Gus turned away to conceal his emotions, bracing himself against the wall with one arm. Despite his best effort, his shoulders hitched, and an ugly sob escaped his mouth.
"Come here." Rosier reached out a hand to Gus. Gus knelt at the hospital bed and pressed his cheek to Rosier's hand, squeezing his eyes shut, overcome with the knowledge that he was still part human. Not pure evil. That he still had a chance of salvation.
"It's ok, little one. Shh." Rosier stroked his hair. He shot Sam a pleading glance. "Would you mind leaving us alone?"
"Of course," Sam said. "But we aren't giving up. Nathaniel wrote down what he saw in Azazel's mind. All his secrets tricks and plans. We have the best occult linguist there is working on it. We're going to find out how Azazel did what he did. So we can help Gus. And the others." Sam's face shone with enthusiasm and certainty. "We'll figure out how to make him human again. I promise."
Rosier looked at Sam's face, the one destined to be the Boy King, the one who, with his beloved Dean at his side, had vanquished an ancient evil through the purity of their love and force of will. "I believe you, Sam Winchester."
After they left, Rosier pressed his mouth to Gus's forehead. "You are..." He paused for the right word. "Astonishing." Gus gazed up at Rosier, seeing the awe on his face. "The kind of pure soul you must have been to have been able to endure Hell like that and not turn fully. What kind of human were you?"
Bobby had Reggie get him settled at a nearby motel so the "two lovebirds" could have a bit of privacy after dinner. Bobby checked in and called the boys to let them know he and Reggie had arrived safely. Sam and Dean were relieved to hear it, and settled in for a quiet evening alone in their apartment.
Bobby and Reggie then headed to Marcus's apartment to drop off Reggie's gear. Bobby shook Marcus's hand firmly, getting to meet the famous Marcus for the first time. "He talks about you a lot," Bobby said with a wink. They chatted for a bit, then Reggie drove Marcus and Bobby to the Fort, for Marcus to work his shift and he and Bobby to have a feast.
It was snowing lightly, and after learning from Gus that the demons turned tail and ran after the Winchesters killed Azazel, they had let their guard down. They did not notice the white-haired demon in the silver Honda tailing them at a discreet distance, following them to the motel and noting which room Bobby was given, following them back to Marcus's apartment and noting the number, and finally to the restaurant.
Reggie and Bobby were seated in Marcus's section, of course. They both had mint juleps, and shared appetizers of roasted bison marrow bones and a huge bowl of guacamole and chips. Bobby tore into his Colorado strip steak stuffed with Hatch green chiles, with a side of campfire beans. Reggie feasted on the game plate consisting of a bone-in elk chop, Buffalo sirloin, grilled quail, and wild Montana huckleberry preserves, with a side of mashed potatoes laced with horseradish.
Marcus served Reggie and Bobby with exquisite attentiveness, rarely taking his eyes off Reggie. Reggie joked and laughed, and was in finer spirits than Bobby had ever seen him in his life.
Of course, Marcus made sure to pay proper attention to his other tables — a family of four from Des Moines, several locals, a couple celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary, and a man with white hair who came in alone shortly after Reggie and Bobby, and sat in the far corner reading a newspaper.
They lingered late after all the other customers had paid their tabs and left, sipping bourbon, waiting until Marcus had finished counting out. Bobby ceded shotgun to Marcus without complaint, and they dropped him off at the motel before continuing on to Marcus's place.
"Been waiting all night to get you alone." Marcus pulled him inside, mouth already on his throat.
"You miss me?" Reggie murmured
"Damn right I did."
"How much?" Reggie's smile both sweet and wicked at the same time.
Marcus ran his hands over Reggie's shoulder and tugged off his coat."A lot."
"Show me," Reggie drawled, hands gripping Marcus's firm ass, pulling him close.
And Marcus did. He showed Reggie how very much he missed him, withholding nothing, giving himself to Reggie without inhibitions. He showed Reggie every bit of what he had been missing while he was away.
"Mother of God," Reggie gasped when Marcus instigated the third round by turning him onto his stomach and crawling between his thighs, rimming him yet again with his talented tongue like he couldn't get enough. "Don't you ever get tired?"
"I don't know when I'll get to see you again." Marcus licked and worshipped Reggie in the most intimate of places like he was coaxing him to stay. To not leave him.
Reggie moaned, surrendering himself to Marcus completely, his body responding despite the alcohol, his age, and the amount and vigor of the sex they had already had that evening. "Keep that up, I'll never leave," he muttered.
