Part 14: ...What doors and locks are for.
They appear to hate each other’s gut, which makes it less likely. Not impossible, mind you, just take a look at the world nowadays, but not likely. Come on. Maybe she’s an aunt, a friend of the mother’s. Something like that. That’s way more apt, considering they fight like a couple of hyenas. Just louder. Yikes.
“You promised Lindsay to come by and get Gus, Brian!” the female hyena cries, flapping her wings--er, that would be baring her teeth, certainly.
“So what? Something came up,” the male one yells back, “I didn’t get him and what the fuck do you know? The world’s still fucking turning. It’s not as if you’re so overwhelmingly happy to see me whenever I do show up at your doorstep, so don’t fucking come into my house to bitch at me about what I should and shouldn’t do with my son!”
She bestows another cold glare on him, snarling, “Oh I can just imagine what came up, you fucking prick! It’s not like you care that that kid is waiting for you, do you?”
Brian snorts. “Bull. Shit. He doesn’t even know I was getting him today. That’s not was this is about, is it? You’re always so fucking happy whenever I stay as far away you’re your cheerfully domstic little family,” he mocks, “you’re just pissed that you can’t fuck your wife-y now that Gus is still there. That’s what’s really grating you, isn't it Mel?”
Dean almost drops his mug. Of course, lesbians. Why didn’t he ever think of that? Fuck me again!
“At least I don’t put my son’s welfare above my sex life, you selfish prick.”
“You talk and talk, but all I hear is blah fucking blah.”
And off they are again. Dean stares, a little dumbfounded, and a lot amused. And right there, another light bulb turns on in his head. So that is the reason Brian’s home. Scrubbing a hand over his head, he lets a quiet sigh slip. But apparently not quiet enough, because the woman turns and takes a go at him. “Would you mind quit staring, asshole? If you don’t have the decency to fucking leave than at least--”
Dean holds up his hands – one half in defeat, the other just to get her to shut up. What the hell doe she care? It’s not like there’s a place in the loft – or outside, for that matter – where he wouldn’t hear them going at it anyway. Telling her that is not one of his best decisions, true, but hey. In pain, here, so they can fucking cut him some slack. No one does. Of course not. Dean barely refrains from rolling his eyes, because that? Really would be a mistake. And childish. “Listen, sweetheart,” and he opts to ignore Brian’s snort, “I have no idea what you’re going on about, but I don’t doubt for a second that there is no place in this building where they can’t hear you two bitching.”
Tilting his head a little, he gives her a shrug. “But if you’d rather have me gone. Fine.”
He slips off the chair heading for the coffee pot, because if he has to get out of here for a while? That’s just as well, he’s got lots to read, only not without a fresh cup of coffee. He’ll probably need it, too. Thing is, the two of them remind him of children at a playground hashing it out about one thing or another. The only thing missing is the hair pulling and throwing sand at each other. Or maybe a pair of teenaged chicks in a cat fight over a guy. Dean would know, he’s had it happen to him.
He barely catches himself from smiling at the memory. ’Cause come on, it was kinda hot. Only that was years ago, and these two are supposed to be adults here. “I can’t believe I give Sammy crap about being a girl. If you’re searching for me,” he tells Brian, “I’m outside the door, listening in with the rest of the neighbors.” He’s about three steps to the door, feeling Mel’s stare all the way on his back, when Brian’s voice sounds again, low but angry. “The fuck you are.”
Dean stops in his tracks, turning around just as Mel splutters out a flabbergasted, “Excuse me?”
“Take your goddamn dildo or whatever it is that’s up your ass and get out, Melanie. Oh and please give my regards to Gus and your wife.”
‘Mel’ huffs and puffs, so obviously livid that he can see the fire in her eyes when she looks at him again. The idea of stream coming out of her ears makes him clomp down on the insane laughter bubbling up his throat. She doesn’t miss the twitch of his lips, though, which earns him another glower and a “Fuck you.” Dean merely shrugs. He’s been told a lot worse, called a lot worse by a lot of different people. Stopped caring years and years back. Learned to stop listening shortly after.
But his indiffernce isn’t sitting well with Melanie, as she turns he eyes back on him, repeating her “fuck you” before walking out. She doesn’t bang the door on her way out, nor does she react when Brian once again calls after her to say “hi” to his son and Lindsay. Just keeps going.
It’s quiet for a while after she’s gone, only the tap-tap-tap of shoes on cold, hard stone echoing in the stairway. Getting quieter as she gets further down. He jumps when Brian finally closes the door. With a bang. Whoa, careful there, dude. And Sam still wonders why Dean doesn’t want to trade their life for ‘normal’. Because if this is normal? He takes their own fucked up little world and family over this any day.
