Big Bang 2012: The Iron Tongue of Midnight
Part Eight
April 21st 2002
Plates, bowls, glasses, mugs, knives, forks, spoons-Sam piled them all onto his trolley, first scraping any food scraps into the garbage bag fixed to its underside.
“Eeeww!” Martin, the other guy on Dining Hall clean up duty found something else to complain about. “Oh man, what did those idiot jocks mix up in this glass? It looks…and smells…like ass! This job is soooo degrading.”
“Sucks, huh?” Sam said dismissively, trying hard to mask his irritation.
Martin was a sheltered kid from an upper middle-class background who had an over-inflated sense of his own entitlement. He wasn’t the biggest asswipe Sam had come across at Stanford, but his continual whining was really starting to get on Sam’s nerves. Martin reminded him, unpleasantly, of a trick he’d taken in his first year on the game; a businessman who’d come downtown for a blowjob before he headed home to the wife and kids. Polyester suit pants and boxers around his knees, the businessman had complained bitterly to Sammy about how much his job sucked and what arrogant assholes his customers were, while gripping Sammy’s hair painfully hard and ramming his sweaty, smelly cock deep into Sammy’s throat. He’d come, finally, and Sammy had pulled the condom off and tossed it into a nearby dumpster before handing the john a wet wipe.
“Honestly, kid,” the john said, “You got no idea how tough I got it. What?” he added, off of Sam’s incredulous look.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said politely, “but are you seriously complaining about how hard your life is to the underage street-kid who just got his mouth fucked by your disgusting, stinking cock?”
The look on the john’s face had been priceless and totally worth the backhander he’d let fly across Sammy’s face. Unfortunately the brief altercation was witnessed by one of Aazim’s minions who immediately came across to see what was going on. And when word of what Sammy had said to a client got back to Aazim…
Sam forced his jaw to unclench and his white-knuckled grip on the trolley to relax. He wasn’t going to think about that stuff anymore. It was over. Finished. In the past. He was never going to let Aazim hurt him ever again.
Sam looked up and found Martin staring at him.
“What are you looking so pissy about?” Martin asked.
“Nothing,” Sam said shortly and stalked back to the kitchen with his trolley. He loaded the dishwasher, wiped his trolley down and then said good bye to the shift supervisor before heading back to his dorm. As he settled at his desk to tackle his homework, Sam tried to get his head back in the game. Brady’s vaguely threatening comments and the nightmares he’d been having had unsettled Sam. He’d ended up sleeping at Dean’s place on Thursday night and it had been the best sleep he’d had in a long time. The other man’s body heat and his even breathing had lulled Sam instantly and his sleep had been dreamless and restful. In the morning they’d traded blow jobs - eventually - once Sam had dealt with Dean’s attempts to get Sam to forgo the condoms.
“They taste like shit,” Dean screwed up his face. “And even with the flavor, I can still taste the rubber. Can’t I just try ‘dick au naturale’?”
“They’re latex.”
“What?”
“The condoms. They’re latex. Not rubber.”
“Rubber, latex. Whatever. You’re clean. I’m clean. We don’t need ‘em.”
Sam shook his head. “Dean…we don’t know that. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Dean scowled. “Makes me feel like some skeezy john.”
Sam stared at him. “Dean…how many sexual partners have you had?”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “This month or ever?”
“Ever.”
Dean chewed at his bottom lip and then ran a hand across the back of his neck.
“Uh…shit, Sammy-sorry, Sam. I, uh, don’t really keep a track of that kind of thing.”
“Best guess?”
“Fuck. I guess…in the hundreds…”
“Always use protection?”
“Mostly.”
“But not always?”
Dean shook his head.
“Ever been tested?”
Dean shook his head again. Sam reached into his bag and then threw a handful of condoms at Dean.
“I’ve got chocolate, cherry, banana, strawberry and vanilla. Pick a flavor.”
