe in private?’
Dean rolled his eyes and moved away.
When Sam finally reappeared Dean was at his side instantly, swabbing his hip with alcohol and tying gauze over the wound, despite Sam swatting at his hands and telling him he could take care of himself.
‘Get dressed,’ was Dean’s only response. ‘I’m making eggs and toast.’
‘So,’ said Dean, when Sam slid into the seat opposite him, ‘rumble at the barber’s next week, huh? Dead Rabbits’ll send a full squad in to defend the barber; Gordon’ll send a full squad in to make sure he collects his tribute. All Hell’s gonna break loose.’
Sam made a non-committal noise and Dean’s eyes narrowed.
‘Gordon’d better lead the squad,’ he said, ‘He will, right?’
Sam had been shoveling away his fried egg while his brother talked and he took another couple of huge bites now to buy himself some time.
‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘Gordon ain’t gonna be there. He’s heading out day after next to crack the flash toffs’ summer cribs; Long Island first, then up to Boston, Maine and so on.’
Dean’s eyes tightened in that way that said he was not only angry but a little scared too.
‘Oh, so…what? He’s gonna leave you to clean up this mess? God damn it Sam! You’re only fourteen!’
Sam shoveled the last of his egg and toast into his mouth.
‘Actually,’ he said, striving for nonchalance and failing badly if Dean’s sudden tension was anything to go by, ‘Gordon wants me to go with him.’
When he couldn’t stand the silence any more, Sam glanced up at Dean.
‘You’re not going, right?’ Dean said.
‘Actually…I think I will.’
There was another silence.
‘But you’ll be gone for, what? Three months?’
‘About that,’ Sam agreed.
Dean ran a hand across his jaw.
‘Why? You got enough work here to keep you busy for months! You don’t need to leave.’
‘Dean, this is huge! Gordon’s a master cracksman and he’s never taken anyone with him to hit the summer cribs before. He’s got his own Fence out there, always makes a fortune and Azazel and Alastair, they don’t get much of a cut. Him letting me in on that? Don’t you see, Dean? If Gordon gets shanked, or hanged or when he just gets too old to keep going, I’m gonna be the one to step into his shoes. I need to do this. It’s like…God, Dean it’s…for me? This is like going to college!’
Dean collected the empty plates and dumped them in the Annex’s wash basin.
‘I can’t believe you’re planning to just take off!’
‘I’m gonna come back!’
‘Are you?’
‘Of course I am. Fuck, Dean. You know I have trouble sleeping if I can’t hear you breathing! I’m just going to do a Job; that’s all.’
Dean studied him intently for a moment and then sighed and nodded.
‘I don’t like the thought of us being apart. How’m I s’posed to look out for you if you’re in another city? But… if it’s what you really wanna do, I ain’t gonna stop you.’
‘Thank you.’ Sam said fervently.
Dean turned away. ‘I’m gonna hit the sack.’
Sam waited until Dean was tucked up in bed and then slipped in beside him, spooning him from behind and wrapping his arms around him.
‘Seriously. Thank you.’
‘Get off me you big fuckin’ girl,’ Dean said, but Sam could hear the grin in his voice, so he knew he wasn’t really mad.
-X-
Dean rolled over in bed (far too big and empty now that Sam had gone) and groaned, wishing to Christ his head would stop throbbing. It was pounding so loud it was almost as if…
Dean opened his eyes and cocked an ear towards the door.
Goddamn it. Someone was pounding on his door.
‘Fuck off!’ he yelled.
‘Dean?’
Ah hell.
Dean slipped out of bed and threw open the door.
‘What?’ he glared at Jo.
She looked him up and down.
‘You open the door to everyone in your underwear?’
‘What d’you care?’ he challenged, ‘you’ve seen me wearing less.’
Jo shoved him back through his open door, which she closed behind her.
‘You’re a class act, Dean. You know the sock’s still on the door knob, right?’
Dean frowned. It was habit that was all. So Sam had been gone two months; so there was no-one to warn that there was some hanky panky going on inside; so he’d been so drunk last night that he couldn’t even remember who he’d been with, let alone whether he’d thought to take the sock off the door knob when he was done.