“What the fuck is it with people walking in here anyway? Fucking Christ,” he growls.
Shrugging, as he watches Brian stalk past him and into the kitchen again, he says, “You could always not let them in.”
“Yeah, and that is so easy.”
“That’s what doors and locks are for, isnt it?”
Brian scoffs, whilst pouring coffee into his cup, and apparently so not caring that half of it sloshes over the rim and onto the counter. Followed by thrown in cream and sugar, some stirrig and more spilling over. A milky brown puddle, turning into a small lake. Ewww. “With a bunch of friends like mine? Not fucking likely. Nothing is ever that easy with them.” And takes a huge gulp, wincing either at the heat or what Dean thinks is a not so fortunate blend of coffee, cream and sugar.
Chuckling, Dean shakes his head at the older man’s behavior as the puddle makes its way across the slick, polished countertop. When Brian catches him watching, he sheepishly eyes the mess, wordlessly going back to emptying the mug. Before the liquid can spill over the edge and onto the floor, Brian casually disposes a few paper towels in the way, successfully halting the coffee flood. The brunette gives him a victorious grin – and Dean can’t help but grin back. And fuck him if he doesn’t like Brian. Because know what? He really, really does.
But making friends, well, that’s a luxery he can’t afford. In their line of work friends are a risk as well as at risk, knowing him. Knowing them, knowing what they do. It’s bad enough that Brian and Justin now know what’s out there, really out there. He’s told Sam as much – look what happened in St. Louis and what a fiasco that turned out to be. A legally dead murderer, that’s what he is right now. Of course it was the right thing to do, and no, he’s not complaining, but affording to keep in contact with friends too closely? That’s never a good idea and most of the time it doesn’t work out well.
Brian and he stand like this for a long minute, grinning at each other, until, finally, they ain’t grinning anymore. It’s the return of that weirdl wonderfully tingle in his gut, heat spreading up his neck and way south as he realizes that, yes, Brian’s still mostly naked and walking closer again, smirking that stupid tongue in cheek smirk again all the same drinking coffee and--
--kisses him.
Kissing him flush on the mouth, a pair of soft and wet coffee flavoured lips and tongue and way too warm and wet and dirty. He’s a little too dazed or surprised to shove him away at first, and when he’s finally got his bearing back, Brian’s moving away all on his own, smirking, as he rubs a thumb over the corner of Dean’s lips. “You had… cream there,” he offers as an excuse, yet he doesn’t sound particularly sorry. Dean doesn’t believe for a second he is. Nor that there was any cream to begin with.
The mention of cream, however, makes him think of far less innocent things and the soft press to his lips goes straight to his groin, burning. It makes him want to suck on that elegant, oh-so-tempting finger. Find out if it tastes of coffee, too. Shit. Blinking stupidly there for a second, he tried to get his last few sane remaining brain cells to work. “You got a kid?” Okay, fine, changing the topic isn’t that bad, even if it was a little obvious. Or his voice being a bit too high-pitched. Damn it.
“Smooth, Dean, really smooth,” Brian murmurs. Taking a step back. Finally! “But, yeah. Jerked off into a cup and that’s all she wrote.” He points to the closed door. “That? Was the mother bitter half. Now and then I wonder if there isn’t a pair of balls somewhere between her legs, too.” He shudders and Dean laughs.
“Be careful, or someone might think you’re scared of pussy.” Brian’s eyebrow go up. Way, way up. And, yeah. Okay, so, “on second thought…”
Brian snorts, but saying nothing as he goes to get himself another refill. Holding up his cup, he says, “I drink to that. Half of the people I know are more or less convinced that I’m the devil in disguise anyway. But who gives a shit.”
Dean snickers, watching him drink. The devil in disguise, huh. Oh yeah, Brian might be an asshole, sarcastic as hell or whatever, but one thing he’s not. The devil – or anything else for that matter – in disguise. You get what you see, so to speak. Grinning, because come on, the plan that just popped up in his head? Is genius, if he dare say so himself. Ahem. Jogging, well, more or less, shut up, up the stairs, he carefully crouches infront of his bag.
Brian throws him a curious glance when he passes. He’ll see. Digging through the shit in there, he comes up with handcuffs – nope, wrong kink; for now, – a dreamcatcher – huh, how did that get in here? - a pack of matches and, ah yes. There it is. With the flick of his wrist, he opens the small container and turns it around, a cold, smooth weight hitting his waiting palm. Stuffing everything else back inside, he gets up and turns to face Brian, who’s – surprise, surprise – putting on clothes. “Hey.” Dean calls out, sharp and quick so it gets the man’s attention. Looking at him. “Catch.”
