Big Bang 2012: The Iron Tongue of Midnight
Part Sixteen
May 2nd 2002
In the early hours of the morning, Dean startled awake, his hand sliding under his pillow for his knife as he was struck hard in the face.
Sam was flailing beside him, legs kicking out and arms wind-milling wildly, and the piteous moans that were wrenching themselves from his throat made Dean shudder. He figured that Sam was having another nightmare and it wasn’t until the motel’s neon sign flashed that Dean realized that a large shadowy shape was holding Sam down.
“Sonovabitch!” he scrambled up onto his knees, knife in hand and launched himself at the guy on top of Sam. The guy turned his head sharply, his eyes flashing yellow, and suddenly Dean was slamming into the wall on the far side of the motel room.
“Stay,” the demon’s voice rasped and Dean was pinned in place.
As Dean’s eyes adjusted to the dim light he was able to see that the demon was trying to force the edge of its forearm into Sam’s mouth and Sam was writhing and bucking below him, twisting and turning his head with his jaw clamped shut.
“Leave him the hell alone!” Dean yelled, “Or I swear to God you’ll die bloody.”
The demon ignored him, but Sam’s eyes flew open and found him, his expression apologetic. Dean moved his eyes-the only part of him that he could move-very slowly to the nightstand. Sam followed his gaze and saw the bottle of holy water sitting there. He threw his head around violently, distracting the demon while he edged a hand out toward the bottle and slowly unscrewed the gap. He bucked and flailed and kicked and wrapped a hand solidly around the bottle, and then threw the contents in the demon’s face. The demon reared back and then laughed.
“You’ve learnt some tricks, boy,” it said. “But here’s something you didn’t know; I’m way too high-league to be troubled by holy water or salt barriers.”
“Yeah?” Dean said, “Are you troubled by this? Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-”
The demon snarled and squeezed Dean’s throat telekinetically, cutting of his air supply and making speaking impossible.
Meanwhile, Sam tried to throw himself off the bed, but his legs were still pinned and he couldn’t get away. The demon’s chuckle was abruptly cut off when Sam took up the Rituale Romanum where Dean had left off: “…omnis satanica potestas-”
“You stupid, worthless whore!” the demon roared, choking Sam just as it had choked Dean. It was distracted enough by Sam’s struggles to forget about holding Dean immobilized and Dean surged for the jacket he’d left on the floor last night, dug the little bell out of its pocket and rang it quickly.
Sam’s arms were on the floor now, his torso twisted downwards as he tried to crawl off the bed. Dean threw himself forward and caught hold of Sam’s arms, trying desperately to pull Sam out of the demon’s grip. The demon sent Dean flying back across the room again and pinned him to the wall, silent and immobile, once more. It then lifted Sam as though he weighed nothing and tossed him face down onto the bed, Sam’s sprawling arms knocking the lamp off the nightstand with a loud clatter.
“You’re mine,” the demon hissed, tearing Sam’s briefs from his body. “Not his, mine.” Dean watched in horror as the demon pushed Sam’s legs apart and then undid its own pants and took its cock out. “Mine,” it repeated as it pulled Sam’s butt cheeks apart and lined itself up, preparing to fuck Sam dry.
Sam wasn’t moving and Dean figured the demon had him immobilized too.
“Please Aazim,” Sam sobbed, “Not like this. I’ll be good, I promise, just…not like this.”
The demon laughed and placed the tip of its cock at Sam’s entrance, but before it could push in, the room was suddenly full of a host of armed Faeries.
“Enaid-tywyll!” Peaseblossom spat. She stared at the demon for a moment and then said. “I name you, Azazel.”
The demon didn’t wait to hear anymore; with a look of fury, it smoked out.
Dean sagged to the floor and then surged to his feet immediately, intent on getting to Sam. Sam meanwhile had kicked a blinking and disoriented Aazim off the bed and wrapped himself protectively in the sheet, his eyes darting from Faerie to Faerie, as he tried to work out what was going on.
