This is the fic LJ for firesign10. For Firesign10's personal LJ, go to fireheart13.

All of my fics are here on AO3. Fandom stories include Supernatural, Supernatural RPF/RPS, NCIS, White Collar, and Stargate Atlantis. Kudos and comments are always welcome!

Back to Part 6

* * * DW * * *

 

Dean and Benny sat in Dean's office, watching the burning car. They'd tuned in to watch the press conference. Now they were horrified at seeing the car burn, after it exploded on camera.

"Holy shit," said Dean. "That's. . . holy shit." His stomach churned at what he'd just witnessed. The pure violence and evil of the car bomb revolted him.

"Yeah," Benny agreed, his expression dark. "Talk about taking off the gloves."

"It had to be Roman, right? Behind it? I mean, that's what we're thinking here." Dean picked up the remote and turned the television off. He got up and headed for the bar, needing a drink to wash the imagined taste of smoke from his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm sure it's his work." Benny nodded when Dean looked at him with a questioning face. "Hell yes, I'll take a drink, that was--"

"Yeah." Dean handed Benny a glass half full of whiskey, and they drank together. "I'm not a fan of the FBI giving us a hard time, but that--Henriksen was a decent man, he didn't deserve that."

They drank again in silence for a moment. Dean hadn't appreciated being investigated for acts he had nothing to do with, but Henriksen had started to see that. There was something deeper and darker going on and Henriksen had been in the middle of shifting his efforts into probing the courts rather than Dean. Besides all of that, Henriksen had been a man of integrity, who'd believed in his fight against crime and injustice. Dean respected that.

And now . . . Henriksen was dead.

"So what's our next move?" Benny asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. . . " Dean paused.

"Maybe you better call your brother." Benny finished his drink. "Some inside scoop wouldn't go amiss."

Fuck! What if it had been-- it could have been Sam in there. Dean almost dropped his glass at the realization. He struggled to mask his sudden weakness from Benny. He stumbled to the couch and sat heavily.

"You okay, brutha?" Benny asked with concern.

"Yeah, just--just a little shocked," Dean said. "I'm fine, just need a minute."

"I'll go see how everyone is doing, give you a bit of space." Benny patted Dean on the shoulder and left.

Dean fell back against the couch's back. Dear God, Sammy. . .

 

* * * SW * * *

 

Sam sat numbly in his office, his hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey. He didn't normally drink at work, but he felt it was excusable today. He'd just seen an intelligent, honorable man obliterated after all. That warranted a day drink.

Jo had been crying at her desk when he'd finally made his way upstairs to his office. He'd hugged her, gotten her a bottle of water, and then retreated into his office. He could see Crowley's office down the hall had at least half a dozen people in it, and he felt sickened by the vulturous attitude of his erstwhile boss.

Erstwhile? Interesting choice of words, Winchester, Sam thought to himself. He knew not to make any big decisions while under the effects of a traumatic event, but he couldn't ignore how the thought had popped in there unbidden.

His phone buzzed. Taking it out of his pocket, he saw Dean on the screen.

"Great," he mumbled. Nonetheless, he knew he needed to answer it. Who knew what new information Dean had? Sam tried to ignore that, besides the question of Dean's knowledge, he had the undeniable need to reassure himself that Dean was okay.

Sam clicked 'Accept'. "Yeah," he grunted, trying to not express the sudden vulnerability he felt. Life seemed unexpectedly tenuous.

"Yeah, hi to you too." Dean's voice was gruff.

Anger flared painfully in Sam's chest, crowding out his other confused emotions. "Excuse me, I just saw--"

"Yeah, I know. We saw it on TV." Dean cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Sammy. He was a good man."

Sam couldn't speak for a moment. It was quiet on the other end.

"So, what's up," Sam finally said, forcing the words through the tight tunnel his throat had become.

"I just--I needed to hear your voice." Dean's voice was low and hoarse. "All I could think for a second was . . .well, you're okay. That's all I needed to know."

"Yeah, I guess I am. I just--" Tears clogged Sam's throat. "Jesus, Dean, how could that--how could someone do that?" He couldn't mask a sniffle. "Dean, I'm scared for you."

"Fuck that, I'm scared for you! You're in the lion's den, Sammy, and I--" Dean's words cut off. Sam heard a sound that sounded suspiciously like Dean's voice hitching.

"Are you at Iniquity?" Sam asked. "Like, right now?"

"Yeah."

"Stay there." Sam clicked his phone off. He bolted from his office, breezing past a still rather teary Jo. "Going out. No calls." He ignored the startled look on her face and continued out of the office.

Sam ran out to his car, sliding into the driver's seat and turning the ignition. For the split second before he turned the key, he thought What if-- But the car started smoothly, and after a few deep breaths, he put it into gear and drove out of the lot.

 

* * * DW * * *

 

Coming out of his office, Dean saw Benny in the hallway. "Sam's on the way over, I think," Dean told him.

Benny looked surprised. "Is there a new development?"

Dean shook his head. "No, I think--it might be personal. Get him into my office as soon as he gets here, and then no calls or interruptions until I let you know."

"You got it." Benny gave a half-salute. Dean ignored the curious look on his face and retreated back into this office to wait for Sam.

Sammy. . . coulda been Sammy. Fuck this investigation, and fuck Roman. Dean collapsed into his executive chair and pounded a fist on the desk top. We gotta end this somehow. Get the goods on that bastard once and for all.

His swirling thoughts were interrupted by his office door flying open. Sam barreled in. Benny stuck his head inside and said "No interruptions. I got the door." He closed the door firmly as he withdrew.

"Sam! Jesus--" Dean sprang up, coming out from behind his desk and grabbing Sam's arms. "Are you sure you're alright?" He ran his hands up and down Sam's arms, like when Sam was a kid and Dean checked him for playground or sports injuries.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just. . . shook up." He grabbed Dean back, his hands gripping tightly. "Dean, all I could think was what if it was you in that car?"

Dean couldn't tell if he laughed or gave a sob. "Me too, Sammy, me too. I couldn't--God, baby, I couldn't--"

His eyes searched Sam's face and he saw his own fear mirrored there. All of the years of tension and conflict fell away as he pulled Sam in close, wrapping his arms around Sam and kissing him.

"Dean!" Sam pulled back for a moment. "Are you--"

"Shut up," Dean commanded and kissed Sam again.

Hands grappled and tore at clothing while mouths refused to be parted for more than a quick breath. Dean didn't quite know how it happened, but suddenly they were naked, shirts hanging unbuttoned off shoulders and shoes kicked off so pants could slide down. A trail of the discarded garments followed them to the couch, which Dean fell onto and pulled Sam on top of him.

"God, Sammy, even more gorgeous than ever. All these muscles, good God. . . " Dean panted, running his hands over every bit of Sam he could reach.

"I uh, I run, uh, and I--fuck! I work out," Sam panted back, punctuating his words with kisses to Dean's throat and jaw. "You're so fucking hot, thought I was going to explode that night here--you trying to shove people at me and all I wanted was you." His mouth slid down to Dean's pecs and attached itself to a pink, hard nipple.

Dean groaned. "That's evil, you fucker," he hissed, bringing his fingers to Sam's chest and retaliating with little pinches and tugs. "You know how that--"

"Drives you crazy, yeah, I know." Sam released one nipple only to suckle at the other, flicking it with his tongue. Dean groaned again, arching his back and grabbing Sam's hair.

No more words were spoken, only sounds of pleasure and desire. They writhed together, grasping, pushing, twisting, as if they had to feel the entirety of each other's bodies all at once. Dean couldn't get enough of Sam's beautiful body, but what made it perfect was just that it was Sam. Sam as he'd dreamed about and considered lost for years. Sam, the other half of him that had been gone for so long.

"We gonna. . . um," Sam moaned as Dean stroked his dick. "I don't think I'll be able to--"

"Naw, baby, just this, okay? Just us together," Dean murmured. Both of them were leaking precome and he ran his head over the heads of their cocks, collecting it in his palm. "There, like that," he soothed, gripping them both in one hand. "C'me on, do it with me."

Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's. They moved together, rocking their hips and thrusting into their joined hands. Mouths whispered and clung, now in soft kisses, now breathing as one. Skin to skin, chest to chest, cock to cock, they floated in their perfect, passionate bubble.

When their passion crested, they both cried the other's name out, sharing the hot fluid as it jettisoned on each other's skin. They lay sated, bodies cooling, but reluctant to break apart, as if their parting would shatter the temporary haven they'd made.

Dean moved first, knowing that first of all, they couldn't stay there forever, and second, they needed to address the mess or stick together painfully. He had a small en-suite bathroom, so he was able to get a couple of towels, dampening one to clean themselves of the tacky spunk and another to dry off with.

"Well, um, wow," Sam said, hesitant to look at Dean. "I'm sorry, I didn't plan for, uh, for this."

Dean knelt in front of him, resting his hands on Sam's thighs.

"Me either, but I don't regret it. Do you?" He cupped Sam's chin with one hand and tilted his face up to look Dean in the eyes.

Sam shook his head. "No, I don't. Just--it makes things a little more complicated, doesn't it?"

Dean stood up, collecting the dirty towels and throwing them back into the bathroom. "I don't know, Sammy. I think things look a lot clearer from where I'm standing." He found both of their shirts and handed Sam's to him. Sliding his arms into his sleeves, Dean continued, "If anything, we've kinda cleared the decks, as far as our feelings go anyway. We have to figure out this whole Roman-drug thing, but we're on the same team now. Again."

Sam gave a small nod. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Just--let's not go further with this until we have that sorted out? Is that okay?"

"Sure, Sammy. I gotcha. But I'll be here when it's over." Dean drew close and gave Sam a soft, chaste kiss. "That's a promise."

 

* * * SW * * *

 

"What? You want to break up?" Jessica's face paled in shock. "Sam, what is going on?"

Sam's chest ached as he faced his unhappy fiancée--now ex-fiancée. He didn't want to hurt her, but he knew he couldn't be with her now. Not after he and Dean--even if that was all it was going to be, his feelings for Jess were compromised. It wasn't fair to her to pretend they had a real chance to be together any longer.

"I can't--things have changed," he said, trying to keep his voice level.

"Changed? What's changed? I haven't changed. My feelings haven't changed." Her look darkened. "Is that it? Have your feelings changed, Sam? Are you not--not in love with me anymore?"

"I do love you, Jess. But not . . . not like 'getting married' love."

She drew closer. "Is it cold feet? Because that's normal, Sam. A lot of men get cold feet, like they're leaving their bachelor days behind. We can just wait a bit before we get into planning things." He could see the pleading in her eyes as her mouth quivered.

One of Sam's great legal talents was his ability to succinctly articulate complex situations and emotions. Yet standing here and facing Jess, he felt at a total loss for words. How does one explain that the recent reliving of one's past and a moment of desperate sex has led one to realize that one is still in love with their brother?

"It's not that," he answered. "My feelings--they--you--"

"Oh my God," Jess breathed, raising her hand to her mouth. "Sam--oh God, Sam, are you in love with someone else?"

He couldn't reply, the words frozen in his throat.

"Oh God," Jess repeated, the tears starting to flow from her big green eyes. "Oh </i>God</i>..."

She ran from the room and slammed the bedroom door shut. Sam sank down onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. He felt sick about breaking her heart, sick about what he couldn't help feeling was betrayal.

And yet at the same time, there was the cool relief of it being over. That alone told him he'd done the right thing by breaking it off with her. In time, she'd be able to move on and find real love. Find someone who wasn't hopelessly besotted by their sibling.

 

* * * SW * * *

 

"What the hell is this, Sam?" John bellowed, waving a sheaf of white papers around in his hand. "What have you been up to?"

Sam scowled at his angry father. "I'm not 'up to' anything, Dad. I'm doing what kids my age all over the country are doing. I'm getting ready to go to college."

"College?" John snorted. "How do you expect to pay for that? And why would you go anyway?"

"I'm paying for it by being smart. I got a scholarship. A full ride--tuition, dorms, books, the works." Anger and frustration welled up inside his chest. "I'm fucking smart, Dad, and they saw it. They want me to go there." He bit out the words. "I'm going, Dad. I worked for it and I deserve it."

"Sammy--" Dean moved toward him, but Sam put up a hand to ward him off. Dean looked startled, but stopped moving. "No one says you aren't smart. We all know how smart you are. But maybe you could just go here, to the local--"

"Stanford is an Ivy League school. Do you guys even know what that means?" Sam shook his head. "It means it's one of the top schools in the country, The country. And they want me to go there so much they're letting me go for free. Why would I go to a little local college when I can go to the best?"

He turned away from them, feeling their eyes on him as he stomped off to the bedroom. Grabbing a duffle, he started shoving things into it--clothes, toiletries, a few paperbacks. He grabbed his backpack and put his laptop into it with a few more clothes. The rumble of Dean's and John's voices continued in the other room, but Sam couldn't distinguish what they were saying.

I'm not going to back down, he told himself fiercely. I'm doing this. I'm getting the fuck out of here.

His bags packed, he took them out into the living room. Dean leaned against the wall by the front door, his hands shoved into his pockets. John glowered in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest.

"Dad, why are you so mad anyway? You don't need me to run your tawdry little whorehouse," Sam sneered. He saw Dean flinch, but barreled on. "I'm not going to grow up and be a hustler or a pimp or any of the stellar role models you've provided me with. I'm going to be a lawyer."

"A lawyer! I suppose this is Singer's doing. You've been so pally-pally with a fucking policeman, now you're getting ridiculous ideas." John's face darkened further. "Is he the one who helped with all of this paperwork shit? Goddammit! I'll punch his lights out!"

"Dad! You'll end up in jail again!" Dean finally spoke. "Calm down--"

"I'll calm down when Sam sees sense and drops this cockamamie idea!" John's voice was in full roar now. He stepped over to Sam and reached out, grabbing his bags and trying to wrest them from his son's grip.

"Stop it!" Sam yelled. "Get the fuck off me!" He wrenched out of John's grip. He'd grown a lot over this past summer, and he saw that realization dawn on John. No longer the shortest, weakest Winchester, Sam could now look John straight in the eyes.

"Stop fighting! Jesus, you guys, you're--" Dean tried to break it up, but he was ignored.

"You know, Dad," Sam spat that word out like an epithet. "Other parents would be proud of their kid. Proud that they achieved this. That they were going to do something big with their lives. But not you. You want me to settle for being a scummy low-life running a whorehouse. Well, I'm not."

He strode to the door, hesitating only as he drew level with Dean before continuing outside.

"Leave, you son of a bitch! Just like your mother, thinking you're better than everyone! Go ahead and leave and don't come back!" John shouted.

The words reverberated in Sam's ears. He couldn't help the tears that sprang up in his eyes.

He only got a few yards down the road when he heard feet running after him. Turning, he saw Dean catching up to him.

When he reached Sam, he stopped, breathing hard. Sam saw how pinched and pale Dean's face looked, the hurt look in his eyes. "Damn, Sammy, is that all you think of me too?"

Sam's heart twinged. "Dean, I know you're trying to do more. But--I can't live that way. And you shouldn't either. You're better than that. You're not a criminal--"

Dean drew back. "Whoa, okay. So if I stay, I'm a criminal? And a lowlife scum too? Thanks, Sam. Sorry we can't all be the white knight like you are."

"They're whores, Dean. They--"

"Damn, dude. They're people, Sam. People who I said I'd look out for. Protect. Take responsibility for. Do you think I'm using them like Dad fuckin' does?" Hurt turned to anger on his face. "Sam, I told every single one of them that they owed me nothing. That they were free to go do whatever they wanted and I'd help them do it. But you know what? They stayed. They trust me. They said they want to build something with me. They're--we're becoming a family, Sam. And I want you to still be my family too."

"No, Dean. I can't. I can't live like that." Sam lifted his head higher. "You go on back then. Live your little scummy life with your hookers. I'm going to be better than that." He sneered a little. "I already am."

He saw the blow his words dealt to Dean, but Sam was already turning. Back stiff and straight, he walked away.

Inside him, the tether he'd always felt binding him to Dean stretched until with an almost audible sound, it snapped.

 

* * * DW * * *

 

Dean and Benny stood at the bar in Iniquity's salon. It was early afternoon, so no clients had arrived yet. Most of the talent was off preparing for their engagements that evening, so the only other person present was Kevin, who was busy doing bar prep.

Most of the time there were no televisions going, but Dean did have a flat screen mounted on one wall that was disguised under a drapery. Right now, the drapery was open and the TV was on for a newscast from a local station.

"We present this news update on the trial of Judge Richard Roman. The Judge was recently brought up on charges of drug dealing, improper handling of supernatural bio-products, information tampering, verdict tampering, and ethical misconduct including ex parte communications and failing to disqualify for a conflict of interest.

The revelation of the Judge's misconduct blew up at a press conference regarding the death of Alicia Banes, an FBI agent killed in the line of duty, that was followed by the tragic murder of fellow FBI Agent Victor Henriksen in a car bombing directly after the conference.

Further evidence was obtained via the surprise witness of Mrs. Bela Roman, the Judge's wife. A plea bargain was arranged with Mrs. Roman where she will not be prosecuted for her unknowing participation in the Judge's dealings in return for furnishing extensive information and records of the Judge's criminal acts.

The jury is due to return later today. The expectation is that the Judge will be convicted on all counts and subsequently disbarred and sentenced. D.A. Fergus Crowley has issued a statement that further investigations will be made into other possible judicial figures who might be implicated.

We will bring you that verdict as soon as it is announced. We now return you to--"

Dean clicked the remote, turning off the TV. Kevin brought over drinks for him and Benny. Raising their glasses, the two men toasted silently and drank.

"Well then, good riddance to bad rubbish," Benny said.

"Damn straight. God, who knew what an asshole he was?" Dean shook his head and drank again. "That whole courthouse is like a cesspool."

Benny nodded. "Speaking of which. . . what does that mean for your brother?"

Dean looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Well, everything I've learned about Sam Winchester is that he's the real deal. A genuine good guy, if a trifle uptight. Fair, moral, kind. Intelligent as hell. What's he going to do now that the rock has been lifted up and everyone can see the worms underneath it?"

Dean considered for a moment. "Wow, I had not thought about that. I guess--well, I don't know. I guess we'll have to wait and see."

The joy of being vindicated of any wrongdoing had left Dean feeling buoyant, but thinking about what Sam must now be experiencing mitigated that joy. Benny clapped him on the shoulder and wandered off, while Dean stood there musing.

"Would you like another, Mr. Winchester?" Kevin asked.

"No, no thanks." Dean gave Kevin a half-smile. "I'm going to go to my office, if anyone comes around looking for me, okay?"

"You got it, sir."

Dean left the salon and went upstairs to his office. Sitting down on the couch, he let his head drop back. Sam's last words to him, after their spontaneous passionate reunion, ran through his mind.

". . . let's not go further with this until we have that sorted out? Is that okay?"

"Oh, Sammy. What's going to happen with us now?"

Funny thing, life. Funny how it squirmed and wriggled, taking and giving unexpectedly. He had almost everything he wanted here. He'd carved this place out, built it from ashes and scrap and he was proud of it. Proud of his people, proud of taking care of them. Proud of earning their loyalty.

And yet something evil had still found its way in. Fouling its own nest, it had tried to foul this one as well.

Well, it was stomped out now. It--Roman--was in jail, soon prison. He'd stay there forever if Dean had anything to say about it.

He felt badly for anyone who'd crossed Roman's path and paid for it. Alicia Banes, inadvertently. Victor Henriksen, who'd jousted with the dragon and lost.

And Sam. Goddammit, Sam. Sam, who'd always tried to do the right thing and had found out that the man behind the curtain wasn't the Wizard, but something malignant. The ivory tower had crumbled into dust at Sam's feet.

Oh, my Sammy.

 

* * * SW * * *

 

Sitting at his desk, Sam felt drained. He didn't have any energy left. His limbs felt heavy and wooden.

