Behind Enemy Lines (Part Three)Author: alvara13Pairing
: NC-17Word Count:
I own nothing. Just playing with the boys.Summary: A murder comes back to haunt a punk bar in the deep underground of a heavily populated city, leading the Winchesters into a complex hunt buried in twenty seven years of vengeance and obsession. Sam and Dean will have to go undercover to dig deep into the past of this case, but will they be able to cope when they discover more than just the reason why someone or something is killing every punk in town?
The back alley where Dean had been just a few hours prior was roped off with police tape, a small crowd of people huddled by it as the club stalled to a dead stop and the flashing lights of police cars lit up the street. Sam slipped out of the impala down the block, heading towards the scene dressed as a Fed in hopes of getting more immediate answers as to what they were dealing with. Dean had pulled up farther down the block, parking his baby before joining the crowd of people outside watching as the police inspected the latest murder scene.
Lynda was behind the tape, her crossed arms under a jacket one of the police had placed on her shoulders and her face looking more wary than it had before. Sam flashed his badge at her before carefully questioning her with a sympathetic face as Dean watched from the sidelines, blending into the crowd and trying to catch even the slightest sign or flinch that could lead them to who or what ever they needed to gank to end this.
His eyes kept flickering over to Sam though, the custom suit hugging Sam’s tall frame perfectly and drawing every eye towards him as he stood among the police uniforms and punk club goers. The damn thing never fit Sam’s long legs until his brother finally gave in and went to get it tailor fitted. Now it not only made Sam look like a proper Fed, but down right authoritative.
Dean found himself unable to take his eyes off how Sam was getting Lynda and the police to answer his questions with just a flash of his badge and a glance at his suit. He blamed the people around him for how he suddenly felt a lot warmer than the cool night air should let him be even though the crowd was thinning more as the police comb the scene before the coroner’s car came to collect the body. Dean shook his head and glanced over the few left, hoping he didn’t miss someone suspicious while practically eye fucking his brother.
The coroner arrived on the scene, a police man guiding what’s left of the crowd and Dean away from the alleyway so there was room to move the sheet covered body without the populace disturbing anything. He risked one last glance at Sam flashing his badge in order to get a chance to look over the corpse, earning him a rough shove from the police man as he stalled. Glaring behind him, Dean gave in rather than risk spending a night in jail for slugging a police officer and retreated across the street to lean against the Impala and wait for Sam to be done playing Fed.
A few minutes passed before Sam glanced at him and excused himself from his conversation with the coroner, crossing the road quickly as one of the police cars pulled away from the scene as well. He fidgeted with his tie a bit while he walked up to Dean, the action catching Dean’s eye but he ignored it in favor of hearing what Sam found.
“Same cause of death as the other victims as far as I can tell. And same theory of foul play by the police considering the vic’s skirt and underwear are missing.” Sam paused to nod back at the crime scene, eyes on the honey bee colored bartender. “Lynda Thomson was working the bar. Saw the victim leave with a guy after making out with a few other people, but didn’t think anything of it until she went out for her fourth smoke break and found the corpse. She tried CPR but the internal bleeding was already too much.”
“Chick got a name?” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, following Sam’s gaze before his eyes met the hazel of Lynda’s eyes. He stiffened slightly, realizing that he was casually talking to who she thought was a federal agent out in the open. Sam hadn’t flashed his badge or anything, meaning he knew him personally or professionally. The latter would mean Dean’s cover would be screwed and any hope of getting this case solved before another victim turned up was lost. Only one way to cover most of the damage stood out in his mind so he took it.
“Police couldn’t find any ID on her so-mmph!” Sam caught himself with one hand on the hood of the Impala, body tensing as Dean grabbed the labels of his jacket and yanked him into a brutal kiss.
He gripped the black metal hard with both hands as one of Dean’s own slipped around his waist, the other catching in his hair. Sam was frozen in shock, not trusting himself with moving even an inch or parting his lips as Dean’s tongue swiped across them. Before it even crossed his mind to pull away from kissing his brother, Dean parted their lips to kiss along his jaw and up to whisper into his ear.
“Lynda’s watching us. If she thinks we’re working together, I’m not getting in that club. Better to be fucking a Fed than working with one.” Dean nipped his ear harshly, forcing Sam to bite back a moan as he remembered that he still hadn’t gotten off and now Dean was pressing his body oh so temptingly hard against his, trapping himself between Sam and the Impala. “So kiss me, bitch. Make it count.”