Dean sighed. “Fine,” he flicked through the selection. “Well…I like cherry pie, so...” he picked up a Very Cherry condom. “You better not ruin cherry pie for me, bitch.”
Sam chuckled. “Highly unlikely. You and the cherry pie at Daisy’s practically needed to get a room. Jerk.”
Sam was brought out of his reminiscence by a knock on his door. Rubbing a hand across his face, he approached it silently and then called softly:
“Who is it?”
“It’s Jess.”
Sam let her in and then watched as she sashayed across to the padded vinyl chair beside the window and sat down. He returned to his desk, watching her cautiously.
“So what’s up, Jess?” Sam asked casually.
“Just wanted to make sure you were alright. I was looking for you on Friday-I know you don’t have any classes on Friday-and I couldn’t find you. You weren’t here. You weren’t in the library…” she trailed off and looked at him expectantly.
Sam fiddled with his pen and stared at his copy of Concepts and Case Analysis in Law of Contracts before raising his eyes to meet Jess’s.
“I stayed at my ex’s Thursday night.”
Jess nodded. “You didn’t come home Friday night either. Or else you were out late and up early yesterday.”
“I stayed over Friday night too.”
Jess bit at her lip.
“So…things are going well?”
Sam shrugged and fiddled with his pen again.
“Did you sleep with him?”
“Jess!”
Jess stood swiftly and came to stand by his desk, leaning back against it with her thighs brushing against his and her arms folded across her chest. She eyed him steadily for a moment and then reached out and raised his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.
“Jess…what…?” Sam started to blush under her intense scrutiny and she smiled at him.
“Someone got lucky,” she sing-songed.
“What makes you say that?” Sam asked cautiously, because he and Dean had been damn careful not to leave any visible marks on each other and also, this was hardly the first time she’d seen him after a night spent out getting fucked; he wanted to know what was different.
Jess’s smile widened. “You look more relaxed than you’ve been in a while. You look…” she examined him critically, “…content.”
Sam turned his head away. “Doesn’t make a difference,” he said, “He’s only here ‘til the end of the month and then he’s leaving. And I’m staying here. It doesn’t matter how good we are together, our lives are just…too different.”
Jess was looking at him pensively. “You know what you need? A girls’ night in!”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a girl, Jess.”
Jess waved a hand imperiously. “No, but you’re dating a guy who’s being a typical boy and expecting you to put his needs before yours. And that calls for ice cream and chick flicks. You’re not getting out of this Sam Remington. I’m gonna meet you in the Dining Hall for dinner and then after, you’re coming back to my room and you and me and Becky are gonna hang out.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. But if you try to braid my hair or paint my nails, I’m out of there. Deal?”
Jess reached out and hugged him. “Deal.”
-X-
As Sam loaded potato salad onto his plate he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and his skin began to crawl.
“Sammy!” Brady’s hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“It’s Sam.”
Brady smiled like a shark. “Things are going well with Jess, I see.”
“We’re just friends,” Sam drew himself up, threw a little bit of street-kid with attitude into his demeanor and turned to face his tormentor. “What do you want, Brady?”
Brady’s smile didn’t falter; if anything it got brighter. “That’s the spirit, Sammy. Just goes to show-you can take the kid outta the street but you can’t take the street outta the kid!”
“What. Do. You. Want?” Sam stood his ground.
“Aw, Sammy,” Brady reached out and patted his cheek, “I’ve got everything I want. Right here.” He walked away, leaving an angry and scared Sam by the salad bar.
“What was that about?” Jess came up by his side.
Sam forced a smile. “Nothing. Just Brady being Brady. Hey that chicken schnitzel looks good. Maybe I’ll go and get one of them too.”
Jess laughed. “I swear you’re like a bottomless pit.”
Later, in Jess and Becky’s dorm room, Becky approached him like a prowling tiger.