What the fuck? What . . . what have I given my career to? My life? Doubt wrapped around him like a thick fog. Sure, the 'good guys' had won at the end. Roman was ousted, soon to be disbarred, and awaiting a sure-to-be guilty verdict. Prison lay ahead of him and Sam didn't envy Roman's reception there. Roman's network of hangers-on and minions would be next to unravel. Between the video, investigation, and Bela's incendiary information, his whole scheme was toast.

But instead of feeling triumphant, Sam felt hollow. Smudged with the dirt of the unsavory plans and events that had transpired behind the purportedly righteous cloak of the bench.

I thought I was in the right place, doing the right thing. Sure, I did some good. But I was ignorant of so much. Didn't see the strings being pulled, the hoodwinking. Sam dropped his head into his hands. Am I complicit? Ignorance is no excuse.

Suddenly he felt the need to get out of there. Escape the wooden halls and walls of books, the center of what he thought was just and right, but had been tainted with evil and greed.

He practically ran out of his office, looking around for Jo. Her desk was empty though, so he continued moving quickly, not feeling any relief until he found himself outside.

I can't ever go back there, he thought grimly. I'll always know how venal it really is. How twisted and manipulative. He swallowed hard as bile rose from his belly. How easily I was duped.

An ache resounded in his heart. Ache for what he'd lost here.

And an ache for what he needed.

Who he needed.

Sam ran out into the street, hailing a cab.

 

* * * DW * * *

 

A tap on Dean's office door heralded Benny's entrance.

"Someone's here to see you."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not seeing anyone today."

"I hoped you'd see me," a voice said.

Dean looked up. Sam stood in the doorway.

Benny disappeared.

"What--" Dean stood up. He didn't even know what to ask. Why was Sam here? What did he want? What about . . . them?

Sam walked forward slowly. He ran a hand nervously through his hair.

"I wanted--" he stammered. "I needed to see you."

Dean nodded dumbly. Sam looked even more nervous, fidgeting back and forth on his feet.

"I'm, uh. . . well, I'm looking for a job. Thought . . . maybe you'd be hiring."

Dean felt a grin split his face. Sam's smile grew wider in response.

"Yeah, I just might be. Interested in coming onboard?"

Sam's dimples creased his face, and his eyes sparkled.

"Yes, I am."


THE END

Back to Part 5


* * * DW * * *

 

After they finished listening to Sam and Singer question the staff, Benny left Dean's office to circulate around and see if he could pick up on anything questionable while everyone prepared for the evening's appointments. Dean sat in his executive chair behind his desk, mentally running though his talent and staff, trying to figure out who could possibly be the weak link.

While they were surprised about Kevin calling the tip line, the fact that he'd spoken on their behalf was gratifying. Dean nodded when Sam asked Kevin to keep his ears open.

"Let's be sure Kevin knows he can come to us as well," Dean instructed Benny.

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Benny replied.

A tap on his door broke Dean's reverie.

"Come in," he said. The door opened, and Puck entered.

Whenever Puck wasn't entertaining, they wore the form of Pookie, the blonde young woman from the original group of hookers that John had won in the poker game. Of course, now they weren't scrawny from being poorly fed, but filled out into a slim woman with a trim figure and delicate features. Their blonde hair was still long and curly, and their big blue eyes looked like those of an innocent girl. Behind that sweet-looking face, though, was a mind savvy from time spent on the streets before John had picked them up. Puck had been a big help with getting Iniquity up and running, herding the talent around, helping with training, and they were completely loyal to Dean for saving them from the streets.

"What's up?" Dean asked, gesturing for Puck to sit down.

"A lot of the others are kind of on edge about all this questioning and investigating going on," Puck answered, sinking into the chair facing the desk. "I'm trying to defuse their nerves, but some reassurance that things are stable wouldn't go amiss."

"Noted. Good idea, thanks," Dean replied. "Listen, be sure to let me know if you sense anything hinky going on, okay? I'm not entirely sure what's going on, but between you, me, and Benny, there's a possibility that someone's using Iniquity somehow for their own illegal purposes."

"Really!" Puck exclaimed. "Damn, they're fools if they are. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you." They shook their head disapprovingly. "You got it, Boss. I hear anything, you'll hear it. Do you have any idea who it might be? And what do you suspect is happening?"

"I don't really have answers to either of those questions yet." Dean sighed. "I'm just getting more and more of a feeling that something is happening under my roof, if not under my nose. Between the suspicion and the not knowing, it's making me pretty cranky."

"We'll figure it out," Puck said firmly. "Let me know if you need me to be anyone."

"Thanks, Puck." Dean smiled at them. "You're a peach. You booked tonight?"

"Yes, I'm doing some role play along with Sean for the Romans." She made a face."They aren't my favorite. There's always something kind of cold and snakey about him, and she's always putting on airs but really she's a sleazy, kinky bitch with an accent." They laughed.

"Wow, okay! Well, have as much fun as you can, and yeah, just keep an eye out." Dean got up and went over to puck, pulling them up into a hug. "Thanks, baby."

 

* * * DW * * *

 

"You caught Dad doing what?" asked Dean incredulously.

"Who, not what," Sam retorted. "He was fucking Pookie up one side and down the other. God, Dean, it was so--gross."

Dean scoffed. "Hey, bad as it was for you, had to be worse for poor Pook." Sam couldn't keep back a laugh.

"Sam?" A soft voice came from behind them, as they stood in the parking lot by the Impala. "Um, can I. . .can I talk to you?"

Dean looked at Sam and saw pink flare in his cheeks. He knew Sam had to be super embarrassed at facing Pookie now, with having just seen their father plowing her. God knows what Pookie was feeling.

"Oh God, Pookie, um. . .I. . ." Sam stuttered.

"Hey, Pookie. Sam's sorry for busting in on you and uh, our dad there. He didn't know." Dean sailed in, hoping to alleviate everyone's discomfiture by calling a spade a spade.

"Oh, no, no. It's not his fault at all. I tried to put John off, or get him to move to one of our rooms, but, um. . ." She shrugged. "It's not like he really listens to us."

"Yeah, he doesn't really listen to us either," Dean replied, and they exchanged a knowing smile.

"Yeah, I just wanted to apologize," Pookie said. "'No' isn't a word that figures into a hooker's vocabulary."

Dean felt shocked, although when he thought about it, he could see why that was. "God, that's--horrible. I'm so sorry." He grimaced. "I promise, as much as I can control what happens to y'all, you'll be allowed--I mean, saying no is okay."

Pookie looked at him with the eyes of a much older person in her twenty-year-old face. "Sure. Thanks."

"Pookie, did he, um. . .force himself--?" Sam stopped. Dean felt sick. How do you ask someone if your dad raped them?

"Oh, no, nothing like that. He was interested, and I--well, you know, he's taking care of us now. We're in rooms instead of squatting, getting fed regular, and we don't get beat up no more. I thought it would be polite." She smiled at them, and Dean was struck by how much sweetness still remained in this young woman, despite her rocky life so far.

"More polite than I woulda been," murmured Sam.

"Yeah. Listen, Pook, you don't have to um, be polite with him anymore, okay? I promise. Or us. Don't worry that we're gonna look for any, uh, hand-outs. Or hand jobs." Dean tried to lighten the air with a bad joke. He stuck out his hand to shake on it.

Pookie looked at it without understanding. Then it dawned on her what Dean was doing. "Oh, wow, well. . . okay." She took his big paw in her little hand and they shook gravely. "While we're talking, could I ask--" She broke off, looking cutely flustered.

"Anything, Pook." Dean smiled at her.

"I don't like being called Pookie. It's my hooker name, my street name, y'know? But I don't really know any other name. I've always been just Pookie."

Sam gaped at her. "That's awful! How do you not know your name?"

She shrugged again. "I think my mom used to call me that as a pet name, but then it just got picked up as my street name. And besides, I've been a lot of people so whatever."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, puzzled by her words.

"Been a lot of people?"

"Uh-huh." She tilted her head. "Oh, you don't know then. I guess John didn't tell you?" She smiled. "Welp, okay. Showtime."

Pookie rubbed her face with her hands. Dean thought it was like she was erasing her face, because it got blurry and her features became indistinct. Then she wriggled all over, like a dog shaking water off, and when she stopped--

Dean stood there, looking at Sam and. . . Dean.

"What the fuck!" Dean yelled.

"Seriously, what the fuck," Sam echoed.

"I'm a shapeshifter," Pookie said simply. She rubbed her face and wriggled again, and there stood petite, blonde girl-Pookie again.

"I thought shapeshifters--isn't there like, slobbery skin-peeling stuff?" Sam asked curiously. Dean was still reeling with being face-to-face with himself.

"Yeah, that's a different species. And that wet peeling stuff is so gross! I'm so glad I'm like this instead." She giggled. "No fuss, no muss."

"Wow," Dean said succinctly. "Um. . . wow."

"So I can be whoever anyone dreams of. If they don't want this form, I can change for them. But anyway, so can I not be Pookie anymore? I kinda liked it when you shortened it to Pook, but even that isn't--"

"How about Puck?" Sam blurted out.

Dean and Pookie stared at him. "What?"

"Puck. It's a character from a Shakespeare play, a fairie with magical abilities. And it's kinda short and sounds a bit like Pook, so it's not too alien to switch to." Sam gestured at Pookie. "Is this the real you?"

"Yes, this is me without any shifting. But I don't really think of myself as a girl or a woman. I'm everyone. Everything." She spread her hands wide. "It always feels kinda weird when people say she when they mean me, because it doesn't fit."

"Okay, so what about this--we won't call you 'she' or 'her' anymore. How do you feel about us using 'they' and 'them' instead? I've read about people who are unsure of their identity or don't identify as male or female, and that was what they preferred to have used about them," Sam explained.

"I love it! Then I'm not locked into one or the other. Because, I'm not!" They spun around happily. "Oh! And yes. I love the name Puck!"

The next moment, Dean found himself with an armful of excited Puck hugging him. Then they tore themselves away and hugged Sam.

"Thank you guys so much!" They laughed.

"You're welcome," Sam smiled at them in return.

"As Humphrey Bogart once said, 'I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship'," Dean said. "Now let's go find out about getting some dinner."

 

* * * SW * * *

 

Henriksen walked into the police station conference room where Sam, Crowley, and Singer were waiting. The three men already had coffee cups in front of them, and Henriksen stopped by the beat-up Mr. Coffee on the side table to pour himself a cup. Tasting it, he grimaced.

"Man, that's crap."

"Yep," answered Singer. "Only the finest for the men in blue."

Henriksen sat down and plopped a folder down in front of him on the table. He sighed.

"These are all the transcripts from the Iniquity staff interviews." He tapped the folder. "Wanna know what we found out?"

"Squat." Singer's voice was flat.

"Yep. Squat." Henriksen took a deep breath and leaned forward with a frown. "Fucking nothing, gentlemen. Nothing. We're at a standstill on this fucking mess."

Sam looked at him, struck afresh by Henriksen's formidable presence. This guy could get very scary very fast, he thought.

Singer spoke in a level voice. "Sam and I think we're going to get--"

"Fuck that! You're getting shit, and you know it!" Henriksen's voice dropped to a menacing growl. "Dean Winchester--"

"It's not Dean!" Sam burst out, surprising himself along with the others. He took a deep breath to regain his control before continuing. "We're starting to think it might not be him behind this. We think someone is dealing drugs inside Iniquity without his knowledge." Henriksen's burning gaze landed on Sam. It made him nervous, but he steeled himself to meet that gaze head-on. "It makes sense as to why this investigation has stalled. We're looking at the wrong person."

A few beats passed. Henriksen sat back and sipped his coffee. "Okay. I'm listening."

 

* * * DW * * *

 

"Dean, could we go out for coffee?" Puck asked in a lilting voice, sticking their head around Dean's office door. "I need me some pie! Take me out for pie, please?" They batted their eyes.

Pie was the word that Puck and Dean had agreed on to signify when they needed to speak alone. With not knowing who was involved in the possible drug dealing situation, they didn't want to chance speaking in rooms where they might be overheard or that could be bugged.

Clearly Puck was anxious to speak with Dean, so he put down the papers he'd been studying and gave them a big smile.

"Of course! I'm ready for a coffee break. Let's go to--"

"I heard Ellen's Roadhouse Diner has great pie," Puck interrupted. "I've never been there."

Dean gave them a sharp look, which they returned innocently.

"You got it. Let's go," he said and ushered them out.

They didn't speak until they were seated in one of Ellen's comfortable booths. Steaming cups of coffee sat next to slices of apple pie, the fruit and cinnamon bouquet smelling delicious. Dean hadn't thought he was hungry, but he couldn't resist digging in.

"Okay, so what's up?" he asked after he'd savored the first couple of forkfuls. Puck likewise was enjoying their pie, judging by their blissful expression.

"Wow, this is as good as Kevin promised!" they said. They wiped their mouth with a napkin and took a sip of coffee. "Alright, here's the scoop. I had that scene with Sean and ah, Mr. Snakey and spouse." They winked at Dean. "It was fine, everyone got their happy ending."

"Well, we do aim to please," Dean drawled, and they both laughed. "Go on, sorry."

Puck put their fork down. "When they were leaving, Mr. Snake gave something to Sean. It was some fancy wrapped box, and he handed it to Sean and said, "For your fine work." Mrs. Snake was getting dressed and not paying attention, plus I was helping her find her shoes." Puck snickered. "Things had gotten kinda frisky and she'd kicked them off somewhere."

"Ah, Puck, always the people pleaser," Dean interjected. Puck laughed and gave him a little kick under the table.

"Seriously, though! I asked Sean later about it, because I thought, hey, if it's a tip, I get some. But he just snapped at me and said something about it was personal between him and the Snake."

Dean sat back. "Okay, I get what you're saying here. But what if it was just something personal? Like, um, a new cock cage or something?"

"Ugh! I hate those," Puck grimaced. "Now a nice butt plug, that's fine." They giggled. "You are always great about letting us receive and keep gifts from our clients, but this just made my spidey sense tingle. Like, if it was a sexy toy, Sean would just have laughed it off or shown it to me. Instead, he was all snappy and brittle."

"Hmm," Dean mused. "Sean is usually pretty easy-going. Okay, it's a little weird." He picked at the remains of his pie.

"Right! So here's my idea. Next appointment with Sean and Mr. Snakey, have me take it. As Sean." Puck sat back and took the last enormous forkful of their pie, chewing with a pleased expression.

"Oh, Puck, no." Dean shook his head. "That's too dangerous, if something illegal is actually happening."

"No, I'll be fine." Puck pushed their empty plate away. "Even if he figures out what's going on, which he won't, he's too tight-ass to do anything physical. Besides, you can put extra warding on the room ahead of time, just to be sure. But also have a camera going." For a second, they looked almost feral. "No one is fucking around with my family or my home."

 

* * * SW * * *

 

Sam sat on a park bench pretending to be idly observing the people and the birds. He casually smoothed his hands over his jacket and loosened his tie, like someone enjoying a break from their office. He hoped he looked relaxed, because that was the farthest thing from how he felt at the moment.

Dean had texted him earlier that morning, while Sam was still on his first latte.

Need to meet and talk ASAP. Outside, can't risk being overheard.

Sam frowned at his phone. What was going on now? What could Dean have to tell him, and what was up with the cloak and dagger?

Fuck, this just gets messier every day,he thought grimly. He ignored the small thrill he'd gotten when he saw Dean's name come up. Lately, it felt like Sam was becoming more sensitized to Dean again, every contact tingling his nerve endings, like when they were--

Move along, bucko.

Sam texted back, suggesting the park for a lunch rendezvous and mentioning a particular bench that was set on a small rise some yards away from the park's pathway. In plain sight, but away from prying ears.

Cool. I'll bring lunch, Dean replied.

Now Sam sat and waited somewhat anxiously for his impromptu lunch date.

Dean appeared on the path as it wound out from the trees. He looked relaxed as he approached the bench, strolling along like he had no cares in the world. A handled brown paper bag that bore the logo of The Roadhouse dangled from one hand, and Sam's stomach grumbled in response. He hadn't been able to eat after receiving Dean's text, and it was ready for some of Ellen's home cooking.

"Hey, glad you could get together," Dean said, plopping onto the bench. He waggled the bag. "I brought lunch, just like I promised." Putting the bag down to one side, he reached in it and pulled out two cardboard take-out containers. He handed one to Sam and placed the other in front of himself.

"What--" Sam said, but Dean interrupted him.

"Chicken Caesar salad, no anchovies. And a bottle of sparkling water." Dean produced napkins and plastic forks. "Lunch is served."

Sam opened his container and practically drooled at the contents. The salad boasted chunks of grilled chicken atop crisp greens, with a little container of dressing tucked into the side. The container was split, so the golden fries, dusted with salt, were kept separate from the moist salad.

"Wow, this looks amazing. Thank you." Sam wasted no time digging in.

"You bet," Dean said. "I know it's been a long time, but I figured I remembered what you like." He opened his own container and grinned at the plump cheeseburger inside, crispy bacon ends sticking out from underneath the bun. "Yeah, baby, come to Papa!"

Sam snorted, resolutely ignoring how Dean's lustful appreciation of his lunch had made Sam's dick twitch. He mentally scolded his errant member--he was really going to have to get past this whole prurient-flashback thing.

They ate for a few minutes, a companionable silence between them. With all the tension and conflict in their present-day interactions, Sam had forgotten how easy it was to just be around Dean. Now, in this at least temporary lull, it was restful.

Dean finished his last bite and sighed happily. Sam laughed.

"Hey," Dean huffed. "I was hungry."

"Yeah, me too. So much is going on, I'm forgetting to actually take time to eat. Or else my stomach can't deal with the thought of food." Sam grimaced.

Dean's face sobered. "Yeah, I hear you. We gotta talk now. I thought we could use a break for a few minutes there, but shit is going down and we need to put our heads together." He wiped his hands and dropped the napkin into his empty container, picking the whole thing up and putting it back into the brown paper bag.

Sam did the same. As he dropped the container into the bag, he looked at Dean. A slight smear of bacon grease lingered on Dean's bottom lip. Sam's breath caught at seeing that shine on the plump pink swell of Dean's mouth. Without a conscious decision, Sam reached out and ran the pad of his thumb over Dean's lip. It was soft and yielding under the pressure, and Sam almost groaned aloud from the desire that surged through him.

Dean's eyes went wide and he froze, staring at Sam. Then he jerked away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, god, uh . . . you had . . . " Sam stammered.

"Uh, gotcha," Dean mumbled, turning away to put the bag on the ground at his feet. When he turned back, his face was without expression.

Oh great, way to go, asshole, Sam chastised himself. "Sorry, man, I. . . "

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Listen, I came here to tell you something important." Dean was clearly all business again, his jaw tense and his eyes shuttered.

"Yeah, of course. Go ahead." Sam tried to quell the thrumming inside him from the soft heat of Dean's tempting mouth and pay attention to his brother's words.

"We--my senior staff and I--think there is in fact drug dealing going on inside Iniquity. But I'm not involved and I didn't know about it." Dean frowned. "That being said, I don't hold with it and I won't stand for it in my house."

"Okay, noted." Sam gave a short nod.

Dean continued without acknowledging Sam's response. "Our current theory is that a regular client is bringing the drugs into Iniquity and using one of my people to disperse them." Dean's frown deepened. "I hate to think someone I've taken in, someone I trusted, would do that, but I'm not stupid. I'm not going to ignore evidence."

Sam nodded again to show he was following along."Do you have any suspicions or ideas who it is doing either end of the job?"

"Yes." Dean looked away, and Sam felt sympathy for his pain. The betrayal from one of his own people had to sting. "On our end, we think it's a man called Sean. You met him the night you came in to throw down your gauntlet."

Sam recalled Sean, a big redheaded man who'd eyed Sam lasciviously. "Yeah, I remember him. And the one bringing it in?"

Dean's eyes returned to Sam's, the intensity of his gaze palpable.

"The Honorable Judge Richard Roman."

