SpN: Public Enemies (part 3 of 4)
6/27/11 11:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Public Enemies Book One/ part 3 of 4
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, John Winchester, original characters
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4614
Summary: a 1920s AU *very* loosely based on the film, Public Enemy.
Notes/Warnings: abuse, dub-con, harsh images, morally challenged Sam, troubled Dean. There are hints of abuse, physical and sexual, but nothing terribly graphic. The rating is for the overall fic—it varies according to update. The fic features the boys at a very young age.
Sam waited until he couldn't see Dean anymore, and then ran around to the back of the school, slipping between the students arriving for class. No one called to him, no one took notice—he was nearly mute, withdrawn at school, and of course the other children had singled him out as 'different'. After having discovered Sam was also a dirty fighter who'd never heard of fair-play, they tended to avoid him.
He was back in the corner of the yard, where they kept the ash cans, in the blink of an eye. Along with the ash cans set against the tall wooden fence surrounding the yard, were stacks of empty crates, boxes and bags. It took him a few seconds to crawl under a crate. Through the slats he watched the yard, waiting until he heard the bell signaling the start of class. His heart beat faster—excitement made his fingers tremble. A little careful shoving and shifting allowed him to cache his books under the pile of garbage, planning to come back later that day and retrieve them. He climbed the pile and scrambled over the fence, dropped down into the alley way. He dodged his way down the narrow passage, crossing over into the rear yard of a bakery and through, ignoring the shouts that greeted him. The mouth of the alley emptied onto the street across from Boggs.
He hid behind more garbage cans, watching Boggs' front door. As he expected Dean came out, frowning at a slip of paper in his hand. Numbers drops, Sam figured—he'd be gone for a while. He settled and waited a bit more, and Boggs came out with a few of his scabs and left. Sam waited until he couldn't see him before running across the street, right up to Boggs and inside.
"Hey—whataya doin'—" Sam burst through the door and right into a knobby rail of a man, knocking his bowler to the floor. He scowled at Sam and swept it back onto his head and Sam stared—crammed both fists to his mouth, trying to smother a laugh. The guy had modeled himself after Boggs, bowler hat, single breasted plaid coat—the same brown plaid, the same brown trousers and boots—he'd copied Boggs right down to the tatty ascot and the wrinkled kerchief shoved in his coat pocket.
Sam pasted a sincere look on his face and said, "I'm supposed to wait for Bill. My friend told me to come here an' wait." He let a whine into his voice, and wrinkled his face. "I'm supposed to wait in here--he said--an' I come here an'—"
"Yeah, yeah! Geez—gwan in the back and shut the fuck up."
Sam let himself back into Boggs' office. This was the place Dean came, without him—a part of Dean's life Sam was shut out of, and Sam didn't like being kept out of anything concerning Dean.
The room behind the door was dark, virtually windowless—there was a long, narrow widow high on one wall. Gas jets provided most of the light. The room held a table and a few mismatched wooden chairs crowded around it, and behind the table sat a large black enameled stove and cabinets. There were a pair of shabby wing chairs, a card table unfolded between them. Sam felt a brief spear of jealousy—Boggs had space, room to live….
A surprisingly nice keyhole desk sat in one corner—a spindly chair pushed up against the front of it, ledgers stacked haphazardly across the top and Sam remembered--in one of the precious few nuggets of information Dean passed him—that Bill Boggs ran his business out of this room. And lived there—slept there. Sam took a deep breath. There was a curtain pulled forward to separate a part of the room. The footboard of a bed showed from behind it and Sam pulled the curtain back with a vicious yank. The metal rings rasped loudly as it flew back on the rod, startling the boy sleeping there. He jerked upright, blinking. "What—you back already—oh. Who are you?"
"Who are you? Do you live here?" Sam stared down at the boy. He knew from around town that two boys sort of lived in the club—Albert and Percy. So this boy had to be—"Percy?"
"Albert." The boy rolled fully upright, and the blanket dropped to his skinny waist. He rubbed his eyes. "…so who tha hell are you?" He leaned forward, and Sam saw that he was naked when the sheets dropped loose. "Hey, ain't you Dean's kid brother…Dan, something…?"
"Sam. When's Bill coming back?"
"Boggy? Not 'til tomorrow, most likely. Did you see Percy out there? He ain't been home in a while…" Albert bit at his thumb, worried eyes darting about, landing everywhere but on Sam.
"Naw. Did you see Dean? Was he here?" Sam had his hands in his pocket, thumb stroking the edge of a little penknife he'd lifted off a bum who might have been dead, might have been drunk—he hadn't checked. His eyes trailed up Albert's pale neck, to his wide brown eyes.
"Maybe…."
"C'mon, tell me—I'm worried, he didn't come home last night," Sam lied. "He said he was gonna bring me something nice and he never showed."
"He was okay last night, I'll say. Got in my way." Albert scowled. "Let Boggy crawl all over him—damn--don’t tell no one, okay? Boggy'll go nuts. Think he's worried about…someone knowing." Albert pushed out his lip and folded his arms. Fell back against the pillows.
Sam could feel thoughts jumping and skittering in his head, skittering and crawling under his skin and he felt like he had to scratch…something. Someone, himself…Albert.
"Show me what he did." The words came out in a rush. He startled himself but he needed to know…he knew for sure he was going to have to fight the world for Dean…how was he going to do that unless he knew what weapons were being used, what the battlefield was. He needed to be prepared, like those old-time knights in Dean's stories.
Albert meanwhile was trying to crawl away across the bed. Sam snagged his ankle and held on. Albert tried to kick him off, yelped, "I ain't showin' you nuttin'. Go away."
Sam shook his head and held on tighter, dug his nails in and ignored Albert's whimper. "Show me. If you don’t…I'll tell Boggs that you told me…" Sam thought about Boggs--what little he knew of him, and looked at a rapidly paling Albert and played a hunch…."and laughed about it—about him."
Albert looked scared, and Sam liked that. Knew it meant Albert was close to breaking, he just needed a little push…"If you don’t show me, I'll tell Dean you crawled all over me like Boggs crawled all over him." Sam waited. Maybe everyone around him thought he was just a kid, but he wasn't stupid.