“No,” he said, “whatever you’re gonna ask, the answer is no.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport,” Jess pushed him down into a chair, “Becky just started selling Mary Kay and she needs people to practice on.”
“What’s Mary Kay? It better not be make-up. Jess…I told you-”
“You said no nail polish or hair braiding. Besides, Becky just wants to go over her sales spiel and give us facials.”
“Facials?”
Becky unfolded a black roll-up bag and waved a hand at the white and pink tubes and bottles it contained.
Creamy Cleanser; Purifying Freshener; Balancing Moisturizer; Revitalizing Mask. Oh. Right. That kind of facial.
Half an hour later Sam was sitting curled up with Jess and Becky on Jess’s bed, his face immobilized by the drying mask that caked his skin. Jess and Becky were sorting through their extensive collection of DVDs. So far he’d approved Ten things I hate about you and vetoed How to make an American quilt.
Sam took another sip of the sweet white wine Jess had given him, sipping carefully so as not to crack his mask. “How long ‘til we can wash this crap off?”
Becky checked her watch. “Not long now. Couple minutes.”
“How about this one?” Jess held up Pretty woman.
“No way.” Sam shook his head.
“Why not?”
“You said I could veto three. I’m vetoing it.”
“But why? It’s such a romantic movie.”
“There is nothing romantic about prostitution,” Sam snapped, “It’s degrading and soul-destroying and-”
The girls were looking at him with wide eyes and Sam tried to rein himself in. “Sorry,” he said, “it’s just…I grew up in a pretty rough neighborhood. I’ve seen…stuff…that…Sorry, I’m just not comfortable with a movie that glosses over the hard facts the way that one does.”
Jess dropped the movie without another word. “How about this one?” she said, picking up Grosse Pointe blank.
Sam learnt two things that night. Jess and Becky were a lot of fun to hang out with-in a lot of ways it reminded Sam of kicking back with Jenny, and as the evening wore on he found himself relaxing and being himself more and more.
The other thing he learnt was that when you combined large quantities of Fruity Lexia with large quantities of cookies and cream ice cream there was a very definite ick factor the next morning. Thank God he didn’t have any early morning classes. With any luck, Sam thought, as he threw up again, he should be okay by the time his 1.30pm lecture came around. He popped a couple of Advil and crawled back into bed, vowing to never drink with Jess and Becky ever again.
-X-
April 22nd 2002
Dean had Ramen noodles for lunch. He’d treated himself to a bacon and egg muffin from his favorite diner for breakfast, but he was running low on cash again and pool hustling wasn’t all that easy without a partner, so heat-and-eat noodles it was. Regardless of difficulty, he was going to have to go out and hustle up some more cash in the next day or so because there wasn’t much money left on Syd Barrett’s credit card and he had to make that last until he could get out to their post office box in Omaha to pick up the next set of cards. Maybe he’d see if Sam would like to have a go at pool hustling with him; if nothing else Sam could watch his back. They’d gone down to a nearby pool hall on Friday and Dean had given the kid a few lessons. He’d been good; a natural; had picked everything up real quick. Give him a few months of intensive lessons and-
Dean cut off his train of thought with a snarl. He and Sammy didn’t have months, they had days. Sam had gotten a full ride to Stanford. He was pre-law. He might’ve gotten a shit start in life but he had hauled himself up off the bottom of the scrapheap and clawed his way to a safe, normal life. Good on him. Dean smiled. He admired the hell out of the kid. Didn’t change the fact that he-Dean-was a hunter and once he’d rescued his Dad and dealt with the Faeries, he’d be moving on. Sam was way too good for a high school dropout who was basically an itinerant drifter. And besides…this whole liking dick thing was pretty new to Dean. And Sam had been pushed into sex with men at such a young age; who knew where his interests really lay? Having Sam by his side felt right, but he couldn’t ask the kid to dump a bright, stable future for the short, hard life of a hunter. Maybe he and Sam could stay in touch. Dean would like that. And you never knew; it could be handy to have a friend who was a lawyer, given the brushes with the law that hunters inevitably had.