 

* * * DW * * *

 

Dean looked at the HD television mounted on the side wall of his office. Currently, it showed a lovely bedroom furnished with a king-size bed, an armoire, and a comfortable armchair next to a small coffee table. Deep burgundy bed linens matched the burgundy leather of the armchair and contrasted warmly with the cream-papered walls. All of the wood in the room was black, including the St. Andrews cross in the far corner.

The room was empty, but Dean knew that was about to change. This room was the set where Sean would be entertaining Dick Roman, AKA the Honorable Richard Roman, an esteemed judge on the bench. Roman was a regular customer at Iniquity, and his constant business had helped harden Dean's attitude about 'justice' and 'morality'. Dean felt that justice meant bad guys getting punished and morality meant you were honest and didn't harm others as far as you could help. That the judge, among many other civil servants, chose to indulge his sexual appetites with prostitutes didn't make him a bad person. That he pretended to be happily married to his equally mendacious wife did. Additionally, now, he might be dealing dangerous and illegal substances under Dean's unknowing nose, under Dean's roof. That definitely made him a bad guy.

And Dean was out to prove it.

"When's he going to get here?" grumbled Benny, shifting uneasily on Dean's couch.

"Any minute now," Madison answered. "He's very punctual." She'd insisted on being present for the show. "I'm responsible for my people," she'd told Dean firmly. "I need to know what is going on." He'd acquiesced, with a caveat.

"You are not going to enter that room no matter what. That's up to Benny and me, if necessary." He gave her a stern look. "If you can agree to that, you can stay."

She hadn't looked happy, but she'd nodded. "Understood."

Dean couldn't stay seated, jumping up from his chair to pace around his office, then sitting again for five minutes.

"Merde, would you stop that stupid pacing!" Benny snapped. Dean jerked his head around and looked at his lieutenant. Benny was ordinarily one of the mellowest people he knew, so clearly the stress was getting to him as much as Dean. He walked back to his chair and dropped down into it.

"Sorry."

Benny waved a hand. "I apologize, my brother. I just--" he grimaced.

"I hear you," Dean replied grimly.

Madison got up and went to the sidebar, pouring all three of them a stiff drink. Bringing them back to their seats, she handed one to each man and took a gulp of her own.

"I know we need clear minds, but we also need to not kill each other in the meantime," she commented with a wry grin.

Dean snorted and took a drink. He looked up when Kevin entered the room. It turned out that Kevin, a whip-smart Advanced Placement student, had a good bit of technical know-how, and he'd been invaluable with setting up the equipment to record that night's action.

"We're all set," Kevin said. "The camera is hidden in the painting." He smiled. "I put it in her eye."

On the wall where the camera was located, facing the bed and cross, hung a copy of Amadeo Modigliani's Reclining Nude, where a beautiful naked woman with creamy skin and black hair lay seductively on a red blanket.

All of them chuckled over Kevin's clever camera placement. Dean tousled the young man's hair.

"You did good."

They settled back in their seats, Kevin taking a seat cross-legged on the floor by Benny.

A few more minutes passed, and then the door of the bugged room opened. Sean entered, followed by Dick Roman. A slight man to begin with, Dick looked even slighter next to the tall, muscular Sean.

"Wonder what he likes to do?" Benny mused.

Dean actually hadn't thought about that. He'd been so focused on nailing the drug smuggling that he'd forgotten he'd have to watch Dick having sex with Sean, or in this case, Puck masquerading as Sean.

"Ugh," he groaned, letting his head drop back onto the couch. "I'm going to need another drink."

 

* * * SW * * *

 

"Hey, Sam--why don't you come on over here for that drink?" Dean's voice sounded casual over the phone. Only Sam wasn't supposed to meet Dean for any drink that he knew of, which made his spidey-sense tingle immediately. Dean was trying to tell him something.

"Uh, sure? When's good for you?" he answered in the same casual way.

"Now's good. Use the back entrance, there might be something stuck to the front door. Bring a friend, there's plenty for everybody." The call ended.

Sam stared at his phone. Something stuck to the front door--that was from the old 'stuck to my shoe' code phrase. They'd used that when one of them was being followed, back when they had to elude truant officers or other pursuers. So someone was following Dean? Or maybe spying on him, hence the back door.

Grabbing his suit jacket off the coat hook he'd slung it on earlier, Sam went out to Jo's desk.

"Do you know where Henriksen is?"

She blinked at him. "Um, I think he's in the task room, going over things again."

"Great." Sam put on his jacket. "Listen, I have to go out. But don't tell anyone I'm out, alright?"

Jo tilted her head, looking somewhat confused. "Where will I tell them you are then?"

"Oh, right. Uh, okay, tell them I had a doctor's appointment I forgot about, but I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Oookay. Where are you really going?" Now she looked worried. "It's not like you to fake where you are like this. Is everything alright?"

"God, I hope so," Sam said fervently. "I hope this is going to clear a lot of things up." Ignoring that he hadn't answered her question, he strode out the door.

Henriksen was indeed in the task room, poring over some files and jotting down notes. He looked up at Sam's hasty entrance.

"There a fire somewhere, Winchester?"

"No sir." Henriksen looked puzzled. Sam rushed on. "I have a doctor's appointment I forgot to note it down on the schedule. I need to discuss it with you. It's, um, a personal matter." He put a finger to his ear and then to his lips. Henriksen's face cleared and he responded with a short nod.

"Of course. Why don't we go get a cup of coffee and you can tell me about it privately," he answered casually. Henriksen got up and followed Sam out the door and out of the building.

Sam drove them to Iniquity, parking around the back of the building.

"I don't know what's up exactly, but it sounds like Dean's got news, and he doesn't want anyone to know. I think he's worried about being bugged or something."

"Got it," replied Henriksen.

They got out of the car and went to the back entrance. Dean was already there waiting for them. He opened the door and beckoned them inside.

"I have a video recording for you to see." Dean motioned for them to follow him, leading them to his office. He gestured to the couch and they sat down. Dean remained standing, holding a remote in his hand.

"Okay, so we--me, Madison, and Benny-- were brainstorming about the theory that drugs are being brought in here and handed off to one of my people for dispersal. I'm furious about that, but that's not the issue right now. We got a lead from inside and so I set up a, well, I guess a sting." He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "Sam, you remember Puck, right?"

Startled to hear that name, Sam said, "Yeah, of course. Do they still work for you?"

"Yes. In fact, they've helped bring a couple of other shapeshifters on board."

"Shapeshifters!" Henriksen exclaimed. "I didn't know you had shapeshifters working here."

"Yes, but that's not the point. We had a suspicion of which client was working with which of my people, so Puck masqueraded as the talent in question for an engagement with the client." Dean waved a hand toward the television. "That's what I have on tape. Because we were right."

The television screen came to life. Sam saw Sean, the redhead from his earlier contretemps at the Iniquity bar, enter the tastefully decorated bedroom. Following him was a shorter, slighter man with dark hair and an excellent suit. He was carrying a slim metal briefcase, which he put down at the foot of the bed. Sean turned around and knelt down at the dark-haired man's feet, bending down to kiss his shoes.

"Oh man, really?" Victor said with distaste.

Dean shrugged. "Everyone's got their own thing. This man's kink is control. The turn-on isn't his shoes being kissed, it's that he can make the man do it."

"Okay," Victor replied. "Still don't like it."

"Shh. Who is that guy? Something looks familiar about him." Sam leaned forward, studying the television intently. The trim form, the smooth dark hair--

"Rise," said the dark-haired man, and Sean stood up. "Undress." Sean began to remove his clothing. As he did, the dark-haired man came further into the room, walking over to an armoire on the far wall. Opening it, he took something out.

“Ah, are we going to watch these two have sex? Is that pertinent to the case?” Victor asked.

“No,” Dean answered. “I'm going to fast forward.” He grimaced. “Believe me, be glad I’m sparing you that.”

Sam shuddered.

The video turned into streaky, unidentifiable images as Dean fast-forwarded. A few moments later, he clicked again and the screen cleared. Sean was now naked, sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed. The dark-haired man, his back to the camera, was already back in his clothes, for which small mercy Sam was grateful. Then the man turned around and went over to the metal briefcase and opened it.

Sam gasped, speechless.

"Oh my God," breathed Henriksen. "It's Judge Roman."

Dick Roman removed a wrapped package about the size of a shirt box from the briefcase and handed it to Sean, who nodded and took it.

"I'll tell booking to set up an appointment for us for next week." Roman closed the briefcase. "You were exceptionally good tonight, Sean. I'll leave a tip with Madison."

"Thank you, sir." Sean dropped onto the floor on his knees. "It's my pleasure to please you."

"Good boy," Roman said, and walked out the door.

Sean remained on his knees for a count of ten. Raising his head, he winked at the camera.

 

* * * SW * * *

 

"May I have your attention, please," Henriksen spoke authoritatively into the microphone placed on the police podium. He, Police Chief Singer, Crowley, and Sam were assembled on the steps of the courthouse for a press conference. Various media people were arrayed a few steps down with an arsenal of video cameras and microphones aimed at the podium. Sam stood slightly off to one side, listening to Henriksen speak but watching the crowd. His suit felt stifling, like a well-tailored straitjacket.

"Is it true that you're investigating Judge Richard Roman?" a reporter yelled out. A buzz of comments and questions from the other reporters swelled, and Sam heard Roman's name repeated again and again.

"Please! Quiet down," Henriksen ordered, raising one hand. As silence fell, he put his hand back down and answered, "Yes, we have opened an investigation into possible improper conduct by Judge Roman, including criminal charges. We're still pursuing an investigation into a death at the house of prostitution known as Iniquity, and in the course of that, found the possibility of significant judicial malfeasance. I now turn to Police Chief Robert Singer to update us on the investigation of the untimely death of Alicia Banes, and what evidence has been brought to light so far along those lines."

He turned to Singer and gestured to the mic. Singer stepped forward and cleared his throat. For all that Sam had grown up seeing Singer in his police uniform and now the suits he wore as chief, he noted how Singer never looked comfortable in them, preferring instead the worn flannel shirts, blue jeans, and ratty ball cap he favored on his days off.

"Now y'all know I hate this kind of dog and pony show," Singer began. "The death of Alicia Banes looks to be more a matter of unfortunate circumstances rather than murder or even manslaughter. Her demise was not due to criminal activities or hostile intent, but rather being caught in crossfire during the search for the truth." A murmur ran through the reporters. "What's more pressing is the uncovering of this alleged judicial misconduct that reaches into the highest level of our legal system. Despite the big names and high profiles involved, I assure you that the police department is conducting a thorough investigation as we would with anyone charged with this kind of illegal and frankly unsavory behavior." He paused. "I'm not taking any questions at this time. When we know more, you'll know more."

He stepped back, and Crowley moved forward for his turn. He growled as he had to lower the mic to compensate for his short stature, glaring at everyone in general.

"Ahem, yes. Thank you." He cleared his throat. "We at the District Attorney's office are greatly perturbed about these allegations concerning Judge Roman. These are serious charges indeed, and we are treating them as such. We'll be cooperating and coordinating with the police inquiry in any way we can. Furthermore, we're prepared to take any necessary legal action, regardless of the perpetrator's standing, following the results of that investigation."

He adjusted the knot of his tie while he looked over the reporters. Sam knew Crowley liked to gauge the reaction to his words so he could tailor them to the listeners. With a certain grim amusement, Sam noted how Crowley was even preening a bit as he resumed speaking.

"As District Attorney, I assure you that I had no inkling of any improper conduct transpiring. I vow to see that our legal bench is cleaned up. There's no room for back door deals or favoritism resulting in any criminal capacity in this city. I will see that it's cleaned up and that it stays clean!" He nodded as a pattering of applause broke out and stepped back.

Holy shit, is he prepping a campaign announcement here? Sam thought in amazement. He wouldn't put it past Crowley--the man had brass balls.

Henriksen was back at the mic now.

"Thank you for attending here today. Again, we will not be taking questions at this time, due to the sensitive and timely nature of our investigations. We'll update you when we have further developments." He waved briefly and moved away from the mic.

The reporters milled around a bit, making Sam think of ants circling while they looked for crumbs. Crowley headed back inside the building, walking slowly so that, Sam was sure, any reporters could easily catch up with him. A couple of them passed by Sam just then, and sure enough, they approached Crowley with questions. Sam shook his head at the smug look on Crowley's face. It was utterly distasteful.

What an asshole. Readying to lobby for a judgeship on the back of Alicia's dead body. Sam felt queasy at the spectacle.

He turned away in disgust and saw Henriksen talking quietly with Singer off to the side of the steps. Singer nodded as he listened, and Henriksen clapped him on the shoulder before turning to walk away.

Sam started to walk over to Singer, curious as to what they'd discussed. Henriksen went down the steps and approached a black car parked by the curb, opening the passenger door and climbing in. The door shut with the heavy sound of an armored car. Sam figured that was standard operating procedure for feds. He watched the car start and begin to pull smoothly into traffic.

A searing tower of red and orange flames erupted from the car, accompanied by a thunderous blast. Great clouds of thick black smoke billowed into the clear blue sky. Sam gasped, momentarily paralyzed by shock, and then he ran toward the car, only to be held back by one of the reporters.

"You can't--it's too hot! Wait for the fire trucks!" the reporter shouted. Sam struggled against him, his instinct to try and rescue the men inside the burning car driving him forward, but the reporter's grip was strong.

"Henriksen--" Sam said, his throat constricting around the word.

"He's already dead." The reporter's voice sounded calm, but when Sam looked at him, he saw the pain of that statement on the man's face. "I saw IEPs go off like this overseas. They--they're ash by now. He didn't have a chance."

He released Sam and ran over to the nearby bushes where he vomited. Sam felt like throwing up as well, but he made himself watch the blazing car.

I have to bear witness to this . . . he thought numbly. We got too close.

The smoke billowed on while Sam vowed that he was going to get whoever was behind Henriksen's ugly, needless death.

On to Part 7

Back to Part 4

* * * DW * * *


"Dad, who are these people?" Dean looked at the scraggly group of women standing behind his father.

"These are--this is our new business, Dean. We're going to settle down a bit, stop driving around so much." John smiled crookedly at his sons.

Dean saw Sam cock his head in interest. Sam was far more vocal about hating life on the road, what with constantly starting new schools and never having friends or anything 'normal.' Dean didn't love it either, but he just let it mostly roll off his back. He concentrated on making things tolerable for Sam, acting as his parent as much as his sibling when John was off on one of his questionable forays.

Still, Dean didn't know what kind of 'business' half a dozen rather scrawny-looking young women represented. Unless it was. . .

"Dad," Dean hissed. "Are they. . .are these hookers?"

"Yes. Meet the lovely ladies of the night I just won!" John looked the motley group over and beamed.

Sam gaped in shock. "Dad, how do you 'win' people?" he asked.

"Let's just say Todd Barker had a very bad round at the poker table." John almost preened, he was so pleased with himself. Dean felt a little queasy and Sam didn't look much better.

Fighting back the urge to gag, Dean asked, "So, what now? You're going to be a pimp? Do I need to go find you a hat with a big feather on it?"

"That's very unsavory, Dean. I'm going to watch over these girls, protect them. In compensation, they'll share their earnings so that I can continue to protect and support them." John stepped over to the women. "Okay, girls, line up and let me get a good look at you."

While the women lined up for John's inspection, Sam tugged on Dean's elbow. "Prostitutes? Really?" he whispered. "This is--this is just gross, Dean!"

"Yeah, I'm not thrilled either," Dean whispered back. Trying for anything remotely positive to be found here, he said, "But hey, if we stop moving around?"

Sam grimaced and Dean couldn't blame him.

John returned to his sons. "Okay, we need to find a place where we can all stay, like rent a few apartments or something. For now, let's get a couple of motel rooms. We'll get them cleaned up and with a good meal inside them and then we can let the good times roll!"

Dean surveyed the women. They were all thin with lank hair and wearing grubby, skimpy clothing. Most of them looked either bored or like they didn't care what was going to happen to them, but the youngest--a blonde who couldn't be over twenty, Dean thought--still had some spark and was looking at them with some curiosity.

"Well, I don't think Dad can make things any worse for them. At least we know he isn't going to beat or rob them. Or get them addicted to drugs."

Sam scoffed. "That's a pretty low bar, Dean."

"We'll just have to see--" Dean began, but John interrupted  him.

"All right, let's hit that diner around the corner. Dean, you find a motel we can stay in for now. Tomorrow we can hit the thrift stores and get them some new clothes. Okay, girls, let's roll!" John marched off with the women trailing behind him like bedraggled ducklings.

"Oh my God," moaned Sam. "I can't believe this."

"Yeah. This really is the weirdest thing Dad's done," Dean agreed. "Better hang on for the ride."


* * * SW * * *


When they returned to the D.A.'s office, Henriksen dictated a list of orders that Sam scribbled down while Crowley poured them all a short drink from the bottle in his bottom desk drawer.

"First off, I want to question Max Barnes officially. All we did at Iniquity is make sure he was secured and physically alright." Henriksen said. "Put him in an interrogation room. I need to know everything he did, heard, or saw, especially involving the death of his sister. Next, I want to talk to the witch who placed the original wards."

"That would be Rowena," Crowley said. "Send another FBI man--someone large and beefy if you have one, she laughs at the regular police." He looked over at Sam. "Or send this one. She's partial to him."

Sam chuckled nervously. He did get along well with Rowena for some reason, on the occasions the police had had to speak with her or utilize her talents. It wasn't like she came on to him or anything; it was more like she took a somewhat motherly interest in him, whereas any attempted interaction between her and Crowley devolved into a volley of insults. Sam wasn't sure why either of those scenarios happened.

"I want to open an investigation of corruption concerning Roman." Henriksen continued on. "Taking Iniquity and Dean Winchester down is not going to be a sacrificial lamb to any underhanded behavior on the part of the law. Contact the Chief of Police and get him in here. Time he got more involved with this anyway."

"Will do," Sam answered. He pulled out his phone and dialed the chief.

"Singer here," a gruff voice answered. "What's up, Sam?"

"Hey, Bobby. It's about Dean and Iniquity," Sam answered. "The FBI agent, Henriksen, wants you here ASAP. There's been some new developments that need to be discussed in person. We're at the D.A.'s office."

"Oh great, Crowley," Singer answered mockingly. "And a Fed too. You got Henriksen? I hear that one has a stick the size of the Sears Tower up his ass. This will be fun." He sighed heavily. "Be there as soon as I can, boy."

Sam clicked off, thankful he hadn't put the phone on speaker. "He's on his way."

"'Bobby'? You on a first name basis with the Chief of Police, Sam?" Henriksen asked.

"Singer had a big hand in getting Sam here into college and law school. Became his guardian when John Winchester landed in jail for his final stint while Sam was still a minor." Crowley smirked. "Too bad it was too late to salvage Dean."

Sam was on his feet before he even thought about it. "That's unnecessary." He smoothed his hair back. "He may be running a whorehouse, but he doesn't deserve that."

"Dear, dear, what tender feelings we have now." Crowley rolled his eyes. "It's the big leagues, Winchester, deal with it." He got up and moved to the door of his office. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I have a pressing matter to deal with." He exited, leaving the door open behind him.

"What's more pressing than this investigation?" Henriksen asked in a frustrated tone.

Sam heard the tap of high heels in the hallway, and a feminine giggle as a door down the hall shut. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

"What?" Henriksen snapped his fingers. "Come on, what is it?"

Sam dropped his hands and looked up at Henriksen. "He's getting blown or laid by his secretary."

Henriksen stared at him. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Nope."

* * * SW * * *


Sam opened the door of the crappy no-tell motel room and froze.

John Winchester knelt on the queen-size bed, his T-shirt rucked up to his chest. Pookie, the young blonde hooker, was on all fours, her bleached curls shaking and her little boobs jiggling under the intensity of John's fucking. She emitted little squeals with each punch of his hips, although Sam couldn't tell if they were sounds of pain or pleasure. John was clearly enjoying himself, judging from the blissed-out expression on his face.