‘So where is she?’
‘Who?’
‘The broad you banged last night.’
Dean shrugged. ‘Guess I kicked her out. You know I don’t like ‘em sleeping over.’
‘Yeah,’ Jo folded her arms, ‘I remember. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.’
Dean raised his eyebrows. ‘Fuck off, Jo. I learnt that trick from you.’
Jo’s mouth twitched and then she threw her head back and laughed.
‘Okay,’ she held her hands up, palms out. ‘Truce?’
She sat down at the kitchen table.
‘How about you offer a lady a coffee? And while you’re at it, make one for yourself. You look like shit and you smell like a still.’
Dean dropped some wood into the fireplace and poked at the smoldering embers, stoking the fire.
‘Don’t see no ladies around here,’ he muttered as he filled the kettle with water from the barrel.
‘Oh ha ha. I ain’t never heard that one before. Unlike you, least I get paid for swingin’ my ass all around town!’
Dean’s hands stilled over the coffee cups.
‘You ain’t here with another one of Alastair’s sales pitches are you?’
Jo snorted and gave him a bitch face that she must’ve stolen from Sam. Or maybe Sam stole it from her. Either way, it shut him down fast.
‘Okay, okay. Sorry.’
He handed Jo one of the coffee cups, and sat down opposite her.
She reached out and put a hand over his.
‘If you would just find yourself a nice girl and settle down, I’m pretty sure Alastair would back off. He just can’t stand the fact that you’re giving it away for free. You put it about like a whore, Dean; it pisses him off that he ain’t makin’ a profit outta you.’
‘The Trinity doesn’t own me.’ Dean spat, snatching his hand away. ‘What I do in my spare time is my business!’
Jo just looked sad, and okay, Dean didn’t believe what he’d just said any more than Jo did. The Trinity did own him, every inch of him, just like they owned Jo; and Ellen; and Sam; and everyone else. The only way out of the Trinity was in a body bag, unless you were as crafty as Artful Andy and you managed to escape to Australia. Dean could fight the unholy threesome all he wanted, but unless he was willing and able to take them all out, ultimately he would always end up doing as he was told. If he wasn’t making so much money for them with the cons, the hustles and the counterfeiting scams, Dean knew that Alastair would’ve forced the whole brothel issue years ago.
Dean ran a tired hand over his face. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘if Alastair just wanted me to play Boy Toy to the wealthy widows, I’d seriously think about it. But you know what he wants, Jo, and I’m not just gonna roll over and do that.’
Jo nodded.
‘Well I’m just here as a friend. You’ve been awful quiet since your last Job and, well, if you don’t keep bringin’ home the big wins the Trinity’s got used to, it’s gonna give Alastair all the excuse he needs. So tell me what’s goin’ on with you. Do you miss Sam? Is that it?’
Now it was Dean’s turn to snort. ‘Yeah, I miss Sam, but that ain’t the problem.’
‘Then what is?’
Dean took a sip of his coffee. It was strong and bitter and smacked him upside the head in exactly the same way Jo was doing.
‘I fucked up, okay?’ he said, ‘And no, I don’t really wanna talk about it.’
Jo gave him a hard look.
‘How d’you fuck up? Are we in danger?’
Dean shook his head.
‘You know about my last job?’
Jo nodded.
‘Buncha whites with black partners, some even had kids together. Azazel sent you out to blackmail ‘em.’
Dean’s jaw clenched.
‘Right,’ he said tightly, ‘and that didn’t sit well with me. I tried real hard to get outta that gig. Anyway, as luck would have it, I found me an alternative. There was a sick pervert up there who was murdering blacks, just for the hell of it. A rich kid. I showed his daddy proof and then blackmailed daddy for my silence. Only not long after, the kid got himself killed, so of course the blackmail money dried up. Azazel wanted me to go back after the salt ‘n’ pepper couples but I couldn’t. They were good folks, Jo, decent, and…I…just couldn’t do it.’