Dean got out his knives and started to sharpen them. He’d already cleaned the guns, washed the Impala and inventoried the first aid kit. This hanging around waiting for May Day was killing him. Dean wondered if Sammy was in class. He got out his phone and stared at it, wondering whether it would be okay if he sent Sam a text. When his phone rang he nearly dropped it in surprise.
“Bobby?”
“Dean. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of your Dad. He ain’t answering his phone.”
Dean swore under his breath. “Something I can help you with Bobby?”
“Yeah. You can tell me where your Daddy’s at.”
Dean got up and started to pace. He always thought better on his feet.
“He, ah, he’s outta range right now. You know. Workin’”
“Uh huh. What’s he workin’ on? Same case as you or somethin’ different?”
“You know my Dad. Never too forth comin’ with the details.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.
“I know you too, Dean,” Bobby said finally, “And if you don’t stop with the bullshit and start givin’ me some straight answers, next time I see you, you ain’t gonna be sittin’ comfortably for a month.”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “You do remember I ain’t a kid anymore, right?”
“Depends. Do you remember that I spent damn near as much time raisin’ you as John Winchester? I may not be blood, son, but I’m still family and I don’t deserve to have you tryin’ to pull the wool over my eyes like I’m some fool civilian,” he waited a moment and when Dean didn’t respond he said, “So what’s it gonna be? You gonna be straight with me? Or should I start practicing my forehand?”
“Sonovabitch.” Dean went and sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand across his chin. “We…we got a situation, Bobby.”
“You don’t say,” the older hunter replied dryly.
Dean took a deep breath. “My Dad…he’s being held hostage in the Faerie Realm.”
“The Faerie Realm? As in…the Faerie Realm?”
“Yeah. And I guess they don’t got cell towers over there so…”
“He’s being held hostage?”
“Yeah.”
“So…the sixty-four thousand dollar question is…what do they want for his safe return?”
Dean cleared his throat and dug his fingers into the floral bedspread. “Me,” he said hoarsely, “they want…me.”
“What for?” Bobby asked, his voice strained.
Dean swallowed. “Some ritual.”
“You know what it’s called? What it’s for?” Bobby asked urgently.
Dean rested his elbow on his knee and leaned into his hand, rubbing his fingers through his hair and across his face. Bobby was like a walking encyclopedia of the supernatural, there was no way he wouldn’t understand all the implications the very second Dean told him the name of the ritual.
“It’s called…”he swallowed again and tried valiantly to stop his lips from trembling, “It’s called The Great Rite.”
“Balls,” said Bobby. “Goddamn it. Dean…this ritual…do you know what-”
“Yeah. It’s some kind of fertility rite. And if you can come up with some way to get me out of it, then great, I’d appreciate it. If not…” Dean took a calming breath, “if not…it’s just sex. My main worry is how we stop these goddamn Faeries from doing this whole thing again, and again, and again…”
“I’ll get on it,” Bobby said, “see what all I can find out for you. In the meantime, the reason I was trying to get ahold of John…Your dad’s had me chasin’ down certain patterns; electrical storms, crop failures, murders with certain characteristics and a few other indicators. I’ve been trackin’ and plottin’ ‘em and, whatever it is your dad’s after, it raised its head in Texas a few days back. I’ve tracked it through Texas, through Arizona and into California. Right now, it seems to be makin’ its way up the West Coast, headin’ right for where you and John are at. I figured he’d want a heads up.”
Dean groaned. “Sonovabitch. As if I haven’t got enough on my plate. You got any idea what it is Dad was chasin’?”
“He ain’t said nothin’ but…if I’m readin’ these signs right…Dean…I think he’s trackin’ a demon.”
“Fuck,” Dean said, running a hand across his mouth. “What the hell do I do about demons, Bobby?”
