Even though it was close to John was eating pizza and reading through the police files he had stolen from the sheriff’s station earlier. Bobby was horrified that the rows of photographs of mangled bodies laid out across the formica table-top didn’t seem to have any effect of the other man’s appetite. John washed the pizza down with a gulp of beer, and pushed one of the photos over to Bobby.
“Those look like teeth or claws?”
Bobby squinted at the picture. The photographs were poorly lit and grainy black and white film. Preliminary photos taken by the deputies themselves, not the better quality pictures the CSIs would have taken when they arrived on scene. But they had to work with what they had.
And truthfully there wasn’t much left inside the man’s body cavity. But the long gashes running across the remaining part of his abdomen looked distinctly claw-like not bite marks. Bobby picked up the photo then dropped it on the table.
“I’d say claws, not teeth. They rake across and they’re definitely not puncture wounds like teeth would make.”
“That’s what I thought. I’m going with werewolf on this one. Look at the dates of death, all about one month apart.”
“I’ll check dates of the full moon, but it looks right. Looks like the killings are following the lunar cycle.” Bobby shoved the photo back into the file, and glanced down at his half-eaten food. He grimaced, and John laughed.
“You just have to not let it get to you. I think I have a cast-iron stomach. Nothing makes me sick.”
The older man smiled.
“Good, when you get pregnant, we won’t have to worry about you having morning sickness.”
John finished off his beer, and Bobby took the bottle from him. John shot him an annoyed glare, but the older man smiled.
“That reminds me, no more beer for you. No alcohol of any kind.”
“I’m not pregnant yet,” John grumbled.
Bobby held up a hand.
“Doesn’t matter, John-boy. You have to start thinking like you are, and that means no more hunting either. This one is the last one until the baby is born.”
Sighing John looked longingly at the rest of the cold bottles glistening on the table.
“We've got three days until the next full moon. In the morning we can scout out
“Easy pickings for a werewolf. No family members filing missing persons reports. So we go out there and see what we can find.”
“There’s not enough information in the police reports to even begin tracking down a possible suspect. So we have to do this the hard way.” John replied.
Bobby glanced at him.
“Meaning one of us gets to be bait.”
“I’ll do it. I’m a lot faster than you are.”
“Yeah, but aren’t you still …bleeding?” Bobby asked, making vague waving motions in the direction of the other man’s abdomen.
“No, besides what has that got to do with anything? It doesn’t make me slower.”
“I though maybe it made you tired or something.”
“Nope, no side effects at all.”
“Except the being a bitch part,” Bobby mumbled under his breath.
John cast a sideways glance at the other man eyes narrowed.
“What was that?”
“Uh, nothing,” Bobby swallowed.
John slid his chair back and began stripping for bed. Bobby followed.
“You know John the hotel has a hot tub, down by the pool. I think the gate is locked but I can jimmy it with a knife. We can let ourselves in.”
John cocked his head.
“Its ninety degrees at why would we want to get in the hot tub?”
“I can think of a reason…”
“Bobby, that’s awful public. What if someone sees?”
Dean lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. He could still hear the slow trickle of water that seemed to be the best that the shower could muster. Finally, the water shut off and a few minutes later Sam came out of the bathroom. He crawled across the bed, pulling up the blankets and settled next to his brother.
Dean slid a hand beneath Sam’s shoulders wincing at the slightly moist feel of his skin. Even though the younger man seemed to have toweled off his hair, the humidity left a moist clamminess on his skin. Brushing his fingertips over Sam’s shoulder he rose up on one elbow and stared down at the other man.
With a sigh Dean leaned forward pressing his lips against the soft skin of Sam's neck, letting his lips map the contours of his jaw and cheek.
Sam's voice was hushed as Dean pressed forward sliding both hands around the younger man's shoulder and dragged him closer. His lips closed on Sam’s silencing him very effectively as he thrust his tongue deeply into the other man’s mouth. Sam warmed to the kissed and wrapped his hands around Dean’s shoulders, hanging on for dear life.
When they finally parted for air Sam gasped, “Why this, now?”
“I want to give this to you, Sam. I want to be there for you, protect you."
“Can't you just do it because you love me,” Sam muttered as Dean tongued the tight arch of his jaw then nipped down the slender column of Sam’s neck.
Pausing Dean replied, “Of course I love you, you're my brother, Sam.”
“If we do this I want to be more than just a responsibility, more than just your brother." Sam quickly rose holding out a hand to still Dean’s protests.
