dragonspell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dragonspell) wrote2010-05-03 10:08 pm
dragonspell) wrote2010-05-03 10:08 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: SPN (OMC/John): Burn It On Down [2/2] | NC-17 | 12120 words
Back to Part 1
---
Apparently Tommy Walters hadn’t been lying. There were three other hunters besides him and Caleb. The odd man out’s name was Fred Sterling and just like Tommy, John didn’t trust him either. He was somewhere in his forties if John had to take a guess with a bit of a grizzled face like he’d had a hard life. He’d been brought by Katherine Norvegger having briefly teamed up while Katherine worked out her attraction to used-up looking hunters. Katherine herself was a bit rough and tumble but she was still pretty enough for Dean’s eyes to light up the minute he saw her.
“No,” John had said and Dean had stared at him, betrayed, before walking away muttering about how John wouldn’t even let him talk to the one ‘hot chick’ in town. John thought it might be about time to have a talk with Dean about respecting women, too. Apparently those well-worn skin mags he knew Dean was squirreling away somewhere were getting to the boy’s head.
Brad Holslinger was a tall, skinny man, looking half emaciated and desperate but when you talked to him, you found out just how laid back he was. John chalked it up to a little bit of herbal help and didn’t put much stock in the guy, no matter what praises Caleb wanted to sing for him.
Together, they all stood at the edge of the swamp, armed and ready. John stood at the end, staring down the line at the others who were waiting for his command. Dean was fairly bouncing he was so happy to be involved and John was sure that he was going to rub it in his little brother’s nose when they got back—regardless of the fact that Sammy really couldn’t care less about stomping around in a bog.
John checked his make-shift flamethrower one more time and nodded, leading the push into the woods. They stepped carefully and quietly through the underbrush, being mindful of any mud puddles big enough to hide one of the hags.
A rush of flame flared to John’s left and he glanced over to see Tommy torching the hand that had grabbed a hold of his jeans. The monster screamed, emerging from the pool and attempting to run but Katherine and Fred were on it before it could, adding their own flames to Tommy’s. The creature went down in a smoldering heap, crumpling in on itself as it burned.
The screaming, though, was attracting the others: Clumps of debris were peeling themselves out of the swamp, forming into facsimiles of humans with dead eyes and teeth-baring snarls. They shambled forward, reaching out with grasping fingers and John moved to join the other hunters in torching the creatures.
“Holy shit!” a man yelled and John turned just in time to see none other but Sheriff Paul McKinsey go down under a heap of water hags.
“Fuck me…” John muttered, running to the sheriff’s rescue one more time. “Caleb! Dean!” he yelled, setting the closest hag on fire, sending it screaming until it too collapsed in a smoldering heap. Caleb appeared, melting out of the woods, loosing flames on another hag and Dean was right beside him. Behind him, John heard the screams of other creatures dying as the other hunters chased them out.
John reached into the pile of still squirming swamp debris and grabbed a hold of the sheriff’s jacket, hauling him up. McKinsey broke the surface of the creatures, gasping and pulled himself onto the relatively dry land at John’s feet, his elbows digging into the mud. The sheriff panted on the ground, occasionally dry retching at the smell. John wrinkled his nose and backed up a few feet himself, trying to avoid being too near the putrid stench of decay. “You alright, Sheriff?”
“What the fuck was that?” the sheriff gasped, glancing up at John.
John kicked at some of the burning remains and answered the sheriff’s question for the second time in as many days. “Those were some of those water hags you don’t believe in. Looks like they believe in you, though.”
“Jesus…”
“That’s twice now, Sheriff,” John said, checking the other bodies and the valve on his flamethrower. “You should learn to watch your back.”
McKinsey gagged again and pushed himself to his feet. “Fuck you, Winchester,” he snarled. The barb thrown, John smirked and turned towards where he heard Dean whooping. “Wait!” McKinsey called after him. “Wait up, damn you. I’m coming with you!”
“Not if you’re going to be a liability, you’re not,” John replied, not slowing down.
McKinsey caught up to him anyway. “The fuck I am.” He pulled out his 9mm, checking the clip. “I’m a good shot.”
John snorted. “My boy’s a better shot than you.” He slanted a look at the sheriff, watching him bristle before chuckling. “Suit yourself, Sheriff. But guns don’t work against these things—don’t do anything but scare ‘em off.” He turned his full attention on McKinsey. “And I plan on ending this tonight.” John didn’t have time to be showing a fledgling the ropes—they were here to do a job before anybody else got hurt.
Interestingly enough, John could visibly see McKinsey swallowing his pride. “I won’t hold you back,” he said sullenly, refusing to leave and John gave him a small smile.
“Welcome aboard then, Sheriff.” He glanced down at McKinsey’s wrecked uniform, raising his eyebrows. “Forgive me if I don’t shake your hand.”
The sheriff nodded, staring down at himself and wrinkling his nose. “I might just have to scrap this one.” He slipped off his jacket, discarding it on the ground. After another moment, he started unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off as well. John caught himself staring and glanced away. Sheriff McKinsey wasn’t all that bad looking underneath his stiff uniform. John shook his head at his own thoughts. Apparently it had been a little too long since the last time he’d gotten laid.
John started walking and McKinsey caught up to him, falling into step. John acknowledged him with a small nod but kept his eyes open for any signs of attack. On his left, another shape peeled away from the trees. It lunged for them and John recoiled, buying himself enough time to bring up his flamethrower. McKinsey started firing, nailing the creature in the head and shoulder, sending it spinning and John took advantage of the distraction he provided. The monster was already starting to scream and it ratcheted the noise up a notch when John set it ablaze. It dodged to the right, trying to escape as John keep the flames constant.
With one last shriek, the hag died, collapsing into a pile but John kept the fire on it for another few seconds, just to make sure. “Christ…” McKinsey whispered, lowering his gun. He stared at the decomposing body. “Do they all do that?”
“Yeah,” John said, kicking the pile to pieces. He slanted a look over at McKinsey. “Good news is: you’re not a horrible shot.”
“Thanks,” McKinsey replied back dryly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” John smiled and turned towards the west, where he was sure he heard the distinct sound of Dean whooping in joy. McKinsey followed him again and together, they walked towards the clearing where Dean was practically dancing around a bonfire of dead bodies. Caleb was beside him, grinning like an idiot and John felt a smile tugging at his own mouth because it was always hard for Dean’s enthusiasm not to be contagious. Tommy was standing a little ways off, still torching one of the monsters and the other three were nowhere to be found—probably still combing the woods.
The brush next to Tommy caught fire and he yelped, stomping it out. “Put that out before you burn the whole place down,” Caleb yelled, pulling his attention away from Dean. He shook his head and then finally noticed John, nodding to him. “Think we got ‘em,” he said. “Others are off making sure, but we took a lot of ‘em out.”
“Good,” John replied. There was one last shriek in the woods before it suddenly cut off and Brad Holslinger stepped into the swampy clearing.
“Fred and Kate’s got the last one,” he said, shuffling towards John and the sheriff. “Damn near gonna burn down the forest getting it, but they’ve got it.”
Beside him, McKinsey retched again, the smell that was still on his pants apparently getting too overwhelming. John glanced down at him and sidled away. He jerked his head towards Dean. “Gonna take my boy home now,” John told him. McKinsey didn’t answer, just waved a hand and gagged again. John nodded, figuring that would do as a ‘by your leave’ and went to collect Dean. With a little bit of luck, John hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with McKinsey’s suspicions again—he’d denied the unexplainable once. To do it twice would just be stupid. Sammy had to be worrying himself sick by now, too, back at the motel. For a nine year old, Sam worried more than a mother hen.