"You stinkin' little shit—Dean'll kill me!"
Sam let go of Albert, folded his arms and waited until Albert cracked.
"All, right, come here. Take your pants off. Underwear too." Sam stopped mid-step. Blinked at Albert who sat blank-faced on the edge of the bed. "You want to know, then do it, and be fast about it."
They were on territory that Albert was sure of now, and Sam gave up the lead to him, did as Albert instructed, folded knee pants and underwear neatly, and laid them on the bed. He thought about sliding down his wool socks, but Albert hadn't mentioned them and he decided to keep them on…he lined his boots up with the edge of the rug and sat on he bed when told to. He was nervous, unsure—but this was what he'd planned, and what he had to do. His hand twisted over the lump of the pen knife in the pocket of his knee pants. Holding it tight as Albert knelt in front of him helped to ease his nerves a bit.
"Okay," Albert muttered, bending over Sam and planting a hand on either of his thighs, "don't pull my hair, and don’t kick me and don't—you just sit there, okay? I'm not gonna hurtcha. Besides, you'll like it some."
Sam was about to ask him what was with all the warning--until Albert shoved his shirt tails out of the way and put his mouth on him. Not just on him, Albert…swallowed him. Sam jumped, almost kicked Albert—"whad I say, ya little punk?—" before freezing. It felt---weird. Wet. Uncomfortable…until it became not. He felt Albert's tongue, felt a sucking tug that made him gasp and realized…it felt good. Sam kept his eyes screwed shut. His breath came shorter, faster, and something crawled in loops inside his belly. It felt real good, until he imagined Boggy doing it to Dean. His stomach flipped then, and for a long second he fought gagging. Albert patted his leg and brought him back to the moment. He opened his eyes then, and watched Albert, watched the top of Albert's head bob up and down….
He shuddered, and gripped the sheet, gripped his pants, no longer neatly folded, but crumbled next to him on the bed. He closed his hand tight over the lump where the knife was. "Stop, I gotta pee," he gasped. Albert pulled back and said, "No you don’t."
"Yeah, really, I do—stop!"
"Trust me," Albert said. "Just—hush." He went back to what he'd been doing and Sam felt the feeling rush along, he really, really had to, he had to—
"Oh." He shook, and gasped, and it felt…good. Awfully good. He blinked once or twice and sagged, all the tension flowing out of him like a river—for a moment he felt totally undone. It was jake, it was…Sam pulled himself together with effort.
Albert stood up. "Told ya." He climbed back up the bed, and said, "It's different for big guys." Sam looked. Albert was big, bigger than he was. He'd never really paid attention before. When he and Dean were naked, they were just naked, no big deal. But Albert…Albert was holding himself and moving his hand back and forth fast, until he grunted and something not pee came out of him. Sam was shocked—he glanced quick at Albert's face, but Albert didn’t seem alarmed at all. He just let out a long breath, smiled—and then his face fell. "Get outta here, Sam. Get lost."
Sam grabbed Albert's hand, drew his finger through the slimy mess in his palm. Albert pushed him away, wiped his hand on the rough wool blanket, and turned to slide back under it. Sam sniffed his fingers, thought about putting his tongue to them but just wiped them on the blanket, like Albert had done. He grabbed his clothes and pulled them on quickly—the weight of the knife slapped against his thigh and stopped. He cut his eyes towards Albert, considering. Slid his hand into his pocket and thumbed the knife. Maybe Albert couldn't be trusted to know things like that about Dean. It wouldn't take much to fix that--there was a vein in the neck, or a vein in the thigh that emptied fast and it didn’t take much to punch even a little blade through skin.
Behind him, Albert let out a gusty sigh. "I'm sorry, Sam. I was thinkin' about Percy and it made me feel bad. He's always here and now he's not and we ain't been apart since we was babies…Boggy's been looking at him different now that he's not so little anymore, y'know?"
Sam turned and looked at Albert, saw the fear and aching loneliness and felt…like Albert might know how Sam felt, sometimes. Sam took his fingers off the knife. "I'll look for Percy on my way home, okay? We're square here, right?"
Albert slid back under the covers. "Yeah. We're square—an' I know. Quiet like the grave."
"Right, like the grave…" Sam smiled. "And don’t be sorry about anything. It's your lucky day," he said and left.
* * * * * *
It was a bright, sunny day, still a bit of early spring chill in the air, and the breeze off the water bringing with it the faint scent of the ocean….
Dean and Sam were strolling about the fish market, taking in the sights, the sounds, the hustle of activity. Watched the boys unload glistening fish, their silvery skins flashing in the bright sunlight as the sellers arranged them in beds of clean ice. The brothers listened to the shouts and catcalls, laughed at the gossip spread between the people working the stalls and their patrons.
The clam wagon was parked at the end of the block and the boys bought a few—a good treat. They ate them as they wandered a little further into the market. They skipped between the puddles of melted ice, slipped past the busy fish-mongers, tossed the shells at each other, dodging and weaving to avoid smacks and curses flung their way.
It was a good day, a day to spend just being boys, doing boy things. They chased a can between the two of them, kicking it further and further away from the market, jeering and teasing each other, bumping shoulders, elbowing ribs and before long before they were close to the river. Dean turned them, had them cutting across tracks and narrow cobbled roads, past warehouses and tenements that leaned out over the water on spindly, spider webs of wooden trestles and crossbeams. They chased each other, played a game of hide and seek until they were in the constant gloom under the train trestles, where the warehouses met each other over the streets. This part of the city Dean disliked—too dark, too wet, cold as iceboxes in the winter and hotter than hell in the summers. He remembered places like this, waiting out in the street for the old man, waiting and pretending not to be there. Looking up and watching his dad come out of one doorway or another, not knowing if he'd be smiling or frowning, almost always smelling of whiskey and other things or streaked with black, hands black, smelling of blood and smoke….