Dean stroked his fingertips up Sam’s slim, hard-muscled leg to his crotch then back down, before finally tangling his fingers in the thick nest of dark curls around the hard length of his penis. He lightly flicked his fingers over the rigid shaft feeling it twitch under his touch.
Gasping Sam arched his back like some giant cat, murmuring soft encouraging words to Dean urging him to do more than touch, to take as well. Their hands tangled together and then Dean finally pushed the other man down, almost falling on top his prone body.
Sam moaned as his brother mapped his long, lean body with hands and tongue. Letting his fingers trail firmly down Sam’s abdomen Dean slipped his hand between Sam's legs stroking over his cock and dipping his fingers inside the warm cleft beneath.
Sam’s body parted easily, greedily sucking Dean’s fingers inside. He twisted them and Sam barked out a sharp curse, back arching off the bed.
When Sam was finally shuddering and moaning with need, Dean mounted him, sinking his aching cock inside that tight, hot channel. With a long shuddering breath Sam thrust his hips upwards, meeting the other man, forcing a deeper penetration and groaning in pleasure.
There were no other sounds but the gentle murmuring of Dean and the slap of flesh against flesh until Sam threw his head back, crying out as his body contracted around Dean's. Each tiny wave flooding his senses with pleasure. Sam’s orgasm pulled Dean’s own climax from him in shuddering, gasping waves of pleasure until last he dropped on the hot, sweaty body under him. They lay tangled together, the humid air, drying the sweat on their bodies.
The fence was haphazardly built and the lock presented no real problems for a man of Bobby's lock picking skills. Glancing over his shoulder he noticed that the office lighting was low and unless someone was looking directly at the pool enclosure they would most likely never see anyone inside. The parking lot was mostly empty and for the most part the rooms looked dark. Either the lights in the room were off completely or just peeking out from behind drawn curtains. He motioned John through the gate and pushed it closed.
The water was tepid, but they didn't dare turn on the jets for fear of somebody hearing and coming to investigate, and as much as Bobby wanted to make love to John in the hot tub he did not want to get arrested for public indecency, just the idea of calling the boys to come bail them out of jail was enough the send a shiver running down his spine. They'd never hear the end of it.
Bobby stripped out of his jeans and shirt and set them far enough away from the Jacuzzi to keep dry. John was already out of his clothes and in the water. He stretched languidly settling on the pool shelf. Bobby eased into the water and settled beside the younger man with a sigh. The sky was clear, a multitude of stars shimmering overhead and he leaned back sliding one arm around John's shoulders and pulling him close. They sat side by side heads resting against the hard cement.
Bobby stroked John's arm.
"I used to love nighttime, until I found out what was in it."
"I still love it. There's nothing in dark that ain't there in the daylight, too. You know that Bobby. People just think that all the things that go bump doing it in the night. That’s not how it is, evil is out there all the time."
"I know, Johnny. I don't want to think about that now. I brought you down here 'cause I wanted to make love to you."
"I know," John said quietly. Bobby glanced at him.
"Not the right time? Cause we can just sit here awhile."
"Have you thought about where this is all going to end? I mean Dean and I sort of rushed us all into this because of that law, because they wanted to breed us like animals. But I'm not just going to get pregnant and that's the end. We're going to end up with a baby."
"Yeah, I kinda figured that part out. I mean pregnant usually ends up with popping out a baby."
"That's not what I meant. The things that go bump in the night aren't gonna just go away. That demon is still out there. It was hard enough raising the boys, being somebody's daddy as well as hunting. How the hell am I gonna be somebody's mama and do it."
Bobby caught John's chin in his hand, and turned his head so that they were face to face.
"One big difference Johnny-boy this time you don't have to do it alone."
Bobby slid down until the water reached his shoulders. John leaned against him letting his head drop on Bobby's arm. He smiled.
Sam came awake slowly. His mouth felt dry and he was pretty sure that Dean was drooling on the back of his head. With a grimace he shoved against his brother's chest, and shuffled out of bed. Dean rolled over grunting and yawned.
They spent the day at the library going through back copies of the Herald, and several other newspapers. Sam finally came across the obituaries for Missy Holloway and her parents. And a news story on her drowning. Nothing about the girl's death seemed remotely odd. Both her parents lived normal lives and from their obituaries died of natural causes. If Missy's father or any other male relative killed her, there was no hint of it in any written account. They did, however, find out that she was buried in a small church cemetery just a few miles away.