No doubt Dean would want to get back to his baby brother, too. John was rather proud of the sense of responsibility Dean felt about Sam—good sense of family. Some considered that a fault but John believed it was more an indication of character.
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw a figure emerge out of the woods and he swung around, lifting his flamethrower. Fred raised his hands, waiting for John to lower his weapon. “We got ‘em.” Katherine stepped out beside him, shaking gunk out of her hair.
John nodded and grunted something he hoped sounded vaguely okay before continuing on to Dean.
“—so fucking cool—”
“Watch your mouth, Dean,” John warned wearily, watching as Dean automatically snapped to attention.
“Yes, sir!” Dean said, saluting and John was struck at how grown-up Dean could appear when he wanted to. The boy was at that age where he seemed to be continuously growing taller, stretching out into what was sure to be a gangly teenager. Dean’s smile reappeared and John glared at Tommy who was approaching on his left.
Tommy raised his hands in surrender, suddenly remembering John’s rules, and grinned. “Just wanted to know if you wanted to go get a drink.” His eyes slid from John to Caleb and finally to Dean.
John stepped into his line of sight, blocking Dean. “A drink?” he growled. He was sure that that wasn’t all Tommy wanted from them; John didn’t trust that friendly face one little bit.
Tommy shrugged. “Kid can have a Coke or something,” he said. “Just was talking with a few of the guys in town—” John didn’t bother to ask who “—and they were talking about having a bonfire east of here. Sounded like a good way to celebrate.”
“A drink sounds good,” Fred grunted and Katherine nodded in agreement.
Caleb glanced up at John. “One drink?” he asked and John stared at the ground. One drink, he supposed, wouldn’t hurt anything. And he did need to relax a little. More than a little. After a good hunt, all of John’s focus just went straight on down the drain until he found the next one. He needed that challenge to keep his mind in the game.
“One drink,” John said, knowing that it would be more.
---
Dean wasn’t happy with him. Neither was Sammy, for that matter, because if Dean wasn’t happy, God knows Sammy wouldn’t be. John stared into his plastic cup like it might have the answers for him.
He knew why Dean was mad. Dean—stupid naïve kid that he was—had wanted to ‘hang out with the boys.’ Like Hell, though, was John going to let his 13 year old hang out at a drunken party in the woods after dark. Especially not with people that John didn’t trust farther than he could throw them. There was always something a little off about hunters and John knew better than to trust most of them. It was a rare one indeed that was worth their weight in salt. Matter of fact, John was fairly certain that he could tick off the ones that were using just his fingers and have a couple of digits left over.
He’d thought that Dean would understand that. But what he’d gotten when he’d dropped the kid off at the motel with a stern warning not to leave was a hissed accusation of John just wanting to get drunk again. Then the kid had lapsed into that insolent ‘yes, sir’, ‘no, sir’ routine that he’d gotten so damn good at lately and had slammed the door in John’s face. John had considered breaking down the door—only Dean could make a proper answer sound so damn insulting—but Caleb had been waiting in the parking lot, watching him with curious eyes.
It wasn’t like John got drunk all the time. It wasn’t like he got drunk most of the time. Yeah, he probably drank more than he should but living his life, he needed it. He’d go fucking crazy if he didn’t. Dean would understand when he was older.
So here was standing in the middle of a field around a pile of burning apple trees, drinking barely tolerable beer out of a plastic red cup. Five star, it was not but, John figured, downing the last of the alcohol in his glass, it got the job done. He could only hope, though, that it would give him just that little bit of peace if only for a few hours.
Caleb was chatting amiably with some of the locals because he’d always been good at putting on a friendly face and Tommy was with him, pretending like they were old friends. Brad was passed out at the edge of the firelight, Fred was stumbling towards the keg and Katherine was busy making out with one of the guys from town—apparently she’d gotten over Fred.
John stared at the blazing fire in front of him, feeling it warm his skin and heat his body. It felt good to stand in front of it, kind of like a ritual purging, but the more he stood, watching the flames lick the dead wood, the more he wondered if anyone would notice if he just left now. This just wasn’t quite doing it for him. He could deal with the beer but the company…
That was when, though, he noticed the hush falling over the crowd. John turned away from the fire, following the guys’ line of sight back towards where they’d left the cars. McKinsey’s Tahoe had pulled in behind the line of vehicles and the sheriff had stepped out. He was dressed in plain jeans and a leather jacket, his uniform nowhere to be seen but it wasn’t like you could mistake him. One guy who looked all of nineteen choked on his beer, spitting it out and throwing away the cup and a few more were hiding their drinks behind their backs. John just stared straight ahead, watching as McKinsey made a beeline for him. McKinsey stopped directly in front of him, jaw clenched and staring. “Winchester,” he said.
John tilted his head. “Sheriff.”
The rest of the guys were staring at them now, probably wondering what the Hell Sheriff McKinsey wanted with John. Frankly, John was wondering that too. Running him out of town after saving his ass—twice, possibly three times—was just bad form. The unwanted attention of the crowd made John roll his shoulders uncomfortably. Never did like people staring at him. McKinsey, though, ignored it all and jerked his head back towards the Tahoe. “Got a minute?” he asked.
And maybe John had had more to drink than he thought because when he opened his mouth, “Sure,” popped out before he could stop it. What the fuck else did have to do, anyway, though? He’d already been thinking about leaving. The fire was the best part about the field he was standing in and it wasn’t enough to burn him into numbness like he wanted. After a hunt, that was all you really needed—something to make everything else go away. So when McKinsey headed back to the vehicles, John simply followed and they walked out of the firelight and the eerie silence McKinsey’s appearance had caused.
McKinsey stopped by the Tahoe, bowing his head and John thumbed his belt loops, rocking back on his heels. “So, what can I do you for, Sheriff?” he asked lazily. He kind of hoped that McKinsey wanted a fight—John was game for a good fight.
Instead of answering, though, McKinsey kept his eyes low and climbed into the SUV, waiting. Tilting his head curiously, John followed suit, sliding into the passenger side seat. He shut the door after himself and leaned back against it, eyeing McKinsey. In the darkness, he could just barely make out McKinsey’s face—see the lines of his nose and jaw, see that McKinsey was staring back. “Christo.” McKinsey didn’t flinch and John grinned. “Just checking.” It never hurt, he supposed. The sheriff swallowed and started the SUV, backing it out onto the highway.
John wondered just how long that they were going to play this game. At least, he thought, watching McKinsey drive, with the sheriff’s silence, his best features were enhanced. There really were some people that were meant to be seen and not heard. McKinsey was a fairly attractive man and John found he didn’t particularly mind looking at him—provided, of course, that the man wasn’t talking. Jesus, he needed to get laid. Maybe John would leave the boys with Jim for a few days while he went out and scratched that particular itch.
Apparently, McKinsey had a destination in mind. The Tahoe turned two corners, heading down a side-street of the little town before McKinsey pulled into the driveway of a modest if still nicely done two-story house. He shifted into park and killed the engine, staring at the steering wheel.
John waited in the silence, content to keep letting McKinsey take the lead and see where this was going. After the adrenaline of the hunt, he was even finding it kind of enjoyable. McKinsey shifted in his seat and that was the only warning that John got before the sheriff fairly launched himself at John, pinning him to the window. “The hell—” McKinsey covered John’s mouth with his own, his hand fisting in John’s shirt, desperate and shaking and John finally got it.
Oh.