"Paaa-pah—paapah here!" A short thin boy dressed in black, wearing a floppy pancake of a cap and weighed down by a huge bag on his shoulder, waved a newspaper about. Dancing about on skinny, black clad legs, his black coat flopping around his tiny frame, he looked like a wide-eyed crow. His big eyes held about as much innocence as a crow's.
"Hey, Georgie," Dean called out. "What's the word?" The brothers crossed to the opposite curb and Dean shook hands with Georgie.
"Dean." The skinny boy peered at Sam and nodded, seeming to have decided Sam was okay.
Dean nudged Sam, "This guy's my kid brother." Dean's hand landed on the back of Sam's neck, curled a little.Mine. Sam just stared at the boy.
"Okay…hey, didja hear? They's all down at the river side—coppers an' newshawks an' all, dey got the meat wagon down 'er too. They fished a body out tha river and they're saying it's Percy. Two grins." The kid made a gurgling noise and drew his finger across his neck. "He was whiter'n cheese and tied up like a turkey—no eyes," he hissed at Sam, waiting for Sam to jerk back, but Sam's mouth just curled in a little soft smile and he leaned against Dean. Dean tossed his arm around his brother in reflex and hissed in awed horror.
"Holy shit, Georgie. Holy fuckin' shit…I was with him the other day—well, slappin' him around, poor shit. He was getting all bent out of sorts about stuff an' worryin' about…well, never mind that." His eyes narrowed and he asked, "How's Albert?"
Sam startled, jogging Dean, making him take a step back to catch Sam. "Watch it, Squirt," Dean said, and his arm tightened around Sam's chest, the warm, bony weight settled Sam, like always.
Georgie glanced quickly up and down the street, then rocked back on his heels, a picture of casual disinterest. Shrugged eloquently and said, "Eh, Albert. Ain't seen 'em, not for a few days. Figured he took off to look for Percy. Don't look like he found 'em."
Dean shook his head. "Poor stupid shit," he said. "Wonder how Percy ended up inna river like that? I mean to say, who'd wanna chill old Perce? He was just a kid. He didn't even have a job, 'sides hanging out at Boggy's. He wasn't nothin' to nobody."
Sam knelt, picked at the laces on his boots. "He was somebody to Albert," Dean heard him mutter. True, he was that. Dean couldn't imagine that Albert and Percy…that they were such friends that Albert would put himself in danger for Percy. He glanced down at Sam. Maybe it was a little like taking care of Sammy, though that wasn't so much a choice; it was under his skin and in his bones, in his breath. He didn't know anything else but putting Sam first. That's just the way it was, and as far as Dean was concerned, totally unremarkable.
Georgie hawked hard, and spit a thick blob of rust colored mucus onto the street. "Ain't that the truth--who would wanna ice 'em? Poor old Perce didn’t ever bother nobody. It was jus' him and Albert—and that rat-faced Boggs. Looks like both of them boys are gone now. Hunh. Well, that's why I keep my head down, stay wise an' just sell papers. Dean, I'm telling ya, like a pal, try'n stay away from that yegg, y'hear?" His little pinched face was full of righteousness, that it was greyed over with grime didn't take a thing from the heat Georgie felt at the injustice of all their situations. Dean looked away from the earnest appeal in the little boy's eyes, cheeks flushed pink.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up, ya mouthy little runt." He fished around in his coat pocket and gave Georgie a licorice whip and a dime. Georgie's face lit up, and he grabbed the candy, shoved a paper at Dean and beamed, harder still when Dean refused the change—Georgie's grey little cheeks went pinkish with pleasure.
"Thanks, yer a pal, Dean."
"Yeah, sure I am," Dean said and folded the paper under his arm. He grabbed Sam's hand and yanked him back up the way they came.
"Ow, quit it, you're hurting me!" Sam yelped, and tried to drag his heels, yowling even louder when he was in danger of losing his boots, so Dean stopped. He looked down at Sam; spread his fingers on Sam's wrist so his grip was less painful. He rubbed his thumb softly against Sam's pulse. "Listen little brother, I want you to promise me something. You promise me you'll keep away from Boggy and guys like 'em. Don't ever talk to him, and if you want something you come to me—only me, okay?"
Sam startled Dean by reaching up and grabbing Dean's cheeks, he pressed them between his damp, slightly sticky, little boy hands. "If I want something I'll come to you, promise," he said, his eyes so solemn and old that something cold skittered up Dean's spine. Dean could see Sam meant it with every bit of his soul. He laid his hands over Sam's, pressed them tight and closed his eyes, just for a second, before he pulled out of Sam's reach, ruffled his hair until Sam yelled at him to quit, and they chased each other back to the room .
* * * * * *
Sam woke up with a jerk. Something woke him… some sound out of the ordinary. A small soft noise, rising and falling, a snuffling sound, and it took Sam a few bleary minutes to get that it was Dean.
Dean's fists were locked in his flat little pillow, pressing it down against his face. He was trying to muffle it--but it was plain that he was crying. For a lightning bright moment, terror burst through Sam's body, crippling him. His big brother didn't cry, Dean was a tough guy, he never cried. He wasn't built for it. Hadn't cried that day John knocked him into a wall and busted his wrist. He hadn't cried that day they came home and found the pitiful remnants of their stuff scattered on the street and no place to live, or the days that they didn't eat, or the days it was too cold to sleep…but Dean was crying now.
Dean rolled far away as he could on the tiny bed. "Go back to sleep," he growled and Sam felt a quick stitch of anger. "I mean it, go to sleep."
"No. Why are you crying Dean? Is it 'cause of today? Are you afraid of ending up like Percy? 'Cause you won't, I know that. I'm gonna watch out for you."
Dean choked out a snot-filled, watery, laugh. "That's my job, Squirt. I do the lookin' after…besides, I ain't afraid for me. I'm afraid…I'm afraid of. Of you ending up like that. I'm afraid of you ending up sick somewhere, coughing your lungs out, or some punk icing you for fun, or…or…Sammy, I'm really afraid of screwing this up, not taking care of you like I should. What if I screw this up, Sam, what if I'm just what Dad said I was—worthless, stupid—"
Sam grabbed Dean's arms and pulled them down, ignoring the red wheals his nails scored down his brother's arms. "You're not! You're not--look at me. I'm not sick, I'm not sad—I got you, and you make me happy. You take good care of me, Dean." He wiggled in under Dean's arms and waited until they wrapped tight around him. Dean shuddered out a long, moist sigh. "You always take care of me, Dean." Sam murmured. "Geez, you kept the old man from beatin' on me, and protected me from those punks on the street and…you know, you keep me from...bad things…."