“You okay, Sammy?”
Sam nodded.
Dean turned and helped Aazim to his feet. “You okay, buddy? You might feel a little disoriented for a while. You were possessed.”
“Dean,” Peaseblossom said. “Your compassion is misplaced. This one is Azazel’s willing accomplice. How do you think the demon got past your wards?” She pointed up at the Devil’s trap, which Dean could now see had been scratched through.
Dean turned slowly to look at Aazim.
“What can I say?” the man shrugged, “We’re partners. Havin’ a demon for a partner is great for business. And all I gotta do is share my body with him from time to time.”
“And you call me a whore,” Sam said with disgust.
Dean’s response was more direct. He punched the pimp. Hard. In the face.
“What does the demon want with Sam?” he demanded when Aazim was upright again.
Aazim shrugged.
“See these guys?” Dean pointed at the Faeries. Aazim looked at them uneasily. “Did you see how your boss ran away like a scared little puff of smoke when he saw them? Talk. Or I’ll let them loose on you.”
Aazim licked his bottom lip. “I dunno exactly. Something about an army of kids with super powers for some upcoming demon battle.”
“He was trying to bleed into my mouth,” Sam said quietly.
“Yeah,” Aazim nodded, rubbing at his forearm. “Trying to give you your second dose; increase your power.”
“What power?” Sam asked.
Aazim shrugged again. Dean looked at Peaseblossom.
“I don’t know!” Aazim said, “He doesn’t tell me everything, you know.”
“He’s not lying,” Peaseblossom said. “He truly does not know.”
“What d’you mean ‘second dose’?” Sam asked.
“The blood,” Aazim said grudgingly. “You got your first dose when you were just a baby.”
Dean remembered the vision the goddess had shown him; baby Sam, in a box, having blood dripped into his mouth.
“The devil-man with yellow eyes,” he said to Sam. “The bruja really did see him.”
“Yeah,” Sam’s eyes were dark with sorrow. “Only he didn’t steal my soul, he poisoned it.”
Dean nodded. “Could you do me a favor?” he asked Peaseblossom, “and Shimmer this douchebag somewhere far, far away; preferably somewhere nasty. And leave him there? Naked?”
“With pleasure,” Peaseblossom replied. She laid a hand on Aazim’s shoulder and then she, the pimp and the whole Faerie host disappeared.
Dean surveyed the wrecked room and then looked at Sam, shivering slightly in his sheet.
“You okay?” he asked.
Sam nodded and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Dean crossed the floor and sat next to him.
“Hey?” he said softly. “Happy birthday.”
Sam laughed out loud. “Right. Thanks, man.”
Dean leaned forward and kissed the younger man gently. Things were just starting to get interesting when a gruff throat-clearing attracted Dean’s attention. He leapt to his feet and found his father standing in the open door way. John took one look at Dean-dressed in nothing but a pair of briefs, his hard-on practically poking out the top-and turned his back rapidly.
“The demon?” he asked.
“Been and gone,” Dean said, cupping his hands in front of himself, despite the fact that he was now speaking to his father’s back.
“You both alright?”
“Yessir.”
John let out a breath. “Okay. I’m gonna go and get some coffee and donuts for us all. You boys…put some clothes on. We’ll talk when I get back.”
“Yessir,” said Dean and watched his father’s back beat a hasty retreat.
“That went well,” he looked down at Sam. “I thought…that went…quite well… don’t you think?”
-X-
When Sam was sixteen, he was with one of his regulars when the door of their motel room crashed open and a short, plump woman barged in shouting something about sluts and how she was going to kill the bitch who was screwing around with her husband. The trick yanked his cock out of Sam, falling off the bed in his haste, as he floundered and babbled and snatched up his pants. When the woman met Sam’s eyes her expression was one of shame, horror, guilt and disgust.
“Charlie,” she said brokenly, “Oh my god, Charlie.”