He kissed McKinsey back, lips sliding over the other man’s and when McKinsey’s tongue slipped into John’s mouth he let it, licking back. McKinsey groaned, turning the kiss rough and pressing harder against John, shoving him into the cold glass of the Tahoe’s door. John clasped his hands on McKinsey’s shoulders, pushing him back though the sheriff didn’t go willingly. Buying himself an inch of breathing space, he stared at McKinsey’s panting face, feeling his own excitement notching upward.
Okay, so maybe he’d had more than just a little to drink. But fuck it. “You got a bed?”
McKinsey nodded and opened the door behind John—pushing him outside and crawling over the seat to join him. He didn’t allow John to get very far away, always keeping at least one hand fisted in John’s clothes as he pulled him to the door and John sincerely hoped that the sheriff’s neighbors were asleep.
McKinsey fumbled with the lock, swearing to himself before getting it open and dragging John inside. John had a glimpse of light blue walls and tasteful paintings before McKinsey slammed the door and pushed John up against it. “Nice place,” John said, staring at McKinsey’s lips.
“Was my parents,” McKinsey replied before pressing against John and kissing him again. John braced himself, holding the sheriff at a distance as he angled his head, trying to get the desperate man to slow it down. John liked kissing and he never got a chance anymore—a quick fuck, sure, but a good kiss? Good luck.
McKinsey was all tongue in his excitement and John preferred a little more lip action. He held the man still while he taught him the proper way to kiss, sucking on his bottom lip before moving to the upper, sliding easily in the wetness of their mouths. McKinsey whined, giving in to John’s persuasion and unlocked his fists from John’s shirt, sliding his hands gently across John’s chest instead. That’s right, John coaxed, changing the angle again, nice and smooth. I’m not going anywhere.
He slid the sheriff’s coat off his shoulders, and McKinsey stopped touching John just long enough to drop it down to the floor and pull off his shirt as well. John took the time to do the same and when McKinsey came back, he was ready for him. McKinsey practically melted against him, head tilting up to keep his mouth pressed to John’s while his palms smoothed over John’s bare shoulders. John swayed, his sense of balance starting to fade as his blood rushed southward but it didn’t matter anymore because McKinsey was pushing him backward anyway.
Slowly, they walked down a hallway and McKinsey turned them, backing John into a room and eventually onto a bed. John let himself fall over onto the mattress, grinning up at McKinsey and daring him to join. McKinsey took the challenge, crawling on top of John and John ran a hand down McKinsey’s chest, trailing his fingers in the dusting of hair and following it down to his waistband. McKinsey’s hips jerked forward, the excitement getting the better of him and John’s grin grew. “C’mere,” he said, reaching up to hook a hand around the back of the sheriff’s head and dragging him down to meet John’s mouth again.
John slid two fingers along the edge of the sheriff’s jeans before popping open the button and sliding down the zipper. McKinsey gasped and froze, shaking slightly. John paused for a moment, assessing how far McKinsey was going to be willing to go before he decided screw it. He slipped his hand into McKinsey’s underwear, grabbing his dick. “I’ve never—” McKinsey bit his lip, stopping himself from completing the sentence and John gave him a stroke, saying he understood.
“You can do me,” he said and McKinsey’s dick twitched in his hand. “Get some lube.”
As McKinsey swallowed and leaned over to rummage through his nightstand, John slid his pants off, dropping them to the floor. It’d been months since he’d last gotten laid and it’d been years since he’d last gotten fucked. He forced himself to stay calm even as half-remembered memories of what it felt like flashed through his head. It wouldn’t do to rush this.
McKinsey, though, was shaking as he came back, a tube of KY and a condom in his unsteady hand. John grabbed the lube, popping the top and smearing some on his fingers. “Put that on,” John said, nodding at the condom before moving his hand down between his thighs. He was fairly certain that McKinsey would be able to handle that at least.
He groaned as he breached himself, his eyes sliding closed. Fuck but that felt good. He took a deep breath, calming himself before continuing to slick himself up. McKinsey’s little abortive moans as he watched him weren’t helping, though—they made John’s dick throb in anticipation. He smeared just enough around to help slick the way before pulling out and coating McKinsey’s dick with whatever was left over. “You ready?” John asked, lifting a leg to hook around McKinsey’s back and pull him closer. McKinsey pitched forward, falling onto his hands, and stared at John, panting already. “Yeah,” John said. “You’re ready.” He reached down, grabbing McKinsey’s knee and coaxing him closer. The man moved forward eagerly, settling between John’s spread thighs and positioning himself. “Nice and easy,” John coached. “Nice and eessss—” He cut off with a hiss as McKinsey pushed inside.
John took a few deep breaths, willing himself to relax, accepting McKinsey inside of him. He locked his legs around the sheriff’s back, holding him still while John adjusted. McKinsey collapsed on top of him, panting in John’s ear before giving in and licking at it. “Mmm,” John hummed. “Yeah.” He slowly loosened his hold, allowing McKinsey to move.
McKinsey was shaking as he pulled out and he groaned as he thrust back in. He buried his face in John’s neck, breathing deep and John held him, knowing that this wasn’t going to last near as long as either one of them would like.
He fumbled between them, squeezing his hand underneath McKinsey’s body to grab his dick, his breath hitching at the first touch. Jesus. Now that he’d thought about it, it’d been a long time since he’d even last jerked off. Fuck, but just that little touch was making him see stars. McKinsey rocked forward again, falling into a steady rhythm occasionally interrupted by an erratic thrust.
“Yeah,” John said. “Yeah, just like that…” He pressed his shoulders back against the bed, raising his hips and McKinsey’s next thrust made him gasp. “Oh fuck yeah…” His eyes fluttered open, catching a glimpse of McKinsey’s drop tile ceiling before McKinsey had his vision starting to blur around the edges.
McKinsey was licking and sucking at John’s neck, his breath coming in harsh pants that had John shivering each time the air hit his wetted skin. “God,” McKinsey was chanting in between pants and licks. “God, god, god, god…”
So fucking close… John grit his teeth and arched his back just a little more, tightening up the muscles in his body. His orgasm began with a small shiver, growing stronger until his entire vision turned to white and he was helpless to do anything but ride it out, his body seizing with the pleasure.
“Oh God…” McKinsey was whispering, “Oh God…” and he sped up, pounding into John. John shivered with each hit on his prostate, grunting with the force that McKinsey was slamming into him with. McKinsey lost his rhythm and then he was shuddering, pulsing inside of John as he muffled his scream against John’s neck.
The fight left McKinsey’s body, and he collapsed completely on top of John, his muscles going loose and languid. John held him lightly, his hand trailing through the sweat on McKinsey’s back as he pushed his own sweat-slick hair back out of his eyes and pressed his face against McKinsey’s hair. “Yeah…”
---
McKinsey was out cold when John snuck out of his bed. Somehow he’d gotten entangled a bit in the sheets and it took some work to slip out of them, but McKinsey didn’t even stir. He took a brief moment to watch McKinsey sleeping, taking in his bed head and his innocently relaxed face—damn attractive man when he wasn’t talking. John swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, briefly entertaining the idea of taking a shower before picking up his clothes and leaving the sleeping sheriff alone in the bedroom. He put his clothes on in the hallway before heading for the front door. Passing through the living room, he saw the plush beige couch and the fake fireplace with a picture of what had to be him and his parents on the little mantel.
John shook his head, hoping that Sheriff Paul McKinsey’s little brush with the supernatural wouldn’t screw him up too badly even if John knew otherwise. It changed you when you found out that the things that went bump in the night were real—that the horror stories weren’t just horror stories. Gave you a different way of looking at things.