“I’ll look into it. Give you a call back when I got something for you.”
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April 21st 2002
Plates, bowls, glasses, mugs, knives, forks, spoons-Sam piled them all onto his trolley, first scraping any food scraps into the garbage bag fixed to its underside.
“Eeeww!” Martin, the other guy on Dining Hall clean up duty found something else to complain about. “Oh man, what did those idiot jocks mix up in this glass? It looks…and smells…like ass! This job is soooo degrading.”
“Sucks, huh?” Sam said dismissively, trying hard to mask his irritation.
Martin was a sheltered kid from an upper middle-class background who had an over-inflated sense of his own entitlement. He wasn’t the biggest asswipe Sam had come across at Stanford, but his continual whining was really starting to get on Sam’s nerves. Martin reminded him, unpleasantly, of a trick he’d taken in his first year on the game; a businessman who’d come downtown for a blowjob before he headed home to the wife and kids. Polyester suit pants and boxers around his knees, the businessman had complained bitterly to Sammy about how much his job sucked and what arrogant assholes his customers were, while gripping Sammy’s hair painfully hard and ramming his sweaty, smelly cock deep into Sammy’s throat. He’d come, finally, and Sammy had pulled the condom off and tossed it into a nearby dumpster before handing the john a wet wipe.
“Honestly, kid,” the john said, “You got no idea how tough I got it. What?” he added, off of Sam’s incredulous look.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said politely, “but are you seriously complaining about how hard your life is to the underage street-kid who just got his mouth fucked by your disgusting, stinking cock?”
The look on the john’s face had been priceless and totally worth the backhander he’d let fly across Sammy’s face. Unfortunately the brief altercation was witnessed by one of Aazim’s minions who immediately came across to see what was going on. And when word of what Sammy had said to a client got back to Aazim…
Sam forced his jaw to unclench and his white-knuckled grip on the trolley to relax. He wasn’t going to think about that stuff anymore. It was over. Finished. In the past. He was never going to let Aazim hurt him ever again.
Sam looked up and found Martin staring at him.
“What are you looking so pissy about?” Martin asked.
“Nothing,” Sam said shortly and stalked back to the kitchen with his trolley. He loaded the dishwasher, wiped his trolley down and then said good bye to the shift supervisor before heading back to his dorm. As he settled at his desk to tackle his homework, Sam tried to get his head back in the game. Brady’s vaguely threatening comments and the nightmares he’d been having had unsettled Sam. He’d ended up sleeping at Dean’s place on Thursday night and it had been the best sleep he’d had in a long time. The other man’s body heat and his even breathing had lulled Sam instantly and his sleep had been dreamless and restful. In the morning they’d traded blow jobs - eventually - once Sam had dealt with Dean’s attempts to get Sam to forgo the condoms.
“They taste like shit,” Dean screwed up his face. “And even with the flavor, I can still taste the rubber. Can’t I just try ‘dick au naturale’?”
“They’re latex.”
“What?”
“The condoms. They’re latex. Not rubber.”
“Rubber, latex. Whatever. You’re clean. I’m clean. We don’t need ‘em.”
Sam shook his head. “Dean…we don’t know that. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Dean scowled. “Makes me feel like some skeezy john.”
Sam stared at him. “Dean…how many sexual partners have you had?”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “This month or ever?”
“Ever.”
Dean chewed at his bottom lip and then ran a hand across the back of his neck.
“Uh…shit, Sammy-sorry, Sam. I, uh, don’t really keep a track of that kind of thing.”
“Best guess?”
“Fuck. I guess…in the hundreds…”
“Always use protection?”
“Mostly.”
“But not always?”
Dean shook his head.
“Ever been tested?”
Dean shook his head again. Sam reached into his bag and then threw a handful of condoms at Dean.
“I’ve got chocolate, cherry, banana, strawberry and vanilla. Pick a flavor.”
