Devilc's Den 2.0

Title: Introductio in Analysin Daemonium Infinitorum pt 8
Fandom: SPN-FNL
Pairing: Sam/Tim (Sam/Tim/Dean in a few places)
Rating: Adult (Here there be smut!)
Length: 50k words

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Author's Note: This is the cleaned up master version of a story I began writing for MiniNano back in November 2007. Sam Winchester is racing against time to save his brother Dean's life, and he's got Tim Riggins along for the ride ... and a bit more. ;)

The plan was to finish it and post it before the end of S3 of SPN and S2 FNL -- obviously that didn't happen.

Thank you to tartysuz and ixchel55 for their swift beta.

Legalese: SPN and FNL are copyright their respective copyright holders. This work is a labor of whatiffery, not a labor of lucre.




"I think we should stick around for a few weeks," Dean said when they hit the greater Phoenix sprawl.

Budget Suites here we come, Sam thought darkly.

"Y'know, get a home base, give Tim some more schooling in the tricks of the trade."

That sounded like more than a few weeks, actually. So perhaps not a Budget Suites, but maybe a double wide, or even a house (in a sketchy neighborhood, of course). Sam looked over at Dean and raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe even get a job."

"Now you're pushing it," Sam deadpanned. He glanced over his shoulder at Tim, who hadn't said much of anything for the last three hours and seemed content, for now, to watch the great swathes of stucco covered tract housing roll by. However, Sam wouldn't be surprised if Tim could repeat the key points of what he and Dean had said several days from now. He was good that way.

They pulled over in a Flying J to get the lay of the land. Truckers were gossips, and perhaps there was something going on here, or maybe a few cities down the road. Tim idly glanced at a local paper's listing of places for rent.

"What's that?" Sam asked, pointing to an ad in the wanted section. "They seem to be paying pretty good for cleaning services."

"That's because it's crime scene cleanup," Tim replied, reading the fine print.

Dean reached for the paper. "Let me see that. You know, it might be a good way to see if there's anything going on here in town and this place starts at ... holy shit, $17 an hour!"

"They probably background check you," Sam countered. "We need to stay off of Big Brother's radar."

Dean glared at him and said, "I'm still going for it."

Inwardly Sam seethed. It was a useless, stupid risk that Dean was planning to take here ... primarily because he wasn't planning on being around to deal with the fallout. "Fine." Sam bit off the word.

"I'm going to take Tim if he's interested. He needs to see how ... things can get."

Ice formed inside of Sam. He didn't want Tim seeing how ugly things could get, didn't want him to have to learn how to turn his humanity on and off, even though the rational part of him knew it was something Tim needed to learn. But it was no use arguing it right here, right now. He sighed in defeat. "Okay."

"What are you planning?" Tim asked.

"I'm going to see if the local library is hiring, or maybe a bookstore."

"That's Sammy for you," Dean snorted, "always about the books."

~oo(0)oo~

Tim's career in crime-scene cleanup lasted three weeks and ended with a particularly brutal case, that according to Dean, was a shotgun suicide which had gone undiscovered for a week or two in a heated house, and in the mean time, the person's cats had gotten hungry.

All Sam knew was that Tim, who had been increasingly distant and sullen recently, staggered into their crappy house down by the train tracks one morning at 3am, reeling drunk. Sam patiently wiped his mouth with a clean washcloth between bouts of puking, eventually forced some aspirin and water down Tim's throat, and left him curled up around the toilet. Then he fired up the coffee pot and sat in one of the ratty orange vinyl kitchen chairs, waiting for Dean to show. When he did shortly after 5am (smelling of cigarettes and whiskey, marked with hickeys) and explained what had happened, Sam calmly told him that Tim was not going back to work with him.

"Ted gave us the next two days off. He'll be better after the shock's worn off."

"He's not going back. I can tell you that now."

Dean shrugged. "Ted's gonna miss him."

"Fuck Ted sideways!" Sam hissed. "Open your goddamned eyes, Dean. This job, it's killing him. He can't do it, Dean. He's not cut out for it." You're not the one having to deal with the look in his eyes. You haven't noticed, but he's starting to drink again, starting to need to."

"He's got to --"

"He can learn it some other way!" Sam roared, slamming his fist on the counter hard enough to crack the worn laminate.

~oo(0)oo~

Ted turned out to be a good guy, yes, he would miss Tim, but he could see that this job wasn't the right thing. However, he had an idea of what might be -- Disaster Masters house cleaning.

"How'd it go?" Sam asked when Tim returned from his first day on the new job.