At those words, Marcus redoubled his efforts, begging Reggie with his tongue to keep his promise.
In the morning, Reggie reluctantly said his goodbyes to Marcus, promising to call him when they got to Kansas City (where Katherine had agreed to meet them halfway) and drove away to pick up Bobby.
Bobby was equally reluctant to leave, because of what awaited them in Kansas City at the end of their eight hour drive.
Marcus put off taking a shower as long as he could, breathing in the scent of Reggie on his skin until it was time to get ready for work again. He rinsed off reluctantly, and had just put on his black slacks and white work shirt when he heard a knock at the door. "I knew you couldn't stay away," he joked, opening the door. The white-haired man stepped inside, shockingly fast and surprisingly strong for someone of his age, and shut the door quickly behind him. Marcus struggled, but the man clapped a rag-covered hand over Marcus's mouth and held him tight long enough for him to lose consciousness.
Marcus awoke to the taste of chloroform in his mouth. He shook his head to clear his senses, and found he was bound by rope at the ankles and wrists, tied securely to the heavy oak bed frame, with a gag in his mouth. The TV in the living room was turned on, the volume up loud, playing an action movie with yelling, gunshots and explosions. He tugged hard, panic flooding him, but was unable to pull free.
His vision cleared, and he noticed the white-haired man sitting in a folding chair directly in front of him at the foot of the bed, calmly reading a newspaper. He tried to scream through the gag, but the sound was muffled by the noise from the television, blending in perfectly with the movie.
"I couldn't quite make that out but let me take a stab at it." The demon tossed the newspaper to the floor. "No. Please. Stop. Why." He stood up and cracked his knuckles. "Why? The oldest reason in the book." His voice had a hint of an East Coast accent. He walked to the side of the bed and leaned over, close enough to take a deep sniff and breathe in the scent of Marcus's cologne. "Revenge."
Marcus fought to stay calm, making unintelligible sounds through the gag, trying desperately to communicate.
"Oh, it's nothing personal. You're just a tool. A means to an end." The white-haired demon smirked. "This is the part where the bad guy—which is me—tells the good guy—" He slapped Marcus on the cheek lightly. "—which is you—all about his motivation." He shrugged. "And that would be stupid, except I need you to know all the whys and wherefores. So you can tell them all about it."
Marcus's eyes fluttered shut, relief washing over him at the implied promise he would not be murdered in his own bed.
"Not so fast there. Don't think you're lucky because I'm not going to kill you. Dying's not the only thing to be afraid of." He held Marcus's head steady with both hands, and let his eyes go solid black.
Marcus recoiled, jerking hard against his restraints, making guttural sounds through the gag.
He chuckled. "What, you've never seen a demon before?" He made a tsking sound, shaking his head. He stood upright, allowed his mouth to fall open and let a tendril of black smoke emerge, circling around his head, then sucked it back in and smacked his lips.
Marcus stared in horror.
"Didn't your boyfriend tell you what he is?" The demon sneered. "What he does?"
Terror contorted Marcus's features.
"He's a Hunter," the demon said, emphasizing the "t" clearly. "A human who hunts dark creatures. And that is why you're here. See, Reggie Beaumont helped the Winchester boys kill my boss." The demon clenched his hands into fists at his side. "He was a great man, my boss." He shrugged. "Ok. Not a man. But you get the point."
Marcus breathed through his nose, trying to slow his panicked breathing, wrists turning in his rope restraints.
"See, you humans shouldn't be able to kill us. For sure, not Azazel. But those monkeys killed him. Not just sent him back to Hell. Poof! Gone." He pressed his fingertips into a point and then flicked them open. "And I can't touch those fucking kids. Hell, I don't even want them on my trail. And that's where you're lucky." He patted Marcus on the cheek. "That is why I'm not going to kill you." Suddenly, he was right up against Marcus, yellowed teeth bared, foul breath hot against his neck, lips brushing his skin like he was murmuring sweet nothings. "Even though I would love to kill you."
Marcus pulled away as far as he could. It was not far at all.
The demon inhaled through his nose, breathing in the sharp scent of fear. "But, and here's where your luck runs out, I am going to hurt you." His black eyes gleamed in the light of the overhead fixture.
Marcus shook his head over and over, his mind unable to take in what was being said, what he was seeing.
The demon laughed. "You really didn't know monsters were real? You didn't know you were fucking a legend? The famous Reggie Beaumont kept you in the dark? I guess that means you weren't a keeper."