"Sammy, Sammy, I'm supposed to. I love you, yer my brother. I'd do anything for you."
Sam nodded, his hair caught under Dean's chin. He lifted his head and peered at his brother with one eye, grinning. "Gimme a kiss, so I can go to sleep."
Dean leaned down to him, and tucked his fingers under Sam's chin, tilted his mouth to his. Sam closed his eyes and felt the soft press of Dean's lips against his. Dean's breath washed warm over his nose and chin. A slight hint of moisture bloomed against Sam's mouth as the pressure of Dean's lips opened his lips a bit. Dean stopped, and pulled back—only far enough to speak. "Sam…"
Sam squirmed against Dean and Dean gasped when Sam poked the wet tip of his tongue against Dean's velvety lower lip. Dean shuddered and grabbed Sam—hard. Pulled them together and groaned--pushed them apart. Sam whimpered, and tried to pull Dean back against him. It felt like his skin was on fire, like he needed Dean, to make it stop burning…
"Sam, don’t, okay? Just…don't.
"Why not, why can't I?"
"It's one of those things that…just, some things aren't right, you gotta trust me to tell you what those things are."
Sam pouted, and slipped his hand between them, into the heat of Dean's crotch and asked, "What's wrong with you being stiff like that? Or me helping you?"
"Come on, Sam—stop it!" He shivered and Sam watched gooseflesh race across Dean's skin. The stiff prick jumped against his palm, and Sam took the chance and stroked, once twice, feeling the firm heat, liking the solid weight bumping against his skin and wondering, what it would be like to do to Dean what Albert had done to him…what would Dean feel like, taste like…?
Dean grabbed Sam's wrist tight, dropped his head to Sam's shoulder and exhaled a long hot breath. "Please go to sleep Sam, okay, promise me you'll sleep."
"Okay, Dean. I'll sleep, just like this, okay?" He turned in his brothers arms, and pressed his back against his chest. Dean's arms went around him automatically, tightened just right, his hand wrapped around Sam's. Sam shimmied back against Dean, and got a slap to the back of his head for his efforts.
"Knock it off!"
Didn't matter, Sam thought. The slap had no weight to it, it was barely more than a love tap. Sam grinned into the darkness…Dean didn't know it, but he'd already lost.
"Stop thinking whatever you're thinking and fuckin' go to sleep."
Sam giggled as he drifted off….
* * * * * *
All the next day was odd, interesting. Sam was fascinated by Dean, the way he see-sawed between loving Sam and running from him. Dean smiled at him, he frowned at him. He reached out to him--he pushed away. He let Sam kiss him—he yelled at him. Sam didn't care. He knew Dean had to stretch against this new thing—test the hold. Sam expected it.
The air got thicker, slowly…Sam sat on the bed, and watched Dean from behind a book, felt the way the weight in the room grew and grew until finally, Dean jumped up with a curse and ran out. Sam sucked in a breath and held it until the room went blurry and dark. He dropped the book on the floor, flopped down on the bed and waited.
He knew Dean was coming back, Dean couldn’t leave him, wouldn't leave, not like this….
It wasn't long before Dean was back, flushed and red, angry--but hands full of good things to eat, and he pushed Sam out of their little room and onto the street with him.
Sam tried to hide his relief, his joy. He'd known Dean wasn't going to leave him—he wasn't really worried at all. Dean would come around, he always did. He always did what Sam wanted him to, eventually. So he sat shoulder to shoulder with Dean on the curb, and ate pickles and boiled eggs, and handfuls of crumbly saltines. He ate, he watched Dean, and he thought.
Dean would do whatever he could for Sam, even if it was stupid and dangerous. What Sam wanted was for Dean to protect himself, for Sam. And since it didn’t seem Dean knew how to do that, it was up to him. It didn't take a lot of smarts to figure out what had happened to Albert and Percy—who had happened to them. Boggs might look stupid but he was cagey as the rats he looked like; he'd probably been miles away when Albert, when Percy died. A thing like that…could happen to Dean, would if he didn’t get away from Boggs and the murdering mugs that made up his crew...Sam shook his head. No. As long as he breathed, nothing bad like that was going to happen to Dean. He'd promised Dean he'd look after him, and he would.
Dean let out a small sound of pleasure as a cream painted Packard rolled past them, its brass side lamps gleaming. Dean followed it with his eyes, his mouth pursed around a whistle of admiration, his cheeks pink with want. Watching him, Sam understood quite well what his big brother was feeling….
Sam glanced at the car as it passed and just like that, he had a plan…a good one.
part 4
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, John Winchester, original characters
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4614
Summary: a 1920s AU *very* loosely based on the film, Public Enemy.
Notes/Warnings: abuse, dub-con, harsh images, morally challenged Sam, troubled Dean. There are hints of abuse, physical and sexual, but nothing terribly graphic. The rating is for the overall fic—it varies according to update. The fic features the boys at a very young age.
Sam waited until he couldn't see Dean anymore, and then ran around to the back of the school, slipping between the students arriving for class. No one called to him, no one took notice—he was nearly mute, withdrawn at school, and of course the other children had singled him out as 'different'. After having discovered Sam was also a dirty fighter who'd never heard of fair-play, they tended to avoid him.
He was back in the corner of the yard, where they kept the ash cans, in the blink of an eye. Along with the ash cans set against the tall wooden fence surrounding the yard, were stacks of empty crates, boxes and bags. It took him a few seconds to crawl under a crate. Through the slats he watched the yard, waiting until he heard the bell signaling the start of class. His heart beat faster—excitement made his fingers tremble. A little careful shoving and shifting allowed him to cache his books under the pile of garbage, planning to come back later that day and retrieve them. He climbed the pile and scrambled over the fence, dropped down into the alley way. He dodged his way down the narrow passage, crossing over into the rear yard of a bakery and through, ignoring the shouts that greeted him. The mouth of the alley emptied onto the street across from Boggs.