‘You liked them,’ Jo said softly, ‘you liked your marks.’
Dean looked down at the table.
‘There was a girl,’ he said softly, ‘Cassie. Her momma was white, her daddy was black. Smart girl; beautiful; a real spit fire. She was doin’ well for herself, passin’ as Creole. I…’ Dean hunched in on himself and Jo’s eyes widened.
‘Oh Dean,’ she murmured, ‘you fell in love. I thought I taught you better’n that, boy! Never fall in love with a mark; never fall in love with a john. Never. It’s the golden rule.’
‘I know.’ Dean looked up, his eyes miserable, ‘but I fell hard. So hard, that I told her the truth.’
Jo’s eyes narrowed.
‘What? What truth? You said we weren’t in any danger! Goddamn it Dean! What did you tell her?’
‘Relax. Not enough for her to identify me or the Trinity. Just enough for her to know what I am. What I do. She…didn’t take it too well. So. Yeah.’
‘What did you tell Azazel?’
Dean laughed unhappily. ‘Like I’ve ever been able to lie to ol’ Yellow Eyes.’
Jo’s eyes were full of compassion.
‘Bad?’
Dean shrugged.
‘Bad enough. Not like I didn’t deserve it.’
‘Anything I need to take a look at?’
Dean shook his head. ‘The bruising’s almost gone. And he didn’t crack any of my ribs this time, so I’m practically as good as new now.’
Jo sighed and put a hand to his cheek. ‘At least he didn’t mess up your pretty face.’
Dean grimaced. ‘Well he’s not stupid, is he? Not gonna make as much money if my face is battered, am I?’
They sat in silence for a while, finishing their coffee, and then Jo said:
‘So what you need is a chance to redeem yourself, right?’
Dean pulled a face.
‘I guess. What did you have in mind?’
‘Alastair’s planning a Job-no, wait Dean, not that kind of job, it’s a con job.’
‘Yeah?’
Jo nodded. ‘Yeah. The mark is one of the late Boss Tweed’s protégés. Rich as fuck and all of it earned in kickbacks. He plays poker at the Rosewood Club on Fifth Avenue every Friday night and he always hires their penthouse for the evening. According to Alastair’s source, this guy is so paranoid that his money’ll get cabbaged that he takes it everywhere with him; keeps thousands of dollars strapped to his body at all times. Alastair wants me to go in to Rosewood with one of Azazel’s boys. The boy’ll be a badger, playing the role of a young gentleman. He’ll play poker with the mark but eventually lose to him. I’ll play Lady Luck for the mark. When he wins, I’ll let him take me up to his room to celebrate. According to Alastair, he’ll then put his money in his wall safe and retire to his bed chamber to have his wicked way with me. The badger’ll break into the room and empty the safe while I keep the mark safely distracted. You, my dear, would be a perfect badger. What do you say?’
‘Sure. Why not? It’ll get me on Azazel’s good side again if I get in on a big job like that.’
Jo beamed.
‘That’s great. Clean yourself up and then come over. We’ll talk to Alastair and go over the details. This is fantastic Dean! We always did make a great team!’
Part Four (B)
May 1873
Sam was going to be tall. Of that, he was certain. He was only fourteen and already he was five foot eleven inches. Dean was tall-at eighteen he was a solid six foot one, but judging by the size of Sam’s own hands and feet, he strongly suspected that he was going to be even bigger than his older brother, and in their world an imposing height was definitely a good thing.
As Sam headed for home, striding confidently through the twisted maze of alleys and laneways that was his neighborhood, he noted with pride how people already shrank away from him. His shadow, thrown up on the alley walls behind him by the morning’s dawning rays looked big, dark and menacing and Sam was positive that one day he would be as imposing a figure as his shadow.