"You wouldn't believe the crap that some people let pile up in their home," Tim said a voice that bordered on awe. "I mean, Billy and me were never neatniks, but ...." He shook his head. "This old guy had four junker TVs sitting in his front room, buried under piles and piles of paper and clothes and just stuff. I mean, he must have had a forest's worth of magazines in there. We've got his front room pretty well cleared out, and the guest room, and the kitchen, too -- lots of mummified food in there -- but ... daaamn."

Sam studied him for a moment then handed him a cold soda. "Yeah. I've read about people like that." Pause. "Do you know what happened?"

Tim gave him a sad half-smile. "His wife died a few years back. He told me all about her as I was sorting through his things. They have a son, but he lives in New Zealand." Tim shrugged. "I think he mostly just needs somebody to listen to him. I know he'll probably just go back to pack-ratting, but at least he'll keep his place a little while longer." He sighed. "It's all we can do."

"Yeah, you can't fix the world." Sam scrubbed tiredly at his eyes.

"No, you can't." Tim guzzled the bottle dry. "You just embrace the suck and find a way get through."

"You're a good listener, probably why that guy picked you to open up to." Really, you are, and I still can't tell you all about Dean and how scared and angry I am. But maybe you know all that. You're good at picking up on the things that people don't say, Tim.

Tim cleared his throat and said, "Um ... I've been making notes, you know, writing down some ideas like you said to, so that --" he pulled out the small Moleskine that Sam had gotten him a few weeks earlier. "I took --" he sucked in a deep breath "I took down the address of that -- the bad job. Something about that place just gave me the creeps before I even went in. Everybody mentioned that, too. We all felt creeped out."

"It's not a bad idea to do a little of our kind of clean up after a suicide. Sometimes, we find things," Sam said forcing his voice to remain steady.

Tim glanced back down at the notebook. "Her name was Marlene Ahlquist."

~oo(0)oo~

Three nights later -- Dean was working an extra late shift -- Sam packed a bag with the basics and they boarded a crosstown bus. Four transfers. Tim muttered something about how nice it would be to have a car of his own again. Sam didn't have the heart to say that they probably wouldn't be here more than a month or two more, so no need, really. Instead he said that yeah, he missed having a car, but that he also missed the excellent BART system from his days in the Bay Area.

"Are we ever going to go there?" Tim asked. "It'd be neat to see the Golden Gate, cable cars, and Fisherman's wharf."

Sam snorted, and hurt flashed for a brief second in Tim's eyes. Shit. "I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing at the fact that I was there for almost four years and still didn't see a lot of it." He glanced up at an ad on the ceiling and continued, "I'd like to go back to the Muir Woods -- ancient giant redwoods. There's a stand of them across the bridge. Jess and I took a trip there once."

Tim picked a hole just over the knee in his jeans. "Do you think a case will ever take us there?" he asked. "Because ... before this, before you guys, I never really saw anything. Dallas for State and a jaunt to Mexico with Jason, but mostly? Just the roads between Dillon and the teams we played."

Sam looked him in the eye. Such hope in those ever shifting hazel depths. Still. "Well, I can't exactly say that I had a great childhood, but yeah, one of the good things that came out of it was that Dean and I have seen every state in the lower 48."

"Like all those places you see in movies and TV?"

"Anything in particular you'd like to see?"

Tim flashed a brilliant smile. "Well, we'd better wait on the Alamo. But how about Grand Canyon, or some of that Civil War stuff?" He pursed his lips in thought. "Is any of it, you know --"

"Been taken care of years ago."

His face fell. "Oh."

Sam laughed inwardly at the disappointment in Tim's tone. "And every now and again, there's one that you leave behind. Deadwood, for instance, has a ghost, but he's a protector."

"Really? Cool."

~oo(0)oo~

The spirits who inhabited the 1950's ranch-style house where Marlene Ahlquist killed herself were anything but benevolent protectors. Fortunately, they weren't particularly powerful, but living in a house with them polluting the psychic atmosphere had probably pushed that poor woman over the edge. Sam felt sure that if he did a history on the property he'd find a long chain of violence and misery.

Sam felt a certain thrill as Tim calmly stepped up and held the spirits at bay with a few well timed blasts of rock salt while he took care of the rest. When they had dispelled them with a salt and burn of a lock of hair they found tucked in a closet, Sam took out his pocket knife and carved a few small hexes in the doorjambs and windowsills to prevent anything from moving back in. The house probably wasn't going to get more than a day with the Merry Maids and a repaint before it got put back on the market, so at least the next occupants had a good chance of protection.

They boarded the bus back to their side of town giddy and twitching with suppressed emotion. But Sam could see it in Tim's eyes -- the pride of a job well done.