“I can explain,” said the trick.
The woman fixed him with a look that almost made Sam laugh. Charlie was about to get his balls handed to him and even though seeing that would probably be really entertaining, Sam cleared his throat.
“I’ma take a shower,” he said. “Give you two some time to talk.”
He fixed Charlie with a steely gaze. “Don’t forget I haven’t been paid yet,” he told him and the woman whimpered slightly.
When Sam came out of the bathroom, washed, dressed and cautious, Charlie had gone, but the woman was sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked up at Sam, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. Sam admired her composure.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Old enough.”
The woman snorted. “Guess that means I’m adding statutory rape to my husband’s list of crimes,” she looked at him appraisingly. “Sammy, right?”
Sam nodded.
“I am so, so sorry,” she said.
Sam frowned. “Why? What did you do? Did you call the cops on me?”
The woman shook her head.
“I’m sorry that my husband has been taking advantage of you.”
It was Sam’s turn to snort. “Lady…he ain’t been takin’ advantage…he’s been payin’ good money to fuck me. And speakin’ of, I want my money. Now. Charlie normally leaves it on the nightstand for me while I take a shower and it ain’t there.”
“How much?” the woman asked.
“One fifty.”
The woman nodded. “Charlie said it was one hundred.”
Sam shrugged. “Yeah, that didn’t include my fee for ‘talkin’ to the wife’. That’s extra.”
The woman laughed sadly. “Is the meter still running?”
Sam glanced at the clock. Aazim wouldn’t be expecting him back on the corner for at least another fifteen minutes.
“I got some time. Can I have my money now please?”
The woman handed him three fifty dollar bills and a scrap of paper with a cell phone number on it.
“My sister works for Youth Outreach,” she said. “You should call her. They’re good people; they help kids like you find their way to a safe, normal life.”
“Kids like me?”
The woman met his eyes again. “Child prostitutes,” she said gently, her eyes brimming with compassion.
Hundreds of people, both men and women, had spat ‘whore’, ‘hooker’, ‘slut’ and ‘ho’ at Sam and the words had just rolled off him, like water off a duck’s back. They’d never hurt, never made him lower his head in shame. But child prostitute had Sam sinking to the floor by the side of the bed, unable to hold back his tears. Whore had a feisty, hard-edged strength to it; child prostitute just sounded weak and vulnerable and it broke Sam in ways that crueler labels never had.
He was breaking in much the same way now, his head bowed as he watched John Winchester from beneath his bangs. John was a skilled interrogator and even though Dean had tried hard to skirt around just exactly how Sam knew Aazim, John was clearly a man who knew how to read between the lines. It would’ve been nice if they could’ve just played dumb, gone along with John’s first assumption that the demon, having picked up John’s trail and begun to follow him, had suddenly realized that Dean was still at the motel and turned tail, hoping to get a shot at an unprotected Dean. That would’ve left a lot of murky questions unasked and kept Sam under John’s radar…at least as far under it as he could hope to get, given that he was sleeping with the man’s son. But John had expected a full and thorough de-brief and his son had given him one. Besides, the intel they’d learned; the name of the demon and the fact that he was building an army of human children poisoned with demon blood; children who were expected to develop super powers at some stage; was too important not to be shared. And now John Winchester was looking at Sam with horror, guilt, disgust and compassion.
“Dean,” John said, his voice strained and rough. He glanced back at Sam. “Dean we can’t just…”
“He’s only had one dose,” Dean said. “He’s a victim. He needs our help.”
John shook his head. “We’ve dealt with people who’ve been bitten by werewolves before,” he said and Sam was hit with the icy realization that they were trying to decide whether he was a supernatural threat that needed putting down. He stood up so fast that his chair crashed down behind him. His eyes wide and his heart pounding with fear, he began to edge for the door.
“Sam, wait!” Dean was on his feet now too, his hands held out placatingly. “We’re not gonna hurt you, I promise.”