In many ways, Sam already seemed bigger than he was. He was Gordon’s right hand man and it was widely acknowledged (although never to Gordon’s face) that Sam was the brains of the crew. He had the protection rackets working like clockwork and since Sam had started researching and procuring the burglary and armed robbery jobs, there had been far fewer murders committed in the commission of their crimes, and fewer arrests too. The biggest benefit, though, was that Alastair was no longer providing the intel for the jobs, which meant that his cut of the burglary and armed robbery profits was much smaller. Gordon’s cut-and this was the significant part-was accordingly much, much larger; and he liked that-and therefore Sam-a lot.
Alastair didn’t like Sam very much and not just because he’d done him out of easy money. Alastair could sense that Dean’d had some experience in performing sexual services for men back before the Winchesters had joined the Unholy Trinity, and he knew that in large part, Dean’s continued, infuriating refusal to work in his brothels was because he’d promised Sam he wouldn’t do that sort of thing anymore. Alastair not only wanted Dean in his employ, but also in his bed and so far, he’d been completely unable to persuade him into it. Sam had it on good authority that Alastair’s patience was starting to wear thin, especially now that Dean was eighteen. It was a worry, but Dean had been deftly side-stepping the man’s advances for six years now and Sam knew that Alastair wouldn’t want to risk completely antagonizing Dean because he did earn a lot of money for the Unholy Trinity.
Dean was not only one of the best conmen the Trinity had, he also had a brilliant scam going making counterfeit national bank notes and was, under the title of ‘person or persons unknown,’ at the top of the Secret Service’s Most Wanted list. The thought made Sam shudder. If Dean were caught, he’d be hanged for sure. Then again, he himself ran the same risk every time he went out on a Job. They lived in a dangerous world and survival was by no means guaranteed. Just last year Ansem had been hanged. Scott and Billy were both dead too; Billy was ganked by the Dead Rabbits and Scott had gotten on Gordon’s bad side and been knifed in the back. And Artful Andy? He’d seen the writing on the wall when his older brother had been executed and had bought himself passage out to Victoria, Australia. Apparently there was a gold rush going on and he wanted a fresh start for himself; a new life. Sam was pleased for him, but he missed him a great deal and hoped that he was doing alright.
Sam started up the stairs towards the room that he and his brother shared in one of the better tenement buildings in the neighborhood. The stairs were barely rotted; only a couple of steps were dodgy; and the room itself was a decent size. Sam paused briefly at the door, just long enough to note that there was no sock hung on the door knob. He breathed a sigh of relief. The Job he’d just finished up had been tougher than expected and he wanted nothing more than to wash up, have a drink and fall into bed. If he’d had to sit out in the corridor for however long while his brother finished fucking his latest playmate, he would’ve been really pissed.
Dean went through women the way some men went through hot dinners; something new and different every day. Sam rubbed absently at his jaw. He still thought that Dean was over compensating for the things he’d been forced to do in his younger days; and the fact that a lot of men still looked at him like he was a tasty rabbit and they were hungry wolves; but the first (and last) time he’d mentioned this to Dean his brother had knocked him on his ass with a well-aimed punch to his jaw.
Sam entered the room and relaxed immediately; he was home. Of course, home would always be wherever Dean was, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t proud of this place. With the exception of Jo, none of their friends had a room as big and well-appointed as this. Jo lived in at Harvelle’s Whorehouse; she and her Momma had a comfortable private room off the main entertainment suite; so Sam wasn’t sure that was a fair comparison. In any event, his and Dean’s room was big enough for a proper kitchen table with four chairs, a couple of easy chairs, a couple of cupboards and-the thing Sam was most proud of-a proper four-poster bed, tucked away behind a thick canvas curtain. In these parts, very few people could afford more than a straw mattress on the floor and Sam was justifiably proud of the fact that he and Dean had a proper bed. There had been one or two suggestive comments made (by Alastair’s cohorts for the most part), but in an area where poverty was rife and space was at a premium, it wasn’t at all uncommon for siblings to share a bed. And in the middle of winter, when the temperature in New York had dipped to well below freezing, the opportunity to share body heat was invaluable. Dean and Sam Winchester slept together in only the most literal sense of the word; the fact that they were brothers aside, they were both far too interested in girls to look at each other with anything other than strictly fraternal love. Still, the many men who’d been on the receiving end of Sam’s cold, clinical violence would’ve been astounded to hear that the rage-filled maiming-machine who’d pounded them bloody had trouble falling asleep unless his big brother’s arms were wrapped around him. Sam sighed. Azazel hadn’t been too far off the mark when he’d told them they were unhealthily co-dependent.