“Jerk.” Sam breathed before cupping the side of Dean’s face and harshly capturing those full lips. He grabbed Dean’s ass, lifting him up so Dean was sitting on the hood with Sam between his spread legs. Dean’s lips parted for him easily, talented tongue tangling with his in a way Lynda wouldn’t even notice from this distance. Sam tried to keep himself in check, not letting his hips grind into Dean’s like he desperately wanted to or let his mind wander to how Dean’s mouth could do all he fantasized about and more with how down right sinful it felt against his.
He squeezed his brother’s ass roughly in retaliation when Dean yanked on his hair, the motion trying to get Sam to kiss him harder rather than to pull away and Sam definitely took note of that for later. He bit at Dean’s bottom lip before moving down to bite lightly at the labret piercing and the light scruff there, feeling a hand slide down to his lower back and quickly pull their hips flush together.
A moan echoed between them before they both pulled away sharply, each going shock still as reality crashed into them. They were both breathing heavily, staring at each other wide eyed as they felt the other’s erection through the thin fabric of suit pants and jeans. Dean swallowed heavily, his lips parting in a way that made Sam want to lick his own and taste where Dean’s lips had been on his again.
“I’d say that was pretty convincing…” Dean joked lightly but it fell flat as Sam let go of him and straightened himself quickly, clearing his throat softly before rounding to the passenger’s side.
“Get in the car.” Sam said quietly, leaving no room for argument as he opened the side door and slipped inside. It took Dean a while longer to get his mind off the fact that Sam had just kissed him better than a porn star could have. He slid off the hood and into the driver’s seat, not glancing to see if Lynda was even still outside the bar.
They drove back to the motel in silence, each feeling like it wasn’t so much awkward as it was filled with too many things said that shouldn’t have been.
Dean slipped into the shower the second they got back, closing the door uncharacteristically and locking Sam out. He didn’t come out for a long time even after the water stopped running, leaving Sam to strip down to his boxers and lie down on his bed. He felt panicked, wondering if he had gone too fair but the taste of Dean’s lips was still heavy on his. Sam risked one swipe of his tongue before he buried his face into the pillows, pretending to sleep as he heard the bathroom door finally open.
Dean’s foot steps stopped short at the end of Sam’s bed, making him want to open his eyes from his feigned sleep but he already knew Dean was just as tempted as he was to crawl into the same bed together. A few moments passed before the footsteps continued, unaccompanied by the weight of the warm body of his brother in his arms.
Dean sat in one of the booths of the local diner, up before the breakfast rush and even arriving a few minutes before it had opened. He was the first to get up that morning, finding it a bit harder to sleep than usual with his mind constantly returning to Sam’s lips against his and tongue down his throat. He had woken up at least three times from dreams he was still attempting to lock down deep into his subconscious. On the fourth, he had forgone sleep and slipped quietly into the bathroom to dye the hair of his fauxhawk green and correct what his shower had taken off of his disguise.
That left him to drive mindlessly to a diner a few blocks down from their motel, the Impala sitting in a front parking spot as he waited. He was distracted, sorting out what last night was all about since it was obvious to him that kiss was more than just convincing Lynda that he wasn’t an undercover Fed or cop. He was so distracted that he had slipped up and ordered the daily blend of coffee instead of his usual black, but he doubted his internal crisis was going to allow him to taste the difference.
So there he was, sitting in the corner of a diner, having an incestuous crisis about kissing his beautiful little brother and not being able to stop thinking about the feel of being pressed between the Impala and the solid wall of Sam’s body. It made him think, really and truly think, about whether this wasn’t something he’d been wanting for a while. This sort of thing didn’t come out of nowhere, you didn’t just suddenly start wanting your little brother one day with no preamble.
Maybe this had always been in his mind, and he had just subconsciously shoved it down, piled things on top of it and hidden it deep, buried under a heaping helping of good ol’ suppression. Knowing Dean, he did that for a number of things, some without reason or even realizing he was doing it.
Dean groaned softly, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes as he started to realize that the few blowjobs he had given when he was short on cash probably meant a little more subconsciously than just getting enough gas money. He was dealing with a fucking sexuality and incestuous crisis in the middle of a diner before his morning coffee. Life could not kick him in the balls any harder.
What was worse was that even after becoming aware that he was lusting after a man who just so happened to be his brother, his Sammy that he took care of and sewed up after hunts since they were little, he couldn’t find it in himself to be disgusted or resentful or to leave. He should being doing something yet here he was in a stupid fucking diner getting him and Sam breakfast like nothing was wrong.