“Not gonna hurt me?” his incredulous voice was high pitched and scratchy. “He,” he nodded at John, “wants to kill me!”
And the apologetic confirmation he saw in John’s eyes did nothing to calm his panic.
“We’re not gonna kill you,” Dean began.
“Dean-” John interjected.
“No!” Dean whirled to face his father. “We are not gonna kill him! He’s had one dose; one. Which he got over eighteen years ago; and he hasn’t been dangerous in any way since then, even though he’s had a fuckton of cause to be dangerous!” Dean’s arms were waving and chopping in front of his face as he talked and Sam edged behind him, feeling somehow protected with Dean standing in between him and John, despite that fact that he was a head taller than Dean. “Even the demon itself,” Dean continued, “said that Sam needed more blood, so no, we are not gonna kill him because we don’t know that he’s a monster. We don’t know that he’s gonna turn, no matter what. What we do know is that this doesn’t work the same way as it works with werewolves; cuz there’ve been a shitload of full moons in the last nineteen years and Sammy here has been nothing but normal his whole life! He’s a college student for fucks sake! Pre-law! And we do not get to play God. Saving people; hunting things. That’s the family motto, right Dad? Sam is not a thing! So we’re gonna save him!”
John ran a tired hand across his face and sighed.
“Okay,” he said, “that’s…yeah. You’re right, son. We can’t execute people for crimes we think they might commit in the future,” he glanced at Sam. “For what it’s worth, kid, I’m sorry ‘bout all this. And everything else you’ve had to go through.”
Sam nodded tightly.
John cleared his throat and looked back at his son. “I take it you’ll be staying here with Sam then?”
Dean nodded and John blew out a breath.
“Okay. Walk me out to my truck?”
Dean told Sam he’d be back in a moment and tried to convey with his eyes and his body language that Sam could absolutely trust him. Sam gave him a weak smile and a flash of puppy dog eyes and Dean knew that they were on the same page.
He walked his Dad out to his new truck in silence and then dutifully admired it.
“Gonna have to get a new compartment made up for my weapons,” John said. “I took a few out the trunk of the Impala earlier, but I could do with a few more. Do you mind?”
Dean shook his head and helped his Dad to transfer some of their weaponry to his new vehicle.
“So, uh,” John fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment, “you and Sam, huh?”
Dean groaned. “Really, Dad? You really wanna do this?”
John grinned ruefully. “Not so much. But you’re still my boy and…I know I’ve made mistakes, son, but I’m always gonna care about you,” he cleared his throat, “So I gotta ask, cuz you never showed any interest in...I mean, it was always girls before this,” he cleared his throat again. “You sure you haven’t just been whammied-by the Faeries, or by some freaky demon-blood mojo?”
“Pretty sure,” Dean said.
“Pretty sure? You gotta do better than that, son!”
“Really pretty sure? I like the guy. The sex is awesome-”
John groaned, causing Dean to grin at him. “Hey, don’t ask if you don’t want me to tell. Look, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll swing by Bobby’s next time Sam gets some holidays; get him to do every supernatural test on me that he’s got.”
John nodded. “Yeah. That’d make me feel better,” he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt and then sighed again. “Look, I know you’re hell bent on saving this kid and I hope to God you can. But if you can’t, Dean, you have to be prepared. If you can’t save him, you might have to kill him.”
Dean stared at his father in shock and then wondered why he was so shocked. This was vintage John Winchester; family was important, but not more important than the hunt. If Sam turned into an evil supernatural monster, John would expect Dean to take care of it, no matter the personal cost.
Dean nodded and fixed his father with his most serious expression.
“I know Dad,” he said softly, “so you better hope to God that he never goes darkside. Because if he does, if I have to put a bullet through his head, the very next bullet I fire’s gonna be goin’ through my head.”
He leaned forward and hugged his stunned father tightly. “I love you Dad. Take care of yourself,” and then he turned, without another word, and walked back to the motel room.