Dean wasn’t in the main part of the room, but Sam could hear splashing coming from the tiny annex off to the side. Here, they had set up a tub, a wash basin and a commode and although there wasn’t room for more than one person to enter the annex at a time, the boys relished having a private area set aside for washing and grooming. Sam took a deep breath and sighed happily. One of the things he loved most about their home was the clean smell. Dean had fixed up the fire place with a proper chimney that exhausted the smoke outside, and had used his connections to get them real, properly fitted glass windows. Nothing in their room was rotted or broken, they kept the place clean, and Dean even had sweet-smelling incense burning around the place, a trick he’d learnt from a Chinese girl.
Sam moved quietly across the room until he was leaning in the annex door way. The tub was half full of steaming water and Dean was standing next to it, toweling himself vigorously.
‘Morning Professor,’ he grinned pushing past Sam and heading for the curtained off area they used as a bedroom. ‘Tub’s still hot if you wanna wash up.’
When they’d first arrived in New York, Sam had wanted to go to school badly, so Dean had organized for him to attend the local mission school a few days a week. He’d spun a huge yarn about their parents having a dairy farm just outside of town and his good looks and quick tongue had deflected all requests to meet their parents for a good long while. Ma and Pa can’t leave the farm, the cows are calving; the cows are sick; they’ve just got a big order in and they’re milking 24/7. Ma and Pa can’t read, he’d told them when they’d tried to send notes home. It had taken nearly a year for the teachers to realize that there were no parents and never had been, and Dean had had to yank Sam from class quick smart and go into hiding to avoid the attentions of the Children’s Aid Society who wanted to put them both in an orphanage. Dean and Sam had conned the teachers at the mission school into thinking they had parents with a dairy farm for eight whole months, and even though Azazel had taken a razor strop to both of them when he’d found out what they’d been up to, he had been impressed. The lesson hadn’t been ‘don’t pull cons’ it had been ‘don’t pull cons without permission.’
Sam was a very able student and even though he’d been forced to drop out of education, he’d learnt almost as much as the mission school had to teach him anyway. Since then, he’d been self-taught; buying books and reading up on mathematics, history, philosophy, science, and law every chance he got. Dean had been teasing him with the nickname ‘professor’ since Sam was ten, but Sam was smart enough to know the teasing merely camouflaged Dean’s pride in his gifted little brother.
Sam waited until Dean was dressed in his underclothes and then said:
‘Dean?’
When his brother looked at him he straightened up and let Dean see the pain he was in; the way he was favoring his left arm.
‘Fuck,’ said Dean, ‘Dislocated?’
‘Yeah. Could you pop it back for me?’
Dean nodded.
‘Anything else I need to know about?’
Sam unbuckled his trousers, peeled back his bloody underwear and showed his brother the knife slash across his hip.
‘It’s just a scratch,’ he said, ‘but the knife was a bit rusty.’
‘Shit,’ Dean poked at it gently with his fingers, ‘it’s already starting to heal. Give it a good wash in the tub and we’ll get it disinfected with hooch. Let’s get your shoulder sorted. On three, okay?’ he put his hands on either side of Sam’s left shoulder.
‘C’mon Sam, you’ve gotta relax or it’s gonna hurt like hell. It’s alright. I’ll give you fair warning before-’
He slammed Sam’s shoulder back into position.
‘Sonovabitch!’ Sam yelled, ‘You call that fair warning?’
Dean shrugged. ‘If I give you fair warning you tense up. Gotta catch you by surprise.’
He disappeared from the annex, giving Sam time and privacy to strip his clothes off and get into the tub. He was back almost as soon as Sam was in the water with a tumbler of whiskey which he handed to his younger brother.