He hid behind more garbage cans, watching Boggs' front door. As he expected Dean came out, frowning at a slip of paper in his hand. Numbers drops, Sam figured—he'd be gone for a while. He settled and waited a bit more, and Boggs came out with a few of his scabs and left. Sam waited until he couldn't see him before running across the street, right up to Boggs and inside.
"Hey—whataya doin'—" Sam burst through the door and right into a knobby rail of a man, knocking his bowler to the floor. He scowled at Sam and swept it back onto his head and Sam stared—crammed both fists to his mouth, trying to smother a laugh. The guy had modeled himself after Boggs, bowler hat, single breasted plaid coat—the same brown plaid, the same brown trousers and boots—he'd copied Boggs right down to the tatty ascot and the wrinkled kerchief shoved in his coat pocket.
Sam pasted a sincere look on his face and said, "I'm supposed to wait for Bill. My friend told me to come here an' wait." He let a whine into his voice, and wrinkled his face. "I'm supposed to wait in here--he said--an' I come here an'—"
"Yeah, yeah! Geez—gwan in the back and shut the fuck up."
Sam let himself back into Boggs' office. This was the place Dean came, without him—a part of Dean's life Sam was shut out of, and Sam didn't like being kept out of anything concerning Dean.
The room behind the door was dark, virtually windowless—there was a long, narrow widow high on one wall. Gas jets provided most of the light. The room held a table and a few mismatched wooden chairs crowded around it, and behind the table sat a large black enameled stove and cabinets. There were a pair of shabby wing chairs, a card table unfolded between them. Sam felt a brief spear of jealousy—Boggs had space, room to live….
A surprisingly nice keyhole desk sat in one corner—a spindly chair pushed up against the front of it, ledgers stacked haphazardly across the top and Sam remembered--in one of the precious few nuggets of information Dean passed him—that Bill Boggs ran his business out of this room. And lived there—slept there. Sam took a deep breath. There was a curtain pulled forward to separate a part of the room. The footboard of a bed showed from behind it and Sam pulled the curtain back with a vicious yank. The metal rings rasped loudly as it flew back on the rod, startling the boy sleeping there. He jerked upright, blinking. "What—you back already—oh. Who are you?"
"Who are you? Do you live here?" Sam stared down at the boy. He knew from around town that two boys sort of lived in the club—Albert and Percy. So this boy had to be—"Percy?"
"Albert." The boy rolled fully upright, and the blanket dropped to his skinny waist. He rubbed his eyes. "…so who tha hell are you?" He leaned forward, and Sam saw that he was naked when the sheets dropped loose. "Hey, ain't you Dean's kid brother…Dan, something…?"
"Sam. When's Bill coming back?"
"Boggy? Not 'til tomorrow, most likely. Did you see Percy out there? He ain't been home in a while…" Albert bit at his thumb, worried eyes darting about, landing everywhere but on Sam.
"Naw. Did you see Dean? Was he here?" Sam had his hands in his pocket, thumb stroking the edge of a little penknife he'd lifted off a bum who might have been dead, might have been drunk—he hadn't checked. His eyes trailed up Albert's pale neck, to his wide brown eyes.
"Maybe…."
"C'mon, tell me—I'm worried, he didn't come home last night," Sam lied. "He said he was gonna bring me something nice and he never showed."
"He was okay last night, I'll say. Got in my way." Albert scowled. "Let Boggy crawl all over him—damn--don’t tell no one, okay? Boggy'll go nuts. Think he's worried about…someone knowing." Albert pushed out his lip and folded his arms. Fell back against the pillows.
Sam could feel thoughts jumping and skittering in his head, skittering and crawling under his skin and he felt like he had to scratch…something. Someone, himself…Albert.
"Show me what he did." The words came out in a rush. He startled himself but he needed to know…he knew for sure he was going to have to fight the world for Dean…how was he going to do that unless he knew what weapons were being used, what the battlefield was. He needed to be prepared, like those old-time knights in Dean's stories.
Albert meanwhile was trying to crawl away across the bed. Sam snagged his ankle and held on. Albert tried to kick him off, yelped, "I ain't showin' you nuttin'. Go away."
Sam shook his head and held on tighter, dug his nails in and ignored Albert's whimper. "Show me. If you don’t…I'll tell Boggs that you told me…" Sam thought about Boggs--what little he knew of him, and looked at a rapidly paling Albert and played a hunch…."and laughed about it—about him."
Albert looked scared, and Sam liked that. Knew it meant Albert was close to breaking, he just needed a little push…"If you don’t show me, I'll tell Dean you crawled all over me like Boggs crawled all over him." Sam waited. Maybe everyone around him thought he was just a kid, but he wasn't stupid.
"You stinkin' little shit—Dean'll kill me!"
Sam let go of Albert, folded his arms and waited until Albert cracked.
"All, right, come here. Take your pants off. Underwear too." Sam stopped mid-step. Blinked at Albert who sat blank-faced on the edge of the bed. "You want to know, then do it, and be fast about it."
They were on territory that Albert was sure of now, and Sam gave up the lead to him, did as Albert instructed, folded knee pants and underwear neatly, and laid them on the bed. He thought about sliding down his wool socks, but Albert hadn't mentioned them and he decided to keep them on…he lined his boots up with the edge of the rug and sat on he bed when told to. He was nervous, unsure—but this was what he'd planned, and what he had to do. His hand twisted over the lump of the pen knife in the pocket of his knee pants. Holding it tight as Albert knelt in front of him helped to ease his nerves a bit.
"Okay," Albert muttered, bending over Sam and planting a hand on either of his thighs, "don't pull my hair, and don’t kick me and don't—you just sit there, okay? I'm not gonna hurtcha. Besides, you'll like it some."
