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phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: The Demons Winchester, Part 3 (Prologue, Part One, Part Two)
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: John/Mary, Dean/OFC, John/OFC, John/Dean, Dean/Sam, Sam/OMC(s), Dean/OMC(s), John/Dean/Sam, Bobby, Caleb (Total story)
Word Count: ~20,000 (total story)
Summary: What if? What if John and Mary were possessed? What would Dean and Sam be? How evil would Demon Winchesters be? Several nights before their wedding, John and Mary are taken by a pair of demon lovers. The next few years are much the same as canon...until their demon master comes looking for them, and takes Mary, sending John and the boys on the run.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
johnsgillygirl who won me and paid an enormous sum of money for the privilege during the March special auction over at Sweet Charity. She wanted 20,000 words of Demon boys...(I'm looking for one or two high quality caps of the scenes in "Dream a Little Dream" when double!Dean had black eyes...or for someone who reads this to make me a pretty cover with demony boys!). As to warnings...there is violence and mayhem, there is violent sex, some of which is consensual, some of which really isn't: Non-Con, Dub-Con, Drug use, violence, bondage, knife play, blood play, incest of every configuration including Daddy!cest, character death (none of the Winchesters).
“Please.”
Her voice was tiny, soft. Sam rolled his head on his pillow to look at her.
She was framed between them, between Sam and his father, the child cradled to her breast. It was the first time he’d heard her speak in months.
His hand stroked over her arm, over the baby’s head, down to her belly. Her legs fell open instinctively, as much as they could with the bodies around her.
It was early morning. Dean’s birthday. She probably knew her life was over.
Sam’s hand slid down to the sloppy mess between her legs. They’d gone at her pretty hard the night before, both him and his father. His fingers moved inside her and she closed her eyes. They could hear Dean pounding at the walls while they fucked her.
He pulled his hand out of her. He had work to do, and if he was still laying around in bed when his father woke up, he’d get a whupping. Again. He rose up on one elbow and kissed her nose. “Not long now. It’ll be over soon.”
Her eyes closed, a single slow tear leaking from it.
Sam smiled and got up. It was time to start getting ready. He pulled on a pair of pants and headed downstairs.
The hunters and demons had gone to war in the last two weeks, a war waged across Lawrence. All the while the Winchesters laid low and got ready. While both sides searched for them and the planned location for the main event, Sam and his father had worked in secret.
There were, after all, rules. Dean was not allowed to touch any of the ritual implements before entering the ritual. Nor was he to have set foot on the soil where the ritual would take place. It had to be sanctified soil. Sacred. Blessed.
Sam unlocked the door to the basement. All over town, they searched and held vigils in churchyards and cemeteries. He flicked on the lights and headed down the stairs. At the bottom, he pushed through the heavy curtains that helped contain the noise. All the walls and ceiling were sound-proofed.
On the table in the center of the basement room was the trunk with all the gathered elements of the ritual. He’d come back to that. He moved past the table to the small door, pausing to light a lantern before moving into the dark space beyond.
They hadn’t had time to lay in proper stairs, just a dirt and rock ramp of sorts. He moved down it into the space they had created just for tonight. It was barely as tall as he was and no more than fifteen feet in diameter. The dirt that had once filled it now filling the bunker where Dean had kept the girl.
The floor of the cavern was filled with soil from under an old church that was being torn down a few miles away. The altar at the center was built from tombstones. The sacrificial altar that sat at the south end of the space was carved from a single oak tree.
Pity the sacrifice had to be a virgin. Sam swung the lantern around, holding it up to cast light on the cage in the corner of the room. The girl inside shrank back from the light, pulling her legs back. She was young, maybe sixteen. It was getting harder and harder to find virgins.
His father had brought her down the night before. Dean was going to pop a vein when he saw her. Dean’s type. Petite, pretty, brunette. Yet another of the trials. To get her onto the altar and bleed her without taking her first, and after three days of celibacy, that was going to be a challenge.