Sam took a sip and raised an eyebrow. ‘The good stuff, huh?’
‘So what happened?’
Sam almost shrugged, but then thought better of it.
‘The barber? Over on Orange Street? Decided to take pride in his Irish heritage. We got there to pick up The Trinity’s weekly tribute and he told us our services were no longer required, the Dead Rabbits were looking after him now. There was a short, heated conversation, he got a lucky swipe in with the knife, Jack and I showed him the error of his ways and he paid what was owed.’
‘And the shoulder?’
Sam took a long drink, his eyes averted.
‘That was an accident.’ He looked up. ‘Gordon kinda lost it when I told him about the barber. I didn’t get out the way quick enough.’
Dean’s eyes darkened.
‘Sonovabitch,’ he muttered. ‘One day I’m gonna rip that asshole’s head off!’
Sam grinned. ‘Okay so now that you’ve done your Mother Hen routine, you wanna get outta here? Let me bathe in private?’
Dean rolled his eyes and moved away.
When Sam finally reappeared Dean was at his side instantly, swabbing his hip with alcohol and tying gauze over the wound, despite Sam swatting at his hands and telling him he could take care of himself.
‘Get dressed,’ was Dean’s only response. ‘I’m making eggs and toast.’
‘So,’ said Dean, when Sam slid into the seat opposite him, ‘rumble at the barber’s next week, huh? Dead Rabbits’ll send a full squad in to defend the barber; Gordon’ll send a full squad in to make sure he collects his tribute. All Hell’s gonna break loose.’
Sam made a non-committal noise and Dean’s eyes narrowed.
‘Gordon’d better lead the squad,’ he said, ‘He will, right?’
Sam had been shoveling away his fried egg while his brother talked and he took another couple of huge bites now to buy himself some time.
‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘Gordon ain’t gonna be there. He’s heading out day after next to crack the flash toffs’ summer cribs; Long Island first, then up to Boston, Maine and so on.’
Dean’s eyes tightened in that way that said he was not only angry but a little scared too.
‘Oh, so…what? He’s gonna leave you to clean up this mess? God damn it Sam! You’re only fourteen!’
Sam shoveled the last of his egg and toast into his mouth.
‘Actually,’ he said, striving for nonchalance and failing badly if Dean’s sudden tension was anything to go by, ‘Gordon wants me to go with him.’
When he couldn’t stand the silence any more, Sam glanced up at Dean.
‘You’re not going, right?’ Dean said.
‘Actually…I think I will.’
There was another silence.
‘But you’ll be gone for, what? Three months?’
‘About that,’ Sam agreed.
Dean ran a hand across his jaw.
‘Why? You got enough work here to keep you busy for months! You don’t need to leave.’
‘Dean, this is huge! Gordon’s a master cracksman and he’s never taken anyone with him to hit the summer cribs before. He’s got his own Fence out there, always makes a fortune and Azazel and Alastair, they don’t get much of a cut. Him letting me in on that? Don’t you see, Dean? If Gordon gets shanked, or hanged or when he just gets too old to keep going, I’m gonna be the one to step into his shoes. I need to do this. It’s like…God, Dean it’s…for me? This is like going to college!’
Dean collected the empty plates and dumped them in the Annex’s wash basin.
‘I can’t believe you’re planning to just take off!’
‘I’m gonna come back!’
‘Are you?’
‘Of course I am. Fuck, Dean. You know I have trouble sleeping if I can’t hear you breathing! I’m just going to do a Job; that’s all.’
Dean studied him intently for a moment and then sighed and nodded.
‘I don’t like the thought of us being apart. How’m I s’posed to look out for you if you’re in another city? But… if it’s what you really wanna do, I ain’t gonna stop you.’
‘Thank you.’ Sam said fervently.
Dean turned away. ‘I’m gonna hit the sack.’
Sam waited until Dean was tucked up in bed and then slipped in beside him, spooning him from behind and wrapping his arms around him.
‘Seriously. Thank you.’
‘Get off me you big fuckin’ girl,’ Dean said, but Sam could hear the grin in his voice, so he knew he wasn’t really mad.