Sam was about to ask him what was with all the warning--until Albert shoved his shirt tails out of the way and put his mouth on him. Not just on him, Albert…swallowed him. Sam jumped, almost kicked Albert—"whad I say, ya little punk?—" before freezing. It felt---weird. Wet. Uncomfortable…until it became not. He felt Albert's tongue, felt a sucking tug that made him gasp and realized…it felt good. Sam kept his eyes screwed shut. His breath came shorter, faster, and something crawled in loops inside his belly. It felt real good, until he imagined Boggy doing it to Dean. His stomach flipped then, and for a long second he fought gagging. Albert patted his leg and brought him back to the moment. He opened his eyes then, and watched Albert, watched the top of Albert's head bob up and down….
He shuddered, and gripped the sheet, gripped his pants, no longer neatly folded, but crumbled next to him on the bed. He closed his hand tight over the lump where the knife was. "Stop, I gotta pee," he gasped. Albert pulled back and said, "No you don’t."
"Yeah, really, I do—stop!"
"Trust me," Albert said. "Just—hush." He went back to what he'd been doing and Sam felt the feeling rush along, he really, really had to, he had to—
"Oh." He shook, and gasped, and it felt…good. Awfully good. He blinked once or twice and sagged, all the tension flowing out of him like a river—for a moment he felt totally undone. It was jake, it was…Sam pulled himself together with effort.
Albert stood up. "Told ya." He climbed back up the bed, and said, "It's different for big guys." Sam looked. Albert was big, bigger than he was. He'd never really paid attention before. When he and Dean were naked, they were just naked, no big deal. But Albert…Albert was holding himself and moving his hand back and forth fast, until he grunted and something not pee came out of him. Sam was shocked—he glanced quick at Albert's face, but Albert didn’t seem alarmed at all. He just let out a long breath, smiled—and then his face fell. "Get outta here, Sam. Get lost."
Sam grabbed Albert's hand, drew his finger through the slimy mess in his palm. Albert pushed him away, wiped his hand on the rough wool blanket, and turned to slide back under it. Sam sniffed his fingers, thought about putting his tongue to them but just wiped them on the blanket, like Albert had done. He grabbed his clothes and pulled them on quickly—the weight of the knife slapped against his thigh and stopped. He cut his eyes towards Albert, considering. Slid his hand into his pocket and thumbed the knife. Maybe Albert couldn't be trusted to know things like that about Dean. It wouldn't take much to fix that--there was a vein in the neck, or a vein in the thigh that emptied fast and it didn’t take much to punch even a little blade through skin.
Behind him, Albert let out a gusty sigh. "I'm sorry, Sam. I was thinkin' about Percy and it made me feel bad. He's always here and now he's not and we ain't been apart since we was babies…Boggy's been looking at him different now that he's not so little anymore, y'know?"
Sam turned and looked at Albert, saw the fear and aching loneliness and felt…like Albert might know how Sam felt, sometimes. Sam took his fingers off the knife. "I'll look for Percy on my way home, okay? We're square here, right?"
Albert slid back under the covers. "Yeah. We're square—an' I know. Quiet like the grave."
"Right, like the grave…" Sam smiled. "And don’t be sorry about anything. It's your lucky day," he said and left.
It was a bright, sunny day, still a bit of early spring chill in the air, and the breeze off the water bringing with it the faint scent of the ocean….
Dean and Sam were strolling about the fish market, taking in the sights, the sounds, the hustle of activity. Watched the boys unload glistening fish, their silvery skins flashing in the bright sunlight as the sellers arranged them in beds of clean ice. The brothers listened to the shouts and catcalls, laughed at the gossip spread between the people working the stalls and their patrons.
The clam wagon was parked at the end of the block and the boys bought a few—a good treat. They ate them as they wandered a little further into the market. They skipped between the puddles of melted ice, slipped past the busy fish-mongers, tossed the shells at each other, dodging and weaving to avoid smacks and curses flung their way.
It was a good day, a day to spend just being boys, doing boy things. They chased a can between the two of them, kicking it further and further away from the market, jeering and teasing each other, bumping shoulders, elbowing ribs and before long before they were close to the river. Dean turned them, had them cutting across tracks and narrow cobbled roads, past warehouses and tenements that leaned out over the water on spindly, spider webs of wooden trestles and crossbeams. They chased each other, played a game of hide and seek until they were in the constant gloom under the train trestles, where the warehouses met each other over the streets. This part of the city Dean disliked—too dark, too wet, cold as iceboxes in the winter and hotter than hell in the summers. He remembered places like this, waiting out in the street for the old man, waiting and pretending not to be there. Looking up and watching his dad come out of one doorway or another, not knowing if he'd be smiling or frowning, almost always smelling of whiskey and other things or streaked with black, hands black, smelling of blood and smoke….
"Paaa-pah—paapah here!" A short thin boy dressed in black, wearing a floppy pancake of a cap and weighed down by a huge bag on his shoulder, waved a newspaper about. Dancing about on skinny, black clad legs, his black coat flopping around his tiny frame, he looked like a wide-eyed crow. His big eyes held about as much innocence as a crow's.
"Hey, Georgie," Dean called out. "What's the word?" The brothers crossed to the opposite curb and Dean shook hands with Georgie.
"Dean." The skinny boy peered at Sam and nodded, seeming to have decided Sam was okay.
Dean nudged Sam, "This guy's my kid brother." Dean's hand landed on the back of Sam's neck, curled a little.Mine. Sam just stared at the boy.
"Okay…hey, didja hear? They's all down at the river side—coppers an' newshawks an' all, dey got the meat wagon down 'er too. They fished a body out tha river and they're saying it's Percy. Two grins." The kid made a gurgling noise and drew his finger across his neck. "He was whiter'n cheese and tied up like a turkey—no eyes," he hissed at Sam, waiting for Sam to jerk back, but Sam's mouth just curled in a little soft smile and he leaned against Dean. Dean tossed his arm around his brother in reflex and hissed in awed horror.
"Holy shit, Georgie. Holy fuckin' shit…I was with him the other day—well, slappin' him around, poor shit. He was getting all bent out of sorts about stuff an' worryin' about…well, never mind that." His eyes narrowed and he asked, "How's Albert?"