"Dad!" Sam yelled, turning right around and slamming the door shut behind him. "Jesus, Dad!" He turned and leaned back against the wall, squinching his eyes shut. I'm never going to unsee that, he thought. Goddammit. His stomach flipped, and he clenched his jaw to keep from throwing up.

Sam heard a yell from inside the room, accompanied by a louder squeal from Pookie. The only thing as bad as walking in on his dad having sex was seeing his dad right after he'd climaxed, so Sam took off, running blindly before John could come outside.

Man, he didn't want to ever go into that room again. Or if he had to, he wanted to at least burn the sheets and use a whole spray can of Lysol.

You wouldn't have minded so much if it had been Dean, a little voice murmured in his head. Then it would have been hot.

Sam slowed down, dropping into a walk. Yeah, he couldn't deny it. That would have been hot. Seeing Dean half-naked, screwing Pookie, hell, Dean screwing anyone. Hips churning, mouth open, face all flushed . . . Sam's breath caught, and he chubbed in his jeans. Sam suddenly imagined he was in Pookie's place. It was Sam that Dean was plowing now, Sam's hips that Dean's hands were latched onto, Sam's ass being drilled . . .

Gasping for air as his chest constricted and all the blood flooded into his dick, Sam stopped dead. All of his seething desire, all of his lusting for his brother--however unhealthy it may be--coalesced into his forebrain. Having sex with Dean had only made him want to have more sex with Dean.

I'm having sex with Dean. Sam dropped onto the asphalt of the parking lot. I'm lusting after my brother. He groaned at the combined horror of his thoughts and the physical pain of his erection in his jeans.

He rubbed his face, trying to erase the mental pictures bouncing around inside his brain. Shirtless Dean, Dean coming out of the bathroom with his towel falling off his hips, Dean kissing some girl with his hands on her bare boobs. Unfortunately--or perhaps fortunately--tight living had provided Sam with multiple instances of Dean to perv after.

Then Sam pictured Dean's hands sliding over Sam's chest, pinching his nipples. Tugging on his cock while he rode Dean. Fucking his fingers into Sam's mouth while his cock fucked into Sam's hole.

The epiphany hit him along with the wave of desire. Yeah, Dean was hot. Sexy. Hung. But it was more than his physical attributes that filled Sam's awareness. It was Dean picking him up from school. Dean fixing dinner with whatever they could scrabble together. Dean making sure Sam had the necessities of life, sometimes even before Dean did. Rubbing Sam's aching legs. Tending him through a fever. Laughing at stupid movies with him while they ate junk food together.

The complete comprehension of his feelings crashed into Sam. It wasn't just lust between two young men isolated from normal society, helping each other to get their rocks off. Not just Sam being imprinted by his glorious older brother, his own personal poster boy of sex.

It was love.

I'm in love with my brother.


* * * DW * * *


Rowena entered Dean's office with her usual dramatic flair, mincing in on four-inch heels. Her floor-length emerald silk gown clung to her tiny form and then flared into a full, flowing skirt, the entirety of which was embroidered with gold, copper, and scarlet threads. Her auburn hair was piled on her head and secured with a russet silk headband, with some loose tendrils artfully framing her face.

"Dean! You called, and here I am. I don't normally answer such a peremptory invitation, but I understand the situation is of the direst." She looked at the couch and then at Dean, arching an elegant eyebrow.

"Please, Rowena, sit down and be comfortable," Dean said politely, waving toward the couch. While he might be upset about what happened with the wards, nonetheless Rowena was very powerful. He didn't need to unduly piss her off, at least not until he knew more about what happened.

"Thank you. Perhaps a cup of tea?" Rowena looked around, as though hoping the tea would just materialize.

"Business first," Dean placated her. He joined her, sitting on the chair next to the couch. Benny took a silent stance next to the door of the office, hands clasped in front of him.

"What is the emergency? Tell me everything." Rowena sat back, ankles crossed with her copper slippers peeking out from under her skirt.

"We had a break-in last night." Rowena sat forward, but Dean held up a hand to stay her words. "Not from outside per se, but from people already inside Iniquity. I have two new hires who snuck into the business office, but then something happened. Something that resulted in one of them getting killed. What I want to know is how that death happened, and I want to know it before the police know."

Rowena shook her head, her face serious. "Well, of course that's terrible. Why would I be able to furnish this information for you?"

"Because it was a magical death, I think." Dean pulled up a picture of the Banes twins on his phone. "This is Max and Alicia Banes. They came here claiming they were looking for jobs and I hired them. Last night, they broke into the office."

"Very unfortunate, I'm sure." Rowena sighed. "And again, what has this to do with me?"

"Here, maybe this will clear things up." Dean swiped on his phone and presented it to Rowena. Now it showed Alicia's ruined face, her burnt-out eye sockets gaping huge and dark in her pallor of death.

Rowena gasped. "What--"

"That's what I need you to tell me." Dean swiped the picture away and sat back. "What would do that?"

Rowena shook her head. "I need to talk to the witch, if I may. I need to know what he used and what his purpose was. Intent is a huge part of magic. I can answer you better after that."

"He's already been taken in by the police." Dean shrugged and spread his hands open. "You'll have to tell me what you can in terms of what could create feedback like that from the wards. We know he was using a concealment spell so they wouldn't be noticed during the break-in, but then something went haywire." Dean shook his head sadly. "She was his sister and he loved her. He'd never have done it if he'd thought there would be a reaction like that. He was devastated."

"Aye, I can only imagine." Rowena gave a delicate shudder. "That was a horrible way to go. All right, I can do a little detection spell and see what I can find out from the lingering aura. Take me to where it happened." She stood up and waggled a finger at Dean. "I'll hold ye to that tea. Perhaps even a drop of something stronger in it, after this."

Dean put his hands together and nodded at her. "I'll be happy to provide that. Thank you."


* * * SW * * *


Sam sat in his office, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He gazed outside, registering the fat pigeons and the people moving around on the street without actually focusing on them.

What is happening? Why am I feeling so confused? So many memories had been assailing him for the last weeks, and the dissonance they created in his mind and soul was starting to put him into a tailspin.

His latest memory flashback had stirred up feelings Sam had thought long dispersed. His love for his brother, in both wholesome and lustful forms, had been pushed down for years, sublimated in Sam's quest for a normal, apple-pie life. Physical desire had been re-routed to Jess, with her long legs, thick blonde hair, big green eyes--

No, I didn't. No. Sam's heart pounded as he fell through yet another sinkhole in the journey of self-realization this case had launched him on. Tell me I didn't fall for a girl who reminds me of Dean.

He gave a little gasping sigh, as if to quell incipient sobs. When did this case get so fucked up? When did my life get so fucked up?

A tap on his door was followed by the creak of it opening and the tap of Jo's heels.

"Sam, are you okay?" Her voice was soft and concerned. "Can I get you anything?"

Sam straightened up, adjusting his suit jacket.

"No, I'm fine, thanks. Just. . .a little tired." He smiled at her.

"Sure. Well, someone called the confidential tip line. You know, it's kinda for any case we have going, but this guy, he said--he specifically mentioned Iniquity. So I thought you'd want to see it right away." She handed him a couple of papers.

"Yes! Thank you, Jo. What did he say?" Sam started scanning the transcripts as he listened for her reply.

"He said he works there, but only started recently. He's heard the gossip about how we are investigating them for drugs. I guess. . .well, he must have some real loyalty to them because he says there aren't any drugs being dealt there. Not street stuff, not supe stuff."

"Well, I guess that's to be expected. What else could he say?" Sam sighed and set the paper aside.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. But then--" Jo paused.

"Yeah? What?" Sam was intrigued about what had ticked Jo's radar.

"He said--well, that he was, um, close to Benny. You know, Dean's second. Like, Benny is his boyfriend. He said there are no drugs at all on the premises, that Dean doesn't even tolerate weed there. The only supes they have are a couple of shapeshifters, so there's no one to even provide things like djinn juice or siren spit."

Sam sat back, thinking over Jo's words. If that were true, then where was the whole drug case? And why were those rumors even floating around? Was Iniquity really clean after all? As kids, Dean had only done a little marijuana once in a while, and never anything stronger. Never fuck your mind up like that, he'd told Sam. It's not worth the buzz.

"So, if that's true, then where did the drug rumors come from? And who is doing what and where with them?" he mused. "Did the tipster leave a name?"

"No, but he said something about how he could hear a lot of conversations because everyone ignores the help." Jo spread her hands. "That's all."

"Interesting. I wonder just who the help is that he's referring to." Sam stood up. "Get me a list of everyone who works at Iniquity that isn't a sex worker. Waiters, bartenders, kitchen staff--everyone."

"On it, boss!"

* * * DW * * *


"Benny, arrange for a press conference ASAP. I want both print and radio there, and I want it live streamed as well." Dean adjusted his tie in the mirror as Benny hovered nearby.

"A press conference? What about, brutha?"

Dean turned to look at him. "We're going to announce the unfortunate death of Alicia Banes that occurred here. In the interests of transparency and public safety, we're disclosing the serious issues of performing magic within a warded building, and also that we had nothing to do with it, police are investigating and so on."

A grin spread slowly across Benny's face. "You're spiking the D.A.'s guns."

"I sure am. Let them try and drag us through the mud, when here we are being all upstanding. I may also throw a few notable names around as 'well-known to Iniquity' without outright saying that they are steady clients." Dean snorted. "No use having sensitive information if you can't use it."

"You got it." Benny hustled off.

Dean pulled out his phone and looked at it. Should he? Which way was better, to surprise Sammy or warn him?

Thumbing his contact list, Dean hit Sam's number. Warning it was.

"Dean?" He could hear the surprise in Sam's voice. "Why are you calling me?"

"I'm having a press conference very shortly. I'm giving you a head's up about it."

"A conference? What about?"

"The sad demise of a beautiful young woman at my establishment. How she died. Why she died. How I had nothing to do with any of it, and that it's all on the FBI and the D.A.'s office." Dean heard Sam's gasp. "I'm not saying anything that ain't true, Sammy. Just letting you know in case you have to duck and cover."

"Dean, you can't--it's all under investigation! You can't go public--"

"I can and I am!" Dean retorted. "I'm a private citizen doing my civic duty. It's not my problem that y'all haven't gotten the answers you need. And I'm not going down for something I didn't do." He sighed. "Just wanted to be straight with you. I don't care what you do with it."

He hung up. Benny returned.

"Noon sound good?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds great." He clapped Benny on the arm. "Time to start shaking up some skeletons, my friend. Let's rattle those bones."


* * * SW * * *

Sam watched Dean's press conference at Iniquity with equal amounts of annoyance and grudging respect. Breaking the news of Alicia Banes' death before the D.A. or the Feds had was definitely a public relations blow. However, Sam had to give Dean kudos for handling the potentially explosive situation so adroitly. By getting out in front of it, he'd demonstrated that Iniquity had nothing to gain or hide from the death. And he'd made the D.A.'s office look slow, if not incompetent, at the same time.

Well played, Dean.

The intercom on Sam's desk chirped.

"Crowley wants--" Jo's voice began.

"Yeah, yeah, headed there now." Sam cut her off, knowing what she was going to say. He got up and headed to Crowley's office.

Crowley was red-faced with bad temper when Sam walked in. He thought he could just about see little curls of steam rising from the portly man's collar and forehead.

"Well, Sam, thank you for joining us," Crowley spat. Sam looked around and saw that Henriksen was also present. He didn't look any happier than Crowley, but he masked it more effectively. Only the muscles bunching at his jaw indicated his stress. "Now please explain what the hell your brother is doing over there!" He waved one hand angrily in the air.

"I have no idea," Sam replied tersely. "But I have to say, he's handled this well. He's out in front of this and we look like we have our thumbs up our asses." Which we kinda do, he thought, but refrained from expressing that out loud.

Crowley looked as if he was about to explode, but Henriksen cut off any further words with an impatient gesture.

"Enough! It happened, so now we have to go on from here. We need to get some answers and get them quickly." He turned to Sam. "Do we have anything back from the coroner yet?"

Sam checked his phone, clicking on the report he found in his inbox and scrolling quickly through it. "Yes, he's finished with the autopsy. He's sending the official findings to us, but the short version is she essentially died from having her eyes blasted out of her face and the trauma caused by that." He looked at Crowley and Henriksen. "For what that's worth."

Henriksen crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay, let's go with the theory that in fact she got caught in a magical backdraft between her brother's spell and Iniquity's wards. That's sad, but gives us nothing on the brothel or Dean. So now we're down two agents, have an accidental death, and nothing to show for it."

An idea seized Sam. "Then let's go a different route. Can we trace who called the tip line? Jo said it was someone who works at Iniquity, but not one of the sex workers, who called and said there aren't any drugs there. Let's find out who that was and why he said that. Maybe there's an angle we aren't aware of yet."

Henriksen nodded slowly. "It can't hurt. We got bupkis right now." He looked at Crowley. "If we find out who that was, maybe we can get to the bottom of whether or not the drugs are a fact or just a rumor. We'll still have the money laundering to investigate, but it's a start." He walked over to Sam and clapped his hand on Sam's back. "Good thinking, Winchester." Nodding at Sam, Henriksen addressed Crowley. "You got a smart one here."

Sam flushed, embarrassed by the praise. Crowley glowered at him and Sam beat a hasty retreat.


* * * DW * * *


Dean sighed when he saw Sam's number flash onto his cell. He was going over the last month's financial statements with Benny and Madison, but he knew he needed to take this call.

"Don't go anywhere, I'll make this quick," he told them. "Hey, Sam. What's up?"

"We need to talk to your employees." Sam's voice sounded brisk and all business. "Not the um, the--"

"Sex workers, Sam. It's okay to say that, you won't burst into flames." Dean rolled his eyes, and both Madison and Benny stifled a laugh. Dean put the phone on speaker so they could listen. "Why do you need to talk with them?"

"Someone from Iniquity called our tip line." Dean sat up straight, shocked at the news. "They didn't incriminate you in anything. Quite the opposite. They said that you are not dealing or providing drugs there."

Dean exhaled in relief. All he needed now was someone spreading lies to make things worse. "Well, sure, because--as I keep saying--I'm not. We're not."

"This could be good corroboration for you," Sam continued. "But we need to speak with your staff,. Privately, to ascertain that they are not speaking under duress. If this claim is true, then our further thought is maybe they can help root out why these rumors keep hanging over you."

Dean raised his eyebrows at Benny and Madison, who were nodding in approval. "This sounds real good, Sammy, but why are you so gung ho about proving my innocence all of a sudden?

"Because if it's demonstrably true, it clears our decks as well as yours. Maybe someone's got a grudge against you. Maybe something is going on that you're unaware of. We could work together to ferret out what is going on." Sam took a deep breath. "Dean, I know you. Or I used to. I know drugs were never your thing in the past. But when the D.A. hears that kind of rumor at a place like--"

"Yeah, yeah, we all know what kind of place this is," Dean answered dryly. "Well, it's good to know you're now willing to listen to what I've been saying all along. Who specifically do you want to interview and when do you want to interview them?"

"The wait staff, bartenders, kitchen staff. The people who hear and see things because they get overlooked or ignored."

Dean gave Benny and Madison a questioning look, What do you think? Madison nodded and Benny gave him a thumbs up. "That can be arranged. My only stipulation is that it's you who comes, Sam. You can bring one other person, whoever you want, with you, but you're doing the questioning."

"Okay, agreed. We'll be over tomorrow morning, if that's alright with you."

"Yes, that's fine." Dean clicked his phone off. "Well, what about that, my friends?"

"Very interesting," said Madison. "Clearly they've run into a brick wall so far."

"Yeah," Benny agreed. "But did you catch the part about how maybe we don't know something ourselves?"

Dean leaned back in his chair. "I did. Is that really possible? Would someone here be making deals for shit like that, and we don't know?"

Benny shook his head. "I hate to think so, but we all know there are people who'd stoop to that."

"Agreed, of course," Madison replied. "But here? God, I can't think of anyone I'd suspect that of."

"Me either, but I guess we'll work on finding out." Dean gave them a grave look. "That suspicion can't leave this room. We'll simply say we're cooperating with the police investigation. If there's a rat, we need to find out."

"Of course."

"You got it, brutha."


* * * SW * * *


Sam sat in a small conference room in Iniquity's business suite. Walls paneled sedately in dark wood surrounded a round table that could seat ten in its burgundy leather chairs. A sideboard on one wall held a Keurig and a spinning rack of assorted coffees along with sugar, sugar substitutes, and powdered creamer. A large silver serving tray offered paper napkins, hot cups and lids, and stirrers. Half a dozen bottled waters were also available.

Instead of Henriksen, Police Chief Robert Singer accompanied Sam. Singer had decided that he needed to be more personally involved in the investigation, and both Crowley and Sam agreed that he was a less overtly threatening figure than the aggressive FBI agent. Singer's rather avuncular appearance and manner, however, belied a sharp mind and an impressive breadth of both general and criminal knowledge.

First up, they talked with Madison. She was a beautiful brunette with large, expressive eyes, long dark hair, and a wide, mobile mouth. Sam found her to be intelligent, witty, and hot. He remembered Dean suggesting that Sam would like her, and damn if Dean wasn't right. Madison gave Sam a sultry glance or two, but otherwise kept the meeting on a professional level. She answered questions about hiring, the various employees, and the booking protocols.

"Everyone has a background check run, not just the talent." She pushed a business card over to Sam. "Here's the agency we use."

"'Talent?'" asked Singer. Madison glared at him.

"Yes. Our staff is the cream of the crop, gentlemen. Beautiful, smart, and skilled. We treat them with respect for their talent, and they are the reason we are so successful in our business. It is a business, and we run it competently. We take care of our people." She stood up and smoothed her skirt with one elegantly manicured hand. "If that's all, I'll start sending people in one by one."

"Yes, uh, thank you. That would be great." Sam barely kept himself from stammering like a raw adolescent boy. Madison left, and Singer guffawed once the door was shut.

"'Yes, uhhhhh, thank you,'" he mimicked Sam in a goofy voice. "She get your knickers in a twist there, boy?"

Sam cleared his throat and adjusted the knot in his tie so it wouldn't strangle him, judging by the way he couldn't quite breath. "Nonsense, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh huh. Can't fool me, I seen you since you were a horny little sprout," Singer snickered. "She's just your type. Always wondered why you ended up with a blonde."

"Shut up, Bobby," Sam said, giving Singer a little punch in the shoulder. "Bully."

"Ass."

They both chuckled, and then the next person was ushered in.


* * * DW * * *


"Relax. This isn't going to go any quicker by you pacing like a caged lion." Benny tried to ease Dean's tension.

"Just hate that I can't be present," Dean groused. "I know I agreed to this, and I get why I can't be there, so that they can speak freely and all. But I still don't like not being able to hear what's going on."

"And who said you couldn't?" Benny winked. "Just press that button." He pointed to a button on the intercom landline sitting on Dean's desk.

"Benny, you sly dog! You didn't," Dean exclaimed.

"Oh, I did," Benny purred. "Now let's hear what's going on, shall we?"

They sat and listened as Sam and Singer questioned the cooks, the wait staff, and the housekeepers. Nothing of note was said by any of them. Iniquity was a great place to work, the employees were all paid well and had benefits like good health insurance. To a person, Dean had their loyalty and respect.

"Well, it's not like I don't love to hear that, but unfortunately it isn't getting us anywhere," Dean said after the tenth interview.

"They aren't done yet. We still got the bartenders."

"Oh, Kevin too? How are things going with him?" Dean smirked at Benny.

"He's a good boy." Benny smiled lasciviously. "Smart as a whip too. Knows his computer stuff backwards and forwards. I think he'd be a good addition to the business staff on the tech side." He winked. "And his ass is amazing. Boy is toned."

Dean chuckled, then quieted as Kevin entered and Sam began to question him.


* * * SW * * *


"Yes sir, I'm a bartender here, been about three months now." Kevin Tran sat quietly, only his eyes darting between Singer and Sam belying his nerves. "I used to work as a waiter over at Ellen's Roadhouse Diner, on, on--"

"Oh yeah, I know that place." Singer interrupted. "They still got those good pies there?"