<
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May 2nd 2002
In the early hours of the morning, Dean startled awake, his hand sliding under his pillow for his knife as he was struck hard in the face.
Sam was flailing beside him, legs kicking out and arms wind-milling wildly, and the piteous moans that were wrenching themselves from his throat made Dean shudder. He figured that Sam was having another nightmare and it wasn’t until the motel’s neon sign flashed that Dean realized that a large shadowy shape was holding Sam down.
“Sonovabitch!” he scrambled up onto his knees, knife in hand and launched himself at the guy on top of Sam. The guy turned his head sharply, his eyes flashing yellow, and suddenly Dean was slamming into the wall on the far side of the motel room.
“Stay,” the demon’s voice rasped and Dean was pinned in place.
As Dean’s eyes adjusted to the dim light he was able to see that the demon was trying to force the edge of its forearm into Sam’s mouth and Sam was writhing and bucking below him, twisting and turning his head with his jaw clamped shut.
“Leave him the hell alone!” Dean yelled, “Or I swear to God you’ll die bloody.”
The demon ignored him, but Sam’s eyes flew open and found him, his expression apologetic. Dean moved his eyes-the only part of him that he could move-very slowly to the nightstand. Sam followed his gaze and saw the bottle of holy water sitting there. He threw his head around violently, distracting the demon while he edged a hand out toward the bottle and slowly unscrewed the gap. He bucked and flailed and kicked and wrapped a hand solidly around the bottle, and then threw the contents in the demon’s face. The demon reared back and then laughed.
“You’ve learnt some tricks, boy,” it said. “But here’s something you didn’t know; I’m way too high-league to be troubled by holy water or salt barriers.”
“Yeah?” Dean said, “Are you troubled by this? Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-”
The demon snarled and squeezed Dean’s throat telekinetically, cutting of his air supply and making speaking impossible.
Meanwhile, Sam tried to throw himself off the bed, but his legs were still pinned and he couldn’t get away. The demon’s chuckle was abruptly cut off when Sam took up the Rituale Romanum where Dean had left off: “…omnis satanica potestas-”
“You stupid, worthless whore!” the demon roared, choking Sam just as it had choked Dean. It was distracted enough by Sam’s struggles to forget about holding Dean immobilized and Dean surged for the jacket he’d left on the floor last night, dug the little bell out of its pocket and rang it quickly.
Sam’s arms were on the floor now, his torso twisted downwards as he tried to crawl off the bed. Dean threw himself forward and caught hold of Sam’s arms, trying desperately to pull Sam out of the demon’s grip. The demon sent Dean flying back across the room again and pinned him to the wall, silent and immobile, once more. It then lifted Sam as though he weighed nothing and tossed him face down onto the bed, Sam’s sprawling arms knocking the lamp off the nightstand with a loud clatter.
“You’re mine,” the demon hissed, tearing Sam’s briefs from his body. “Not his, mine.” Dean watched in horror as the demon pushed Sam’s legs apart and then undid its own pants and took its cock out. “Mine,” it repeated as it pulled Sam’s butt cheeks apart and lined itself up, preparing to fuck Sam dry.
Sam wasn’t moving and Dean figured the demon had him immobilized too.
“Please Aazim,” Sam sobbed, “Not like this. I’ll be good, I promise, just…not like this.”
The demon laughed and placed the tip of its cock at Sam’s entrance, but before it could push in, the room was suddenly full of a host of armed Faeries.
“Enaid-tywyll!” Peaseblossom spat. She stared at the demon for a moment and then said. “I name you, Azazel.”
The demon didn’t wait to hear anymore; with a look of fury, it smoked out.
Dean sagged to the floor and then surged to his feet immediately, intent on getting to Sam. Sam meanwhile had kicked a blinking and disoriented Aazim off the bed and wrapped himself protectively in the sheet, his eyes darting from Faerie to Faerie, as he tried to work out what was going on.