Dean sighed. “Fine,” he flicked through the selection. “Well…I like cherry pie, so...” he picked up a Very Cherry condom. “You better not ruin cherry pie for me, bitch.”
Sam chuckled. “Highly unlikely. You and the cherry pie at Daisy’s practically needed to get a room. Jerk.”
Sam was brought out of his reminiscence by a knock on his door. Rubbing a hand across his face, he approached it silently and then called softly:
“Who is it?”
“It’s Jess.”
Sam let her in and then watched as she sashayed across to the padded vinyl chair beside the window and sat down. He returned to his desk, watching her cautiously.
“So what’s up, Jess?” Sam asked casually.
“Just wanted to make sure you were alright. I was looking for you on Friday-I know you don’t have any classes on Friday-and I couldn’t find you. You weren’t here. You weren’t in the library…” she trailed off and looked at him expectantly.
Sam fiddled with his pen and stared at his copy of Concepts and Case Analysis in Law of Contracts before raising his eyes to meet Jess’s.
“I stayed at my ex’s Thursday night.”
Jess nodded. “You didn’t come home Friday night either. Or else you were out late and up early yesterday.”
“I stayed over Friday night too.”
Jess bit at her lip.
“So…things are going well?”
Sam shrugged and fiddled with his pen again.
“Did you sleep with him?”
“Jess!”
Jess stood swiftly and came to stand by his desk, leaning back against it with her thighs brushing against his and her arms folded across her chest. She eyed him steadily for a moment and then reached out and raised his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.
“Jess…what…?” Sam started to blush under her intense scrutiny and she smiled at him.
“Someone got lucky,” she sing-songed.
“What makes you say that?” Sam asked cautiously, because he and Dean had been damn careful not to leave any visible marks on each other and also, this was hardly the first time she’d seen him after a night spent out getting fucked; he wanted to know what was different.
Jess’s smile widened. “You look more relaxed than you’ve been in a while. You look…” she examined him critically, “…content.”
Sam turned his head away. “Doesn’t make a difference,” he said, “He’s only here ‘til the end of the month and then he’s leaving. And I’m staying here. It doesn’t matter how good we are together, our lives are just…too different.”
Jess was looking at him pensively. “You know what you need? A girls’ night in!”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a girl, Jess.”
Jess waved a hand imperiously. “No, but you’re dating a guy who’s being a typical boy and expecting you to put his needs before yours. And that calls for ice cream and chick flicks. You’re not getting out of this Sam Remington. I’m gonna meet you in the Dining Hall for dinner and then after, you’re coming back to my room and you and me and Becky are gonna hang out.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. But if you try to braid my hair or paint my nails, I’m out of there. Deal?”
Jess reached out and hugged him. “Deal.”
-X-
As Sam loaded potato salad onto his plate he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and his skin began to crawl.
“Sammy!” Brady’s hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“It’s Sam.”
Brady smiled like a shark. “Things are going well with Jess, I see.”
“We’re just friends,” Sam drew himself up, threw a little bit of street-kid with attitude into his demeanor and turned to face his tormentor. “What do you want, Brady?”
Brady’s smile didn’t falter; if anything it got brighter. “That’s the spirit, Sammy. Just goes to show-you can take the kid outta the street but you can’t take the street outta the kid!”
“What. Do. You. Want?” Sam stood his ground.
“Aw, Sammy,” Brady reached out and patted his cheek, “I’ve got everything I want. Right here.” He walked away, leaving an angry and scared Sam by the salad bar.
“What was that about?” Jess came up by his side.
Sam forced a smile. “Nothing. Just Brady being Brady. Hey that chicken schnitzel looks good. Maybe I’ll go and get one of them too.”
Jess laughed. “I swear you’re like a bottomless pit.”
Later, in Jess and Becky’s dorm room, Becky approached him like a prowling tiger.
“No,” he said, “whatever you’re gonna ask, the answer is no.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport,” Jess pushed him down into a chair, “Becky just started selling Mary Kay and she needs people to practice on.”