The demon grinned, relishing his emotional pain. "Yeah, that's how it goes. Hunters are real love' em and leave 'em types. They never stay. Throw a few fucks into you and then on to the next one." He stroked his hand along Marcus's cheek in a parody of affection. Marcus jerked his head away, but the demon pushed it back with his other hand, held him steady, and continued to touch him. "So now I get to teach you a lesson. A few, actually. Lesson number one? Demons are real."
Marcus shuddered, both at the words and the feel of the demon's hand.
The demon hissed, breathing in, pure pleasure on his face at the waves of fear radiating off Marcus. "Vampires are real," he murmured soft and low, putting his hand gently over Marcus's throat, feeling it swallow convulsively. "Werewolves. Wendigos. Ghouls. All real."
Marcus tried to shake his head no, refusing to accept it.
The demon chuckled. "I could show you. I could make a few calls, bring some friends by. But I want this to be just us." He pressed his thumb against Marcus's jugular, feeling his pulse leap and race. "Our little private party. You and me."
Marcus closed his eyes, murmuring fervently through the gag.
"Praying won't help you. God abandoned you. He left you to us."
"Fuck you." Even through the gag, those two words were perfectly clear.
The white-haired demon blinked, eyelids thick and hooded. "You, I like." He stood up and cracked his knuckles. "I'm really going to enjoy this." He took off his jacket. "Take my time here.
Marcus could not prevent his involuntary shudder, but he looked his captor in the eye with defiance.
"I know what you're thinking. 'What are you going to do to me?'" He chuckled. "Short of killing you?" The demon's face creased into a sharp grin. "Whatever." He leaned down and brought his face right in front of Marcus. "The fuck." Spittle flew from his mouth onto Marcus's face as he pronounced the k. "I want."
"Rise and shine, Sammy."
Dean stood in the doorway of their bedroom, a skillet full of bacon in his hand.
Sam rubbed his eyes and yawned. "You sure know how to wake me up right."
"What. The bacon? Or before, with the morning sex?" Dean waggled one eyebrow.
Sam stretched. "Yes."
They ate their fill of Dean's scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns, with strong coffee. "Alright, Sammy. Better hit those dishes." Dean collapsed on the couch and put his feet up.
Sam didn't quibble. To be honest, he didn't mind losing that contest at all.
Dean watched cartoons while Sam cleaned up the kitchen. "I could get used to this."
"What, me as your household servant? That's just for a week, dude."
"That. And this." Dean looked around the apartment. "Our own place."
"About that." Sam dried the sauté pan with a hand towel.
"Um. Juliane. She, um, offered to…" Sam hesitated. "To take care of us here."
"Dude. She is. Letting us stay rent-free. It's awesome."
"More than that." Sam wiped a plate dry. "She said she would help me finish school. Like, bring in private instructors. Experts. Anything I wanted to learn. Like a whole private education."
Dean's eyes went wide.
"You, too. Whatever you wanted to do, she'd help us. And pay for everything. All our expenses."
"What's the catch?"
Dean raised his eyebrows.
"She says… I saved her."
Dean pursed his lips. Sam had indeed had a remarkable effect on bringing Juliane out of her shell and helping her move past the trauma where she had been stuck.
"Also, I guess she's not just rich, she's scary rich."
"I kind of figured." Dean gestured around him. "Building all this. Must have cost a fortune."
"Not just super rich. Like, Dupont rich."
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
Dean leaned forward. "But…Bobby."
Sam nodded again. "Yeah. Bobby."
"I mean, these guys are great and all, but Bobby's family."
Sam wiped his hands dry on the dish cloth. "Right. But that's good and bad."
"Back home…back with Bobby… everyone knows we're brothers. We'd have to go back to pretending."
Dean's face fell. The time they had spent together at the Sanctuary, able to express their love openly, no fear of hiding except from general homophobia and bigotry from strangers outside their door, was the best thing he had ever known.
"Back there, we're the Winchester Brothers. At my school. All the Hunters. Zack. Big Lou. Shoot…Bosie." Sam's expression twisted up at the thought of Bosie, sweet Bosie with the huge crush on him, never suspecting that his heart belonged to Dean in all ways.
"Sure, Bobby's on our side," Sam continued, "but we can't ever be really open around him, you know? Our room's right next to his, for God's sake. We'd have to… Dean, I don't know what we'd do." His voice choked up. "I don't want to lose both our dads. After—"
Dean went to him and held him close. "I know, Sammy."
"I don't know what to do."