“You okay, Sammy?”
Sam nodded.
Dean turned and helped Aazim to his feet. “You okay, buddy? You might feel a little disoriented for a while. You were possessed.”
“Dean,” Peaseblossom said. “Your compassion is misplaced. This one is Azazel’s willing accomplice. How do you think the demon got past your wards?” She pointed up at the Devil’s trap, which Dean could now see had been scratched through.
Dean turned slowly to look at Aazim.
“What can I say?” the man shrugged, “We’re partners. Havin’ a demon for a partner is great for business. And all I gotta do is share my body with him from time to time.”
“And you call me a whore,” Sam said with disgust.
Dean’s response was more direct. He punched the pimp. Hard. In the face.
“What does the demon want with Sam?” he demanded when Aazim was upright again.
Aazim shrugged.
“See these guys?” Dean pointed at the Faeries. Aazim looked at them uneasily. “Did you see how your boss ran away like a scared little puff of smoke when he saw them? Talk. Or I’ll let them loose on you.”
Aazim licked his bottom lip. “I dunno exactly. Something about an army of kids with super powers for some upcoming demon battle.”
“He was trying to bleed into my mouth,” Sam said quietly.
“Yeah,” Aazim nodded, rubbing at his forearm. “Trying to give you your second dose; increase your power.”
“What power?” Sam asked.
Aazim shrugged again. Dean looked at Peaseblossom.
“I don’t know!” Aazim said, “He doesn’t tell me everything, you know.”
“He’s not lying,” Peaseblossom said. “He truly does not know.”
“What d’you mean ‘second dose’?” Sam asked.
“The blood,” Aazim said grudgingly. “You got your first dose when you were just a baby.”
Dean remembered the vision the goddess had shown him; baby Sam, in a box, having blood dripped into his mouth.
“The devil-man with yellow eyes,” he said to Sam. “The bruja really did see him.”
“Yeah,” Sam’s eyes were dark with sorrow. “Only he didn’t steal my soul, he poisoned it.”
Dean nodded. “Could you do me a favor?” he asked Peaseblossom, “and Shimmer this douchebag somewhere far, far away; preferably somewhere nasty. And leave him there? Naked?”
“With pleasure,” Peaseblossom replied. She laid a hand on Aazim’s shoulder and then she, the pimp and the whole Faerie host disappeared.
Dean surveyed the wrecked room and then looked at Sam, shivering slightly in his sheet.
“You okay?” he asked.
Sam nodded and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Dean crossed the floor and sat next to him.
“Hey?” he said softly. “Happy birthday.”
Sam laughed out loud. “Right. Thanks, man.”
Dean leaned forward and kissed the younger man gently. Things were just starting to get interesting when a gruff throat-clearing attracted Dean’s attention. He leapt to his feet and found his father standing in the open door way. John took one look at Dean-dressed in nothing but a pair of briefs, his hard-on practically poking out the top-and turned his back rapidly.
“The demon?” he asked.
“Been and gone,” Dean said, cupping his hands in front of himself, despite the fact that he was now speaking to his father’s back.
“You both alright?”
“Yessir.”
John let out a breath. “Okay. I’m gonna go and get some coffee and donuts for us all. You boys…put some clothes on. We’ll talk when I get back.”
“Yessir,” said Dean and watched his father’s back beat a hasty retreat.
“That went well,” he looked down at Sam. “I thought…that went…quite well… don’t you think?”
-X-
When Sam was sixteen, he was with one of his regulars when the door of their motel room crashed open and a short, plump woman barged in shouting something about sluts and how she was going to kill the bitch who was screwing around with her husband. The trick yanked his cock out of Sam, falling off the bed in his haste, as he floundered and babbled and snatched up his pants. When the woman met Sam’s eyes her expression was one of shame, horror, guilt and disgust.
“Charlie,” she said brokenly, “Oh my god, Charlie.”
“I can explain,” said the trick.