"Yessir," Kevin smiled, relaxing a little. "So Mr. Winchester and Ben--Mr. Lafitte were there having breakfast one day, and they hired me away."

"Uh-huh. And was that Mr. Winchester's idea or Mr. Lafitte's?" Singer asked.

"Mr.--Mr. Lafitte, sir."

Sam and Singer exchanged a look. Lafitte saw something he liked and hired it, Sam thought.

"As a bartender, you must overhear a lot of conversations while you're getting drinks, don't you?" Sam asked casually.

"Oh yeah--yes sir. People always think that waiters are deaf or something." Kevin nodded with a half-smile. "They'll talk about anything. It can be pretty funny sometimes."

"You ever hear anything about drug deals?" Singer said.

"No sir! Never. That's even what I said when--" Kevin shut his mouth with an almost audible snap.

Sam leaned forward. "When you said what when, Kevin?"

Kevin looked anxiously between the two men. "I, um . . ."

"Easy, boy," Singer said gently. "Let me take a guess here. You, loyal to your new bosses for ah, various reasons, thought you'd call the police tip line and tell them there's no drugs here, hoping to take some of the heat off Iniquity."

Kevin's eyes dropped, his black hair hanging down and hiding his face. "Yes sir," he mumbled. "I just wanted everyone to get off of Mr. Winchester's back." He looked back up, and Sam could see the sincerity on the young man's face. "There really are no drugs being dealt here. I'm sure I'd have seen or heard something by now."

"That's fine, Kevin." Sam sat back, glancing at Singer before continuing. "I believe you. But I tell you what. I'd like you to keep listening to everyone, okay? If you do ever hear of anything that seems funny, you let me know. I promise that Dean--Mr. Winchester--won't come to any harm if he's not connected to it. But if someone is doing something Mr. Winchester doesn't know about, then he could get hurt, you know? So, can you do that?"

Kevin sat still for a few seconds. He gave a short nod.

"I can do that. I don't want Mr. Winchester or--or Mr. Lafitte to get hurt."

"Good boy," Singer said. He passed a card over to Kevin. "Here's our cell numbers."

Kevin took the card and stood up.

"Is that all? Are you done with me?"

"Yes, we are for now. Thanks, Kevin."

After Kevin's departure, Sam and Singer looked at each other.

"You think something's going on under Dean's nose?" Singer asked.

Sam shook his head. "Dean's as sharp as they come, but . . . maybe he's being hoodwinked by someone he thinks he can trust. He's been so adamant about his and Iniquity's innocence. It's really making me start to think about a third party working under the covers, so to speak."

"I see whatcha did there, boy." Singer guffawed. He elbowed Sam, who looked blankly at him and then burst into a short laugh. "Okay, let's get the next one in.


On to Part 6

Back to Part 3


* * * SW * * *


Jess had a business dinner to attend that evening, so Sam was left to his own devices for dinner. He ordered some Chinese food and ate while he watched the last couple of episodes of The Good Doctor. He couldn't bear to watch cop procedurals; he was always getting pissed at their inaccuracies and the liberties they took, but he found medical dramas almost soothing, despite their life-or-death situations. He remembered Dean's addiction to Dr. Sexy, and a smile chased across his lips before he could turn his thoughts away.

When Jess got home, she was preoccupied with work and tired from her long day.

"Sorry, babe, I just want to climb into a warm bath and then bed." She kissed his cheek and ruffled his hair. "I'll make it up to you this weekend, mmkay?"

"No worries, Jess. I'm bushed too. You go ahead, I'll be in soon." Sam smiled at her, hoping she didn't sense his inner turmoil from his encounter with Dean and the resultant memories that had assailed him.

Jess had had her bath and was already asleep in bed when Sam finally turned in almost two hours later. A couple of stiff drinks and watching a documentary about polar bears had let his mind unwind a bit, and the roiling emotions of the day left him drained.

Despite his fatigue, Sam tossed and turned restlessly once he was in bed. Even while physically exhausted from his run, the memories that had assailed him during it were still strong in his mind. The recollection of making a getaway (he mentally scoffed at the drama of that phrase) had led to remembering that first intimacy with Dean, and that. . . well. . .

Sam struggled to pack those volatile memories away again, but with limited success, judging from his chub. With Jess sound asleep merely inches away, he was annoyed at himself for still being so stirred up. He certainly didn't want to wake her in his aroused condition. The thought of having sex with his girlfriend because he was horny from remembering being fucked by his brother was beyond gross.

Maybe I should ask to be taken off the case after all. Sam frowned in the dark. This is getting ridiculous.

But then Crowley will think I'm weak. That I can't separate my personal feelings from the job.

Of course, Crowley's an asshole, so fuck him.

Sam smirked at his inner sass. His thoughts churned on, reliving every moment of his time facing Dean down at Iniquity. Something was niggling at the back of his thoughts, but with the highly charged emotions that had been roiling in his head, he couldn't put his finger on it.

Fuck it, I'll get up. Maybe a drink will help.

Jess stirred as he rose. She mumbled his name sleepily and Sam shushed her gently.

"Go back to sleep, babe." He drew the sheet up around her shoulders, watching her re-settle. She looked lovely as she lay there, her bare shoulders milky in the moonlight that came in through the curtains, her hair curling all over the pillow. Her lips were slightly parted and one hand curled against her chest. It pulled the silk chemise she'd worn to sleep in temptingly tight over one breast, but Sam wasn't going to wake her for a booty call.

A booty call that, if he were totally honest with himself, was instigated because of those. . .stimulating memories of Dean.

Sam turned away, pissed at himself for lusting after his girlfriend because he'd been remembering how it felt to have sex with his brother.

Just in case you weren't sick enough, Winchester.

He got his drink and went to his study. Sitting at his desk, he sipped his drink and tried to figure out what was bothering him. The sex workers Dean had tried to seduce him with? The luxurious, yet tasteful place itself? His loss of control that had ended with him hitting Dean?

Moving from the desk to the couch, Sam stretched his legs out, letting his head fall back on the throw pillow as he mused. The beauty and allure of the women--Janelle and Lisa, he recalled--had been undeniable. Even hotter had been that big redheaded man. Sam hadn't been with any other man except Dean, but he'd felt a real physical attraction to that hunky Irishman. He hadn't considered that Iniquity might be providing both men and women alike, but it only made sense. He wondered idly about the clients Sean had left to service after Sam's declining of the offer--

Sam sat up straight. That was it. That was what had been tickling at the back of his mind. What had Dean said to Sean?

'I think you're entertaining Dick Roman tonight. Or perhaps it's Mrs. Roman?' Dean had chuckled. 'Or maybe it's both.'

Holy shit. 

Dick Roman? As in, Judge Richard Roman? And his wife, Bela? Were they in fact 'clients' at Iniquity?

The shock of that realization made Sam's whole body shiver. Why would they go there? What were the implications of this? And what did this mean for continuing to investigate Dean and his business?

Sam rubbed his head as he considered how very messy this whole thing had now gotten. He didn't look forward to meeting with Crowley and Henriksen in the morning.


* * * DW * * *


Piercing siren whoops woke Dean out of a sound sleep. He groped for his phone at first before he realized it was the emergency warning alarm from Iniquity's security system. Throwing on a pair of track pants he'd worn earlier, he retrieved his gun from the lock-box next to his bed, inserted a fresh clip, and snapped it shut. Tucking it in the back waistband of his pants, he quickly but quietly made his way to the door.

Dean's private bedroom suite was on the second floor, behind a secure door and firewall that separated it from the entertaining rooms. He flung that door open and ran into the main hallway. Red and yellow emergency lights pulsed brightly, marking the exits and providing enough illumination to get through the hallway. The siren continued its high-pitched whoops while men and women ran out of the various bedrooms into the hallway, scrambling for the exits.

Dean grabbed and shoved people toward the stairs, yelling directions at them. While he didn't know what the emergency was, he wasn't going to take any chances that people could get trapped or injured. He glanced into every doorway, making sure the rooms were clear, and then headed down the stairs himself, looking around for Benny.

Benny stood at the bottom of the stairs, his new boytoy, Kevin the ex-waiter/now bartender, standing behind him with wide, anxious eyes. Everyone milled around anxiously.

"Get these people out!" Dean ordered, but Benny put up a hand.

"It's not a fire. I've already had the building checked and it's safe. I'm going to have them go to the salon to calm down. Madison is already headed there."

"You're sure--" Dean began, but Benny nodded.

"Yes. Let me turn that damn siren off."

He strode off to the security office, located near the front of the building on the first floor. Dean sighed with relief when the siren stopped and the emergency lights clicked off. The regular lights came on and he could see everyone look around and relax a little.

"Go to the main salon," Dean ordered them. "Madison is there. You can all have a chance to catch your breath. Everything is fine--Benny is looking into what tripped the alarm, but there is no fire or invasion. Have some tea or a drink there, and we'll tell you when you can return to your rooms."

A muted chorus of voices rose as the men and women moved toward the salon. Lisa came out of the crowd and approached Dean, clad in a silky aqua nightgown and wrap. Puck was close behind her, wearing their usual default form of a blonde young woman.

"What happened?" Lisa asked anxiously. She hadn't been with Dean in his bedroom; he'd begun distancing himself from her as he did with anyone he'd slept more than a few weeks with. She'd pouted, but he made it clear that he refused to allow anything approaching a steady relationship. Dean spelled out those expectations as soon as he began a liaison.

"I'm not sure yet, but nothing serious," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a little squeeze. "Benny and I will check it out, but everything's fine. Go have a little drink with the rest now to calm your nerves, okay?"

"Okay," she said somewhat reluctantly. Looking up at him, she gave a little smile. "Can I come up afterward? You know, for a little comforting?"

He looked at her dark, expressive eyes and her sweet pink mouth. Her dark hair was tousled from sleep and she looked soft and innocent. If he was going to pick someone, actually attempt a long-term relationship, she was as close as he could get to perfect.

But it wasn't going to happen. Dean resolutely kept his mind away from why that was.

"No, baby. Best if you go back to your own room." He kissed her forehead and stepped back, catching a glimpse of her sad face before she turned away.

Puck, unfazed by alarms in the middle of the night from their time in John Winchester's employ, touched Dean's arm.

"Are we safe?"

Dean patted their hand. "Yeah, Benny says we're safe. I'm just going to find out what's going on." He pulled her into a quick hug. "No running from the cops at two a.m., promise."

They relaxed and smiled at him. "Okay. Let me know if you need anything--or anyone to be someone." They gave him a wink.

"Will do, babe." Dean winked back. He appreciated Puck's loyalty, and he'd found in the past that having a shapeshifter on your side could be really helpful sometimes.

Benny was just leaving the security office when Dean joined him.

"Okay, what the fuck happened?" Dean ran a hand over his face. "Fine that it's not a fire or break-in, but something set that damn siren off, and I want to know what it was right now."

Benny's face was serious, the affable demeanor he'd adopted while calming the situation down now replaced by one of gravity and concern.

"I'm not sure, but I saw something on the security camera in the business office."

"Something? Like what?"

"A body."

Benny shook his head. Dean nodded, refraining from asking any more questions for the moment until they knew something more.

They headed back up the stairs to the second floor and the inner office of the business suite, located over the first floor security office. The door to the suite was closed, but Benny held up one hand. He pointed to his ear, then the door, then one finger on his lips. Dean nodded in understanding. Benny heard something inside and wanted Dean to stay quiet.

Benny held up three fingers, silently counting them down. On three, he kicked the door open and they both rushed inside.

A slim body lay prone on the floor, face down. Dark hair fanned out like a cloud around its shoulders. Dean couldn't tell who it was yet. A couple of feet away, another person sat on the floor with their knees drawn up, their face hidden against them.

"Hands up!" Benny said loudly, but the person did not respond. Benny edged closer and kicked at their feet, bringing their knees down.

Max Banes stared up at them. Tear tracks on his cheeks shone in the light, and his eyes were dark pools of grief.

"She's dead," he said. "I didn't know. . .I tried to save her but I didn't know. . ."

"Didn't know what?" Benny asked, kneeling next to Max, who was obviously not a threat.

Dean went to the body and turned it over. Empty eye sockets, burnt and blackened, made Alicia Banes' beautiful face into a mask of horror. Dean swallowed hard, his gorge rising.

"What the hell could do that," he said in a raspy voice.

Benny looked at her, wincing. "Jesus, that's. . ."

Max's mouth opened in a wet grimace of pain. "I didn't know. . .oh God, Alicia. . ." Tears coursed down his face, his shoulders hitching in gasping sobs.

Benny grabbed his shoulders. "What didn't you know? What happened here?" His voice was rough, his tone insistent.

Max gulped. "I was--we were supposed to. . .investigate. We were sent in here. I used a spell. . .I'm a witch. I used a concealment spell to evade the wards."

Dean and Benny exchanged shocked glances. This was no mere robbery, but instead a well-planned assault on Iniquity. Someone wanted to investigate deep inside the brothel. Dean knew immediately that it had to be someone more powerful than Max Banes.

"What were you looking for? Who sent you, and what were you here to investigate?" Dean asked harshly.

"The D.A. and the FBI. They, uh, they were looking for criminal evidence. So me and Alicia. . .oh God, Alicia!" Max dissolved into sobs again.

"Okay, get him up and take him downstairs to the security office," Dean ordered. "I'll--fuck. This is a fucking mess." He sighed heavily. "I'll contact the D.A.'s office."

"You'll contact Sam, you mean." Benny's voice was flat.

"Yeah." Dean grimaced. "Gotta contact the police one way or another. Might as well take advantage of the connections."

"You realize it was probably through the D.A.'s office that these two ended up here," Benny stated. "Maybe you should wait and let them come to you. Let them admit to their fiasco."

Dean nodded."That's not a bad idea." He looked down at Alicia's ruined face. "Goddammit. . .this didn't have to happen. What the fuck were they thinking?"

"What caused that, do you think?" Benny grimaced as well at the blackened, bloody sockets stark in Alicia's beautiful face. Looking over at Max, Benny asked, "What the hell happened?"

"The wards. . .I didn't. . .my spell clashed with the wards. There was a. . .like a feedback loop. Alicia. . .she got caught in it." Max's face crumpled. "Like being struck by lightning."

Dean's heart lurched. He could empathize entirely too well with Max's pain. If that had been Sam? Lying there so still, disfigured so horrifically? He'd. . .

"Take him away, put him in the conference room and lock the door. And get everyone back to their rooms. Tell them it was a false alarm. The quicker we pretend everything is normal, the quicker it will be." Dean turned away from the body. "Tell Madison to notify everyone that because of the disturbance, Iniquity will be closed tomorrow. All pre-paid appointments will be refunded and everything rescheduled. Then we'll wait for the law to come with their hat in their hand."

"On it, boss."

Dean left the room, its air still redolent with the heady copper scent of magic and blood, and knew he wouldn't be sleeping again that night.


* * * SW * * *


"You mean Dick 'Butter Wouldn't Melt in His Mouth' Roman frequents Iniquity?" Crowley let out an enormous cackle. "Well, well, well. That puts an interesting spin on things." He snorted derisively. "And his British tart of a wife, Bela, too? I knew that woman was a slut underneath that prim exterior." He cackled again. "Wonder what kinky shenanigans that pair gets up to. Wouldn't that be interesting to know." His eyes took on a lewd, speculative gleam.

As soon as he got to the office that morning, Sam told Crowley about his visit to Iniquity the prior evening. Crowley, at first unbelieving, now was savoring the new possibilities Sam's theory inspired.

"Exactly," Sam said, queasily sidestepping the issue of Bela Roman's possible kinkiness. "This could be part of why Dean is able to keep evading charges. What if Roman is pulling strings behind the scenes to keep him in the clear?"

Crowley's face sobered. He eyed Sam sternly. "You understand these are serious allegations you're talking about. Accusing a judge of improper behavior is not to be undertaken lightly." He stroked his goatee. "You'll need some real evidence--something more solid than a simple offhand statement made in a whorehouse."

Sam was about to reply when Henriksen burst into the office snorting fire.

"What the fuck is going on?" he roared.

Henriksen's normally calm attitude had disappeared, replaced by fury.

Crowley cocked his head, arching one eyebrow. "Well, aren't you in a tizzy there. What's going on where?"

Henriksen took a deep breath, presumably to calm himself before he spoke again. Placing his hands on Crowley's desk, he leaned over and bit off his words.

"What. Is. Happening. With. Dean. Winchester!"

Sam exchanged a questioning look with Crowley, who gave a casual shrug.

"I don't know," Crowley replied calmly. "What are you talking about?"

"We're waiting to hear from your moles. Max and Alicia Banes are late reporting in," Sam added.

Pushing off from the desk, Henriksen crossed his arms over his chest. Speaking in a more level but still intense tone, he said, "They're late for checking in with me as well. I don't like it." He shook his head. "I have a bad feeling about this. Get a warrant for us to get into Iniquity. Now."

Crowley sighed. "Is that really necessary? Perhaps the delectable twins are simply sleeping in after a . . . busy night."

Sam winced as Henriksen dropped his arms and pounded a fist on the desk.

"Get a warrant, you fucking Limey cockroach!" Henriksen roared.

Crowley's face darkened with an angry flush. "A little respect in my own goddamn office, if you please! I don't care if you're J. Edgar fucking Hoover, you can't speak to me like that here!"

He snapped his fingers at Sam. "Contact Judge Richard Roman about a warrant."

"Really? We're going to go to Roman, when--" Sam started. How could Crowley suggest that after what they'd just been discussing?

"Two birds, Samuel, one warrant. Either we find out where the Banes twins are, and/or we find out more about Roman's motives and actions." Crowley tersely filled Henriksen in on their new speculations regarding the Honorable Richard Roman.

"This is hard to believe about a man of his reputation," Henriksen mused. "Roman has very high credibility and standing in the legal community. On the other hand, it could explain a few things too." He nodded. "Yes, use him for the warrant. Maybe it'll help clarify the situation."

"What grounds are we claiming for the warrant?" Sam asked.

Crowley growled, "It's a damn brothel and drug den. I'm sure that alone qualifies as probable cause. Throw in two missing undercover informants as well." He waved a dismissive hand at Sam. "Go!"

Sam hurried back to his own office and picked up the phone. He directed Jo to contact the judge's office ASAP, wondering all the while what the judge would do in response. Whatever else happened today, it felt like they were at a turning point in the investigation.

Within a couple of minutes, Jo came into his office. "The judge wants all of you in his office." She grimaced. "Like, yesterday. He does not sound happy."

Sam strode back to Crowley's office, where he found Crowley and Henriksen glowering at each other.

Man, I just love inter-agency co-operation and camaraderie, Sam thought dryly.

"Judge Roman wants us all in his office pronto," he said aloud.

Crowley grunted and stood up. "Fine, fine. Hop along now, boys."

Henriksen was hot on Crowley's heels, while Sam trailed after them. He was nervous about meeting with the potentially dirty judge as much as he was tense from the animosity growing between his boss and the FBI agent.

This whole shebang isn't going to end well, he fretted, resisting the urge to bite his nails.

Judge Richard Roman's office was half again as large as Crowley's and twice as large as Sam's. His large mahogany desk had various legal memorabilia and a large calendar blotter on it. Several diplomas and commendations hung on the dark green wall behind it. A large leather couch and matching armchair stood off to the side, while two wooden chairs sat in front of the desk. The judge himself was sitting in a large, black leather executive chair that Sam guessed probably cost half his salary as an assistant D.A..

"What is all this noise about a warrant?" Judge Roman stood up with a wide, toothy smile and came around the front of his desk. "Henriksen--FBI, correct? I've heard good things about you, Victor. Now tell me, what does the FBI want in our little neck of the woods?"

Sam noted how the judge didn't offer his hand to Henriksen. It struck him as a little odd, if not downright impolite. As an FBI agent, Henriksen wasn't that far from Roman's rank, unlike Crowley, or of course, Sam.