Sam startled, jogging Dean, making him take a step back to catch Sam. "Watch it, Squirt," Dean said, and his arm tightened around Sam's chest, the warm, bony weight settled Sam, like always.
Georgie glanced quickly up and down the street, then rocked back on his heels, a picture of casual disinterest. Shrugged eloquently and said, "Eh, Albert. Ain't seen 'em, not for a few days. Figured he took off to look for Percy. Don't look like he found 'em."
Dean shook his head. "Poor stupid shit," he said. "Wonder how Percy ended up inna river like that? I mean to say, who'd wanna chill old Perce? He was just a kid. He didn't even have a job, 'sides hanging out at Boggy's. He wasn't nothin' to nobody."
Sam knelt, picked at the laces on his boots. "He was somebody to Albert," Dean heard him mutter. True, he was that. Dean couldn't imagine that Albert and Percy…that they were such friends that Albert would put himself in danger for Percy. He glanced down at Sam. Maybe it was a little like taking care of Sammy, though that wasn't so much a choice; it was under his skin and in his bones, in his breath. He didn't know anything else but putting Sam first. That's just the way it was, and as far as Dean was concerned, totally unremarkable.
Georgie hawked hard, and spit a thick blob of rust colored mucus onto the street. "Ain't that the truth--who would wanna ice 'em? Poor old Perce didn’t ever bother nobody. It was jus' him and Albert—and that rat-faced Boggs. Looks like both of them boys are gone now. Hunh. Well, that's why I keep my head down, stay wise an' just sell papers. Dean, I'm telling ya, like a pal, try'n stay away from that yegg, y'hear?" His little pinched face was full of righteousness, that it was greyed over with grime didn't take a thing from the heat Georgie felt at the injustice of all their situations. Dean looked away from the earnest appeal in the little boy's eyes, cheeks flushed pink.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up, ya mouthy little runt." He fished around in his coat pocket and gave Georgie a licorice whip and a dime. Georgie's face lit up, and he grabbed the candy, shoved a paper at Dean and beamed, harder still when Dean refused the change—Georgie's grey little cheeks went pinkish with pleasure.
"Thanks, yer a pal, Dean."
"Yeah, sure I am," Dean said and folded the paper under his arm. He grabbed Sam's hand and yanked him back up the way they came.
"Ow, quit it, you're hurting me!" Sam yelped, and tried to drag his heels, yowling even louder when he was in danger of losing his boots, so Dean stopped. He looked down at Sam; spread his fingers on Sam's wrist so his grip was less painful. He rubbed his thumb softly against Sam's pulse. "Listen little brother, I want you to promise me something. You promise me you'll keep away from Boggy and guys like 'em. Don't ever talk to him, and if you want something you come to me—only me, okay?"
Sam startled Dean by reaching up and grabbing Dean's cheeks, he pressed them between his damp, slightly sticky, little boy hands. "If I want something I'll come to you, promise," he said, his eyes so solemn and old that something cold skittered up Dean's spine. Dean could see Sam meant it with every bit of his soul. He laid his hands over Sam's, pressed them tight and closed his eyes, just for a second, before he pulled out of Sam's reach, ruffled his hair until Sam yelled at him to quit, and they chased each other back to the room .
Sam woke up with a jerk. Something woke him… some sound out of the ordinary. A small soft noise, rising and falling, a snuffling sound, and it took Sam a few bleary minutes to get that it was Dean.
Dean's fists were locked in his flat little pillow, pressing it down against his face. He was trying to muffle it--but it was plain that he was crying. For a lightning bright moment, terror burst through Sam's body, crippling him. His big brother didn't cry, Dean was a tough guy, he never cried. He wasn't built for it. Hadn't cried that day John knocked him into a wall and busted his wrist. He hadn't cried that day they came home and found the pitiful remnants of their stuff scattered on the street and no place to live, or the days that they didn't eat, or the days it was too cold to sleep…but Dean was crying now.
Dean rolled far away as he could on the tiny bed. "Go back to sleep," he growled and Sam felt a quick stitch of anger. "I mean it, go to sleep."
"No. Why are you crying Dean? Is it 'cause of today? Are you afraid of ending up like Percy? 'Cause you won't, I know that. I'm gonna watch out for you."
Dean choked out a snot-filled, watery, laugh. "That's my job, Squirt. I do the lookin' after…besides, I ain't afraid for me. I'm afraid…I'm afraid of. Of you ending up like that. I'm afraid of you ending up sick somewhere, coughing your lungs out, or some punk icing you for fun, or…or…Sammy, I'm really afraid of screwing this up, not taking care of you like I should. What if I screw this up, Sam, what if I'm just what Dad said I was—worthless, stupid—"
Sam grabbed Dean's arms and pulled them down, ignoring the red wheals his nails scored down his brother's arms. "You're not! You're not--look at me. I'm not sick, I'm not sad—I got you, and you make me happy. You take good care of me, Dean." He wiggled in under Dean's arms and waited until they wrapped tight around him. Dean shuddered out a long, moist sigh. "You always take care of me, Dean." Sam murmured. "Geez, you kept the old man from beatin' on me, and protected me from those punks on the street and…you know, you keep me from...bad things…."
"Sammy, Sammy, I'm supposed to. I love you, yer my brother. I'd do anything for you."
Sam nodded, his hair caught under Dean's chin. He lifted his head and peered at his brother with one eye, grinning. "Gimme a kiss, so I can go to sleep."
Dean leaned down to him, and tucked his fingers under Sam's chin, tilted his mouth to his. Sam closed his eyes and felt the soft press of Dean's lips against his. Dean's breath washed warm over his nose and chin. A slight hint of moisture bloomed against Sam's mouth as the pressure of Dean's lips opened his lips a bit. Dean stopped, and pulled back—only far enough to speak. "Sam…"
Sam squirmed against Dean and Dean gasped when Sam poked the wet tip of his tongue against Dean's velvety lower lip. Dean shuddered and grabbed Sam—hard. Pulled them together and groaned--pushed them apart. Sam whimpered, and tried to pull Dean back against him. It felt like his skin was on fire, like he needed Dean, to make it stop burning…
"Sam, don’t, okay? Just…don't.