The woman fixed him with a look that almost made Sam laugh. Charlie was about to get his balls handed to him and even though seeing that would probably be really entertaining, Sam cleared his throat.
“I’ma take a shower,” he said. “Give you two some time to talk.”
He fixed Charlie with a steely gaze. “Don’t forget I haven’t been paid yet,” he told him and the woman whimpered slightly.
When Sam came out of the bathroom, washed, dressed and cautious, Charlie had gone, but the woman was sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked up at Sam, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. Sam admired her composure.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Old enough.”
The woman snorted. “Guess that means I’m adding statutory rape to my husband’s list of crimes,” she looked at him appraisingly. “Sammy, right?”
Sam nodded.
“I am so, so sorry,” she said.
Sam frowned. “Why? What did you do? Did you call the cops on me?”
The woman shook her head.
“I’m sorry that my husband has been taking advantage of you.”
It was Sam’s turn to snort. “Lady…he ain’t been takin’ advantage…he’s been payin’ good money to fuck me. And speakin’ of, I want my money. Now. Charlie normally leaves it on the nightstand for me while I take a shower and it ain’t there.”
“How much?” the woman asked.
“One fifty.”
The woman nodded. “Charlie said it was one hundred.”
Sam shrugged. “Yeah, that didn’t include my fee for ‘talkin’ to the wife’. That’s extra.”
The woman laughed sadly. “Is the meter still running?”
Sam glanced at the clock. Aazim wouldn’t be expecting him back on the corner for at least another fifteen minutes.
“I got some time. Can I have my money now please?”
The woman handed him three fifty dollar bills and a scrap of paper with a cell phone number on it.
“My sister works for Youth Outreach,” she said. “You should call her. They’re good people; they help kids like you find their way to a safe, normal life.”
“Kids like me?”
The woman met his eyes again. “Child prostitutes,” she said gently, her eyes brimming with compassion.
Hundreds of people, both men and women, had spat ‘whore’, ‘hooker’, ‘slut’ and ‘ho’ at Sam and the words had just rolled off him, like water off a duck’s back. They’d never hurt, never made him lower his head in shame. But child prostitute had Sam sinking to the floor by the side of the bed, unable to hold back his tears. Whore had a feisty, hard-edged strength to it; child prostitute just sounded weak and vulnerable and it broke Sam in ways that crueler labels never had.
He was breaking in much the same way now, his head bowed as he watched John Winchester from beneath his bangs. John was a skilled interrogator and even though Dean had tried hard to skirt around just exactly how Sam knew Aazim, John was clearly a man who knew how to read between the lines. It would’ve been nice if they could’ve just played dumb, gone along with John’s first assumption that the demon, having picked up John’s trail and begun to follow him, had suddenly realized that Dean was still at the motel and turned tail, hoping to get a shot at an unprotected Dean. That would’ve left a lot of murky questions unasked and kept Sam under John’s radar…at least as far under it as he could hope to get, given that he was sleeping with the man’s son. But John had expected a full and thorough de-brief and his son had given him one. Besides, the intel they’d learned; the name of the demon and the fact that he was building an army of human children poisoned with demon blood; children who were expected to develop super powers at some stage; was too important not to be shared. And now John Winchester was looking at Sam with horror, guilt, disgust and compassion.
“Dean,” John said, his voice strained and rough. He glanced back at Sam. “Dean we can’t just…”
“He’s only had one dose,” Dean said. “He’s a victim. He needs our help.”
John shook his head. “We’ve dealt with people who’ve been bitten by werewolves before,” he said and Sam was hit with the icy realization that they were trying to decide whether he was a supernatural threat that needed putting down. He stood up so fast that his chair crashed down behind him. His eyes wide and his heart pounding with fear, he began to edge for the door.
“Sam, wait!” Dean was on his feet now too, his hands held out placatingly. “We’re not gonna hurt you, I promise.”