The bus's route took them past the noise and lights of a street fair near the university. Seized by a whim, he tugged at Tim's arm. "Let's go."

~oo(0)oo~

He saw it resting on a bed of velvet while Tim stood in line a couple of booths over, getting them horchatas.

He decided to buy it when he noticed the blue stones in the eyes. "How much?"

"Two fifty. It's a one of a kind piece. I don't normally do pieces like this -- don't know what possessed me to give it a try."

Sam winced when he heard the price, a whole week's paycheck for him, but it was just ... he ran his finger over the elegant spiraling twist worked into the metal. "I'll take it," he replied, reaching for his wallet.

The booth's owner unpinned it and handed to him. It had a surprising heft. "It's surgical stainless with 18k gold on the wire inlay. So, it's not going to rust or anything. The eyes are iolites. Do you need help getting it on?"

Sam grinned. "It's not for me. It's a gift for him." He pointed at Tim.

"Boyfriend?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Yes." His voice was squeakier than he'd like.
A smile. "You make a nice couple. I hope he likes it."

~oo(0)oo~

Tim's eyes grew huge when Sam showed it to him in the bedroom after they got home. "What is it?"

"It's a torc. The Vikings and Celts wore them."

Tim turned it over in his hands a few times, brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"It goes on your neck."

Tim shot him a slightly miffed look. "I figured that. I'm just ... I don't know what to say. I .... Why?"

Sam reached over and ruffled Tim's hair, longer now, and darker, almost his color at the roots because of winter and long days indoors. "Because I thought you'd dig the panthers. Because ... it will look good on you. It fits you somehow."

"So, how do we get it on?"

"I'm not one hundred percent certain, but I think it goes like this," Sam took it and pulled gently.

Because of the high steel content, it took a little muscle, but they finally got it flexed into place, the snarling panthers facing each other just across the notch at the base of Tim's throat. He rolled his shoulders a few times, adjusting to the weight of it.

"It's kind of heavy, but I like it." His eyes flicked down and to the side before darting back up and meeting Sam's shyly through his long bangs. "It feels ... permanent."

Sam put his finger under Tim's chin, tilting his head up and kissed him tenderly. When they broke, he said, "Yeah, I like the idea that you can't just slip it on and off anytime you like." His voice turned smoky, "It looks good on you. I want to see you wearing it." He left "and nothing else" unspoken.

Tim's eyes blazed almost amber with sudden heat. "Yeah."

~oo(0)oo~

He looks like a statue come to life, Sam thought as Tim stepped out of his jeans and into a shaft of moonlight that happened to slip past the blinds. He even thought he saw a brief twinkle from the stones in the panthers' eyes.

With barely more than a word than "Let me," Tim stripped the clothes from Sam, worshiping each inch of revealed skin with his eyes, and then pressed him to lie back on the covers as he licked and kissed his way down to Sam's cock, which he sucked to an aching hardness before he rolled on a condom and rode him long and slow, Sam lying still (because Tim kept his hands pinned to the bed) and it seemed like he was floating ever upwards on waves of pleasure and he wondered what he had ever done to deserve this.

(You fell in love, stupid.)

When Tim got close, he released Sam's hands, and Sam grasped him, pumping in time to Tim's rocking, his other hand steady on that lean hip, grasping. Three hard downward jolts and Sam came, bucking up hard, eyes rolling back in his head, sending Tim over the edge, collapsing onto him, panting, both of them now slick with sweat and semen.

Utterly spent, Sam barely managed to pull out and get the condom off and into the wastebasket, before sleep pulled him under. His last thought was that he fully expected Ruby to show up and make some I-told-you-so remark about having "collared" Tim.

Instead, he woke the next morning to find Tim already gone to work and an envelope with his name on the nightstand.

It contained the results of some tests that Tim had been required to take in order to get his job doing crime scene cleanup.

Negative for Hepatitis A, B, C.

Negative for HIV.

Sam hit the internet and found a place to get himself tested.

~oo(0)oo~

Christmas came and went without much fanfare. It had never been a big holiday for Sam and Dean, and it held bitter memories for Tim. The days had settled into a rhythm by then. Work. Train. Eat. Sex. Sleep. (Research ways to get Dean out of his bargain.)

Sometime in March Sam had to admit that things had fallen into ... a sort of cozy domesticity. Certainly not the usual kind, but the closest to it that he'd ever get.

The most exciting thing that happened was a phone call from Bobby in February. Apparently Landry had figured out how a Seal of Solomon worked.

"I think it might be possible to construct something like that on the fly; Landry's made a pretty good case for it. So, you know when --" Bobby cleared his throat. "For, you know."