“What’s Mary Kay? It better not be make-up. Jess…I told you-”
“You said no nail polish or hair braiding. Besides, Becky just wants to go over her sales spiel and give us facials.”
“Facials?”
Becky unfolded a black roll-up bag and waved a hand at the white and pink tubes and bottles it contained.
Creamy Cleanser; Purifying Freshener; Balancing Moisturizer; Revitalizing Mask. Oh. Right. That kind of facial.
Half an hour later Sam was sitting curled up with Jess and Becky on Jess’s bed, his face immobilized by the drying mask that caked his skin. Jess and Becky were sorting through their extensive collection of DVDs. So far he’d approved Ten things I hate about you and vetoed How to make an American quilt.
Sam took another sip of the sweet white wine Jess had given him, sipping carefully so as not to crack his mask. “How long ‘til we can wash this crap off?”
Becky checked her watch. “Not long now. Couple minutes.”
“How about this one?” Jess held up Pretty woman.
“No way.” Sam shook his head.
“Why not?”
“You said I could veto three. I’m vetoing it.”
“But why? It’s such a romantic movie.”
“There is nothing romantic about prostitution,” Sam snapped, “It’s degrading and soul-destroying and-”
The girls were looking at him with wide eyes and Sam tried to rein himself in. “Sorry,” he said, “it’s just…I grew up in a pretty rough neighborhood. I’ve seen…stuff…that…Sorry, I’m just not comfortable with a movie that glosses over the hard facts the way that one does.”
Jess dropped the movie without another word. “How about this one?” she said, picking up Grosse Pointe blank.
Sam learnt two things that night. Jess and Becky were a lot of fun to hang out with-in a lot of ways it reminded Sam of kicking back with Jenny, and as the evening wore on he found himself relaxing and being himself more and more.
The other thing he learnt was that when you combined large quantities of Fruity Lexia with large quantities of cookies and cream ice cream there was a very definite ick factor the next morning. Thank God he didn’t have any early morning classes. With any luck, Sam thought, as he threw up again, he should be okay by the time his 1.30pm lecture came around. He popped a couple of Advil and crawled back into bed, vowing to never drink with Jess and Becky ever again.
-X-
April 22nd 2002
Dean had Ramen noodles for lunch. He’d treated himself to a bacon and egg muffin from his favorite diner for breakfast, but he was running low on cash again and pool hustling wasn’t all that easy without a partner, so heat-and-eat noodles it was. Regardless of difficulty, he was going to have to go out and hustle up some more cash in the next day or so because there wasn’t much money left on Syd Barrett’s credit card and he had to make that last until he could get out to their post office box in Omaha to pick up the next set of cards. Maybe he’d see if Sam would like to have a go at pool hustling with him; if nothing else Sam could watch his back. They’d gone down to a nearby pool hall on Friday and Dean had given the kid a few lessons. He’d been good; a natural; had picked everything up real quick. Give him a few months of intensive lessons and-
Dean cut off his train of thought with a snarl. He and Sammy didn’t have months, they had days. Sam had gotten a full ride to Stanford. He was pre-law. He might’ve gotten a shit start in life but he had hauled himself up off the bottom of the scrapheap and clawed his way to a safe, normal life. Good on him. Dean smiled. He admired the hell out of the kid. Didn’t change the fact that he-Dean-was a hunter and once he’d rescued his Dad and dealt with the Faeries, he’d be moving on. Sam was way too good for a high school dropout who was basically an itinerant drifter. And besides…this whole liking dick thing was pretty new to Dean. And Sam had been pushed into sex with men at such a young age; who knew where his interests really lay? Having Sam by his side felt right, but he couldn’t ask the kid to dump a bright, stable future for the short, hard life of a hunter. Maybe he and Sam could stay in touch. Dean would like that. And you never knew; it could be handy to have a friend who was a lawyer, given the brushes with the law that hunters inevitably had.