What do you know? He does, even though his ass hits the bed as he loses his balance trying to catch that little something with his jeans half up to his calfs. “Fuck! What the fuck?!”
That picture! Like a lost, little boy. And he can’t help it. Dean bursts out laughing, almost doubling over as Brian glares at him. “Dude. You should see yourself,” he gasp, pointing at the half dressed man sprawled half across the bed.
“Ha. Ha.”
It takes a pillow hitting his head a second later to get himself back to the task at hand. “Uh. Yeah.”
“What the fuck is this?” There, on the palm of Brian’s hand, is a silver shining bullet.
“A bullet?”
“I see that, Dean, but the hell did you just throw that thing at me?”
“To prove a theory.”
“The fuck?!”
“That thing? Is a silver bullet blessed by a priest and engraved with the Lord’s prayer. Don’t bother reading, you’ll just hurt your eyes,” he insists. It’s true. You need a magnifying glass for that. The blank look that greets him, makes him chuckle. “That thing, as small as it is, kills almost everything out there.” They know too much already, so why not give them the real deal? Let them know to be careful. Always. There are not human monster out there as well. “Demon. Werewolf. Shapeshifter. You name it. You ain’t the devil, dude, not even a measly demon. Sorry.”
He isn’t. And wouldn’t it have been just the Winchsters’ luck if he actually would have turned out to be a human possessed by a demon? Of course it would have. Good thing Lady Luck obviously is busy tormenting someone else somewhere else. For a second there is a look of utter confusion, followed by shock, covering his face, until it’s gone and in its place is a smirk and amusement once more.
“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone,” he says, meek. It’s a joke, but not really. Maybe half of it.
Chuckling, because it’s expected, Dean shrugs. “Nah. Don’t worry. Your secret’s save with me.” When the brunette tries to give back the bullet, Dean swats his hand away. “Keep it.”
It’s the door once again that saves him – them – from saying anything more. Hopefully no more surprise visitors, but no. Their new company turns out to be no other than Justin. Thank God. Dean steps away as Brian gets up to get his pants on properly.
“In here,” Brian calls out after finally buttoning up his pants.
There’s the familiar sound of rustling paper before the blond walks up, his carriere bag still draped over on shoulder. He doesn’t look happy. Not at all, despite the smile and the “hey” he offers Dean. In fact, he looks like someone just killed his puppy. Does the kid have a puppy?
“My, Sunshine, aren’t we one awfully cheerful camper today!”
“Shut up Brian.”
Huh? Brian seems to think the same: “What the fuck crawled up your ass and died?” There’s no real heat or menance behind the words. Just asking a question.
“Nothing,” Justin says, voice muffled through the pullover he’s pulling on. “Just, why did Melanie just storm out of the house, running into me and arranging half of the groceries all over the sidewalk, before she warned me not to come up here – twice - when she couldn’t get me to leave with her? Hell, I think she was short of just kidnapping me. So? What’s up?” The confused look is a rather cute look on the blond, but the sparkle of anger and annoyance is hard to overlook in his oh-so-epressive blue eyes.
“Because,” Brian snaps, “Sunshine, poor little you has to be protected from the corrupting devil. Or. No, no, no, no, the bad wolf. Right. The big bad wolf. has to be protected from the fucking devil, no wait, the big, bad wolf.”, he sing-songs, holding up the silver bullet.
“Huh?”
Brian barks at him. “How the fuck should I know?”
“No I mean the…” Justin suddenly freezes, hand still raised to wave at the bullet in hand. Apparently somewhere something clicks in the kid’s brain, light bulb going on behind two sharp eyes. Well, at least someone’s getting what’s going on, ‘cause he certainly doesn’t. Not really. “Why didn’t you tell to her why you couldn’t get Gus?” he insists. And okay, that’s something he’d like to know, too. “I’m sure Lindsay would have…”
“Because it’s none of her fucking business, Justin!”
“Brian.”
‘Brian’, however, brushes the kid off by rushing past him and right out of the room, leaving Dean with his boyfriends. And his coffee. Not for long though, for after a deep breath, there’s only his coffee to keep him company. Stepping up, so he can lean against the panel frame and watch, it’s freakin’ obvious that the young man is used to Brian queening out like this.
