Graveyard Digger, Coffin Case Sinner

Three Miles From The Rest Stop

[tags: Sam as bait; implied/referenced underage; serial killer Dean; violence; minor character death; possessive/protective Dean; Sam is a tease] (Title from Matchbox Twenty's 'Rest Stop')

It was almost midnight, and 15-year-old Sam Winchester rubbed his hands over his bare arms to warm them. He crossed the rest area, to a picnic table near the vending machines, and perched himself on its surface. Shadowed, but still enough light to see the people moving from cars to restrooms. Enough light to allow them to see him. His hazel gaze flicked to a man wearing a ball cap, who was passing in front of him toward the snack machines. The man did a double-take upon seeing him but continued to the machines.

Sam didn't miss the way he glanced over at him, and he shifted on the table, stretching his bare legs along the bench. It was a little cool for only shorts and a t-shirt, but he really didn't mind so much. He watched a weary-looking couple pass by, heading for the restrooms, before his gaze flicked back to the man in the ball cap. The man was leaning against a concrete post, gaze on him. Sam stared at him for a moment, shot him a smile, and glanced away.

The teen started and looked over as he heard,

"You're not here alone, are you?"

Mr. Ball Cap had approached his table and was standing three feet from him, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.

"That's not something I tell to people I don't know," he replied with a smirk tracing his mouth. He stretched out a bit more, hands resting behind him on the table to support his weight. He didn't miss the way the man's eyes flicked to his bare legs, moved up the length of him slowly. When the stranger licked his lips, Sam knew he had him.

"Actually," he chewed his bottom lip for a moment, glancing at the stranger from beneath his lashes, "I kinda could use a ride."

"Where you headed?"

"Where you going?" he flashed a quick grin, dimples showing briefly, "I'm just, you know, traveling a little. Looking to meet up with my big brother when I get to Texas."

"I'll give you a ride," the man licked his lips again, moving closer, "My truck's in the parking lot over there." He stepped back as Sam shifted, sliding off the table and to the ground.

"What's your name?"

"Sam," Sam presented his hand with a cheeky grin. A smirk touched the older man's mouth as he accepted it, squeezing it lightly, and told him,

"Hi, Sam. I'm Mark."

They were crossing the parking area marked "Trucks Only" when Sam reached out and caught the sleeve of Mark's jacket. The man paused, glancing back at him, and the teen smiled up at him, deliberately licking his lips. He stepped closer and, raising a hand to press it against Mark's chest, murmured,

"Don't suppose you're offering more than just a ride in your truck?"

Mark stared down at him for a moment before shifting his gaze away. The man glanced around the parking lot and saw that they were alone; his attention turned back to the lithe teen in front of him.

"What do you have in mind, Sam?"

Sam leaned in closer, stretching to murmur near the man's ear,

"Kinda have a thing for truckers."

"Yeah?"

Mark's eyes roamed his body again, and the teen nodded yes. Sam nodded toward the back of the nearby building before turning and heading in that direction. A glance over his shoulder revealed that Mark was following him, eyes on his ass.

Sam had just stepped into the shadows surrounding the rear of the rest area's main building when he felt hands on his hips. Mark turned him and shoved him back against the brick wall, hands rough as he slid them over Sam's hips, to his ass. He pressed up against the teen, thrusting his groin against Sam's bony hip. The teen bit his lip as he glanced up at the older man, and the trucker cursed softly before saying,

"You want it bad, don'tcha? Little truck stop whore, ain'tcha?"

The trucker, Mark, stumbled back away from Sam suddenly. He tried to glance over his shoulder, eyes panicked, but a hand tangled in the back of his hair prevented it. A moment later there was a flash of silver – light reflecting from the closest street lamp – as a blade slid across the man's jugular. Mark's eyes widened and he reached a grasping hand toward Sam: a moment later he was lying on the ground.

Sam raised his eyes as someone stepped over the man whom was bleeding out on the ground with soft gurgling sounds. The newcomer knelt and wiped his blade clean on the back of Mark's shirt; when he stood again, he delivered a hard kick to the side of the downed man's head.

"My little truck stop whore," Dean Winchester growled at the trucker, delivering another hard kick.

Sam bit his lip as his older brother turned to look at him, eyes running over him to assess him. Upon seeing that he wasn't hurt, the older Winchester moved to press up against him, pinning him back against the brick wall that the trucker had pinned him against moments before. A soft moan escaped Sam's parted lips as Dean held him in place with his muscled body, leaned in to nip at his throat. He arched his own hips against his brother, fingers running over Dean's back.

"You did good, Sammy," the soft growl was traced with approval, and Sam smiled in return, pleased with the praise, "Love it when you lure them in like that, all innocent and naïve-like."

Sam whimpered softly as Dean's hand slid up his chest, to his throat, and his fingers tightened there. "Want you to fuck me, Dean," it was a plea, his back arching and pressing him into the older man as Dean's fingers tightened a bit more.

"Soon, baby boy," his brother promised, brushing his mouth against Sam's, "Soon."

Dean stepped away from Sam and shrugged off his denim jacket, which he draped over the younger Winchester's shoulders. He watched as Sam pulled it on before he knelt beside the now-lifeless man on the ground. He searched the man's jacket pockets and came up with a set of keys. He tossed those to the ground, disinterested. Next he found the man's wallet: he pulled the cash from it before shoving it back into the jacket pocket. He stopped, pocketing the cash, and turned back to Sam.

Sam watched, chewing on his bottom lip, as his brother froze for a moment, eyes locked with his. Dean's voice was a growl as the man strode to him and grabbed him,

"So fuckin pretty, Sammy."

His brother pressed their mouths together, claiming his with his tongue, and Sam opened for him willingly. He gasped softly as Dean's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard, and arched against his big brother again.

They parted once more, and Dean raised a hand to trail his knuckle down Sam's cheek. "Let's get out of here and find us a room." The older man nipped his bottom lip before stepping back to take his hand. He tugged the younger man after him as he turned toward the direction of the Impala, parked at the far end of the parking lot.

Sam stepped over the body on the ground without a backward glance.