Dean got out his knives and started to sharpen them. He’d already cleaned the guns, washed the Impala and inventoried the first aid kit. This hanging around waiting for May Day was killing him. Dean wondered if Sammy was in class. He got out his phone and stared at it, wondering whether it would be okay if he sent Sam a text. When his phone rang he nearly dropped it in surprise.
“Bobby?”
“Dean. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of your Dad. He ain’t answering his phone.”
Dean swore under his breath. “Something I can help you with Bobby?”
“Yeah. You can tell me where your Daddy’s at.”
Dean got up and started to pace. He always thought better on his feet.
“He, ah, he’s outta range right now. You know. Workin’”
“Uh huh. What’s he workin’ on? Same case as you or somethin’ different?”
“You know my Dad. Never too forth comin’ with the details.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.
“I know you too, Dean,” Bobby said finally, “And if you don’t stop with the bullshit and start givin’ me some straight answers, next time I see you, you ain’t gonna be sittin’ comfortably for a month.”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “You do remember I ain’t a kid anymore, right?”
“Depends. Do you remember that I spent damn near as much time raisin’ you as John Winchester? I may not be blood, son, but I’m still family and I don’t deserve to have you tryin’ to pull the wool over my eyes like I’m some fool civilian,” he waited a moment and when Dean didn’t respond he said, “So what’s it gonna be? You gonna be straight with me? Or should I start practicing my forehand?”
“Sonovabitch.” Dean went and sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand across his chin. “We…we got a situation, Bobby.”
“You don’t say,” the older hunter replied dryly.
Dean took a deep breath. “My Dad…he’s being held hostage in the Faerie Realm.”
“The Faerie Realm? As in…the Faerie Realm?”
“Yeah. And I guess they don’t got cell towers over there so…”
“He’s being held hostage?”
“Yeah.”
“So…the sixty-four thousand dollar question is…what do they want for his safe return?”
Dean cleared his throat and dug his fingers into the floral bedspread. “Me,” he said hoarsely, “they want…me.”
“What for?” Bobby asked, his voice strained.
Dean swallowed. “Some ritual.”
“You know what it’s called? What it’s for?” Bobby asked urgently.
Dean rested his elbow on his knee and leaned into his hand, rubbing his fingers through his hair and across his face. Bobby was like a walking encyclopedia of the supernatural, there was no way he wouldn’t understand all the implications the very second Dean told him the name of the ritual.
“It’s called…”he swallowed again and tried valiantly to stop his lips from trembling, “It’s called The Great Rite.”
“Balls,” said Bobby. “Goddamn it. Dean…this ritual…do you know what-”
“Yeah. It’s some kind of fertility rite. And if you can come up with some way to get me out of it, then great, I’d appreciate it. If not…” Dean took a calming breath, “if not…it’s just sex. My main worry is how we stop these goddamn Faeries from doing this whole thing again, and again, and again…”
“I’ll get on it,” Bobby said, “see what all I can find out for you. In the meantime, the reason I was trying to get ahold of John…Your dad’s had me chasin’ down certain patterns; electrical storms, crop failures, murders with certain characteristics and a few other indicators. I’ve been trackin’ and plottin’ ‘em and, whatever it is your dad’s after, it raised its head in Texas a few days back. I’ve tracked it through Texas, through Arizona and into California. Right now, it seems to be makin’ its way up the West Coast, headin’ right for where you and John are at. I figured he’d want a heads up.”
Dean groaned. “Sonovabitch. As if I haven’t got enough on my plate. You got any idea what it is Dad was chasin’?”
“He ain’t said nothin’ but…if I’m readin’ these signs right…Dean…I think he’s trackin’ a demon.”
“Fuck,” Dean said, running a hand across his mouth. “What the hell do I do about demons, Bobby?”
“I’ll look into it. Give you a call back when I got something for you.”
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