Sam moved to the other cage. This one was all Sam. They needed the virgin’s blood to appease the powers that would be raised. They needed the heart of a pure man for Dean to consume. Sam squatted down and banged on the cage until the priest inside it lifted his head. “How you doing, Father?” Sam asked, his voice filled with false sincerity.
“What are you?”
Sam had picked him because he was young and pretty and gifted. Had a touch of the sight. Not enough to see what Sam was, but enough to know he wasn’t human.
“Think of me as your escort….to hell.” Sam said with a smile, letting his eyes flood with black. “If you got praying to do before you die, now’s the time to get to it. Once the birthday boy gets down here, it’ll be too late.”
He left the priest staring after him, his mouth moving in silent prayer. His Latin was pretty, even if it stung a little. Sam had work to do.
***
He emerged into the kitchen a few hours later to find his father laying out the other things they’d need on the table.
“All set down there.” Sam moved to the sink to wash the dirt from his hands, hissing as the water hit blisters left from the sanctified ground.
“Good.” Sam watched as his father sorted through the materials and tools they would need to defend the house. It was going to get uncomfortable, but they’d been working at building up a tolerance to the pain. They would lay out a circle of iron shavings mixed with salt. That would keep out the lower level nuisance demons that would likely be the first wave.
Closer in to the house they would construct a circle of consecrated soil and inside that circle, Sam and John would patrol with guns loaded with salt, holy water, not to mention the Colt and a few other choice weapons that had been…modified. It was said the Colt could take down even a demon as strong as Azazel.
Sam wasn’t sure about that.
He checked the clock. It was almost eleven. “What about the girl?”
John grunted. “Took care of her. The baby’s asleep. Should sleep until it’s time.”
“Dean?”
John looked at the ceiling above him. “He’s been quiet. Best to let him be until we’re ready.”
Sam nodded. “Then let’s get ready.”
The skies were dark as they donned the protective gear that would keep them from burning as they laid out the protective circles. John worked the outer ring, pouring out shavings and salt from giant bags while Sam did the same with the inner one, hefting giant bags of dirt left over from preparing the ritual space.
It took longer than he expected and by the time it was over he was sweating and he could feel Dean’s eyes staring down at him from the window. Sam wiped at his forehead and looked up.
“Well?”
His father looked as hot and uncomfortable as he felt. “I’ll keep watch, you go get Dean ready.” Sam said, setting down his shovel in favor of the shotgun.
***
Dean paced the small room. It was almost time. He could feel it. Then again, he could feel…everything. He felt the girl die. He felt the baby asleep in the cradle in the room down the hall. The girl in the basement. The priest. His body craved contact…touch…and damn but he wanted to fuck something.
The demon’s blood was gone. The last of it burning inside him. The room around him was trashed, holes dotting the walls from banging out his frustration. Any minute now, his father would be at the door…would be stripping him, releasing him and taking him to the place where he would be transformed.
The skies outside the window were growing darker…a storm coming. And it wouldn’t be rain and thunder. It would be blood and demons and a battle unlike anything this town had ever seen.
When it was over, Dean Winchester would be a whole new man…or something. Something no one had seen in a thousand years.
He breathed out slowly, pulling back on the rampant lust for flesh and power. His father was just outside the door. Dean could taste him. He was fighting for control now too.
After three days Dean knew he stunk of lust and need, and his father was battling through it. They couldn’t fuck this up, or Dean would be getting a one way ticket to hell, and Azazel’s fury.
The door opened and his father stood in the open frame, his eyes dark, inky black, his fists clenched, his face a snarl.
Dean nodded and John moved into the room.
“We’re ready.” His voice was dark, his hands heavy as they moved to Dean’s shoulders. He didn’t even try to remove the shirt, just ripped and it fell apart in his hands. He yanked on the sweat pants and Dean stepped out of them, holding his hands behind his back to keep himself from grabbing John.
The leather cuffs lay on the bed and John moved to those next. Dean stood and waited. He had to let his father do it. He wasn’t allowed to touch them. He held out his wrists first. John fastened them on, then worked the ones for Dean’s upper arms. He did the ankles next, dropping to one knee.