"I know. It's ok. We'll figure it out. We'll find a way. Right?" Dean stroked Sam's hair. "We always find a way."
They lay on the couch wrapped in each other's arms, watching cartoons until their bodies ached for movement.
"Hey, how about we check out that gym they've been hiding from us?"
Sam's eyes lit up. He ran down the hall to ask about being allowed to use the gym, then they changed into workout t-shirts and sweats, and Danny took them down the hall to a room they thought led to yet another apartment, but actually led to a separate area with a large workout room covered with a high-quality black exercise floor, not quite as well-appointed as a commercial gym, but with a wide variety of dumbbells and barbells, flat and incline benches, two top-of-the-line treadmills, two stationary bikes, a Stairmaster, a rowing machine, pull up bars, a squat rack, and a few Nautilus machines. One wall was solid mirrors from floor to ceiling. In the far corner was a stretching room with a ballet barre, mats, medicine balls and large physioballs. There was even a bathroom with a shower and lockers, and a large redwood hot tub that could accommodate at least six people.
"Maybe later, you guys want to grab a soak with us?" Danny indicated the hot tub.
Dean grinned broadly, and then his face fell. "Uh…"
Danny laughed. "What size do you wear? I have to head out anyway. I'll pick you up some swim trunks."
Danny wrote down their sizes on a small notepad he kept in his pocket. "Ok. Hand towels and bath towels are in here." He opened an unlocked cabinet next to the sink.
"Have a good workout." Danny left them to their own devices.
They started off with a five-minute warm-up on the stationary bikes, having had it drilled into their heads that they should never start any sort of workout without a warm-up first, then moved to three sets of leg extensions and calf raises. Next, they moved to the squat rack.
Sam went first. They didn't load the bar with much weight, since it had been a while and they both knew the hell of overdoing it on squats. Still, once Sam stood free of the rack with the barbell across his shoulders, Dean came up behind him to spot him. "I got you." His lips tickled Sam's ear. He brought his arms forward around Sam's ribs, palms up, curled them up and gripped Sam's shoulders, standing so close his body brushed against Sam's, and moved as Sam moved, following him down and back up. "Good job," he said as Sam finished the last rep.
For Dean's set, Sam returned the favor, gripping his shoulders to keep his spine stable so his lower back wasn't under as much strain.
Their second set was harder. It had been too long since they had done any sort of exercise, and Sam struggled to make the 12 reps. Dean stood close behind him, coaching him on. "You got this, Sammy. Crank it out. It's all you. There you go. Can you give me two more? Yeah you can. Come on. Push it."
Sam completed the second set and lowered the weights to the rack with a loud clang. He was in a full sweat, only partly because of the weights. Mostly because of Dean.
Dean mopped the sweat from Sam's forehead with his hand towel, and then dabbed at the back of his neck with his own towel. "Getting a little warm in here, huh?" He winked at Sam, reached behind him and tugged his shirt off over his head.
Sam's mouth parted slightly, his tongue peeking out from between his teeth.
Dean just smiled, letting Sam look at his bare chest as he settled the bar across his shoulders, lifted it from the rack and stepped back. "Gonna spot me?"
Sam moved up behind him, and brought his arms up alongside Dean's rib cage, gripping his shoulder caps. He swallowed hard as Dean squatted down, thrusting his ass backwards to keep proper form, and grunted as he drove upward. Sam counted off each rep, encouraging him, his body touching Dean's bare skin, squatting down with him, his crotch brushing Dean's ass as they drove back up to standing. Dean made plenty of noise with each rep, loud grunts of exertion that drove Sam crazy. And gave him an absolutely massive erection, clearly visible in his sweatpants. Matching Dean's own erection.
Dean finished his set and turned around, eying Sam's hard-on and adjusting his own. "Pushups?" he asked with the most innocent expression he could muster.
Sam wiped the sweat from his face. "You're trying to kill me."
"Yeah. Pushups. Definitely." Dean flashed a cocky smile, and dropped to the floor at Sam's feet. "Count me off." He did a set of 25 pushups with absolutely perfect form, strong and slow. Sam counted off each rep and stared at the muscles of Dean's bare back working as he pushed his body up and lowered it back down, bare skin sheened with sweat.
Sam was about to drop to the floor, when Dean interrupted him "Uh-uh." He reached out his hand. "Give."
Sam pulled his t-shirt off and handed it to Dean, who tossed it over his shoulder like an afterthought. "Ok. Give me 25."
Sam dropped to the floor at Dean's feet and did 25 pushups. Dean chewed his lip, watching Sam's back and arm muscles, softer than his but still strong and defined.