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, but the judge peremptorily raised his hand, cutting Crowley off before he uttered a single word. Closing his mouth with a snap, Crowley resumed glowering.

Henriksen said, "We need a warrant to search Iniquity, Dean Winchester's place of business. We have reason to believe that there is drug trafficking and money laundering going on, which is what prompted our probe in the first place. I sent in two undercover agents to investigate, who did not make their check-in time and are now considered missing and endangered."

Judge Roman arched one well-groomed eyebrow. "Really! How long have they been missing?"

"They missed this morning's check-in."

Roman scoffed. "Not even twenty-four hours? Surely you're jumping the gun here. What makes you think there's anything nefarious about it?"

Henriksen took a deep breath. Sam could tell from the muscle jumping in his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes that he was restraining himself so as not to piss off the judge.

"Iniquity has been investigated several times and the D.A.'s office has been unable to sustain any charges brought to bear. However, the information they have gathered so far demonstrates that an environment of casual criminal behavior exists. With the missed reporting of my personnel, I can only believe something dire has befallen them in there."

The judge sneered as he said, "Well, perhaps sending two people in unsupported wasn't the brightest move, Agent Henriksen." He sighed as though he were terribly inconvenienced by Henriksen's faux pas. "I don't see that this is an emergency situation yet. Warrant denied. Dismissed."

Sam saw Henriksen's body stiffen in response to the judge's shocking statement. Even Crowley looked nonplussed. While admittedly less than twenty-four hours didn't qualify as a true missing persons for the general public, the danger of the undercover agents' situation should have overridden that.

What is the judge thinking? Sam thought as they all filed out of Roman's office. Is this part of his protecting Iniquity? And if so, why is Dean involved in such a slimy deal?

Shutting the door once they were back in Crowley's office, Sam leaned his back against it.

"What do we do now? Our hands are tied."

Crowley shrugged. "We do nothing." While he didn't look pleased about it, his voice was calm. Sam wondered if Crowley was relieved that he didn't have to deal with such a tricky, potentially volatile situation.

Henriksen went to the window and put a hand on its frame, staring outside. His ramrod-stiff back clearly telegraphed his anger, as did the loud drumming of his fingers on the metal window frame.

"But--" Sam started, then stopped. He didn't quite dare make a suggestion, not knowing how explosive Henriksen was likely to be at that moment.

Crowley sighed and shuffled through some file folders on his desk. "Might as well see what else is on deck." He hummed a little as he flipped through the folders. Henriksen didn't move.

The tension in the room felt like a ticking time bomb to Sam. He fidgeted, wanting to get the hell out of there before it blew. In addition, his stomach was churning with the wrongness of it all, and he didn't know if he felt like throwing up or--

Henriksen slammed his fist on the window frame and spun around.

"We're going in, warrant or no warrant." His face was grim. "I sent those people in there, and by God I am not abandoning them." He strode over to Crowley's desk. "I want four policemen for back-up, with an ambulance on stand-by."

Crowley stuttered, "But--but--without a warrant--"

"Fuck the warrant! And fuck Roman! I'm going over his head on this." Turning to Sam, Henriksen said, "I want you with us. You're the lawyer on this case, and you're his brother. I may need you in both capacities."

Sam nodded, his throat suddenly tight with apprehension. Henriksen gave him a short nod. "Get those men now, Crowley. I want two units ready to go in five!"

Sam found himself in Henriksen's car racing over to Iniquity with the two units behind them. Henriksen told them lights only, no sirens so as not to announce their arrival. The drive took mere minutes, with Sam clutching the door with one arm the whole way. It reminded him of being in the back seat of the Impala during one of his father's getaways, the car lurching at every turn, being pressed into the seat by the acceleration.

Fuck, Dean, please . . . the whores and drugs are bad enough, but at least not--please don't be involved in murder now . . .

* * * DW * * *


"Just heard over the police scanner about two units being dispatched with an FBI agent," Benny said urgently, bursting into Dean's office. "They'll be here any minute."

"Fine," said Dean. "Let them. We didn't kill the girl. Her brother did. Accidentally, but still." He grimaced at the prospect of dealing with the unavoidable investigation. While Alicia's death couldn't be pinned on him, the prospect of the police and FBI flooding Iniquity wasn't pleasant. "We'll co-operate fully with them, understand?"

"Yes sir," Benny answered.

"Let's go down and meet them. Oh, and Benny? I want to talk with Rowena this afternoon. I want to know what the hell happened with those wards." He stood up and went downstairs, Benny on his six.

Dean threw open the door just as the first car pulled in, the police units right behind it. He and Benny watched a tall, well-built Black man exit from the driver's side, followed by. . .

"Fuck, it's Sam." Benny clicked his tongue. "Not a good sign that they chose him to front this. They want to get to you."

"Yep," agreed Dean. "But it's not going to work."

He stepped through the front door, extending his right hand. "Dean Winchester."

"Victor Henriksen, Federal Bureau of Investigations." Henriksen ignored Dean's outstretched hand. He shrugged and dropped it. Henriksen gestured toward Sam. "You already know each other, I believe," he said dryly.

"Yes, yes we do. Heya, Sammy."

"It's Sam," Sam retorted.

"Saaam." Dean didn't bother concealing his eye roll. "And what can I do for you, Agent Henriksen?"

"I'm looking for two people who are missing. A man and woman--brother and sister, actually. Max Banes and Alicia Banes." Henriksen snapped his fingers and Sam handed him a photograph. Showing it to Dean, Henriksen continued, "They were last seen entering Iniquity yesterday."

Dean took the photo and glanced at it. "Yes, they were here yesterday." He stepped back and indicated the door. "Please, come in and I'll tell you everything we know."

Henriksen held a hand up to the policemen who'd gotten out of their cars and were waiting for instructions. "Sit tight for a minute. I'll appraise the situation."

He and Sam entered Iniquity's foyer after Dean, with Benny following up at the rear.

"What do you know of their whereabouts now?" Henriksen asked. "Are they here?"

"Yes, they are," Dean replied.

"Are they alright?"

Dean's smile disappeared. "No, they are not." He saw Sam give a start, a look of panic flashing across his face. Dean gave a little shake of his head to try and reassure his brother.

Sammy can't think I killed them, can he?

"I'm terribly sorry to tell you that Alicia Banes died here during the night." Dean held up a hand. "Neither I nor any of my people were involved in her death. Her brother Max performed some spellwork which apparently clashed with the protection wards I have on the building. There was a. . . I guess like a feedback loop, or some kind of blow-back, and Alicia was caught in it. She did not survive."

Henriksen frowned. Behind him, Dean saw Sam's face pale.

"What? Where is she--her body? Is Max still here?" Henriksen inquired angrily

"Yes, we put him in a locked room, not that he's up to doing anything. He's devastated at the death of his sister, much less by the knowledge it was at his actions. Benny will take you to him now."

"Don't move from here," Henriksen warned Dean. "We'll want to see everything. I'm going to have the men outside come in and start gathering evidence about her death and to corroborate your story."

"Of course, Agent. I would expect nothing less." Dean bowed graciously, as if they were discussing party arrangements instead of an accidental death.

Henriksen went to the door and motioned for the policemen to enter. He instructed them about what he wanted done before he followed Benny to go see Max.

Dean looked at Sam. "You know I had nothing to do with this, right? I've never killed anyone, and I didn't kill her."

Sam looked coldly at Dean. "You may not have killed her directly, but this place had a hand in it. You wouldn't need such strong wards if you weren't protecting your criminal interests."

"I was protecting my people." Dean replied harshly. "That's why I had those wards up." He felt a sneer cross his face while he went on. "I'm not Dad. I'm responsible for the health and well-being of everyone in my employ and my house, and I take that responsibility seriously. No one here is coerced, exploited, or harmed in any way."

Sam looked somewhat abashed. "Sorry, I . . . "

Dean snorted. "You thought I was following in our father's footsteps. Well, I may run a brothel, Sam, but the similarity to our father ends there. I actually care about my people." He took a deep breath to calm himself down. The thought of being compared to his father angered him to his core. "I'm going to go check on how Max is doing with the agent."

He turned on his heel and strode away.

On to Part 5

Back to Part 1
* * * DW * * *


"Well, don't you look like the proverbial cat that ate the canary," Benny chuckled, leaning back in the back-corner booth of Dean's favorite diner, The Roadhouse. "Sit down and have a cup. The waiter will be right here, I told him to come over soon as you got here."

"Ate something all right, but wasn't a stupid canary," Dean replied with a smirk. He slid onto the rusty brown pleather-cushioned bench and watched Benny pour a cup of steaming black goodness into a thick white china mug. Dean was rich, but he still loved The Roadhouse with its plain, homey feel and plain, solid food. He'd found it soon after buying the building that had become Iniquity. Even with the wealth and power he'd since accrued, it was his favorite spot to meet Benny for breakfast. Especially on a day that looked to be as trying as today did.

Benny raised his eyebrows. "Start the day with a bang, didja?" He winked. "That Lisa, she's a honey."

"She is indeed," Dean agreed, sipping the hot coffee with a sigh of pleasure. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting long."

"Hope you didn't keep her waiting long," Benny retorted. "Best way to start the day." They both laughed.

"Yeah, can't complain." Dean's stomach growled. "Worked up an appetite though."

The waiter approached their booth. "I'm happy to take your order, if you're ready," he said politely.

Dean looked at him with a slight frown. "You new here?"

"Yes, I'm Kevin, Kevin Tran. I just started last week." Kevin bobbed his head. He was a young Asian man with thick, dark hair in a bowl cut. Dean thought he might be twenty, but barely.

Dean was always wary about new people in places he considered safe. "Never know who's going to try sneaking into our business," he would remind his security team. To Dean, that included places like this diner. He made a mental note to have Benny check this kid out.

"I'll have an egg, bacon, and cheese on an everything bagel, bacon extra crisp. French fries instead of home fries." Dean motioned to the coffee carafe. "And another one of these."

"Of course," Kevin replied. He turned to Benny. "And for you, sir?"

"Steak and eggs, steak extra rare and eggs nice and runny," Benny answered.

Kevin nodded and scurried off.

"You ready to see little bro?" Benny studied Dean over his coffee cup. "I suspect he's going to be loaded for bear after the last time."

Dean snorted. "Sam is nothing if not persistent. Also smarter than anyone should be." He didn't comment on how having those smarts on his side was terrific, but facing them was a giant pain.

"Yeah, no flies on that boy." Benny smiled at Kevin, who returned with their plates. "Or this one. What a cute little thing you are, Kevin. You got a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?"

Kevin looked between Benny and Dean, his dark eyes darting nervously. "Um, no, neither. I'm studying too much to, um, date. I'm an AP student—Advanced Placement—and I'm in the middle of applying to colleges. I'm working here for extra money for my tuition."

"Oh, are ya?" Benny winked at Dean, who smiled, knowing where Benny was going with this conversation. Benny enjoyed both men and women, favoring petite ones. It always amused Dean how Benny, formidable when he needed to be, was a cuddly teddy bear with his lovers. "Well, cher, I could maybe help you with that problem. I happen to like pretty boys like you." He leaned closer to Kevin, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. "Think we could go on a. . . date?"

Kevin trembled, his hand shaking when he tried to pour coffee into Dean's mug and slopping it on the table instead. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I'll be right back with a towel!" He scurried off again.

"You scared the lad," Dean said, biting into his breakfast sandwich. "Isn't he a little. . . little for you?"

"Oh, he looks so light and flexible! And he is pretty. I won't hurt the boy, just give him his first orgasm, by the look of things." Benny chuckled and dug into his bloody steak. "No biting or anything, just some sweet sweet lovin'."

"You do you, I can't do the twink thing," Dean said. "And yes, I can't say I'm entirely looking forward to this meeting but I gotta do what I gotta do."

"Well, let's eat up and go face the lion in his den then." Benny took a napkin and wrote his number on it. When Kevin returned and mopped up the coffee, Benny hooked a finger in one of his belt loops and pulled him close. "Here, mon doux petit, give me a call and we can go out for ice cream, or something innocent like that, oui?" He leaned over and quickly kissed Kevin's cheek. "Mm mm, yes."

Kevin's eyes were round and wide and his cheeks pinked under the kiss. He didn't look adverse to the suggestion though, Dean thought, and decided he'd be amused to see how this played out.

"Yeah, eat up indeed," he murmured, and Benny laughed loudly.


* * * DW * * *



Striding confidently into Sam's office, Dean watched Jo Harvelle's eyes dilate when she looked up at him. He knew she'd had a thing for him forever, since her first days working for Sam, and he knew he looked pretty good in his well-fitted charcoal gray suit. He would never act on his advantage with her; she was totally not his type, to begin with, and he wasn't going to play in his brother's pool. It was fun to flirt with her though and watch her attraction to him war with her self-righteousness.

"Could you let your boss know I'm here for our meeting, sweetcheeks?" He gave her a big smile. Her cheeks flushed as he leaned over her desk. "Looking pretty fine there, darlin'. New 'do?"

"I—uh—" she stammered before collecting herself. "Yes, I'll tell him. Excuse me."

Dean winked at her, then watched appreciatively as she came out from behind her desk and walked briskly over to Sam's door. Just because he'd never tap that didn't mean he didn't like to observe. Behind him, he heard Benny stifle a laugh.

"Dean Winchester is here," Jo announced, opening the door to Sam's office and stepping inside. "Do you want him—"

"I'll see myself in," Dean said as he breezed in past her. "Coffee, black, okay? Thanks, doll-face." He walked over to one of the chairs facing Sam's desk and sat down, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee and slinging one arm on the chair's arm. "Hey there, Sammy."

He acted relaxed and casual, but as always, the moment he saw Sam, Dean felt the tug of old emotions. Sam was a far cry from the coltish teenager he'd been during their shared youth. He'd outgrown Dean height-wise, now a good four or five inches taller. Big and strong now instead of rangy and wiry, his waist was still slim but his upper body was packed with muscles that even beneath his suit could easily be discerned. Strong angles defined his face, with high cheekbones, an imposing forehead, and a sharp nose. Dark hair still swung into his eyes sometimes though, since Sam kept it longer than one would expect for someone in his professional position but it suited him, the wave of it softening what might otherwise be a harsh face.

Goddamnit, why did he have to be so fucking attractive? Dean couldn't hold back the thought, but as soon as it manifested he pushed it away. Not now. Those days are long over.

"Thanks anyway, Jo." Sam nodded at her to leave, and Dean snickered when she rolled her eyes but exited, shutting the door firmly behind her. It promptly opened again and Benny walked in, taking a stance near the door after closing it in Jo's startled face. "What, you brought your watchdog? Afraid to face me alone, Dean? And it's Assistant District Attorney Winchester."

"Just want a witness, Sammy." Dean looked around the office. It was all plain wood furniture and boring abstract art prints on the walls. "This the best they can do for you? I thought high-falutin' lawyers had all the plush perks."

"I work for the city, not a fancy firm." Sam went behind his desk and sat down. "Let's talk about something else, like what kind of crap goes on in your brothel and drug den, not about my office."

"I provide personal entertainment in a private setting. And there are no illegal substances involved." Dean waved a hand. "Is that all?"

Sam frowned. "That's completely untrue and you know it. You and your whores sell drugs there as well. You know it and I know it and even your hired ape over there knows it."

Dean leaned forward, dropping the air of casual amusement. "I have several escorts and entertainers in my employ. Let me remind you that sex work, in a properly licensed establishment such as Iniquity, is in fact perfectly legal. And I do not allow drugs inside my door. No coke, no speed, no E, or any other letter of the alphabet. I don't even offer weed, despite the fact that it is legal."

Sam stood up and rested his hands on his desk. "You have several substances that are not legal and you know it! I have reports of exotic superna—"

"I don't have anything like that on the premises!" Dean stood up, facing Sam directly across the desk. "So simmer down, Legal Eagle, admit you don't have anything on me, and leave me the fuck alone!"

They stared at each other angrily. Dean's body thrummed with Sam's proximity. In his mind's eye, Dean flashed on grabbing Sam and kissing him, replacing the hot anger on his face with hot desire instead. Reminding Sam what they were to each other, what they could still be, if Sam just—

"Dean?" Benny coughed. "We all done here or what?"

Dean came to himself with a little shake. Sam's eyes glared into his, the crystalline green-blue of them clouded with anger but still stunning.

"Yeah, I think so. Assistant District Attorney?" Dean stepped back and gave a slight bow. "Please feel free to contact my office if you have any other questions."

"Oh, I do, Dean. And I will." Sam crossed his meaty arms over his chest, and Dean took a second to appreciate how they bulged under the fabric. "This isn't over."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Lawyer Boy." Dean turned and waved as he and Benny walked out the door.

Dean sighed with relief when they got back to Iniquity. He tore off his suit jacket and tie, tossing them onto the armchair in his office while he made a beeline for the bar. He poured a quick shot of Jack, threw it down his throat, immediately pouring both a second for him as well as one for Benny.

Benny took his glass and they toasted silently. Benny reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a cold water bottle for Dean, who took it gratefully.

"Never gets easier, eh?" Benny asked sympathetically.

"God, why is it still so hard to face off against him?" Dean complained, plopping on to the couch. "Tell me I didn't show anything."

"Nope, you had the brass ones on today," Benny chuckled. "And give yourself a break. He may be your biggest pain in the ass, but he's still your brother. Despite him being a giant and Mr. By-the-Book, inside he is your little brother and you can't help reacting to that."

That wasn't all he was, thought Dean, but he'd never shared that part of his history with Benny and he wasn't going to start now.

"What else is on today's agenda, now that we are done with that for the moment?" he asked instead, ready to change the subject.

Benny thumbed at his phone. "Ah! Rowena is coming by today. It's time for the six-month warding reset."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Great. I'm really in the mood for her," he said sarcastically. Benny laughed.

Rowena arrived at one p.m., gliding into the brothel with a grand flourish of her skirt. As usual, she was resplendent in copper curls, exotic makeup, and a floor-length gown, this one in sapphire blue crushed velvet.

"Hello, Dean." She smiled broadly at him, her white teeth showing off the crimson of her lipstick. "Benny." She acknowledged him with a nod. "I'm here to reset the wards."

Dean had contracted with Rowena to set wards around the brothel for both keeping certain supes out and also keeping his people safely in. Only the supes he employed could pass through the wards; they were equipped with an amulet that allowed them access. Dean didn't allow any supes in as guests, or at least on the rare occasion he did, he gave them a temporary charm that only lasted for the one visit.

These wards needed recharging regularly to stay at full potency, so every six months Rowena came by to perform the recharging ritual. Dean was grateful for her services and competency, but he found her grandiose and provocative manner somewhat trying at times. Like today, when he was already strung out from dealing with his brother.

Rowena stopped in front of Dean, eyeing him speculatively.

"What's with the dour face, Dean?" She tapped her crimson lips with one matching crimson nail. "Had a stressful morning, did we?" Her eyes flicked from his face down to his crotch and back again.

Dean glared at her. Could she see inside him, see the effect Sam had had on him? "Never mind. Just. . . do your thing." He waved one hand around. "Have at it and move along."

She pursed her lips. "Now, Dean, don't take your bad mood out on me. Besides, your aura is far too dark and knotty for you to be here. Your angst will get the magic all riled up, and the wards won't set properly. That can be dangerous, and I won't be responsible for any resultant mishaps."

Dean gritted his teeth to keep himself from cursing at the witch. She might be annoying, but she was also quite powerful, and he didn't need to lose her services or her good will. "Fine. I'll send Madison in to help do whatever is necessary. Benny, I'm sure we have business elsewhere."

He strode out of his office, although not fast enough to avoid seeing Benny wink at Rowena and her answering simper.

Once they were outside of the building, Dean turned to his lieutenant. "Dammit, Benny, tell me you aren't porking the bitch."

Benny 's eyes widened and he held his hands up. "No, I'm not. Just a little flirting." He smirked. "She brings out the French in my blood."

Dean grimaced. "Ugh, there's an image I don't need to see." He checked his watch. "Fine, so what are we going to do this afternoon now? She'll need a good couple of hours. God forbid I disturb her with my 'dark and knotty aura'."