-X-
Dean rolled over in bed (far too big and empty now that Sam had gone) and groaned, wishing to Christ his head would stop throbbing. It was pounding so loud it was almost as if…
Dean opened his eyes and cocked an ear towards the door.
Goddamn it. Someone was pounding on his door.
‘Fuck off!’ he yelled.
‘Dean?’
Ah hell.
Dean slipped out of bed and threw open the door.
‘What?’ he glared at Jo.
She looked him up and down.
‘You open the door to everyone in your underwear?’
‘What d’you care?’ he challenged, ‘you’ve seen me wearing less.’
Jo shoved him back through his open door, which she closed behind her.
‘You’re a class act, Dean. You know the sock’s still on the door knob, right?’
Dean frowned. It was habit that was all. So Sam had been gone two months; so there was no-one to warn that there was some hanky panky going on inside; so he’d been so drunk last night that he couldn’t even remember who he’d been with, let alone whether he’d thought to take the sock off the door knob when he was done.
‘So where is she?’
‘Who?’
‘The broad you banged last night.’
Dean shrugged. ‘Guess I kicked her out. You know I don’t like ‘em sleeping over.’
‘Yeah,’ Jo folded her arms, ‘I remember. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.’
Dean raised his eyebrows. ‘Fuck off, Jo. I learnt that trick from you.’
Jo’s mouth twitched and then she threw her head back and laughed.
‘Okay,’ she held her hands up, palms out. ‘Truce?’
She sat down at the kitchen table.
‘How about you offer a lady a coffee? And while you’re at it, make one for yourself. You look like shit and you smell like a still.’
Dean dropped some wood into the fireplace and poked at the smoldering embers, stoking the fire.
‘Don’t see no ladies around here,’ he muttered as he filled the kettle with water from the barrel.
‘Oh ha ha. I ain’t never heard that one before. Unlike you, least I get paid for swingin’ my ass all around town!’
Dean’s hands stilled over the coffee cups.
‘You ain’t here with another one of Alastair’s sales pitches are you?’
Jo snorted and gave him a bitch face that she must’ve stolen from Sam. Or maybe Sam stole it from her. Either way, it shut him down fast.
‘Okay, okay. Sorry.’
He handed Jo one of the coffee cups, and sat down opposite her.
She reached out and put a hand over his.
‘If you would just find yourself a nice girl and settle down, I’m pretty sure Alastair would back off. He just can’t stand the fact that you’re giving it away for free. You put it about like a whore, Dean; it pisses him off that he ain’t makin’ a profit outta you.’
‘The Trinity doesn’t own me.’ Dean spat, snatching his hand away. ‘What I do in my spare time is my business!’
Jo just looked sad, and okay, Dean didn’t believe what he’d just said any more than Jo did. The Trinity did own him, every inch of him, just like they owned Jo; and Ellen; and Sam; and everyone else. The only way out of the Trinity was in a body bag, unless you were as crafty as Artful Andy and you managed to escape to Australia. Dean could fight the unholy threesome all he wanted, but unless he was willing and able to take them all out, ultimately he would always end up doing as he was told. If he wasn’t making so much money for them with the cons, the hustles and the counterfeiting scams, Dean knew that Alastair would’ve forced the whole brothel issue years ago.
Dean ran a tired hand over his face. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘if Alastair just wanted me to play Boy Toy to the wealthy widows, I’d seriously think about it. But you know what he wants, Jo, and I’m not just gonna roll over and do that.’
Jo nodded.
‘Well I’m just here as a friend. You’ve been awful quiet since your last Job and, well, if you don’t keep bringin’ home the big wins the Trinity’s got used to, it’s gonna give Alastair all the excuse he needs. So tell me what’s goin’ on with you. Do you miss Sam? Is that it?’
Now it was Dean’s turn to snort. ‘Yeah, I miss Sam, but that ain’t the problem.’
‘Then what is?’
Dean took a sip of his coffee. It was strong and bitter and smacked him upside the head in exactly the same way Jo was doing.