He let himself out the front door and then swore softly at his monumental stupidity. The Impala was still down in the field with the bonfire. Fuck. He thought about hotwiring the Tahoe, or even sneaking the keys out of McKinsey’s pocket but knew that it wouldn’t be worth it. So he started jogging down the street, hoping that he was remembering the way correctly—Jesus, just how had he had to drink anyway?—and thanking whoever cared that it was 2 in the morning when all sensible small town folk were safely ensconced in their beds.
Luckily, Meersville was incredibly small and McKinsey hadn’t taken him that far. It only took him just under an hour to hike back to the Impala which was just as he’d left it. He checked her over, though, just to be sure. A few of the locals were still hanging around, either meandering or passed out drunk and John paid them no mind as he started the Impala and headed for the motel where he’d left the boys.
When he pulled into the parking lot, however, he realized that Caleb’s truck was parked just outside room 6 and John frowned. He would have thought that Caleb had left already. Wasn’t like there was much room in their shithole of a room unless Caleb wanted the couch.
He parked the car and walked to the door, opening it with his eyes automatically going to the bed where Dean and Sammy should safely be asleep, curled up in each other’s arms like puppies. Wouldn’t be much longer before they’d be protesting that but John would take whatever small favors he got. To his surprise, though, the bed was empty. He jerked his gaze back to his own bed, hoping… But no, it was empty, too. So he glanced around to the rest of the room and found Caleb staring at him from the room’s lone arm chair. Dean was sitting on the couch, Sammy curled up on top of him fast asleep. Dean caught sight of John and his face lit up even as something akin to fear flittered across it. John cocked his head at his son.
Dean moved to stand before remembering that Sammy was on his lap and settled back down, biting his lip and staring at John with wide, conflicted eyes. “What’s going on?” John asked quietly.
Caleb was already at the door, though, pushing him outside. “Shh,” he said. “Don’t want to wake up, Sammy…”
John growled and caught Caleb’s hand, pulling it off of him. “What are you doing?”
Caleb ignored him, turning towards Dean, his voice turning even softer than usual. “We’ll be right back, Dean. Let me go tell your dad outside so he doesn’t wake up Sammy, okay?”
A tiny streak of panic shot through John, racing through his body and he reacted the only way he knew how. As soon as Caleb shut the door behind him, John pushed him up against it. “What the HELL is going on?” he demanded.
Caleb glanced at the ground, not giving John anything to build his anger on, damn the man. He licked his lips. “Dean’s…a little worried,” he said.
“About what?”
Caleb’s eyes finally flittered up to meet John’s. “That he didn’t stay in the motel room.”
“I’m going to beat that boy,” John snarled. You couldn’t let something like this just go because John knew that it would only get worse. Best to nip these things in the bud.
“He’s thirteen, John!” Caleb hissed back, taking John by surprise. “That’s what teenagers do! They push the limits.”
“All the better for me to show him where they are then—”
“Would you just shut up and listen?” John’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click. “He just went to the fucking pop machine and he’s terrified that you’re going to kill him over it!”
John blinked. “What?” Then the kid hadn’t even really left the motel, so why would he… “Why?”
“Because of what happened,” Caleb huffed. He shoved John away, brushing him off and straightening his shirt. “He was…attacked.”
John’s blood ran cold. “By what?” It was always a what in their profession. Always a fucking what. “I thought we got them all.” And why would one of them crawl all the way into town after Dean?
“Not what, John, who.” Caleb was even less forth coming than usual—possibly wrestling with what to say and how much to tell him. John forced himself to stay calm, at least until he got the details.
“And?” he prompted, his hands balling into fists at his side in the effort to stay still.
“And he wasn’t hurt,” Caleb answered. “He’s just a little shaken up. I don’t think he expected it.”
John sucked in a breath before asking his next question. “Did the fucker touch him?” By Caleb’s flinch, John knew that they were on exactly the same page. Jesus, the kid was only thirteen…
“…I think so.”
John exploded. “I knew it!” he shouted. “Knew I couldn’t trust any of those sons of bitches!” He’d seen the way that Tommy had been looking at Dean and he should have killed the mother fucker right then. He turned, heading for the Impala.
“Where are you going, John?” Caleb asked quietly, stopping him cold.
“I’m going to kill Tommy Walters, what the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” That sick son of a bitch was going to pay for daring to touch his boy. Just admiring the bike, his ass. John was going to make him pay.
“It wasn’t him, John,” Caleb said, sighing. “I already told you, I only called people that I trust. Do you think I’d really run with somebody like that?”
“Then who?” John demanded, stalking back up to Caleb. “Who, Caleb, because I’m going to fucking kill him—”
“Cam Redding,” Caleb told him. Which meant jack diddily fuck to John.
“Who the fuck is Cam Redding?”
Caleb glanced at the motel’s office. “The motel owner.” John was stuck gaping at Caleb, his mouth useless and Caleb decided to continue. “Dean came out for a soda and I guess that’s where Cam saw him.” John knew that he didn’t want to hear anymore, but he couldn’t bear for Caleb to stop either. “He, uh, forced Dean to his knees…”
John flinched, turning away. “Goddamn it…” he swore. While he’d been off getting fucked by McKinsey Dean had been… He slammed his fist against the side of the building. “Goddamn it!” He was a fucking failure as a father.
Caleb gave John a little bit of time to rage before saying his next bit. “You should be proud of Dean, John.” John turned back to Caleb who added flatly, “he gave that son of a bitch exactly what he deserved.” Caleb’s own fists were clenching and he swallowed, fighting back emotion. “When I found the sick bastard, after Dean called, he didn’t look so great. Dean’d broken his nose and probably busted a couple of his ribs.”
John felt a smile pushing through his guilt and anger. Yeah. That sounded like Dean. The boy was good. “So,” John said quietly, carefully staring at the pavement. “Where’s Cam Redding now?
Caleb shrugged. “Somewhere in the woods,” he replied casually, like he didn’t particularly care. “With a bullet in his head.” John jerked his eyes up from their contemplation of the ground, meeting Caleb’s even stare. “I promised you I’d take care of them, John. I meant that.”
There was a brief stab of disappointment for having his vengeance already done for him but it was soon overwhelmed. John gripped the back of Caleb’s neck, pulling the unresisting man close and bowing his head. “Thank you,” he said.
Caleb gripped John’s neck in return, holding them in position for a few seconds before releasing him and backing away. “Dean wants to see you.” John closed his eyes, fighting back the prickle of tears, and nodded.
When he re-entered the room, Dean was still staring at him, terrified yet wanting at the same time and John walked up to him, watching his eyes get even bigger. John stopped in front of him and reached out a hand, watching with a sense of pride how Dean didn’t flinch, just waited for judgment. Slowly, John sank his hand into Dean’s hair, ruffling it.
Dean’s face crumpled and he folded over top of Sammy, clutching his baby brother to him as he choked back his sobs and John let him cry, still moving his hand slowly through Dean’s hair.
Two hours later, they were all on the road again, Caleb heading back north while John picked west for him and the boys. The money that John had lent Cam Redding was firmly back in his pocket as well as a little bit extra. He figured that good old Cam wouldn’t really need it anyway. The dead tended to have little use for cash.
Dean and Sammy were curled up together in the back seat, sound asleep and looking like the carefree kids they should have been. John glanced at them in his rearview mirror, smiling as the Impala cruised down the highway, leaving the tiny town of Meersville, Mississippi behind.
