Graveyard Digger, Coffin Case Sinner

Genius on the Hood, Psycho at the Wheel

["you had to covet what was mine, didn't you" – nin: ruiner]

"Did you know that thirteen is unlucky in western cultures, but a lot of other cultures find it to be the opposite?"

"Yeah?" Dean raised his eyes from his work to glance at his little brother.

"Mmhmm," Sam swung his legs back and forth from his perch on the Impala's hood, careful to not kick the car as he did, "Some cultures think it's a lucky number. To the Aztecs, it represented daytime and, I think, the sky. To the Greeks, the Goddesses. It's sacred."

"So this is a sacred moment, huh?" the elder brother teased the younger, eyes returning to his work. His green gaze shifted back to his brother, a soft smile quirking his mouth, as Sam said softly,

"Every moment with you is sacred, Dean."

Dean dropped his knife to the ground and stood to cross the space that separated them. He caught the fifteen-year-old in his arms – Sam leaned into him eagerly – and pressed his mouth to his little brother's, fingers tangling in Sam's hair. He kissed the teen – long, hard, possessive – until they both had to part finally, panting for breath.

"You're perfect, Sammy," Dean brushed his fingers down Sam's cheek as his eyes worshipped his little brother's face, lit by the moonlight and one hundred million stars, "So fuckin' perfect."

Sam shook his head, blush creeping up his cheeks. Dean could make him melt with his looks and his touches and his never-ending adoration.
"You're the perfect one," he countered as he leaned in to brush his mouth against Dean's. Dean shot him a grin and a wink and stole another kiss before crossing back to his work-in-progress.

Number thirteen, lying on the ground with a blood-stained gag in his mouth and ropes cutting into his bleeding wrists and ankles, they were so tight, had been an accident. Chance encounter. Serendipity, he had told Dean later.

He had been standing on the poorly lit side of a skating rink here in SmallTown Kentucky less than an hour ago, waiting on Dean to join him (because who went to skating rinks and didn't make out?). He was staring out at the street in front of the rink, watching the people moving about out front, when some asshole had come around the side of the building. The man, at least a dozen years old than his big brother, had approached and asked him for a smoke. Sam had informed him he didn't smoke and turned his attention back to the street; the next thing he knew, there was a hand over his mouth and an arm around his throat, and he was being dragged through the darkness behind the building. Stranger-Danger had expected an easy target: what he got instead was Dean Winchester.

The man had no more than reached the back of the building when he was jerked off the younger Winchester and slammed face-first into the brick. He had barely staggered two steps, blood pouring from his mouth and nose, when his head was slammed against the brick again. He went down with a dull thud.

Sam, shaking with adrenaline and fear, turned to face his brother. He could feel the other shaking with rage as Dean closed the short space between them and pulled him close. His brother ran searching hands over him, muttering beneath his breath and assuring himself that Sam wasn't harmed.

After a cursory glance for survellience cameras, Dean tossed his car keys to Sam and told him,

"Those tracks we crossed down the street? Drive to the crossing and turn up that gravel road beside it. Looks like it went all the way to the tunnel up there." His brother nodded toward a train tunnel, which he could see from where he was standing. "I'll meet you there."

He nodded and watched as his brother pulled his knife and cut his attacker's shirt down the front, then roughly jerked it off him. The elder Winchester rolled it up and, grabbing a handful of the downed asshole's hair, crammed it into his mouth. He pulled it around Sam's attacker's head and tied it in the back, in a tight knot. The man stirred, tried to pull away from Dean, but failed in his endeavor. Dean jerked off his own belt and, pulling the man's arms behind his back, looped the leather around them and jerked it tight.