"Yeah, but how do you plan to test that theory?" Sam hated to sound like a killjoy, but he didn't want the agony of false hope.

Bobby had sighed, and Sam could all but see him scratching under his cap. "Yeah, there is that .... When the time comes near, you bring Dean up here. We can keep him safe."

"That's what I was thinking. Only, he's not going to go willingly."

Bobby snorted. "Then bring him kicking and screaming." Then. "I'll have Landry email you that explanation of his. You might find it useful."

"Thanks. I'm working on something, too."

(Something so scary I can't really admit it to myself.)

~oo(0)oo~

Things went downhill when April rolled around.

The clock was ticking, and Dean suggested that they go to Lake Havasu for spring break.

"We're not college students," Sam pointed out.

"So?" Dean shrugged. "It's not like they're checking student IDs at the beach or something."

And then Tim took Dean's side. "You need to live a little, Sam. Lately, you've been all work and no play."

That stung. "No play?" Sam said in a quiet voice. "Yeah, we can do that."

Tim looked at him and sighed heavily then turned to Dean and piffed air up through his too-long bangs.

Dean slung an arm around Tim and said, "Well, Tim and I are going to go. I've been meaning to spend a bit more time with him. Show him a few more things."

"Fine." Sam spat the word.

Tim shrugged and headed to the couch, sprawling on it before he turned on ESPN. He looked up at Sam.

Sam turned and went to the bedroom, closing the door.

~oo(0)oo~

"No play, remember?" Sam rolled on his side, away from Tim, when he came to bed and kissed him.

"What?"

"I'm a dull boy."

Tim let out a long breath. "You have got to be kidding," he said after a moment.

"Oh, I'm serious."

"But ..." and Sam could picture the hurt puppy look on Tim's face, "sex isn't play. It's ... sex."

He had a point, but Sam had vowed not to cave. "I'm a dull boy."

"Have it your way," Tim grumbled and turned over.

They still woke up snuggled together.

~oo(0)oo~

Sam knew that Tim had a stubborn streak, it was one of the ways he was like Dean. Only, he had no idea of the extent to which Tim could take things.

The cramped conditions on the road, plus the fact that they lived in an all guy household meant that casual nudity or near nudity was an everyday fact of life. Only, somewhere along the way, Tim had figured out the difference between showing and suggesting, and for the past few days, he had been in full on tease mode.

Take today for instance, as Tim ambled out to the kitchen table for breakfast clad in only the torc and a pair of blue sweatpants riding so low that by all rights they should be down around his ankles. Was Tim using double stick tape to keep them on? Try as he might, Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from those lean hips as he swallowed hard ... that drawstring dangling down, the line of cloth not more than barest millimeters above ....

Oh, fuck him.

(Yes, please!)

No, wait, un-fuck him.

Dean, of course, found the whole thing hilarious. And made sure he got digs in at every opportunity.

Inwardly Sam cursed the fact that it had been his idea to teach Tim poker as a way for him to learn how to not show his every emotion on his face. Because, it was working. All those barbs and innuendos, and Sam had no idea what Tim was thinking, other than a chortle at one of Dean's better zingers.

Sam muttered something about Tim sleeping on the couch.

Dean laughed.

Tim's eyes momentarily blazed like a tiger's before he visibly clamped down on his emotions. "I don't think so, Dean. The only way that's going to happen is if Sam puts me there himself, and if he tries that? Well, he's going to have an interesting time of it."

Sam's rage shifted into slow burn.

Tim finally looked at him, and, arching an eyebrow, continued, "Remember back when you asked me about places I wanted to see? I think Lake Havasu is one of them."

"It's a waste of our time and our money," Sam replied as calmly as he could.

"No more than sitting around here all week," Dean cut in. "'C'mon, Sammy, it's sunshine, and beer and girls -- well you two can at least look at the hotness -- and fun. You do remember what having fun, some real fun is?"

"Fuck you," Sam whispered as he stood up.

When Tim came to bed that night, the stubborn set of his jaw dared Sam to start something.

And for a crazy moment, Sam considered it. But Dean had been teaching Tim a lot during the past few months, and while Sam felt certain that in the end he could still take Tim, he had the sheer height and muscle mass, they would probably trash the house and bang themselves up pretty badly in the process.

With an angry huff, he turned away from Tim.

~oo(0)oo~

They both woke up in the middle of the night snuggled together, tangled in the soft, wash-faded sheets. Happy for just that split second. Then the look in Tim's eyes grew flinty.