John licked his lips as he raised the thigh cuffs, his eyes on Dean’s caged cock. Dean clenched his teeth. It was straining against the plastic, it wanted to be inside his father’s mouth…wanted the heat, the slip-slide of wet tongue and lips. John buckled the cuffs on and stood.
Dean dragged air into his lungs and stepped back, seeking something like control.
John’s hands fumbled in his pocket for the key that held the cock cage shut. Dean gasped as he was released, his cock springing to hardness and dribbling. His father chuckled. “Don’t have to ask you if you are.”
His hand closed on Dean’s neck, turned him to face the door and pushed. They stopped at the second bedroom. John went inside, emerging with the child. He put the baby in Dean’s arms. It didn’t cry or fuss, just lay quietly.
Dean’s breathing was ragged, harsh as they went down the stairs. They didn’t stop, didn’t pause. He could smell them stronger now as his father led him into the basement…could feel the wards Sam had already started…He dragged in air through his nose and stopped at the door to the ritual space.
“Your brother has it ready. We’ll be outside.” His hand let go of Dean’s neck. “Don’t have to tell you to get it right…won’t be me who punishes you if you don’t.”
“No, sir.” Dean responded, his hand on the door.
“Make me proud, Boy.” John stepped away then.
Dean opened the door and stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. A single lantern spilled a small yellow light at the bottom of the grade. Just enough light to get him started.
The dirt and gravel slid under his feet, but it was nothing compared to the way the sanctified dirt would feel. He stopped just shy of the circle, his eyes skimming over the set up.
Sam had down an outstanding job.
Dean inhaled deep…he smelled fear and desperation...the priest was reciting Latin in a string of words broken by sobs. Dean turned to look at him. He was crying and had pissed himself. He cocked his head and moved to the cage. He reached through the bars to pet the priest’s face. “Easy now, it’s almost over.”
In the center of the space a small cradle awaited the child. Dean prepared himself for the pain and took the first step. It stung, the holy ground beneath his feet, and he knew it would only get worse with prolonged contact. He moved to the cradle and nestled the baby into it.
Too bad the boy was destined for…well, Dean wasn’t entirely clear what would happen to the kid. He almost liked the idea of being a father. Of course, the kids that would come after this little ritual would be stronger and better, so it wasn’t really a loss.
He stood and gathered himself. It was time to begin. And for that, he needed both the priest and the girl in the circle. He went to the priest first. He opened the cage and reached in for him, pulling him out and up. The smell of him was nearly overpowering. The smell of goodness, sweet…and mixed with his fear and the soiled smell of his sweat and piss and Dean shuddered before forcing him into the circle.
“On your knees.” Dean pushed him down beside the altar. “You’re not going to try to run on me, are you?”
“Please,”
The priest was going to be trouble. Dean sighed. He pushed the priest onto his ass and reached for his legs. Snapping both ankles would keep him from running.
The man screamed in pain and Dean chuckled before heading for the girl. She cowered in the back of the cage. “Oh come on. It won’t be that bad.” He reached for her, growling in frustration when she slipped away. Finally, he got a hand in her hair and yanked.
She was crying and flailing as he dragged her out. If he thought the priest smelled good, the girl was delectable. He pulled her to him, smelling her hair and pressing his naked body against her.
“Too bad the rules say you have to be virginal…I’d love to get up inside you.”
She trembled. “Please. Don’t hurt me. Don’t…”
“Shhh…” He pressed a finger to her lips. “You won’t feel a thing.”
At least not after he slit her throat. “You’re a pretty thing. Do you know that?” Dean got her moving and up to the sacrificial altar. He lifted her up and gently laid her back. “See, nothing to it.” He caressed her face, wiping away tears with one hand while the other brought her arm up over her head. He secured it and went for the other one, all the while murmuring to her. Her breathing shuddered as he moved to her legs.
Now all he had to do was get her naked. He lifted the knife from the main altar. It was a wicked thing, with nine inches of blade. In the dark he misjudged and her scream when he nicked her skin made his cock twitch. The smell of blood added to the mix and he had to back away, squeezing his cock tight.
He breathed through it, then turned back to her. She was sobbing now. He backhanded her. “Shut up.”