Somewhere in the backwoods, one last fire blazed, turning a body into dust. It still wasn’t enough but it would have to do.
---
Apparently Tommy Walters hadn’t been lying. There were three other hunters besides him and Caleb. The odd man out’s name was Fred Sterling and just like Tommy, John didn’t trust him either. He was somewhere in his forties if John had to take a guess with a bit of a grizzled face like he’d had a hard life. He’d been brought by Katherine Norvegger having briefly teamed up while Katherine worked out her attraction to used-up looking hunters. Katherine herself was a bit rough and tumble but she was still pretty enough for Dean’s eyes to light up the minute he saw her.
“No,” John had said and Dean had stared at him, betrayed, before walking away muttering about how John wouldn’t even let him talk to the one ‘hot chick’ in town. John thought it might be about time to have a talk with Dean about respecting women, too. Apparently those well-worn skin mags he knew Dean was squirreling away somewhere were getting to the boy’s head.
Brad Holslinger was a tall, skinny man, looking half emaciated and desperate but when you talked to him, you found out just how laid back he was. John chalked it up to a little bit of herbal help and didn’t put much stock in the guy, no matter what praises Caleb wanted to sing for him.
Together, they all stood at the edge of the swamp, armed and ready. John stood at the end, staring down the line at the others who were waiting for his command. Dean was fairly bouncing he was so happy to be involved and John was sure that he was going to rub it in his little brother’s nose when they got back—regardless of the fact that Sammy really couldn’t care less about stomping around in a bog.
John checked his make-shift flamethrower one more time and nodded, leading the push into the woods. They stepped carefully and quietly through the underbrush, being mindful of any mud puddles big enough to hide one of the hags.
A rush of flame flared to John’s left and he glanced over to see Tommy torching the hand that had grabbed a hold of his jeans. The monster screamed, emerging from the pool and attempting to run but Katherine and Fred were on it before it could, adding their own flames to Tommy’s. The creature went down in a smoldering heap, crumpling in on itself as it burned.
The screaming, though, was attracting the others: Clumps of debris were peeling themselves out of the swamp, forming into facsimiles of humans with dead eyes and teeth-baring snarls. They shambled forward, reaching out with grasping fingers and John moved to join the other hunters in torching the creatures.
“Holy shit!” a man yelled and John turned just in time to see none other but Sheriff Paul McKinsey go down under a heap of water hags.
“Fuck me…” John muttered, running to the sheriff’s rescue one more time. “Caleb! Dean!” he yelled, setting the closest hag on fire, sending it screaming until it too collapsed in a smoldering heap. Caleb appeared, melting out of the woods, loosing flames on another hag and Dean was right beside him. Behind him, John heard the screams of other creatures dying as the other hunters chased them out.
John reached into the pile of still squirming swamp debris and grabbed a hold of the sheriff’s jacket, hauling him up. McKinsey broke the surface of the creatures, gasping and pulled himself onto the relatively dry land at John’s feet, his elbows digging into the mud. The sheriff panted on the ground, occasionally dry retching at the smell. John wrinkled his nose and backed up a few feet himself, trying to avoid being too near the putrid stench of decay. “You alright, Sheriff?”
“What the fuck was that?” the sheriff gasped, glancing up at John.
John kicked at some of the burning remains and answered the sheriff’s question for the second time in as many days. “Those were some of those water hags you don’t believe in. Looks like they believe in you, though.”
“Jesus…”
“That’s twice now, Sheriff,” John said, checking the other bodies and the valve on his flamethrower. “You should learn to watch your back.”
McKinsey gagged again and pushed himself to his feet. “Fuck you, Winchester,” he snarled. The barb thrown, John smirked and turned towards where he heard Dean whooping. “Wait!” McKinsey called after him. “Wait up, damn you. I’m coming with you!”
“Not if you’re going to be a liability, you’re not,” John replied, not slowing down.
McKinsey caught up to him anyway. “The fuck I am.” He pulled out his 9mm, checking the clip. “I’m a good shot.”
John snorted. “My boy’s a better shot than you.” He slanted a look at the sheriff, watching him bristle before chuckling. “Suit yourself, Sheriff. But guns don’t work against these things—don’t do anything but scare ‘em off.” He turned his full attention on McKinsey. “And I plan on ending this tonight.” John didn’t have time to be showing a fledgling the ropes—they were here to do a job before anybody else got hurt.
Interestingly enough, John could visibly see McKinsey swallowing his pride. “I won’t hold you back,” he said sullenly, refusing to leave and John gave him a small smile.
“Welcome aboard then, Sheriff.” He glanced down at McKinsey’s wrecked uniform, raising his eyebrows. “Forgive me if I don’t shake your hand.”
The sheriff nodded, staring down at himself and wrinkling his nose. “I might just have to scrap this one.” He slipped off his jacket, discarding it on the ground. After another moment, he started unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off as well. John caught himself staring and glanced away. Sheriff McKinsey wasn’t all that bad looking underneath his stiff uniform. John shook his head at his own thoughts. Apparently it had been a little too long since the last time he’d gotten laid.
John started walking and McKinsey caught up to him, falling into step. John acknowledged him with a small nod but kept his eyes open for any signs of attack. On his left, another shape peeled away from the trees. It lunged for them and John recoiled, buying himself enough time to bring up his flamethrower. McKinsey started firing, nailing the creature in the head and shoulder, sending it spinning and John took advantage of the distraction he provided. The monster was already starting to scream and it ratcheted the noise up a notch when John set it ablaze. It dodged to the right, trying to escape as John keep the flames constant.
With one last shriek, the hag died, collapsing into a pile but John kept the fire on it for another few seconds, just to make sure. “Christ…” McKinsey whispered, lowering his gun. He stared at the decomposing body. “Do they all do that?”
“Yeah,” John said, kicking the pile to pieces. He slanted a look over at McKinsey. “Good news is: you’re not a horrible shot.”
“Thanks,” McKinsey replied back dryly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” John smiled and turned towards the west, where he was sure he heard the distinct sound of Dean whooping in joy. McKinsey followed him again and together, they walked towards the clearing where Dean was practically dancing around a bonfire of dead bodies. Caleb was beside him, grinning like an idiot and John felt a smile tugging at his own mouth because it was always hard for Dean’s enthusiasm not to be contagious. Tommy was standing a little ways off, still torching one of the monsters and the other three were nowhere to be found—probably still combing the woods.
The brush next to Tommy caught fire and he yelped, stomping it out. “Put that out before you burn the whole place down,” Caleb yelled, pulling his attention away from Dean. He shook his head and then finally noticed John, nodding to him. “Think we got ‘em,” he said. “Others are off making sure, but we took a lot of ‘em out.”
“Good,” John replied. There was one last shriek in the woods before it suddenly cut off and Brad Holslinger stepped into the swampy clearing.
“Fred and Kate’s got the last one,” he said, shuffling towards John and the sheriff. “Damn near gonna burn down the forest getting it, but they’ve got it.”
Beside him, McKinsey retched again, the smell that was still on his pants apparently getting too overwhelming. John glanced down at him and sidled away. He jerked his head towards Dean. “Gonna take my boy home now,” John told him. McKinsey didn’t answer, just waved a hand and gagged again. John nodded, figuring that would do as a ‘by your leave’ and went to collect Dean. With a little bit of luck, John hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with McKinsey’s suspicions again—he’d denied the unexplainable once. To do it twice would just be stupid. Sammy had to be worrying himself sick by now, too, back at the motel. For a nine year old, Sam worried more than a mother hen.