“So, just to be clear,” Justin starts, making his way across the room, “Mel mistook Dean for your latest trick.” The blond is smiling now, he can hear it in his voice, and he’s without a doubt not waiting for conformation or anything like that as he goes on. “And you let her believe that bullshit. Oh Christ, I cannot believe…” Voice trailing off into laughter, he takes the last step so he’s standing directly behind Brian sitting at his desk. Curling both arms around the man, more or less hugging him, and nuzzling his nose against the back of his neck.
“As if one of your fucks ever, ever stays the night, let alone the day. Jesus, and you call me a drama princess. You’re all drama queens, you know that right? All of you.”
“Fuck off.”
“You couldn’t have told her that Dean’s just a guest, could you? Oh God, I love you, but I swear, every normal person would have just told her that. That they couldn’t get Gus, because someone was bleeding all over their bathroom floor. But no. Not Brian Kinney, right? He always does things the hard way.”
Brian grabs Justin’s right hand and pushes it down to his crotch. “Always, Justin. Always. Hard.” Dean grins. Of course that’s what he’s going to say. “Didn’t you learn anything?”
Laughing, Justin kisses Brian’s ear. Soundly. “I learned, all right. Most of all that while you act like the most grumpy grouch known to mankind, you really are just a big, old teddy bear,” he snickers. Brian shoves Justin off so viciously that, for a moment, Dean is afraid the blond is going to hurt himself falling down. Except he’s still laughing picking himself off the floor and seating himself on the man’s lap, both wrists crossed behind his neck.
“The fuck, Justin?!”
“Yeah, I love you too, Brian. Now put that devious tongue of yours in my mouth and shut the hell up.”
*--*--*
The world can be a cruel and ruthless place.
Everone knows that. The Winchesters, though? Probably better than most.
Dean certainly knows that there are evil things out there. Things out there to get you and the people you care about and people other people care about. There’re things out that got his mom and Jessica and oh so many other people. Innocent people and not so innocent people. Things out there he’s hunting. Hunting them down until they are nothing more but dead corpse on the ground or turned into a pile of ashes.
If even that.
Ghosts, demons, werewolves – those are the supernatural beings he deals with, day in day out. And lots more. But the other evil, the one that is lurking all around them all the time and all human? That is the one almost harder to take. Harder to deal with. Reading the life – and death – stories of those kids turned spirits, turned murderers, even the chick that’s directing these ghosts, using them as nothing more than killing devices – a fancy knife or gun, if you like – read like horror movies made in Hollywood
Abuse, violence and hate written all over them with a deep crimson marker.
Deep crimson. Like blood.
Shaking his head in disbelieve and/or disgust as he reads the reports Sam left him with – and he does it more than once, because he doesn’t get it. Not really. Doesn’t want to, really. The other girl, or no. Not girl, but beautiful young woman, as her birth date indicades. She was already 19 – Dean snorts. Try ‘barely’, why don’t you. - when she died. Abandoned by a mother one day when she was a little girl and went through one foster parent after another, only to be killed by her so called ‘best friend’ years later with a gun as she went out with her new boyfriend. A guy said best friend wanted for herself. Boyfriend survived the attack – took a bullet to the shoulder and back. Never going to walk again.
Then there’s the other kid, the male ghost with the deformed face from the night before – cause of death: fatal hit to the head. Explaines the damage they saw. What the report does not say is that some sick fuck beat the poor dude with a golf club. Head, rips, legs, arms; Dean can’t remember the last time he’s seen someone with so many broken bones at once. The sheer cruelty of the act baffles even Dean.
Get’s even worse once he discovers that said ‘sick fuck’ is the kid’s uncle and his legal guardian. Did it because the kid’s mother – his sister – was killed in a car accident that left only the boy alive. A boy of four years, growing up to exept a life of hate and cruel worlds in a house of with his uncle and the man’s wife. Dean can imagine how that went and he doesn’t want to know at the same time. What the fuck is it with people?, Dean silently marvels.
Angrily scrubbing his face with his hand, he sincerely thanks whoever is listening right now and back then that, despite his father’s faults and ticks, it never came to this. It never got out of hand like this. Oh Sammy, you should be so happy--
“Everything okay?”
At the sound of Justin’s vioce, he looks up so fast that he can hear his neck crack. Hand wandering up to massage the muscles there, he watches the kid come closer. He looks freshly showered with his hair still wet like this and sticking up at all angles. Apparently Justin hears the sound, too, for he grimaces like it hurt. “Sure it is. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing, nothing. It’s just, well, I’d say you look like you saw a ghost, but you didn’t look like this the other night, so…”
Despite everything, Dean is startled into a laugh. “I see. Nah, everything is peachy, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Don’t worry about me, is what he really wants to say and doesn’t. “Now… did you and Mr. Kinney have fun in the shower? It’s his what? third shower of the morning?” he can't helpt but ask. Wriggling his bows suggestively. He hopes. And just like he predicted, Justin blushes. Not enough to be obvious, but enough,
“Uh…” he grins.