He finished filleting her clothing and left her there. He had things to do before he could bleed her. He’d just have to deal with the smell of her. He moved to the altar then, setting aside the knife and picking up the box of matches. It was time to finish the warding process Sam started.
His feet were starting to really burn. And it was just the beginning. He move to the first of the black candles and began the chanting as he lit the match. Thirteen black candles. By the time he completed the circle his feet were smoking.
He ruffled the hair of the priest who seemed to have fallen into a stupor. The first step was complete. He breathed through the pain. It was nothing compared to what would come later. He turned to the sacrificial altar and its surrounding circle of seven white candles. Purity.
He grinned and moved with the matches to the girl. This chant was more complicated. It dedicated the altar and the girl and the blood he would shed to the dark forces that were the beginnings of all evil…a gift of purity perverted.
His hands shook as he lit the candles. His concentration wavered when she looked at him, her mouth moving, though no words came out. He could see her with his cock shoved in her mouth. He closed his eyes and worked harder.
As he finished the circle, the ground rumbled above him. He imagined that meant the war had begun above. He went quickly then to the infant and the candles around him. Three red candles…marking the child.
Dean licked his lips and started the new set of words, lighting the candles.
The stage was set. It was time to commence with the trials, prove his worthiness before calling forth the darkness.
***
***
“Watch your side Sam.” John called as he cocked the shotgun in his hand. So far nothing had come close to getting through, but they couldn’t let down their guard.
“He thinks he can dig under.” Sam said, a chuckle in his voice.
“I see him. Just make sure he can’t.”
Sam had a water cannon in his hands, loaded with holy water. He stepped out of the shadow of the house and started firing once he reached the edge of the inside circle. They couldn’t cross it easily, but Sam cozied right up to it and fired the gun, spraying the demon outside the outer ring.
It screamed and fell backwards, shaking the ground.
Sam laughed and stepped back.
John glanced up at the sky, judging the time from the sun’s position…or what he assumed was the sun’s position. If Dean was on schedule, he’d be getting ready to gut the priest.
Title: The Demons Winchester, Part 3 (Prologue, Part One, Part Two)
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: John/Mary, Dean/OFC, John/OFC, John/Dean, Dean/Sam, Sam/OMC(s), Dean/OMC(s), John/Dean/Sam, Bobby, Caleb (Total story)
Word Count: ~20,000 (total story)
Summary: What if? What if John and Mary were possessed? What would Dean and Sam be? How evil would Demon Winchesters be? Several nights before their wedding, John and Mary are taken by a pair of demon lovers. The next few years are much the same as canon...until their demon master comes looking for them, and takes Mary, sending John and the boys on the run.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for
johnsgillygirl who won me and paid an enormous sum of money for the privilege during the March special auction over at Sweet Charity. She wanted 20,000 words of Demon boys...(I'm looking for one or two high quality caps of the scenes in "Dream a Little Dream" when double!Dean had black eyes...or for someone who reads this to make me a pretty cover with demony boys!). As to warnings...there is violence and mayhem, there is violent sex, some of which is consensual, some of which really isn't: Non-Con, Dub-Con, Drug use, violence, bondage, knife play, blood play, incest of every configuration including Daddy!cest, character death (none of the Winchesters).“Please.”
Her voice was tiny, soft. Sam rolled his head on his pillow to look at her.
She was framed between them, between Sam and his father, the child cradled to her breast. It was the first time he’d heard her speak in months.
His hand stroked over her arm, over the baby’s head, down to her belly. Her legs fell open instinctively, as much as they could with the bodies around her.
It was early morning. Dean’s birthday. She probably knew her life was over.
Sam’s hand slid down to the sloppy mess between her legs. They’d gone at her pretty hard the night before, both him and his father. His fingers moved inside her and she closed her eyes. They could hear Dean pounding at the walls while they fucked her.
He pulled his hand out of her. He had work to do, and if he was still laying around in bed when his father woke up, he’d get a whupping. Again. He rose up on one elbow and kissed her nose. “Not long now. It’ll be over soon.”