Dean dropped his hands from resting over his eyes when he felt a tap on his shoulder, folding them on the table as he looked over to see a middle aged waitress setting the large bag full of his order and the cardboard tray with two tall cups of steaming coffee onto the table. He muttered out a thank you and an apology, knowing that she had probably been calling out for him to get the order for a while.
The waitress smiled at him and patted his shoulder reassuringly before walking back to the counter, not appearing phased by the punk guise he was wearing one bit. Dean opened his mouth again, about to tell the stranger he was fine but stopping himself with a heavy exhale. He stared at the large bag sitting in front of him, knowing that his BLT sandwich was inside along with the breakfast salad and bagel he got for Sam. Even if Sam didn’t feel like eating because his sick brother who madeout with him and loved it was in the same room, he could at least get him to eat something.
Dean stood, grabbing the bag and cardboard tray harshly before walking out of the diner and back to the Impala. If anything, he could always repress it, shove it to the back of his mind where it belonged and let it fester there until he cracks. Hopefully it would stay there long enough that a monster could get him before he ended up telling Sam that he thought he was falling in love with him - had been in love with him - and then end up being responsible for ruining what they had.
Breakfast was quieter than usual, both of them treading lightly around each other when they did speak. Sam didn't look up from his laptop, only breaking the silence to comment on the article about the victim of last night between bites of his salad. Dean managed to tolerate the strawberry blend of coffee he had accidentally ordered, wrinkling his nose occasionally but too thankful for the extra shot of caffeine to complain out loud. His bites into his BLT sandwich slowed after the first two, leaving him to stare at the tomato seeping out of the bread and onto the wrapping he was using as a place mat.
He glanced back up at Sam, unsettled that he had gone through most of his breakfast and even half of the bagel without commenting once on the greasy bacon bits in the salad or strong artificial flavor in the coffee that's sweetness was eating at Dean's taste buds. After a few more moments of the unsettling silence, Dean threw his sandwich down onto the table, knowing he couldn't take this awkward cold shoulder thing for the entire case without cracking.
Sam's eyes snapped up from his laptop, his face expressionless like he was steeling himself from what Dean was about to say. Dean felt the words dry up in the back of his throat, breaking their eye contact immediately to grab his coffee again and take a large sip in hopes of drowning out that he had said anything or work up the courage to actually talk about the night before. He grunted after he swallowed the sweet coffee, making a face that turned to surprise when Sam started laughing.
"Dude, this coffee sucks." Sam smiled brightly at him, making Dean blink dumbly at him until a smile spread across his own face. Ignoring it and going back to normal or just accepting it, whichever they were doing, Dean would go with it. If only to keep Sam smiling like that in his direction.
Their plan was in place that night. Sam had set up a stake out down the block in case Dean called for back up or didn't return in under an hour, each hoping they wouldn't need a plan B. They both agreed that splitting up too far from each other wasn't going to be a good idea with the victims turning up more frequently, having a man on the inside and outside would be better in case the bastard they were going to gank decided to show or slip away from the bar.
"Be careful in there, alright? We still don't know who or what we're after." Sam swallowed down his nerves as Dean slipped his gun into his waistband, concealing it behind his leather jacket and black shirt before nodding at Sam's quiet wish of good luck. "And you'd better get your ass back here in time."
"Relax. I'll have one shot at most." Dean grinned at him before opening the side door and slipping out of the Impala. "I've got my cell. If I don't show, call me and if I don't pick up, then you can rush in and blow my cover."
He closed the door, patting the roof of his baby before walking down the street and to the long line outside the bar. It appeared that not even the murders had scared the crowd away, the line still long and filled with colorful people of the night. Security looked tighter, the bouncer standing by the double doors looming over every person he let in and checking ID twice before allowing them inside.
Dean hesitated for a moment, gritting his teeth as he realized he didn't have an ID with anything close to the last name of Katelyn Hoff. He didn't know how well exactly Lynda knew Katelyn, their conversation vague at best but he didn't have much of a choice at that point. Glancing down the ally still covered in police tape but not enough to ward away the employees smoking on break, Dean contemplated attempting to slip through the back until he caught the hazel of a certain honey bee colored woman again.
Lynda was standing by the back door again, cigarette burning between her fingers as she smiled wide with her yellow lips and jerked her head in the direction of the entrance. Dean lifted a hand to wave briefly at her, walking up to the broad shouldered man dressed in black and enough piercings to give a metal detector a heart attack. The man eyed Dean when he bypassed the line, looking him up and down before leveling him with a harsh glare.
"Back of the line."
"Lynda said she'd talk to you." Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his torn jeans, not backing down even through the man rivaled Sam in height.