"Well, how about we lighten and untangle that aura with a good sauna and massage?" Benny asked. "That'll put you back right with the world."

Dean thought it over. He definitely could use a mood-changer. A little pampering sounded like just the ticket. "Sure, that sounds great."

They went to a masseuse they liked to frequent. Carmen Porter, a sultry Latina woman, used to be a nurse, but had quit when the pay stayed down and the workload went up. Instead, she'd gotten licensed as a massage therapist, using all of her anatomy know-how to provide soothing or invigorating massages. She'd opened her own place now, and had a couple of other masseuses working with her. There was no funny business at Carmen's Tranquility Oasis, no hanky-panky or happy endings; just soothing music, aromatic incense, and strong hands that worked out any knots or tension and left one boneless and relaxed. She'd recently expanded her place to include various spa treatments as well.

Benny and Dean opted for a little dip in the seaweed and mud bath first, followed by a refreshing green tea and lemongrass shower. After enjoying some cooling cucumber water, they were laid out on two massage beds with Carmen working on Dean and one of her assistants, Andrea, working on Benny.

Dean huffed softly while Carmen manipulated his arms and hands in long slow movements, releasing stress and stretching his muscles. He let his mind drift into a pleasing doze, where crystalline blue-green eyes and dark hair drifted through misty clouds.

After an hour under Carmen's hands, Dean felt like a new man. He sat up, smiling at her and raising his hand that he was done. "Excellent as always, baby. Thank you." He dropped a kiss on her cheek while he gathered up his towel and headed off to the dressing room. Benny hopped off his table and followed.

They finished up by lying outside on bamboo chaises situated near the pond in the spa's garden. The soothing sound of water trickling over a small stone waterfall filled the air and glasses of cool mojitos filled their hands.

"I've never asked, you know," Benny said, sipping on his mojito.

"Asked what?"

"What happened to the brothers' Winchester. How you took this path and Sam took that one, and what originally created the divide." Benny leaned his head back against the chaise. "I always figured one day you'd just talk about it."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, 'cause I'm such a chatty guy." Benny snickered. Dean thought for a moment. "My dad—he was. . . not an up-and-up guy. He didn't really worry about having a job. It was all card games, a hustle here and there, pulling some kind of shady deal. We were always on the move. . . well, a lot of the time anyway. Always headed to the next deal, the next big game. And if we weren't traveling to that, we were running from the cops, or the local sheriff, or even just angry marks."

Thanks to the relaxation of the massage and the drink, Dean's memories were flowing now, and they weren't all that pleasant. "Me and Sammy, we just-—we were incidental to his life. He managed to mostly keep us fed and housed, if you can call living in crap motels and squatting in empty houses housed. I quit school in high school, but Sammy stuck it out, even with the constant transferring." He smiled, closing his eyes and remembering a thin, intense boy who was always reading. "He just studied his ass off all the time. So freakin' smart. Got into an Ivy League school, even with our ragtag history. Full ride, you know? Everything paid for, because he's a fucking genius."

Dean had to stop for a moment; his throat was suddenly choked with emotion, and his heart ached. God, how he'd loved that boy. Still did. Despite the years and antagonism between them, the gulf between the different paths they'd chosen, Dean's heart still belonged to Sam. Friends, lovers, success—Dean had all of these. But he didn't have his Sammy, and that would always be an ache inside him, deep down to his core.

Dean's eyes had closed while he remembered, and he opened them to find Benny's blue ones studying him.

"Uh huh," Benny said. He didn't know, of course. Dean hadn't told him about the role Sam had ended up playing in Dean's life. He'd never told anyone. Benny's gaze was intent, and Dean felt a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Benny was well-versed in the quirks of life and had surprised Dean more than once with his astuteness.

"It really started when my mother left," Dean said, partly in an effort to break that steady gaze on him. "That's when my dad started kinda losing it. Like, he just didn't care about anything except escaping into poker and crap games, or the thrill of the hustle."

"Why did she leave? Were you just a kid then? Sounds like most of your life was a shitshow." Benny's voice was soft, easy to listen to and answer.

Dean closed his eyes again. He still had a memory of his mother's face; all fair skin, blonde curls, a sweet smile. It was a little vague, like a slightly blurred photo that's been worn over time.

"She was. . . overwhelmed? Fed up with Dad? I don't really know, I guess. I was around 4 and Sammy was a baby. My dad never got into explaining what happened." He paused to reflect. "Dad put Sammy in my arms one day and said it was just us now. And that's all I know, because he never talked about her again."

"Really? Never talked about her again? That's kind of weird." Benny hummed a second. "Although if she just up and left, that's not something a man likes to think about."

"Nope. Not a word. And if I said anything, he'd shut me down. Sammy—'course he doesn't have any memories, he was just a baby. And he learned real quick not to ask Dad anything. He'd ask me, but I couldn't tell him much."

"Wow, that really sucks." Benny tsked. "So then your father just—"

"Yeah. And I got sucked into that life, and Sam rebelled against it. Only I learned how to do things a thousand times better than my dad did, so he died broke, and I—I'm here getting this sweet massage. Later I'll drink some excellent liquor, have a fine meal, and then I'll fuck my hot, beautiful lover. So I'm good."

Benny was silent, and Dean felt drained from everything he'd said. He didn't often take the time to reflect on the past; it seemed pointless, what was done was done and you just had to move on from there. Rehashing it made him feel a little raw, like he'd pulled off a protective coating that shielded him from emotional issues like this. He needed to break the reverie it had put him in, get back to the now that was his real life.


* * * SW * * *


After a quick sandwich at his desk for lunch, Sam went to meet with his superior. District Attorney Fergus Crowley was a short, burly man, balding and bearded, with sharp eyes and an affable facade that concealed a shrewd mind. Sam had learned a lot from his boss, including where his own personal moral boundaries lay. Crowley's were a little more. . . flexible.

"Samuel! Sit down." Crowley gestured to the chair across from his desk. "I want to discuss this Iniquity issue."

Sam sat with a slight internal groan. This case was beginning to dominate his time and thoughts, and the more it did, the more aggravated and angry he became. It was starting to bleed into the rest of his life, and he wondered if that—along with having to confront Dean on a regular basis now—was what was triggering fresh memories of his unfortunate childhood. He couldn't imagine what pressure Crowley was now going to add.

"I just met with Dean Winchester this morning and got nowhere." Sam pressed his lips together, trying to parse his thoughts in a suitable manner. "I was thinking—"

"Ah yes, thinking. Well, stop thinking for the moment. An idea has been broached that I'm seriously considering." Crowley sat back in his executive chair. "In fact, I think we'll implement this plan as soon as possible."

Sam gaped at him. A plan? One that Sam had had no idea of or input into?

"I thought—this is my case, who's—"

Crowley snapped his fingers at Sam's outburst. "Quiet! I know this is your case, but there's been no headway in weeks. We even had Dean locked up overnight and we still couldn't shake anything loose. No, it's time to move onto a different stratagem." He pressed a button on the phone/intercom on his desk and said, "Meg, will you send Mr. Henriksen in now?"

Sam sat silently fuming, trying to stifle his anger at being overridden like some newbie intern. The door to Crowley's office opened and his assistant Meg stepped in. Meg Masters was a dark-haired woman with a round kewpie-doll face and deceptively mild manner that masked a somewhat shrewish nature. Her white blouse and dark skirt were perfectly appropriate for a legal office, but somehow the blouse pulled a bit too much over her small, firm breasts and the skirt was a hair too tight across her little round ass.

Her crimson lips smirked at Sam before smiling professionally at Crowley. "Mr. Henriksen, sir. I've given him the file containing the background of the case, and he's up to speed." She turned and ushered in a handsome Black man, whose square jaw and solid build exemplified the idea of stalwart, law-abiding men. "Victor Henriksen, Fergus Crowley." She smirked again at Sam. "Oh, and Samuel Winchester." Meg withdrew, shutting the door behind her.

Henriksen looked quizzically at Sam. "Winchester? As in—"

"Yes. Dean Winchester, owner and proprietor of Iniquity. He's my. . . " Sam cleared his throat. "He's my brother."

Henriksen's eyes widened, and his full lips silently said 'oh.' Turning to Crowley, he stuck his hand out. "Victor Henriksen, FBI."

Sam groaned internally. Great, a Fed. Just what we needed. Someone to get underfoot and then claim all the credit.

Crowley stood and shook Henriksen's hand. "Pleased to meet you. Sam is our Assistant District Attorney on this case." He waved to another chair. "Please, sit down."

Henriksen sat, shooting Sam another curious look. "What is the reason for the brother of the man we are investigating being here? Is he to be trusted? It seems an egregious conflict of interest."

Crowley came around from behind the desk, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. "Well, it's unusual, to be sure. However, I felt that Samuel here has greater insight into Dean, and we need every asset we have to nail him. Only now we're rather stuck, which is why I asked for an outside Federal agent to join us."

Henriksen nodded. "Okay. I've read the file your assistant prepared, so I have the background of the situation. From what I understand, you want to close down the brothel known as Iniquity and prosecute Dean Winchester for drug dealing. We, the FBI, want to investigate the possibility that he's money laundering for other criminal interests in the area." He looked over at Sam. "The file didn't specify what drugs are being dealt there. Cocaine? Heroin?"

Sam cleared his throat. "We suspect at the least there is vampire venom and djinn juice. There may be other. . . psychotropic fluids such as siren saliva, but that rumor is unsubstantiated."

Henriksen stared at him. "What? I never heard of—what do those things even do?" He frowned. "Technically, I'm not sure those are even classified as illegal."

"Well, they should be! They're unregulated as of now, but they're dangerous and potentially lethal. That's part of what we want to accomplish." Sam leaned forward in his chair. "They use supes to produce these. . . substances. . . and then sell them off for their clients' use. So they're exploiting the supes, and then distributing dangerous materials to humans."

"What does the vampire venom and—djinn? What does djinn juice do?" Henriksen shook his head. "Wow, things I've never heard myself say before."

"Vampire venom, ahh well," Crowley pronounced. "Gives one a feeling of euphoria and power. And a very healthy sex drive, which the prostitutes then sell their services to satisfy." He flicked his eyes between Sam and Henriksen. "I understand that the, ah, pleasure is both vigorous and visceral."

"Siren saliva is a potent aphrodisiac even in minute quantities. Djinn are noted for putting people into what amounts to a delusional trance or coma," Sam explained. "They live out their fantasy life, while the djinn drinks some of their life essence in order to manufacture more juice. It's fatal when unsupervised. What we've heard about it being used is that the client experiences a light trance that they are unharmed in." He snorted. "At least, physically."

"Wow," Henriksen commented. "This is about the trippiest thing I ever heard of."

Sam continued the narrative. "Djinn juice actually has possibilities as a beneficial psychotropic drug. It's being studied in laboratories now, much as LSD, psilocybin, and ketamine have been to target mental illnesses like schizophrenia."

"Of course, that's not what we think is happening at Iniquity. Anything going on there is solely to service base urges," Crowley interjected.

Henriksen nodded. "I see we have our work cut out for us. In addition to those concerns, however, the FBI is suspicious that Iniquity is serving as a money laundering center for various criminal organizations." He looked at Crowley with a frown. "Please don't tell me that this possibility hadn't occurred to you."

Crowley coughed, which Sam knew was his tell for when he'd been caught off-guard and was covering for a moment.

"Of course it did," Crowley answered gruffly. "We were primarily concerned about the drug angle, but the money laundering is certainly an area of interest as well."

Sam mentally rolled his eyes. Money laundering hadn't even been a blip on the D.A. office's  radar until Henriksen mentioned it.

Oblivious to Crowley's discomfiture, Henriksen carried on. "I do have a suggestion of where to begin though. I think we need to send someone in undercover, get some real information about what is going on inside, both about the money and the drugs."

Crowley shook his head. "We considered that approach. Dean keeps wards up on the building. Primarily it's to keep anyone from attacking or hurting his stable, but it's strong and all-encompassing enough that the couple of times we've tried to slip someone in as a would-be client, they've been revealed and promptly ejected."

Henriksen nodded. "Yes, I saw that in the file. This time, we'll come in from a different angle." He smiled. "We'll send in a witch."

Both Sam and Crowley stared at him in surprise.

"We have a pair of agents, brother and sister." Henriksen cleared his throat. "Twins actually. He's quite a strong witch. She's not magically gifted, but she's smart, shrewd, a capable fighter, and beautiful. Her beauty is their ticket into Iniquity." Henriksen shuffled to another paper. "Alicia Banes. Her brother, the witch, is Max Banes. With her looks to gain entry and his spellwork to elude the wards, we figure they can get inside Iniquity and suss out some info."

He handed a printed photo to Sam, who took it and looked it over. Alicia Banes was a beautiful young Black woman; dark eyes, long wavy hair, full lips, oval face. Standing next to her was a handsome young Black man, with hair cut close to his scalp, high cheekbones, and the same full mouth.

"They're certainly attractive," Sam managed to say. He was surprised at their apparent youth, as well as struck by their good looks.

"Yes, they are. We're pinning a lot on both that and his skill as a witch." Henriksen put his papers back into a file folder. "We're inserting them within the week."

"Excellent," Crowley said, rubbing his hands together. "I can't wait to see what they are able to ferret out."

"Yeah," said Sam. "Can't wait." He couldn't help feeling some dread about the operation; he wasn't sure Henriksen truly understood Dean's wily nature and his ability to avoid any attack.

Sam didn't mention to the other two men that when he'd looked at the photo of the twins, he'd seen skulls blooming beneath their lovely features.


On to Part 3

Back to Masterpost

“Goddammit!”

Sam Winchester slammed a fat manila file folder down onto his desk. The resounding 'thwap' caused the loose papers already lying there to flutter wildly, some of them drifting to the floor.

“Sam! Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

Jo Harvelle, Sam's assistant, rushed in from the outer office, brown eyes wide in alarm. Her blonde curls bounced as she entered the room. Those curls tended to make people underestimate her; beneath her appearance of cute and curvy eye candy, she was a top-notch legal assistant with a steel-trap mind and a rapier wit.

Sam spun his padded desk chair around, throwing himself into it. He rubbed his forehead wearily and shook his head.

“I'm fine. It's that bastard—he's done it again. He's slipped the rope somehow, probably having lunch in some fancy restaurant as we speak.” He thumped his battered wood desk with one large fist. “God, I could punch him!”

“Except then he'd have you arrested for assault, and we can't have an Assistant District Attorney brought up on assault charges,” Jo replied tartly. “You'll just have to give it another shot.” She crossed her arms, mouth turned down at the corners in frustration. “I get that you're upset. I am too. All that work, and nothing?” Shaking her head, she continued in a determined voice. “We'll get him. We just have to keep trying.”

Sam sat back in his chair, closing his eyes and rolling his head to stretch the tense muscles in his neck. “I just—it's so—fuck!”

Jo sighed. “I know. I mean, I know but I can't imagine completely.” She went over to the desk and perched on a corner. “It's bad enough he's so. . . prosecution-resistant. But then. . . he's not my brother.”

Sam snorted. “I guess I can thank my father for this. The District Attorney's office versus Dean Winchester, purveyor of drugs and whores. Thanks, Dad.”


* * * DW * * *


Dean Winchester settled into his Italian leather executive desk chair with a sigh of pleasure and relief. The butter-soft leather warmed against his body, the thick cushioning supporting his aching limbs. Spending a night in lock-up always left him feeling stiff and tired. He was getting too old to sleep on a steel bench with a two-inch-thick excuse for a mattress.

“Good to see you back so quickly,” drawled a husky voice, leavened with a heavy Southern accent. “Sorry you had a little sleep-over in the pokey.”

Dean looked over and saw his second, a burly man with a dark stubble and surprisingly light blue eyes. Benny Lafitte was Dean's lieutenant and also his best friend. They'd stood side-by-side as Dean took the ramshackle legacy John Winchester had left him—half a dozen scrawny hookers and a half-starved shapeshifter—and built it into the elegant brothel it was today.

The same place that Dean's brother Sam aggressively sought to demolish.

Dean frowned. What a fucking thorn in his side his brother had become. Sam the Saint, the dedicated lawyer, using every bit of the law he could to try and nail Dean, shut down his business, and prosecute Dean until he'd never see the sky again except from inside a prison yard.

Shit.

Ignoring Benny for the moment, Dean closed his eyes and rested his head against the high chair back. He heard the clink of ice cubes falling into a glass, followed by the soft pop of a decanter being opened and the splash of liquid as it poured. A few footsteps later, muffled by thick carpeting, and a glass was pressed into his hand.

“Thanks, man.” Dean didn't open his eyes as he raised the glass. The rich peaty aroma of fine whiskey tickled his nose, and he took a deep swallow, savoring the beverage before swallowing it down. The burn prompted another sigh, and he felt his tension slipping down with the whiskey.

“Of course, brutha.” Benny squeezed Dean's shoulder gently. “Always got your back.”

Dean nodded. “That you do.” He opened his eyes and raised his glass to Benny in a toast. “And I've got yours.”

Benny smiled and nodded. “You rest a bit. We'll catch some dinner in a bit, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds great.”

Benny nodded again and left the office, shutting the massive door quietly behind him.

Dean took another swallow and leaned back again. This time, his eyes stared blankly, blindly, at the ceiling.

How the fuck did they get here, he and his brother at loggerheads? Where did all that anger and self-righteous fomenting in Sam come from?

I blame you, Dad. I blame it all on you.



* * * DW * * *



“Dean! Sam!” John Winchester barked harshly at his sons.

Dean grabbed Sam's hand and pulled his brother up from the saggy bed. Seemed like all the crappy motels they stayed in had saggy mattresses. In the back of Dean's mind, he wondered if there was some central warehouse somewhere in the country that motels bought them from.

But now, they had to jump and obey their father. “Come on!” Dean hissed. “He sounds mad!”

Sam pouted, clinging onto the battered story book he held. “I wanna read my book, De.”

“You can read it later,” Dean said, tugging his six-year-old brother along. “I don't want Dad to yell at us.”

Sam relented and got off the bed, following Dean to the motel room door where John now stood. He held a duffle bag, waving it at Dean.

“Pack it up, boys, we're leaving in fifteen minutes,” he ordered.

“Why?” asked Sam. Dean winced at the petulant note in Sam's voice. That would set Dad off, if he was already on the edge. Dean might only be ten-years-old, but he already knew what kind of things triggered their father's anger. The unhappy whining of his younger son was guaranteed to tick John off.

“Because I said so!” John retorted. “Shake a leg, we need to get moving.” Dean saw him look anxiously out of the window.

He musta got busted somehow, Dean thought, already moving to collect their meager belongings. Some game went bad, some hustle bombed out, and now we gotta pay the price. He grabbed their clothes, their toothbrushes, and the like. Sam stuffed his feet into his sneakers and rounded up the couple of storybooks and coloring books he had.

“Dean, this sucks,” Sam whispered while they loaded up into the back seat of Dad's shiny black Impala. His lower lip pooched out as he sighed.

“I know, buddy. I'm sorry.” Dean squeezed Sam's hand. “There's nothing we can do about it right now. We just gotta go with him.”

“I bet it would be different if Mom was here.” Sam ducked his head and his hair fell forward, hiding his eyes. “Maybe we wouldn't have to move around all the time, just because Dad lost at poker or something.”

A pang lanced through Dean's heart, pity both for himself and for Sammy. Dean remembered Mommy. . . kind of. Curly blonde hair, soft hands, and warm hugs. Regular meals every day, pie for dessert. Mommy singing around the house or when she tucked Dean into bed.

“Yeah, Sammy, maybe we wouldn't,” he managed to choke out.

Sam's hand slipped into his, warm and a little sticky.

“I'm sorry, Dean. I won't fuss anymore.” The little hand squeezed his. “I know you miss her.”

Dean looked at his brother. “Don't you miss her, Sammy?”

Sam gave a little shrug, and he turned his head to look out the window, where the countryside was now rolling past.