No doubt Dean would want to get back to his baby brother, too. John was rather proud of the sense of responsibility Dean felt about Sam—good sense of family. Some considered that a fault but John believed it was more an indication of character.
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw a figure emerge out of the woods and he swung around, lifting his flamethrower. Fred raised his hands, waiting for John to lower his weapon. “We got ‘em.” Katherine stepped out beside him, shaking gunk out of her hair.
John nodded and grunted something he hoped sounded vaguely okay before continuing on to Dean.
“—so fucking cool—”
“Watch your mouth, Dean,” John warned wearily, watching as Dean automatically snapped to attention.
“Yes, sir!” Dean said, saluting and John was struck at how grown-up Dean could appear when he wanted to. The boy was at that age where he seemed to be continuously growing taller, stretching out into what was sure to be a gangly teenager. Dean’s smile reappeared and John glared at Tommy who was approaching on his left.
Tommy raised his hands in surrender, suddenly remembering John’s rules, and grinned. “Just wanted to know if you wanted to go get a drink.” His eyes slid from John to Caleb and finally to Dean.
John stepped into his line of sight, blocking Dean. “A drink?” he growled. He was sure that that wasn’t all Tommy wanted from them; John didn’t trust that friendly face one little bit.
Tommy shrugged. “Kid can have a Coke or something,” he said. “Just was talking with a few of the guys in town—” John didn’t bother to ask who “—and they were talking about having a bonfire east of here. Sounded like a good way to celebrate.”
“A drink sounds good,” Fred grunted and Katherine nodded in agreement.
Caleb glanced up at John. “One drink?” he asked and John stared at the ground. One drink, he supposed, wouldn’t hurt anything. And he did need to relax a little. More than a little. After a good hunt, all of John’s focus just went straight on down the drain until he found the next one. He needed that challenge to keep his mind in the game.
“One drink,” John said, knowing that it would be more.
---
Dean wasn’t happy with him. Neither was Sammy, for that matter, because if Dean wasn’t happy, God knows Sammy wouldn’t be. John stared into his plastic cup like it might have the answers for him.
He knew why Dean was mad. Dean—stupid naïve kid that he was—had wanted to ‘hang out with the boys.’ Like Hell, though, was John going to let his 13 year old hang out at a drunken party in the woods after dark. Especially not with people that John didn’t trust farther than he could throw them. There was always something a little off about hunters and John knew better than to trust most of them. It was a rare one indeed that was worth their weight in salt. Matter of fact, John was fairly certain that he could tick off the ones that were using just his fingers and have a couple of digits left over.
He’d thought that Dean would understand that. But what he’d gotten when he’d dropped the kid off at the motel with a stern warning not to leave was a hissed accusation of John just wanting to get drunk again. Then the kid had lapsed into that insolent ‘yes, sir’, ‘no, sir’ routine that he’d gotten so damn good at lately and had slammed the door in John’s face. John had considered breaking down the door—only Dean could make a proper answer sound so damn insulting—but Caleb had been waiting in the parking lot, watching him with curious eyes.
It wasn’t like John got drunk all the time. It wasn’t like he got drunk most of the time. Yeah, he probably drank more than he should but living his life, he needed it. He’d go fucking crazy if he didn’t. Dean would understand when he was older.
So here was standing in the middle of a field around a pile of burning apple trees, drinking barely tolerable beer out of a plastic red cup. Five star, it was not but, John figured, downing the last of the alcohol in his glass, it got the job done. He could only hope, though, that it would give him just that little bit of peace if only for a few hours.
Caleb was chatting amiably with some of the locals because he’d always been good at putting on a friendly face and Tommy was with him, pretending like they were old friends. Brad was passed out at the edge of the firelight, Fred was stumbling towards the keg and Katherine was busy making out with one of the guys from town—apparently she’d gotten over Fred.
John stared at the blazing fire in front of him, feeling it warm his skin and heat his body. It felt good to stand in front of it, kind of like a ritual purging, but the more he stood, watching the flames lick the dead wood, the more he wondered if anyone would notice if he just left now. This just wasn’t quite doing it for him. He could deal with the beer but the company…
That was when, though, he noticed the hush falling over the crowd. John turned away from the fire, following the guys’ line of sight back towards where they’d left the cars. McKinsey’s Tahoe had pulled in behind the line of vehicles and the sheriff had stepped out. He was dressed in plain jeans and a leather jacket, his uniform nowhere to be seen but it wasn’t like you could mistake him. One guy who looked all of nineteen choked on his beer, spitting it out and throwing away the cup and a few more were hiding their drinks behind their backs. John just stared straight ahead, watching as McKinsey made a beeline for him. McKinsey stopped directly in front of him, jaw clenched and staring. “Winchester,” he said.
John tilted his head. “Sheriff.”
The rest of the guys were staring at them now, probably wondering what the Hell Sheriff McKinsey wanted with John. Frankly, John was wondering that too. Running him out of town after saving his ass—twice, possibly three times—was just bad form. The unwanted attention of the crowd made John roll his shoulders uncomfortably. Never did like people staring at him. McKinsey, though, ignored it all and jerked his head back towards the Tahoe. “Got a minute?” he asked.
And maybe John had had more to drink than he thought because when he opened his mouth, “Sure,” popped out before he could stop it. What the fuck else did have to do, anyway, though? He’d already been thinking about leaving. The fire was the best part about the field he was standing in and it wasn’t enough to burn him into numbness like he wanted. After a hunt, that was all you really needed—something to make everything else go away. So when McKinsey headed back to the vehicles, John simply followed and they walked out of the firelight and the eerie silence McKinsey’s appearance had caused.
McKinsey stopped by the Tahoe, bowing his head and John thumbed his belt loops, rocking back on his heels. “So, what can I do you for, Sheriff?” he asked lazily. He kind of hoped that McKinsey wanted a fight—John was game for a good fight.
Instead of answering, though, McKinsey kept his eyes low and climbed into the SUV, waiting. Tilting his head curiously, John followed suit, sliding into the passenger side seat. He shut the door after himself and leaned back against it, eyeing McKinsey. In the darkness, he could just barely make out McKinsey’s face—see the lines of his nose and jaw, see that McKinsey was staring back. “Christo.” McKinsey didn’t flinch and John grinned. “Just checking.” It never hurt, he supposed. The sheriff swallowed and started the SUV, backing it out onto the highway.
John wondered just how long that they were going to play this game. At least, he thought, watching McKinsey drive, with the sheriff’s silence, his best features were enhanced. There really were some people that were meant to be seen and not heard. McKinsey was a fairly attractive man and John found he didn’t particularly mind looking at him—provided, of course, that the man wasn’t talking. Jesus, he needed to get laid. Maybe John would leave the boys with Jim for a few days while he went out and scratched that particular itch.
Apparently, McKinsey had a destination in mind. The Tahoe turned two corners, heading down a side-street of the little town before McKinsey pulled into the driveway of a modest if still nicely done two-story house. He shifted into park and killed the engine, staring at the steering wheel.
John waited in the silence, content to keep letting McKinsey take the lead and see where this was going. After the adrenaline of the hunt, he was even finding it kind of enjoyable. McKinsey shifted in his seat and that was the only warning that John got before the sheriff fairly launched himself at John, pinning him to the window. “The hell—” McKinsey covered John’s mouth with his own, his hand fisting in John’s shirt, desperate and shaking and John finally got it.
Oh.