“Not gonna hurt me?” his incredulous voice was high pitched and scratchy. “He,” he nodded at John, “wants to kill me!”
And the apologetic confirmation he saw in John’s eyes did nothing to calm his panic.
“We’re not gonna kill you,” Dean began.
“Dean-” John interjected.
“No!” Dean whirled to face his father. “We are not gonna kill him! He’s had one dose; one. Which he got over eighteen years ago; and he hasn’t been dangerous in any way since then, even though he’s had a fuckton of cause to be dangerous!” Dean’s arms were waving and chopping in front of his face as he talked and Sam edged behind him, feeling somehow protected with Dean standing in between him and John, despite that fact that he was a head taller than Dean. “Even the demon itself,” Dean continued, “said that Sam needed more blood, so no, we are not gonna kill him because we don’t know that he’s a monster. We don’t know that he’s gonna turn, no matter what. What we do know is that this doesn’t work the same way as it works with werewolves; cuz there’ve been a shitload of full moons in the last nineteen years and Sammy here has been nothing but normal his whole life! He’s a college student for fucks sake! Pre-law! And we do not get to play God. Saving people; hunting things. That’s the family motto, right Dad? Sam is not a thing! So we’re gonna save him!”
John ran a tired hand across his face and sighed.
“Okay,” he said, “that’s…yeah. You’re right, son. We can’t execute people for crimes we think they might commit in the future,” he glanced at Sam. “For what it’s worth, kid, I’m sorry ‘bout all this. And everything else you’ve had to go through.”
Sam nodded tightly.
John cleared his throat and looked back at his son. “I take it you’ll be staying here with Sam then?”
Dean nodded and John blew out a breath.
“Okay. Walk me out to my truck?”
Dean told Sam he’d be back in a moment and tried to convey with his eyes and his body language that Sam could absolutely trust him. Sam gave him a weak smile and a flash of puppy dog eyes and Dean knew that they were on the same page.
He walked his Dad out to his new truck in silence and then dutifully admired it.
“Gonna have to get a new compartment made up for my weapons,” John said. “I took a few out the trunk of the Impala earlier, but I could do with a few more. Do you mind?”
Dean shook his head and helped his Dad to transfer some of their weaponry to his new vehicle.
“So, uh,” John fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment, “you and Sam, huh?”
Dean groaned. “Really, Dad? You really wanna do this?”
John grinned ruefully. “Not so much. But you’re still my boy and…I know I’ve made mistakes, son, but I’m always gonna care about you,” he cleared his throat, “So I gotta ask, cuz you never showed any interest in...I mean, it was always girls before this,” he cleared his throat again. “You sure you haven’t just been whammied-by the Faeries, or by some freaky demon-blood mojo?”
“Pretty sure,” Dean said.
“Pretty sure? You gotta do better than that, son!”
“Really pretty sure? I like the guy. The sex is awesome-”
John groaned, causing Dean to grin at him. “Hey, don’t ask if you don’t want me to tell. Look, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll swing by Bobby’s next time Sam gets some holidays; get him to do every supernatural test on me that he’s got.”
John nodded. “Yeah. That’d make me feel better,” he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt and then sighed again. “Look, I know you’re hell bent on saving this kid and I hope to God you can. But if you can’t, Dean, you have to be prepared. If you can’t save him, you might have to kill him.”
Dean stared at his father in shock and then wondered why he was so shocked. This was vintage John Winchester; family was important, but not more important than the hunt. If Sam turned into an evil supernatural monster, John would expect Dean to take care of it, no matter the personal cost.
Dean nodded and fixed his father with his most serious expression.
“I know Dad,” he said softly, “so you better hope to God that he never goes darkside. Because if he does, if I have to put a bullet through his head, the very next bullet I fire’s gonna be goin’ through my head.”
He leaned forward and hugged his stunned father tightly. “I love you Dad. Take care of yourself,” and then he turned, without another word, and walked back to the motel room.
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