Dean threw out everything he knew about the correct order of weight exercises, and switched to a "Drive Sam Crazy" free-form routine.
"Triceps pull. Grab the end." He turned his back to Sam and gripped his hand towel in both hands, raising them up so the towel fell down his back.
Sam grabbed the end and pulled hard, giving Dean resistance as he extended his hands over his head, working his triceps hard, making the horseshoe shape pop.
Dean made sure to make lots of noise, breathing hard and grunting in a way that was pure sex to Sam. On Sam's turn, he really cranked up the talking. "Come on, baby. Do it. Harder. Come on. You got more in you. There you go. Doin' so good, Sammy."
When they had finished two sets, Sam looked like he was about to burst.
"Ok. Pull-ups, now."
Sam groaned. He had such a thing for Dean's back. For Dean's everything. But his back was a thing of wonder. And Dean knew that Sam thought so.
Dean pulled a bench close to the pull-up bar, laid his hand towel over it, and motioned for Sam to sit. He reached up and grabbed the bar in a wide grip, facing away from Sam so he had a perfect view of his back. "Count 'em off."
He pulled himself up, bringing his chin over the bar without moving his neck, palms facing forward, lifting and lowering his body with impeccable form, lats flaring, traps bunching, biceps and deltoids strong.
Sam counted off each rep, staring rapt at the muscles of Dean's back, making it to ten before Dean dropped to the floor, shaking out his hands.
"Your turn." Sam could only do five, but his form was perfect. He sat on the bench again, his erect cock bobbing between his legs.
Dean eyed him, and licked his lips. "Like what you see, Sammy?"
Dean turned around, jumped up and began his second set. This time, he pulled himself up fast and lowered his body down as slowly as he could, so his musculature was on best display. Putting on a show for Sam. He couldn't do as many like that, but he made each one count. On the eight rep, he lowered himself just a little until his elbows were at ninety degrees and held the position as long as he could, knowing full well how his back muscles were standing out strong, gleaming with sweat, knowing what the sight was doing to Sam.
He dropped to the floor and turned around. Sam's cheeks were stained pink.
"Pull your sweats down," he commanded.
Sam's eyes flicked toward the door. Shut, but not locked.
"It's just us," Dean reassured him. "Pull 'em off."
Sam did as Dean said.
Sam stood and tugged his underwear down, revealing his impressive erection, blushing bright red now but clearly enjoying what Dean was telling him to do.
"Show me how much you like looking at me, Sammy."
Sam sat on the bench, letting his thighs splay open wide, and put his hand on his cock.
Dean walked to the free weight rack and came back with two 25 lb dumbbells. Sam stared at Dean's bicep as he alternated arms, raising and lowering the heavy weights, grunting with exertion, sweat dripping down his bare chest, glistening on his bare arms, all the while watching Sam jack himself off at the sight.
He dropped to his feet and walked closer to Sam. "Don't stop." He got on his back, set his feet on either side of Sam's, and lay down, knees bent, bringing his hands behind his head. "Don't stop." He pulled himself up into a sit-up, abdominal muscles bunching. Sam moaned, working his cock faster, dry and fast.
Dean did fifteen sit-ups as slow as he could, and relaxed on the floor, watching Sam work his cock above him. He toyed with his nipple, grinning as it made Sam's pupils widen. He laced his fingers behind his back and did more sit-ups, faster this time, as fast as he could, bare back slamming to the mat with a wet meaty slap like the sound of two bodies fucking, sweat dripping down his face and chest, blowing out a loud breath through his teeth at the top of every rep which brought him up between Sam's legs. Sam matched his pace with his hand on his cock, panting hard, getting so close.
Dean collapsed on the mat and tugged his own sweatpants down, reaching into his underwear and freeing his cock. "Come on, sweetheart." He let his thighs splay open, jacking himself off. "Come for me."
Sam cried out, hand stripping his cock, and came, came all over Dean, thick white droplets shooting all over his stomach and chest, a few drops landing on his face and hair. Dean smeared his hand through the mess on his skin and brought his wet hand back down to his cock. He groaned at the warm slickness suddenly making his hand slip free and easy I'm using Sam's come to jack off oh Jesus Christ and he came, came hard and wet and messy for Sam, so hard he couldn't speak, couldn't make a sound, couldn't breathe, perfect pink mouth open in a soundless O, muscles in his stomach and chest standing out, gleaming with sweat, spattered with his own come mixed with Sam's.