“Kind of. Because I know there's s'posed to be a mommy. But. . . ” his voice trailed off.

Dean knew what Sam couldn't bring himself to say. Mommy had left when Sam was just a little baby. All he had was the idea of a mommy from books and other kids talking. How could he truly miss someone he'd never known?

“It's going to be okay, Sam-I-Am. I promise. We'll always be together, and we'll be okay.”


* * * DW * * *


Dean leaned against the bar in the elegant main salon of his brothel, Iniquity, surveying the evening's clients so far. All of them were expensively dressed, the men in finely tailored suits and the women in beautiful cocktail dresses. Dean had insisted on a dress code from day one; if he wanted a high class establishment, it needed to be sophisticated in every way. Having the clients and patrons suitably dressed for a refined setting established the tone immediately.

Iniquity's decor created a beautiful, welcoming environment. The walls were a deep midnight blue, the color rich in the soft lights of the silver wall sconces. Chairs and loveseats, upholstered in wine-red leather or velvet, were sprinkled around the large room accompanied by small low tables made of mahogany and cherry. On one side, a bar with a burnished cherry top and black base had tall bar stools with low backs in the same colors and woods of the room. Glass shelves rose behind the bar, filled with fine liquors and liqueurs, backlit to let the colors in the bottles glow like jewels.

In keeping with the level of decorum and safety Dean demanded, patrons were limited to two drinks to ensure no alcohol-provoked shenanigans. The bartenders also had the right to refuse service to anyone coming in already showing signs of inebriation. Bouncers stood discreetly on the outskirts of the room, dressed in tailored dark suits that enabled them to blend in with the crowd. Additional security were stationed on every floor of the three-story building. Dean didn't tolerate any of his staff being abused or injured. Anyone who attempted such was not only evicted, but banned from returning.

And once someone had visited Iniquity, they wanted to be sure they could visit again. It was that special.

Dean's place was not just a step above the norm by its elegance and taste. It was also multi-species-inclusive.

In Iniquity, one could request sex with not only beautiful, sexy, and charming women and men, but with the very popular shapeshifters as well. Dean catered to those wishing for exotic encounters. No supernatural being was allowed to harm a human. Ever. But to the clients, it was intoxicating, it was thrilling, it was sexy as hell.

Benny appeared and joined Dean at the bar, signaling to the bartender for a soft drink. Dean raised his Jameson's and they clinked in their usual ritual.

“Busy night, it looks like,” Benny said. “I think everyone is spoken for, many of them a second time.”

“Great. Just be sure that it's only seconds, and only if the talent agrees.” Dean didn't like his staff to be overworked. One client a night was the norm, although that might be for several hours. An entire night could be booked with one's favorite supplier of pleasure. Seconds were up to the talents' discretion, which was agreed upon with the client at the time of the booking. Dean's people always had the right to say 'no.' It was one of the reasons he never had a lack of those wanting to come work for him. Dean made sure his staff was not only well-dressed, well-fed, and well-housed, but also well-protected and well-respected. In return, he had their loyalty.

“Absolutely. Madison is on it,” Benny assured him. Madison managed the reservations, scheduled bookings, and kept track of appointments. She was petite, with dark hair, large dark eyes, and a wide, expressive smile. Pretty and well-educated, she chatted easily with business and political guests. She was one of the reasons Iniquity ran so smoothly.

"I've been thinking about looking for another shapeshifter," Dean said. "Puck is so popular, and Chandler is also doing well since they joined us." Puck had been with Dean from the beginning, when he first took over the care and handling of John Winchester's stable of whores. From a skinny, blonde young woman named Pookie, Puck had grown into a beautiful woman in their own default form, but they could become anyone the client desired. The only stipulation was the form presented had to be over the age of consent. Dean didn't want even feigned pedophilia in his place.

"Sure, sounds good. And having them doesn't seem to detract from the cis talent." Benny nodded approvingly. "Do you want me to have Madison look into it?"

"Yeah, that way we can take our time." Dean set his empty glass down. "Time to circulate and make sure everyone's happy." He patted Benny on the shoulder. "Meet you back in a couple of hours and we can compare notes on tonight's business, okay?"

"You got it, brutha."




* * * SW * * *


Sam opened the door of his three bedroom condo. The building was a modern urban construction, all concrete and glass and angles, but inside Sam's place it was much warmer and cozier. He favored oak wood furnishings with warm red, rust, and royal blue textured upholstery with lots of comfortable throw pillows.

He slung his briefcase onto the couch and called out, “Jess? You home?”

A tall beautiful woman emerged from the kitchen. Blonde hair spilled past her shoulders, framing a sweet face with plush lips and big green eyes. “Hey, sweetie!” She came over and hugged Sam, giving him a brief but thorough kiss. “How was your day?” Her smile dimmed. “I heard about Dean getting cut loose again. I'm sorry.”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah. Me too. I swear, he must have a guardian angel or something looking out for him.” He sighed and shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing that onto the couch as well.

“Drink?” Jess asked, turning to the sideboard they used as a bar without waiting for Sam's answer. Grabbing a thick rocks glass, she opened the half-size stainless refrigerator standing next to the sideboard and tossed in a couple of ice cubes. Several bottles of top shelf liquor stood at the ready, and after glancing at Sam, Jess chose the Knob Creek whiskey, splashing a couple of ounces over the ice. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Sam said with heartfelt gratitude. He took the glass and tossed the entire drink down, smiling at her surprised expression. “Yeah, that's how bad it was.”

“No judgment here,” she replied, and replenished his glass. "Come sit down with me in the kitchen and talk while I finish up with dinner.”

“You cooked?” Sam asked, a little startled. Jess's finance job was as fast-paced as his position at the District Attorney's office, and a true home-made dinner was a rare thing for either of them to prepare.

“Yeah, right, on a Wednesday?” she laughed, heading into the kitchen. Sam trailed after her, appreciating the fine round form of her ass wiggling as she walked. “No, I stopped at that deli around the corner and got their roast chicken and sides. I might save the carcass and make soup this weekend though.”

“Great. I love that place. Did you get the—”

“Yes, of course I got their fresh cranberry chutney! You think I just moved in yesterday, Winchester?” She smirked at him as she busied herself with dishes and silverware. Sam could smell the food warming in the oven as she laid places for them. They had a formal dining room, but most of the time they ate casually together at the kitchen's breakfast bar, sitting on tall stools while they ate and shared their day.

“You're an angel,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her in gently for another kiss. She practically purred as he rubbed her back while he kissed her, moving in between his thighs and pressing herself close. She was slim-waisted but curvy, enough meat in all the right places that Sam liked to grope and squeeze.

“Well, Mr. Assistant D.A., you wanna eat first or. . . maybe work up an appetite?” She nipped his earlobe, sucking gently to soothe the stinging flesh as she ran her hand down his chest and cupped his groin through his dress pants.

He began hardening at her caress, kissing her more passionately and squeezing one of her large firm breasts. Running his thumb over her nipple, he felt it stiffen beneath her silk blouse. A tiny gasp emitted from her when he bent his head and nipped at it, sucking on it through the silk of it and the lace bra beneath, soaking the fabric before biting again.

“Fuck dinner,” he murmured, mouthing his way up her neck.

“I'd rather you fucked me,” she retorted and, grabbing his hand, led him into the bedroom.




* * * DW * * *



Jess rode Sam like she owned him, her thighs squeezing his hips as her pussy encased his cock. He thrust up into her hot wet flesh, his hands roaming over her hips and belly, then up to her tits to tease and pinch her nipples. Watching her face as she writhed atop him, lost in pleasure, made Sam's heart beat harder, his love for her intensifying his physical passion. When she came with a cry, hair flying as her head fell back, it pushed Sam over the edge too. He clutched her hips, grinding up hard, his body bowing with the force of his ejaculation.

She collapsed onto him, her body hot and sweaty against his, the combined aroma of their orgasms enveloping them like a hothouse perfume. They dozed together, Jess slipping off him to the side after she caught her breath. Sam kept an arm around her, holding her close while they slept.

He awoke in the dark room. They'd fallen asleep before sunset and had never gotten to turning any lights on. Now rolled to one side, Jess was still sleeping. Sam pulled the sheet and comforter over her and carefully got up so as not to disturb her. Slipping into loose sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt, he padded into the kitchen.

Oh man, dinner. . . he thought, scrunching up his nose at the thought of what had to now be a dried out chicken. Opening the oven, he pulled the food out. Fortunately Jess had shut off the oven when they'd retired, but still it had all been sitting there a long time. Sam surveyed the somewhat shrunken chicken, the now-dried sweet potatoes and the creamed spinach, and sighed. He dumped it all into the trash, putting the dishes into the sink and running dish soap and water onto them to soak.

Hoping there was something edible in the fridge, Sam opened the door and squinted at the bright light. A couple kinds of cheese, some pepperoni, some olives. He'd call it a mini charcuterie, he chuckled to himself. Most importantly, there was beer, and he grabbed a bottle, opening it immediately and taking a good swig.

Assembling his goodies onto a plate along with some crackers, Sam took his food and beer into his office-den. His 'man-cave', Jess called it. A desk with two monitors and a docking station for his laptop was on the back wall. A couch sat to the left facing the wall-mounted TV on the right, with a low coffee table in front of the plump couch. He shut the door and settled onto the couch, turning the smart TV on with the volume turned way down and pressing through the apps and channels on the remote. An old Japanese monster movie caught his attention, and he chuckled at Godzilla and Mothra's city-destroying shenanigans while he ate. He got up part-way through the movie to fetch another beer.

His hunger satisfied, Sam sat back with the second half of his second beer, gazing at the TV. Godzilla vanquished Mothra, and a cheesy flick with giant rabbits came on next. Sam watched the figures on the screen, lulled by food, beer, and fatigue into a hazy stupor. As his eyes half-closed, the movie faded into dreams and memories.



* * * SW * * *



"Move over, squirt." Dean pushed Sam over on the worn couch with all the authority of an eighteen-year-old lording it over his fourteen-year-old brother. He plopped a bag of pretzels and a couple of sodas on the old coffee table, snatching the remote from Sam's hand.

"Hey!" Sam protested. "I was—"

"We aren't watching some lame-o nature special," Dean declared. "There's got to be something better on." He clicked through the five channels the battered television received. On the last click, Gojira flashed onto the screen. "There we go! Japanese monsters for the win!" He grabbed a handful of pretzels and settled back on the couch.

Sam grumbled, but he couldn't deny to himself that he'd rather watch a bad monster movie with Dean than a documentary by himself. He grabbed his own handful of pretzels and one of the sodas, sitting back against the other arm of the couch and stretched his legs out. He'd had a growth spurt, and his legs ached frequently.

Dean looked over. "Your legs hurting?" Sam was impressed how Dean always picked up on stuff like this. How Sam was feeling, what he needed, what was troubling him—Dean always knew.

Sam shrugged. "Not too bad. Just kinda achy."

Dean finished his pretzels and patted his lap. "Come on. Put 'em up."

Sam obeyed, resting them across Dean's thighs. Dean began to massage his calves, firmly but not too hard. He worked over them from ankle to knee and back, and Sam sighed with relief and pleasure as the aching muscles relaxed.

They kept watching the movie, but Sam now felt hyper-aware of his brother. He'd started having some. . . funny feelings about Dean. Feelings he knew one was not supposed to have about one's brother. Only most people didn't have a brother like Dean. He was eighteen now and he was beautiful. Muscular but not bulky, broad shoulders and narrow waist, legs showing a slight bow, but tall. Ridiculously large eyes with a ridiculously thick fringe of dark lashes and a mouth that—well, Sam didn't like to say what that mouth made him think of. Full, pink lips that even in rest seemed to provoke thoughts of soft, slow kisses and hot, hard ones.

Sam knew about sex shit now. He knew the pleasure and release of jerking off, and what wet, sticky shorts in the morning meant. He knew what Dean did when he went off with girls and came back smiling, heavy-lidded and smelling of perfume and musk. Sam wasn't interested in any girls, at least not yet, but he'd starting noticing how the older boys at school were starting to look like Dean; how their shoulders were widening and their legs lengthening, and how their jeans often couldn't entirely conceal the boners that every teenage boy was subject to.

He wasn't going to act on anything, of course. Sam knew the risk of being not just the poor, transient student but a queer on top of that, so he looked surreptitiously and left the rest to his imagination. Only now, Dean was starting to star in those sexy imaginings. Dean, with his smooth chest and pink nipples. Dean, casually comfortable with his own body, not like Sam's clumsy awkwardness. Dean, who could wink at a waitress and get seconds or dessert at no charge, or chat up a cheerleader and come home looking satisfied as a Cheshire cat.

Dean wiggled Sam's feet. "Where'd you go, Sammy? Am I putting you to sleep with my magic hands?"

Sam laughed nervously. Far from sleep, he'd lost himself in the sensation of Dean's hands firmly kneading his legs, and he could feel the stretch of his briefs as his cock awoke. Pulling his legs back, Sam said, "Thanks, they feel a lot better now." He sat cross legged, hoping that his t-shirt was hanging over enough to conceal any suspicious bulges.

Dean gave him a quizzical look. "You okay there, buddy?"

"Yeah, uh, thanks. I gotta go to the can," Sam said nervously. He thought maybe he could get up and go to the bathroom, where he could get rid of his erection one way or another.


* * * SW * * *


"What are you doing out here?"

Sam startled at Jess's voice. The vestiges of his memory-dream still clouded his mind, and he couldn't quite place where he was for a moment. Slumped on the couch, a throw half over his legs, his body protested at his awkward position. His neck complained when he tried to straighten it.

"Oh, God, guess I fell asleep. I was hungry, so I made a snack and came in here. I didn't want to wake you up." Sam smiled at her and rubbed at the crick in his neck, trying to re-orient himself to the here-and-now. To Jess being present and not Dean.

Jess sat down next to him and took over the neck rub. "Too much on your mind, baby?" She sighed. "This whole Iniquity thing has to be preying on you. I mean, he is your brother. Maybe you should hand it off to someone else."

Sam shook his head. "It was hard enough to get Crowley to put me on it. He had to find a loophole so I could work on it. It's only because Dean and I have been estranged for so long that he allowed it, and I don't want to show that I can't handle it now." He stood up, pushing the throw off. "And I can handle it. I just have to find Dean's weakness."

Jess rose and hugged Sam, nestling her head in the hollow of where his shoulder and collarbone met.

"You will, baby. I know you will."

Sam embraced her. She was warm and solid in his arms, but somehow. . . somehow he still felt cold and alone. He missed the sunshine of Dean's smile.



* * * DW * * *


Dean woke up and stretched. Early morning sunlight, albeit muted as it streamed through the sheer drapes of his bedroom, indicated that the day had begun. Hunger rumbled in his belly, but more urgent than that was the need to hit the head and then find some coffee. He wrestled with the sheets, their smooth fabric both slipping away and entrapping him.

"Mmm. . . " a female voice murmured. Lisa's dark head emerged from a puff of pillows. "Babe, what. . . it's so early." Her voice was sleep-husky.


He looked down at her fondly. Lisa was beautiful—creamy tan skin, dark hair in a thick swirl around her head. Darkly lashed brown eyes and a wide mouth that looked as good smiling as it did around his dick. She was funny and sexy and currently Dean's favorite.

She kind of reminded him of. . .

He shut that thought down before it was finished. Pulling the sheet off her body, he admired her full breasts, almost surprising on her slim frame, but they were completely natural. She attributed her limber, lithe figure to the yoga that she was such a devotee of and taught to the rest of the talent at Iniquity. Dean enjoyed both her gorgeous body and her frank enjoyment of sex.

"Mmmm, want a little eye-opener?" she purred. She slid one tapered hand up her flat belly to her breast, cupping it and giving it a little squeeze. Her nipple was a pinkish-brown little nub, and he watched it harden as she toyed with it.

"You look good enough to eat," he said, reaching for her other breast and playing with it. She moaned gently, her mouth falling a little open. Her pink tongue curled inside like a cat's. Dean's dick stirred, partly to remind him he had to pee, but partly in response to the inviting picture Lisa presented.

"Then eat me," she said, pushing the sheet all the way off her and spreading her legs. Her mound and vulva were smooth and hairless, and he could see her deeper pinkness already shining with moisture. She ran a finger down through the folds of her flesh, bringing it up to lick before caressing his mouth with it. "Don't I taste good?"

"You taste delicious," Dean replied, licking her finger and then sucking on it for a moment. He took her hand and put it back on her pussy. "But you'll have to play alone for now. I have to see to some business."

Lisa pouted, playing with herself with one hand and reaching out to stroke Dean's morning wood with the other. "Just a little quickie?" She pumped a finger into herself and moaned, flicking her thumb over the head of Dean's dick. They gasped in unison.

"You vixen. . . let me just piss first, okay? But it'll have to be quick. I have to meet with the D.A.'s office again today."

Lisa smiled and spread her legs wider. "I'll be right here waiting." He could smell her arousal now, and his dick twitched in her hand. She brought the hand on her pussy back to her mouth and licked it, spreading the wetness onto her nipple. The hard bud glistened as she toyed with it and Dean couldn't resist leaning down to suckle at the spicy taste. He bit down on it gently, making her squeal.

"Yeah. . . fuck, yeah." Tearing himself away, Dean hastened to relieve himself, gave his mouth a quick rinse, and dove back into bed.

On to Part 2

Title: The Price of Love
Author: firesign10
Artist: ncdover1285
Pairing(s): Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester (Wincest)
Word Count: 38K
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Show-level violence, a couple instances of het sex

Summary: While Dean Winchester chose to follow in his father’s footsteps and run a brothel, Sam left for college and became a lawyer. When Iniquity become the focus of an FBI investigation, Sam and Dean's worlds collide and they must face each other as antagonists. Will they be unable to bridge the chasm between them, or will they discover that the feelings they once had for each other are still burning underneath their masks?

Notes: Thank you first of all to Wendy, the awesome mod of spn_j2_bigbang, this Queen of the Bangs! It's a privilege to participate again here and present my tenth Big Bang for your reading pleasure.

Art post for ncdover1285 is here!! Please be sure to leave her kudos!

This story was prompted by a stunning pic of Dean in a suit looking very mob boss. Discussions with Bea_Deans_Girl led to an idea that went through a thousand permutations until this story was born.

Thanks to my handholders and alpha readers, merenwen76, tammyrenh, and theatregirl7299. Thanks and hugs to the wonderful ladies of Fic, Food, and Fuckery who always keep me going. Undying gratitude to jerzcaligrl who alpha-ed and beta-ed unceasingly. Final thanks to trendykitty for a final beta and reassurances. It takes a village, people.

Link to story on LJ | on AO3

Link to art post for ncdover1285 is on Tumblr

Hello y'all!

I bring you a news bulletin from the desk of Firesign10...

I'm working to launch my first m/m romance book this year. After talk talk talk the last few years, I am trying to 'woman up' (well, I can't man up, can I) and do it. I'm now through beta and sending to copy editor. I'm trying to go a bit at a time because it's very easy to feel overwhelmed by this first time. I'm happy to say I'm getting some great support already *whew*

So I'm now working on 'establishing a social media presence' under my author name. I've chosen Ellis Colton for that. I have a Facebook page already, and will be looking to set up Twitter and Instagram. Please feel free to offer advice lol!!

If you are on FB, Here is my page. I'm also compiling a list for a newsletter, and if you'd like to be on it, please email elliscolton.author@gmail.com and I'll add you!

I'm alternately excited and terrified lol.

I hope you'll join me :-)

Title: The Folly and the Ivy
Author: firesign10
Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen (J2)
Word Count: 2270
Rating: PG

Summary: Things are tight financially for Jared and Jensen, but when Jared sees the perfect Christmas gift for his boyfriend, he just has to get it.

Notes: Written as my final submission for sn_specialsSaturday Night Specials. Prompt by beatrizwench. Thanks as always to my speedy and steadfast beta, jerzcaligrl!

Click on the cut below for LJ or read on AO3

( What are you getting Jensen for Christmas?Collapse )