"Why not, why can't I?"
"It's one of those things that…just, some things aren't right, you gotta trust me to tell you what those things are."
Sam pouted, and slipped his hand between them, into the heat of Dean's crotch and asked, "What's wrong with you being stiff like that? Or me helping you?"
"Come on, Sam—stop it!" He shivered and Sam watched gooseflesh race across Dean's skin. The stiff prick jumped against his palm, and Sam took the chance and stroked, once twice, feeling the firm heat, liking the solid weight bumping against his skin and wondering, what it would be like to do to Dean what Albert had done to him…what would Dean feel like, taste like…?
Dean grabbed Sam's wrist tight, dropped his head to Sam's shoulder and exhaled a long hot breath. "Please go to sleep Sam, okay, promise me you'll sleep."
"Okay, Dean. I'll sleep, just like this, okay?" He turned in his brothers arms, and pressed his back against his chest. Dean's arms went around him automatically, tightened just right, his hand wrapped around Sam's. Sam shimmied back against Dean, and got a slap to the back of his head for his efforts.
"Knock it off!"
Didn't matter, Sam thought. The slap had no weight to it, it was barely more than a love tap. Sam grinned into the darkness…Dean didn't know it, but he'd already lost.
"Stop thinking whatever you're thinking and fuckin' go to sleep."
Sam giggled as he drifted off….
All the next day was odd, interesting. Sam was fascinated by Dean, the way he see-sawed between loving Sam and running from him. Dean smiled at him, he frowned at him. He reached out to him--he pushed away. He let Sam kiss him—he yelled at him. Sam didn't care. He knew Dean had to stretch against this new thing—test the hold. Sam expected it.
The air got thicker, slowly…Sam sat on the bed, and watched Dean from behind a book, felt the way the weight in the room grew and grew until finally, Dean jumped up with a curse and ran out. Sam sucked in a breath and held it until the room went blurry and dark. He dropped the book on the floor, flopped down on the bed and waited.
He knew Dean was coming back, Dean couldn’t leave him, wouldn't leave, not like this….
It wasn't long before Dean was back, flushed and red, angry--but hands full of good things to eat, and he pushed Sam out of their little room and onto the street with him.
Sam tried to hide his relief, his joy. He'd known Dean wasn't going to leave him—he wasn't really worried at all. Dean would come around, he always did. He always did what Sam wanted him to, eventually. So he sat shoulder to shoulder with Dean on the curb, and ate pickles and boiled eggs, and handfuls of crumbly saltines. He ate, he watched Dean, and he thought.
Dean would do whatever he could for Sam, even if it was stupid and dangerous. What Sam wanted was for Dean to protect himself, for Sam. And since it didn’t seem Dean knew how to do that, it was up to him. It didn't take a lot of smarts to figure out what had happened to Albert and Percy—who had happened to them. Boggs might look stupid but he was cagey as the rats he looked like; he'd probably been miles away when Albert, when Percy died. A thing like that…could happen to Dean, would if he didn’t get away from Boggs and the murdering mugs that made up his crew...Sam shook his head. No. As long as he breathed, nothing bad like that was going to happen to Dean. He'd promised Dean he'd look after him, and he would.
Dean let out a small sound of pleasure as a cream painted Packard rolled past them, its brass side lamps gleaming. Dean followed it with his eyes, his mouth pursed around a whistle of admiration, his cheeks pink with want. Watching him, Sam understood quite well what his big brother was feeling….
Sam glanced at the car as it passed and just like that, he had a plan…a good one.
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(no subject)
6/28/11 09:41 am (UTC)So sad what's happening with all the poor boys in that ugly, gritty little area. You've captured their environment so well; I oculd really see the fish market and everything.
Sam is getting to be one scary little kid, and Dean's so messed up. Obviously it's completely different from the show, and yet I think there are healthy doses of these things in their personalities - and given a different upbringing and situations like these? Yeah, I could definitely imagine them being like this.
I've been trying to figure it out, but I can't work out just how young they're supposed to be. Did you have specific ages in mind, or is it deliberately vague? (Or is in not vague and I'm just being dumb?!) Cos, you know, if you were worried about squicking people, then you clearly haven't met the SPN fandom... :P
Can't wait for part 4!!!!!! And then you can immediately post all the rest of the story. And if you haven't finished it yet then...Well. Sleep's overrated anyway. *chains you in basement as personal writing slave*
♥
(no subject)
6/29/11 04:45 am (UTC)I'm thrilled too that Sam is coming off scary--he's going to be the scariest person in this fic--but hopefully not unsympathetic.
I have specific ages yes, at this time, Sam's 9 and Dean's 13. Squicky yes, so I left the ages out. That way, folks can imagine them whatever age they want--though I think it's pretty plain Sam is very young.
Part 4 coming up, if LJ stops being a bitch and lets me post. *hands you chains* I'll be needing coffee and chocolate too. :)
(no subject)
6/28/11 03:05 pm (UTC)I absolutely adore Sam here. He's so creepy and single-minded but at the same time he's such a little boy and he has these little boy moments where he lulls us (and Dean) into what I suspect is a false concern for his well-being. I suspect it's a little too late for that ;)
Once again, I demand more!
(no subject)
6/29/11 04:46 am (UTC)Final part coming up, if LJ allows! *BEAMS*
(no subject)
6/28/11 06:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
6/29/11 04:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
6/28/11 08:46 pm (UTC)I knew I should have waited to read this until Part 4 was posted. Now I'm going to be all tortured and stuff. Drat you and your delayed posting!
(no subject)
6/29/11 04:51 am (UTC)I love working in that time period--it's a lot of fun, plus it's always interesting trying to keep the flavor of the times but make it easy to read. Some anachronisms pop up because it sounds too awkward to us otherwise.
I'm posting the last part of the story tonight! :) Thanks so much for reading this, my dear!