‘I fucked up, okay?’ he said, ‘And no, I don’t really wanna talk about it.’
Jo gave him a hard look.
‘How d’you fuck up? Are we in danger?’
Dean shook his head.
‘You know about my last job?’
Jo nodded.
‘Buncha whites with black partners, some even had kids together. Azazel sent you out to blackmail ‘em.’
Dean’s jaw clenched.
‘Right,’ he said tightly, ‘and that didn’t sit well with me. I tried real hard to get outta that gig. Anyway, as luck would have it, I found me an alternative. There was a sick pervert up there who was murdering blacks, just for the hell of it. A rich kid. I showed his daddy proof and then blackmailed daddy for my silence. Only not long after, the kid got himself killed, so of course the blackmail money dried up. Azazel wanted me to go back after the salt ‘n’ pepper couples but I couldn’t. They were good folks, Jo, decent, and…I…just couldn’t do it.’
‘You liked them,’ Jo said softly, ‘you liked your marks.’
Dean looked down at the table.
‘There was a girl,’ he said softly, ‘Cassie. Her momma was white, her daddy was black. Smart girl; beautiful; a real spit fire. She was doin’ well for herself, passin’ as Creole. I…’ Dean hunched in on himself and Jo’s eyes widened.
‘Oh Dean,’ she murmured, ‘you fell in love. I thought I taught you better’n that, boy! Never fall in love with a mark; never fall in love with a john. Never. It’s the golden rule.’
‘I know.’ Dean looked up, his eyes miserable, ‘but I fell hard. So hard, that I told her the truth.’
Jo’s eyes narrowed.
‘What? What truth? You said we weren’t in any danger! Goddamn it Dean! What did you tell her?’
‘Relax. Not enough for her to identify me or the Trinity. Just enough for her to know what I am. What I do. She…didn’t take it too well. So. Yeah.’
‘What did you tell Azazel?’
Dean laughed unhappily. ‘Like I’ve ever been able to lie to ol’ Yellow Eyes.’
Jo’s eyes were full of compassion.
‘Bad?’
Dean shrugged.
‘Bad enough. Not like I didn’t deserve it.’
‘Anything I need to take a look at?’
Dean shook his head. ‘The bruising’s almost gone. And he didn’t crack any of my ribs this time, so I’m practically as good as new now.’
Jo sighed and put a hand to his cheek. ‘At least he didn’t mess up your pretty face.’
Dean grimaced. ‘Well he’s not stupid, is he? Not gonna make as much money if my face is battered, am I?’
They sat in silence for a while, finishing their coffee, and then Jo said:
‘So what you need is a chance to redeem yourself, right?’
Dean pulled a face.
‘I guess. What did you have in mind?’
‘Alastair’s planning a Job-no, wait Dean, not that kind of job, it’s a con job.’
‘Yeah?’
Jo nodded. ‘Yeah. The mark is one of the late Boss Tweed’s protégés. Rich as fuck and all of it earned in kickbacks. He plays poker at the Rosewood Club on Fifth Avenue every Friday night and he always hires their penthouse for the evening. According to Alastair’s source, this guy is so paranoid that his money’ll get cabbaged that he takes it everywhere with him; keeps thousands of dollars strapped to his body at all times. Alastair wants me to go in to Rosewood with one of Azazel’s boys. The boy’ll be a badger, playing the role of a young gentleman. He’ll play poker with the mark but eventually lose to him. I’ll play Lady Luck for the mark. When he wins, I’ll let him take me up to his room to celebrate. According to Alastair, he’ll then put his money in his wall safe and retire to his bed chamber to have his wicked way with me. The badger’ll break into the room and empty the safe while I keep the mark safely distracted. You, my dear, would be a perfect badger. What do you say?’
‘Sure. Why not? It’ll get me on Azazel’s good side again if I get in on a big job like that.’
Jo beamed.
‘That’s great. Clean yourself up and then come over. We’ll talk to Alastair and go over the details. This is fantastic Dean! We always did make a great team!’
Part Four (B)