"So you're Dean Shaw. Lyn said that you would show up." The bouncer smoothed his glare slightly before nodding towards the doors. Dean ignored the last name Lynda had used, walking through the doors and into the blast of cool air and punk music while trying not to think too hard that he was suddenly being addressed as Agent Sam Shaw's husband. He'd rather Sam not know that he didn't correct them.
The cool of an industrial sized air conditioner filled Dean's lungs as he caught sight of the heat of bodies grinding and moshing at the foot of a stage covering the right side wall. The large speakers blasted music loud enough to deafen those sitting at the bar along the left hand side of the graffiti covered bar. The stage was set up for a band that hadn't showed, but that didn't stop people from using it as a height advantage in a brutal mosh pit that looked closer to a bar fight.
There were tables and rickety chairs lining the walls further away from the stage, all looking mismatched from lawn chairs to sofas to some that looked more at home in royal palaces. Couples of all kinds where using the collage of furniture, some barely dressed and several men and women shirtless while they necked along the sides of the mosh pit. Dean smirked as a bartendress only clad in a denim skirt and a number of tattoos walked by him with a tray of liquor for a full table in the corner, her skirt pulled down far enough that it was easy to see that she wasn't wearing anything underneath it.
He tore his eyes away from staring, realizing why whatever was roaming the place had chosen it. The entire bar reeked of anarchy and it was a wonder that it was still up and running instead of being shut down or accidentally burned to the ground from the harsh mosh pit.
Dean made his way over to the long purple and graffiti covered bar, eyes causally surveying the large room. His eyes caught a small staircase near the stage, mostly concealed behind the mob of violent dancing, the second floor just visible on a balcony in the flashing lights of the stage. He tensed as he got closer to the bar, feeling the temperature drop suddenly around him but no one else near him seemed to notice. His hand twitched towards his gun but he forced himself to sit down on one of the rickety stools lining the bar, ignoring instinct for the moment with a drawn out sigh.
Dean glanced up from his folded arms on the bar's counter, eyes meeting a dark skinned man with a smile that could light up the entire room. He shrugged, while the man reached under the bar and pulled up a glass with his fuchsia nails clinking softly on its surface. He poured Dean a whiskey on the rocks before he could even say a word, shoving it in front of him and leaning forward with his arms resting on the table.
"Are you Muriel?" Dean felt a little uneasy from the stare down the bartender was giving him, looking as if he was skimming an open book.
"Kate's cousin, right? Lyn made sure to get me on the night shift tonight for you." Muriel grinned, reaching under the bar again for another glass while he ignored the two girls who were too busy groping each other at the end of the bar to bother asking if they needed a refill on their beers. Dean wasn't complaining about the uninterrupted free show. "And I have to say, she wasn't kidding when she said that looks run in the family."
"Uh...thanks." Dean shifted uncomfortably, less from the comment and more from the temperature lowering the longer he sat there. "Lyn said you were with Kate for most of the night. I was hoping to get some answers. Was she acting strange or anything?"
"Strange? No. Just nervous and jumpy like a hummingbird before she got half a bottle of vodka in her. She never was confident in her singing, was she?" Muriel shook his head sadly, filling up a shot of the clear liquor for himself before swallowing it as easy as water. "I had to cut her off before she drowned herself in the stuff. I checked on another hard hitter after that and when I turned around she was gone."
"Gone?" Dean rested his hand against his own glass, not touching the liquid and itching for whatever was looming over him to actually be after him rather than Muriel or the two girls in the corner. Muriel nodded.
"Disappeared off into the crowd or something. Next I saw her, she was walking away from this short guy with spiky green and black hair, pretty sure he had snake bites too but it was a bit of a distance." Muriel waved his hand dismissively. "She looked mad at him but he just let her walk away so I didn't think anything of it. About half an hour after leaving the bar, she came back and tackled the first five or so people willing to fuck her. Nothing out of the usual for around here. Sorry."
Dean managed a smirk at that, thinking that if it weren't for the punk theme and the hunt, the bar really would be his kind of place. He took a sip of the whiskey that was slowly becoming watered down in his glass, knowing he at least had one more lead with mystery man that met up with the victim though he doubted he'd get far enough to question him.
"Thanks." Dean stood up just as Muriel straightened himself, breath turning shallow from the cold as he definitely felt the presence of something icy gripping his shoulder tight enough to sting. "But I don't take it with ice."
"On the house, sweetheart." Muriel winked at him before turning to finally break up the two girls from dry humping on his clean counter top. When he turned back, Dean was being pulled through the crowd in the mosh pit by a tall man in leather and denim.