“Aww, Sunshine, he’s just jealous that you didn’t get to watch. Right Dean?” Brian’s voice promptly booms from the other room.
Rolling his eyes, he says, “You’d like that, don’t you?” He doesn’t deny it either. It’s true. Kinda. It beats going over reports of killed and tortured kids… and yeah, that puts a damper on his mood once more. Shit.
His eyes travel down on the closed folder and-- “Dean?” Shit. “Are you okay? I mean, really?”
And hell, kid is awfully perceptive, isn't he?
“Are you hurting? There’s some painkiller in the bathroom--”
“Dude, it takes a more to take me down and stay there, a lot more. I’m good.”
Justin tilts his head to one side, studying him. “Sam said you’d say that even if you were missing an arm and bleeding to death.”
And, again, what do you say to that? Funny enough, Dean can almost hear himself saying exactly that to Sam. “He said that? Well, tough, I’m the big brother and you know what that means?”
“Uh… no?”
Dean grins mischievously, eyeing him through his lashes. “I’m always right.”
“No it doesn’t!” Justin insists, Brian’s laughter echoing from one place or another in the loft.
“Oh it totally does, dude. It’s a rule.”
“A rule, my ass,” Justin states, chuckling while actually giving him the finger.
“Careful, kid, I might have to give you a hiding.” Dean jokes. “Respect ya elders and all that shit, will ya.”
“Ooooh.. I bet he’d like that, wouldn’t you, sonny boy?” Brian again.
“Shut up, Brian!”
“What? The last time I spanked your bubble butt, you couldn’t get me to fuck you fast and hard enough. Repeatedly, if I may add. Geez, and people think I’m corrupting your pure, innocent mind.” And what do you think? He can hear the guy rolling his eyes.
Justin shakes his head, filling a glass with orange juice.
And fuck him, it’s only after that Dean makes the connection. He swears by anything that’s important to him that he hadn’t had a clue, and really, how could he? There’s no way of knowing. Otherwise, he would have kept his mouth shut, like he’s done before. Would have kept those fucking pictures to himself. So when he’s once more shaking his head in disbelieve at the folder, and Justin asks him what’s wrong, Dean tells him. For once he shares something, like Sammy wants him to, and it backfires like whoa.
“God, how’d he die?”
Dean grimaces. “Took a beating with a golf club, haven’t read about so many broken bones for--”
The shatter of the glass hitting the countertop takes him by surprise, more than it should, but it does the trick of cutting him off mid sentence. Justin’s looks why too pale all of the sudden, almost white as a freshly painted wall. Shaken, like someone ripped the floor from under his feet and still standing there like…like he’s seen a ghost, something really, really bad. Carefully stepping closer, he watches as for the second time today liquid makes its way to the edge of the counter. This time there being no paper towel to stop it from trickling to the floor.
Most of the glass is up there or in the sink, which makes it less likely for the boy to cut himself. There’s pain in those blue eyes and Dean doesn’t know what to do with it. What to say. He doesn’t have to. “Justin?”
“Did he…was he…?” The blond isn't respinding to Brian, but Dean, only he doesn’t know what’s going on. What he’s trying to ask. Did or was he what? He doesn’t have the time to question him and after all, that might be the best, for Brian’s there a second later crossing the floor faster than Dean thought the could the moment he saw the blond’s state.
Pulling him away from the few shards on the ground and, in turn, turning him around, he frames the younger man’s face. Staring. “The fuck happened?”
Justin laughs shakily after a long, silent moment, and tries to move his head in a shake, but Brian keeps him still. “No, tell me. You don’t freak out like this. Not like this. Not since, not--” And that when he trails off, maybe getting what’s going on, and why. He’s clearly got a better shot at it than Dean - for a hundred different reasons. One front and center, though. He knows the kid. Dean doesn’t, not really. That he said something wrong, well, that’s for sure. A panic attack of sort, again. That is what this is. A small one, but still.
Justin whispers something Dean can’t quite catch, but it must mean something to Brian, for he goes very still. There is this one second, just a second, but maybe two, when the same pain and shock and fear Dean saw in blue eyes moments ago is reflected in a pair deep brown ones. Right before they turn blank. That one second, or two, there one second, gone the next, almost leaving him behind wondering if it happened at all. But Dean’s used to reading people, good at it, too, and this?
Wasn’t all his imagination.
-- TBC