He kissed McKinsey back, lips sliding over the other man’s and when McKinsey’s tongue slipped into John’s mouth he let it, licking back. McKinsey groaned, turning the kiss rough and pressing harder against John, shoving him into the cold glass of the Tahoe’s door. John clasped his hands on McKinsey’s shoulders, pushing him back though the sheriff didn’t go willingly. Buying himself an inch of breathing space, he stared at McKinsey’s panting face, feeling his own excitement notching upward.
Okay, so maybe he’d had more than just a little to drink. But fuck it. “You got a bed?”
McKinsey nodded and opened the door behind John—pushing him outside and crawling over the seat to join him. He didn’t allow John to get very far away, always keeping at least one hand fisted in John’s clothes as he pulled him to the door and John sincerely hoped that the sheriff’s neighbors were asleep.
McKinsey fumbled with the lock, swearing to himself before getting it open and dragging John inside. John had a glimpse of light blue walls and tasteful paintings before McKinsey slammed the door and pushed John up against it. “Nice place,” John said, staring at McKinsey’s lips.
“Was my parents,” McKinsey replied before pressing against John and kissing him again. John braced himself, holding the sheriff at a distance as he angled his head, trying to get the desperate man to slow it down. John liked kissing and he never got a chance anymore—a quick fuck, sure, but a good kiss? Good luck.
McKinsey was all tongue in his excitement and John preferred a little more lip action. He held the man still while he taught him the proper way to kiss, sucking on his bottom lip before moving to the upper, sliding easily in the wetness of their mouths. McKinsey whined, giving in to John’s persuasion and unlocked his fists from John’s shirt, sliding his hands gently across John’s chest instead. That’s right, John coaxed, changing the angle again, nice and smooth. I’m not going anywhere.
He slid the sheriff’s coat off his shoulders, and McKinsey stopped touching John just long enough to drop it down to the floor and pull off his shirt as well. John took the time to do the same and when McKinsey came back, he was ready for him. McKinsey practically melted against him, head tilting up to keep his mouth pressed to John’s while his palms smoothed over John’s bare shoulders. John swayed, his sense of balance starting to fade as his blood rushed southward but it didn’t matter anymore because McKinsey was pushing him backward anyway.
Slowly, they walked down a hallway and McKinsey turned them, backing John into a room and eventually onto a bed. John let himself fall over onto the mattress, grinning up at McKinsey and daring him to join. McKinsey took the challenge, crawling on top of John and John ran a hand down McKinsey’s chest, trailing his fingers in the dusting of hair and following it down to his waistband. McKinsey’s hips jerked forward, the excitement getting the better of him and John’s grin grew. “C’mere,” he said, reaching up to hook a hand around the back of the sheriff’s head and dragging him down to meet John’s mouth again.
John slid two fingers along the edge of the sheriff’s jeans before popping open the button and sliding down the zipper. McKinsey gasped and froze, shaking slightly. John paused for a moment, assessing how far McKinsey was going to be willing to go before he decided screw it. He slipped his hand into McKinsey’s underwear, grabbing his dick. “I’ve never—” McKinsey bit his lip, stopping himself from completing the sentence and John gave him a stroke, saying he understood.
“You can do me,” he said and McKinsey’s dick twitched in his hand. “Get some lube.”
As McKinsey swallowed and leaned over to rummage through his nightstand, John slid his pants off, dropping them to the floor. It’d been months since he’d last gotten laid and it’d been years since he’d last gotten fucked. He forced himself to stay calm even as half-remembered memories of what it felt like flashed through his head. It wouldn’t do to rush this.
McKinsey, though, was shaking as he came back, a tube of KY and a condom in his unsteady hand. John grabbed the lube, popping the top and smearing some on his fingers. “Put that on,” John said, nodding at the condom before moving his hand down between his thighs. He was fairly certain that McKinsey would be able to handle that at least.
He groaned as he breached himself, his eyes sliding closed. Fuck but that felt good. He took a deep breath, calming himself before continuing to slick himself up. McKinsey’s little abortive moans as he watched him weren’t helping, though—they made John’s dick throb in anticipation. He smeared just enough around to help slick the way before pulling out and coating McKinsey’s dick with whatever was left over. “You ready?” John asked, lifting a leg to hook around McKinsey’s back and pull him closer. McKinsey pitched forward, falling onto his hands, and stared at John, panting already. “Yeah,” John said. “You’re ready.” He reached down, grabbing McKinsey’s knee and coaxing him closer. The man moved forward eagerly, settling between John’s spread thighs and positioning himself. “Nice and easy,” John coached. “Nice and eessss—” He cut off with a hiss as McKinsey pushed inside.
John took a few deep breaths, willing himself to relax, accepting McKinsey inside of him. He locked his legs around the sheriff’s back, holding him still while John adjusted. McKinsey collapsed on top of him, panting in John’s ear before giving in and licking at it. “Mmm,” John hummed. “Yeah.” He slowly loosened his hold, allowing McKinsey to move.
McKinsey was shaking as he pulled out and he groaned as he thrust back in. He buried his face in John’s neck, breathing deep and John held him, knowing that this wasn’t going to last near as long as either one of them would like.
He fumbled between them, squeezing his hand underneath McKinsey’s body to grab his dick, his breath hitching at the first touch. Jesus. Now that he’d thought about it, it’d been a long time since he’d even last jerked off. Fuck, but just that little touch was making him see stars. McKinsey rocked forward again, falling into a steady rhythm occasionally interrupted by an erratic thrust.
“Yeah,” John said. “Yeah, just like that…” He pressed his shoulders back against the bed, raising his hips and McKinsey’s next thrust made him gasp. “Oh fuck yeah…” His eyes fluttered open, catching a glimpse of McKinsey’s drop tile ceiling before McKinsey had his vision starting to blur around the edges.
McKinsey was licking and sucking at John’s neck, his breath coming in harsh pants that had John shivering each time the air hit his wetted skin. “God,” McKinsey was chanting in between pants and licks. “God, god, god, god…”
So fucking close… John grit his teeth and arched his back just a little more, tightening up the muscles in his body. His orgasm began with a small shiver, growing stronger until his entire vision turned to white and he was helpless to do anything but ride it out, his body seizing with the pleasure.
“Oh God…” McKinsey was whispering, “Oh God…” and he sped up, pounding into John. John shivered with each hit on his prostate, grunting with the force that McKinsey was slamming into him with. McKinsey lost his rhythm and then he was shuddering, pulsing inside of John as he muffled his scream against John’s neck.
The fight left McKinsey’s body, and he collapsed completely on top of John, his muscles going loose and languid. John held him lightly, his hand trailing through the sweat on McKinsey’s back as he pushed his own sweat-slick hair back out of his eyes and pressed his face against McKinsey’s hair. “Yeah…”
---
McKinsey was out cold when John snuck out of his bed. Somehow he’d gotten entangled a bit in the sheets and it took some work to slip out of them, but McKinsey didn’t even stir. He took a brief moment to watch McKinsey sleeping, taking in his bed head and his innocently relaxed face—damn attractive man when he wasn’t talking. John swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, briefly entertaining the idea of taking a shower before picking up his clothes and leaving the sleeping sheriff alone in the bedroom. He put his clothes on in the hallway before heading for the front door. Passing through the living room, he saw the plush beige couch and the fake fireplace with a picture of what had to be him and his parents on the little mantel.
John shook his head, hoping that Sheriff Paul McKinsey’s little brush with the supernatural wouldn’t screw him up too badly even if John knew otherwise. It changed you when you found out that the things that went bump in the night were real—that the horror stories weren’t just horror stories. Gave you a different way of looking at things.