"Am I not enough for you?" Sam whispered after several moments of soul searching. "Is wanting to go to Havasu about wanting some sort of open relationship?"

Tim blinked at him, startled. "What?! No. But ... it's not like we haven't had Dean along several times. Like every time after a big Hunt."

"That's different."

Tim sighed and flopped on his back. "Sam, you're the only person I've ever ... barebacked. Going to Havasu it isn't ... it isn't about that. But I thought that us not -- I thought it meant something." Pause. Then, in a small voice: "Do you want me to go with a girl? Do you want us to --"

"No!" Sam gasped.

"Then what?"

"Why do you want to do this? Why are you encouraging Dean?"

Tim shot him a look of pure incredulity. "Because Dean needs it! You think you're carrying a load? Try being Dean. Try really thinking about it, Sam. Do you know why we've been here so long? Because Dean's saving money for you. He knows you're going to be a wreck for awhile after --"

"He's not going to die!" Sam hissed.

"You don't know that," Tim said softly. "Yeah, we're going to try. We're going to try everything in the book, 'clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose' and all that, but it doesn't -- sometimes you don't win, Sam. You just don't." Tim gave a soft half-smile. "Not that I'm giving up on Dean or that I'm not going to help you every way I know how when that day comes."

Sam inched over and put an arm around Tim, pulling him close. "When did you take my side?"

"From day one. What did you think?"

Sam's mouth opened and closed several times, but he couldn't make the words come.

"He's your brother, and ..." Tim drew in a shuddery breath, and in a voice that quavered ever so slightly, continued, "I know how much you love him. What -- what he is to you."

Sam groaned and scrubbed a hand across his face. "That 'dull boy' remark hurt. It's not easy, you're right about that. Dean's always looked after me, looked out for me. It's always been me and him against the world. Even when we were fighting. But I've always been the responsible one, the good boy, and he's always been the rebel and most of the time? That's okay.

"But I don't like having it held against me, like it's a bad thing. Because this last year? Somebody's got to keep this thing on the rails. And --" Sam's throat tightened. "And I just can't --"

"You say he's the rebel and yet, you're the one who left the life your dad had all planned out for you and stood up to him. You're also the one with the boyfriend," Tim said as he smoothed Sam's hair back and kissed him tenderly on the forehead.

(And then clung tight and urged him on, whispering "It's okay," and "I know, I know," when Sam grabbed him and tried to fuck the pain away.)

~oo(0)oo~

The sun beat down upon a small valley ringed in by steep red-brown mountains. He stood on a playa that in the wet months probably held an inch or so of water, but right now was a shimmering white salt hell.

"Ruby," Sam said as he turned around. "Long time no see."

She was dressed in her typical All-American style, including a jean jacket with leather fringe that looked new and a pair of cowboy boots. Sam wondered if she wore what she wanted here, or what she happened to have on in the real world, because he wasn't bare-ass naked, and either his subconscious had created the jeans and T-shirt he wore, or she had dressed him. But he doubted that. The predatory gleam in her eye made him pretty sure that she'd love to see him in all his glory.

Ruby smiled at him, studied him for a moment, and said, "It's not like I can pull you here at will. You have to be ... in the right frame of mind."

"What, edgy and pissed?"

"Something like that. It gives me something to latch on to." She cocked her head and studied him again.

Sam shrugged. "And here I thought deep inner serenity was needed for astral projection."

Her laughter reminded him of wind chimes, thin and silvery. "This isn't the usual kind of astral projection." She smiled again, her teeth seeming somehow too white and sharp, and continued, "I see you've collared him."

"I was wondering when you'd show up and say something like that." He didn't bother trying to keep the smirk out of his voice or off his face.

Ruby paced a figure eight in the dry lake bed they stood on. The sun had baked the ground so hard that it almost sounded like walking on cement. "You two are so different -- it interests me. You make such a show of wearing your heart on your sleeve, and he keeps his light under a bushel. It's what draws you to him, you know. You crave that light, that warmth. Something to counter the dark, cold emptiness within." She laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned in. "Does he know how afraid you are of yourself?"

"I am not!" Sam shouted, infuriated by her too-sweet tone.

(Furious at the truth.)

"Not what?" Tim asked muzzily, from his face mashed into the pillow position.

"Nothing. Just a dream," Sam muttered.

Fuck. He didn't know what sort of game Ruby was playing but he'd had enough of it.

Time to level the playing field, he thought grimly. He had an idea of how he might do it, but the problem was, how to accomplish it without letting Dean and Tim in on it.

Tim rolled over and snuggled into him. But Sam did not relax as he idly stroked Tim's hair, and sleep did not come.

---

Part Nine