"Well, I say we do a quick salt and burn at the cemetery. If she hates men, she'll show up when we get there. You just stay back and let me do the digging. You can cover me with a shotgun if she does get nasty."
"Okay, seems quick and easy," Sam said with a nod. They closed the books and headed out to the car. Dean drove to the church and they scouted the cemetery. It took just a little over an hour to find the Holloway family burial plot and check out Missy's grave.
All of the family graves were neglected. Either the Holloways had all died out and left no one to tend their plot or the remaining family members just didn't give a damn. Dean always found it a little sad when the graves were so unkempt. He and Sam spent the afternoon sitting under a shade tree in a pasture across from the graveyard, checking their weapons and making sure that they had everything that they needed for the night's work.
Dean was reasonably sure that no one would bother them later. He and Sam had sat there for hours and not seen one car pass by. Even the little office building for the cemetery remained closed and locked.
It was just after the sun set that Sam and Dean made their way across the street and into the small silent graveyard. The pathetic little family plot was even more depressing in the pale twilight. Dean dumped the bag he was carrying down onto the ground and motioned Sam back. Picking up a pick-axe Dean broke the hard earth over Missy Holloway's final resting place.
Sam settled back against a tree shotgun hanging loosely in his arms. He watched his brother’s broad back as he lifted and bent methodically emptying the grave. After about forty minutes of hard digging Dean leaned back resting on the handle of the shovel. Sam walked a few paces away from the tree looking off into the distance for cars along the road. He saw a flicker of movement and turned back to the grave Dean was now so far down into the ground that all Sam could make out of him was the back of his head. Without bothering to call out to his brother Sam walked the fifteen or so yards to the road and glanced around for the source of the disturbance.
She was waiting for him. Pale, slivery and grim faced in the failing light. Missy had been a beauty without a doubt, so pretty that Sam's heart ached for her. She turned on him and the expression on her face was blank and cold. Taking a step forward Sam let the gun drop into his left hand.
"You don't have to hurt them, you know," he said softly.
Missy turned cocking her head. A grim smile spread over her face. Sam took a step forward; wanting to distract her from Dean, from what was happening in her grave.
The girl's spirit flickered, brightening then growing pale in the clear summer air.
"It's not fair," she whispered.
Sam frowned, they almost never spoke.
"It's never fair when you die young, sweetheart. But it happens. Is there a reason why you hurt those men? Did your Daddy do this to you, hurt you in any way?"
Missy looked at him.
"My Daddy loved me very much. I hated those people because it’s not fair…"
"What's not fair?" Sam asked.
Suddenly he found himself slammed against the asphalt. The shotgun spun out of his fingers clattering on the cold hard road. Missy was on him in a second, face pale and twisted in rage. Sam cried out as she sank her slim fingers into his chest, nails raking gouges in the flesh.
"You and all your kind. It's not fair you get to be a man; you get to do all the things a man can do, and is it enough? No! You get to be a girl too. You get to have a husband and children. I never had that. I never had a chance to fall in love, to get married, to hold a baby in my arms. You'll never have it either."
Sam groaned trying to roll, to twist out of her grip, but the ghost's hands were like iron, clawing and raking at his skin. His shirt parted under the clutching fingers, and blood welled on his chest. Sam groaned again.
"Hey bitch, get off my brother," Dean's voice ripped through the air.
Missy jerked upward, hands slipping off Sam and turned. Her eyes raked over the older man and she smiled, almost preening. Dean could see the gleam in her eyes. He raised the shot gun he had picked up and fired. The rock salt ripped through the ghost's body scattering her.
Running over Dean pulled Sam off the ground. He slid one hand under his brother's shoulder and half carried him back to the grave. Missy was waiting for them but Dean had her bones uncovered, and Sam could see the rough rock salt crystals scattered over the remains.
Gasoline glittered in the moonlight and Dean stuck a match. If she knew what was coming Missy didn't show it. She made no overt movements just stared in dumb disbelief as Dean dropped the match and her bones ignited.
She cast one more hate-filled glance at Sam then tilted back her head, and screamed. The sound wavered on the faint breeze fading as the bones fell to ash. They filled in the grave together. Sam was quiet as Dean drove the Impala back to the hotel. Finally, he turned to the older man and offered him a weak, half-hearted smile.
"She was right, Dean. It's not fair. But it's what we’ve got."
"Yeah, it's all we've got Sammy. You, me, Dad and Bobby. We're all we've got."