He let himself out the front door and then swore softly at his monumental stupidity. The Impala was still down in the field with the bonfire. Fuck. He thought about hotwiring the Tahoe, or even sneaking the keys out of McKinsey’s pocket but knew that it wouldn’t be worth it. So he started jogging down the street, hoping that he was remembering the way correctly—Jesus, just how had he had to drink anyway?—and thanking whoever cared that it was 2 in the morning when all sensible small town folk were safely ensconced in their beds.
Luckily, Meersville was incredibly small and McKinsey hadn’t taken him that far. It only took him just under an hour to hike back to the Impala which was just as he’d left it. He checked her over, though, just to be sure. A few of the locals were still hanging around, either meandering or passed out drunk and John paid them no mind as he started the Impala and headed for the motel where he’d left the boys.
When he pulled into the parking lot, however, he realized that Caleb’s truck was parked just outside room 6 and John frowned. He would have thought that Caleb had left already. Wasn’t like there was much room in their shithole of a room unless Caleb wanted the couch.
He parked the car and walked to the door, opening it with his eyes automatically going to the bed where Dean and Sammy should safely be asleep, curled up in each other’s arms like puppies. Wouldn’t be much longer before they’d be protesting that but John would take whatever small favors he got. To his surprise, though, the bed was empty. He jerked his gaze back to his own bed, hoping… But no, it was empty, too. So he glanced around to the rest of the room and found Caleb staring at him from the room’s lone arm chair. Dean was sitting on the couch, Sammy curled up on top of him fast asleep. Dean caught sight of John and his face lit up even as something akin to fear flittered across it. John cocked his head at his son.
Dean moved to stand before remembering that Sammy was on his lap and settled back down, biting his lip and staring at John with wide, conflicted eyes. “What’s going on?” John asked quietly.
Caleb was already at the door, though, pushing him outside. “Shh,” he said. “Don’t want to wake up, Sammy…”
John growled and caught Caleb’s hand, pulling it off of him. “What are you doing?”
Caleb ignored him, turning towards Dean, his voice turning even softer than usual. “We’ll be right back, Dean. Let me go tell your dad outside so he doesn’t wake up Sammy, okay?”
A tiny streak of panic shot through John, racing through his body and he reacted the only way he knew how. As soon as Caleb shut the door behind him, John pushed him up against it. “What the HELL is going on?” he demanded.
Caleb glanced at the ground, not giving John anything to build his anger on, damn the man. He licked his lips. “Dean’s…a little worried,” he said.
“About what?”
Caleb’s eyes finally flittered up to meet John’s. “That he didn’t stay in the motel room.”
“I’m going to beat that boy,” John snarled. You couldn’t let something like this just go because John knew that it would only get worse. Best to nip these things in the bud.
“He’s thirteen, John!” Caleb hissed back, taking John by surprise. “That’s what teenagers do! They push the limits.”
“All the better for me to show him where they are then—”
“Would you just shut up and listen?” John’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click. “He just went to the fucking pop machine and he’s terrified that you’re going to kill him over it!”
John blinked. “What?” Then the kid hadn’t even really left the motel, so why would he… “Why?”
“Because of what happened,” Caleb huffed. He shoved John away, brushing him off and straightening his shirt. “He was…attacked.”
John’s blood ran cold. “By what?” It was always a what in their profession. Always a fucking what. “I thought we got them all.” And why would one of them crawl all the way into town after Dean?
“Not what, John, who.” Caleb was even less forth coming than usual—possibly wrestling with what to say and how much to tell him. John forced himself to stay calm, at least until he got the details.
“And?” he prompted, his hands balling into fists at his side in the effort to stay still.
“And he wasn’t hurt,” Caleb answered. “He’s just a little shaken up. I don’t think he expected it.”
John sucked in a breath before asking his next question. “Did the fucker touch him?” By Caleb’s flinch, John knew that they were on exactly the same page. Jesus, the kid was only thirteen…
“…I think so.”
John exploded. “I knew it!” he shouted. “Knew I couldn’t trust any of those sons of bitches!” He’d seen the way that Tommy had been looking at Dean and he should have killed the mother fucker right then. He turned, heading for the Impala.
“Where are you going, John?” Caleb asked quietly, stopping him cold.
“I’m going to kill Tommy Walters, what the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” That sick son of a bitch was going to pay for daring to touch his boy. Just admiring the bike, his ass. John was going to make him pay.
“It wasn’t him, John,” Caleb said, sighing. “I already told you, I only called people that I trust. Do you think I’d really run with somebody like that?”
“Then who?” John demanded, stalking back up to Caleb. “Who, Caleb, because I’m going to fucking kill him—”
“Cam Redding,” Caleb told him. Which meant jack diddily fuck to John.
“Who the fuck is Cam Redding?”
Caleb glanced at the motel’s office. “The motel owner.” John was stuck gaping at Caleb, his mouth useless and Caleb decided to continue. “Dean came out for a soda and I guess that’s where Cam saw him.” John knew that he didn’t want to hear anymore, but he couldn’t bear for Caleb to stop either. “He, uh, forced Dean to his knees…”
John flinched, turning away. “Goddamn it…” he swore. While he’d been off getting fucked by McKinsey Dean had been… He slammed his fist against the side of the building. “Goddamn it!” He was a fucking failure as a father.
Caleb gave John a little bit of time to rage before saying his next bit. “You should be proud of Dean, John.” John turned back to Caleb who added flatly, “he gave that son of a bitch exactly what he deserved.” Caleb’s own fists were clenching and he swallowed, fighting back emotion. “When I found the sick bastard, after Dean called, he didn’t look so great. Dean’d broken his nose and probably busted a couple of his ribs.”
John felt a smile pushing through his guilt and anger. Yeah. That sounded like Dean. The boy was good. “So,” John said quietly, carefully staring at the pavement. “Where’s Cam Redding now?
Caleb shrugged. “Somewhere in the woods,” he replied casually, like he didn’t particularly care. “With a bullet in his head.” John jerked his eyes up from their contemplation of the ground, meeting Caleb’s even stare. “I promised you I’d take care of them, John. I meant that.”
There was a brief stab of disappointment for having his vengeance already done for him but it was soon overwhelmed. John gripped the back of Caleb’s neck, pulling the unresisting man close and bowing his head. “Thank you,” he said.
Caleb gripped John’s neck in return, holding them in position for a few seconds before releasing him and backing away. “Dean wants to see you.” John closed his eyes, fighting back the prickle of tears, and nodded.
When he re-entered the room, Dean was still staring at him, terrified yet wanting at the same time and John walked up to him, watching his eyes get even bigger. John stopped in front of him and reached out a hand, watching with a sense of pride how Dean didn’t flinch, just waited for judgment. Slowly, John sank his hand into Dean’s hair, ruffling it.
Dean’s face crumpled and he folded over top of Sammy, clutching his baby brother to him as he choked back his sobs and John let him cry, still moving his hand slowly through Dean’s hair.
Two hours later, they were all on the road again, Caleb heading back north while John picked west for him and the boys. The money that John had lent Cam Redding was firmly back in his pocket as well as a little bit extra. He figured that good old Cam wouldn’t really need it anyway. The dead tended to have little use for cash.
Dean and Sammy were curled up together in the back seat, sound asleep and looking like the carefree kids they should have been. John glanced at them in his rearview mirror, smiling as the Impala cruised down the highway, leaving the tiny town of Meersville, Mississippi behind.
Somewhere in the backwoods, one last fire blazed, turning a body into dust. It still wasn’t enough but it would have to do.