Her eyes closed, a single slow tear leaking from it.
Sam smiled and got up. It was time to start getting ready. He pulled on a pair of pants and headed downstairs.
The hunters and demons had gone to war in the last two weeks, a war waged across Lawrence. All the while the Winchesters laid low and got ready. While both sides searched for them and the planned location for the main event, Sam and his father had worked in secret.
There were, after all, rules. Dean was not allowed to touch any of the ritual implements before entering the ritual. Nor was he to have set foot on the soil where the ritual would take place. It had to be sanctified soil. Sacred. Blessed.
Sam unlocked the door to the basement. All over town, they searched and held vigils in churchyards and cemeteries. He flicked on the lights and headed down the stairs. At the bottom, he pushed through the heavy curtains that helped contain the noise. All the walls and ceiling were sound-proofed.
On the table in the center of the basement room was the trunk with all the gathered elements of the ritual. He’d come back to that. He moved past the table to the small door, pausing to light a lantern before moving into the dark space beyond.
They hadn’t had time to lay in proper stairs, just a dirt and rock ramp of sorts. He moved down it into the space they had created just for tonight. It was barely as tall as he was and no more than fifteen feet in diameter. The dirt that had once filled it now filling the bunker where Dean had kept the girl.
The floor of the cavern was filled with soil from under an old church that was being torn down a few miles away. The altar at the center was built from tombstones. The sacrificial altar that sat at the south end of the space was carved from a single oak tree.
Pity the sacrifice had to be a virgin. Sam swung the lantern around, holding it up to cast light on the cage in the corner of the room. The girl inside shrank back from the light, pulling her legs back. She was young, maybe sixteen. It was getting harder and harder to find virgins.
His father had brought her down the night before. Dean was going to pop a vein when he saw her. Dean’s type. Petite, pretty, brunette. Yet another of the trials. To get her onto the altar and bleed her without taking her first, and after three days of celibacy, that was going to be a challenge.
Sam moved to the other cage. This one was all Sam. They needed the virgin’s blood to appease the powers that would be raised. They needed the heart of a pure man for Dean to consume. Sam squatted down and banged on the cage until the priest inside it lifted his head. “How you doing, Father?” Sam asked, his voice filled with false sincerity.
“What are you?”
Sam had picked him because he was young and pretty and gifted. Had a touch of the sight. Not enough to see what Sam was, but enough to know he wasn’t human.
“Think of me as your escort….to hell.” Sam said with a smile, letting his eyes flood with black. “If you got praying to do before you die, now’s the time to get to it. Once the birthday boy gets down here, it’ll be too late.”
He left the priest staring after him, his mouth moving in silent prayer. His Latin was pretty, even if it stung a little. Sam had work to do.
He emerged into the kitchen a few hours later to find his father laying out the other things they’d need on the table.
“All set down there.” Sam moved to the sink to wash the dirt from his hands, hissing as the water hit blisters left from the sanctified ground.
“Good.” Sam watched as his father sorted through the materials and tools they would need to defend the house. It was going to get uncomfortable, but they’d been working at building up a tolerance to the pain. They would lay out a circle of iron shavings mixed with salt. That would keep out the lower level nuisance demons that would likely be the first wave.
Closer in to the house they would construct a circle of consecrated soil and inside that circle, Sam and John would patrol with guns loaded with salt, holy water, not to mention the Colt and a few other choice weapons that had been…modified. It was said the Colt could take down even a demon as strong as Azazel.
Sam wasn’t sure about that.
He checked the clock. It was almost eleven. “What about the girl?”
John grunted. “Took care of her. The baby’s asleep. Should sleep until it’s time.”
“Dean?”
John looked at the ceiling above him. “He’s been quiet. Best to let him be until we’re ready.”
Sam nodded. “Then let’s get ready.”
The skies were dark as they donned the protective gear that would keep them from burning as they laid out the protective circles. John worked the outer ring, pouring out shavings and salt from giant bags while Sam did the same with the inner one, hefting giant bags of dirt left over from preparing the ritual space.
It took longer than he expected and by the time it was over he was sweating and he could feel Dean’s eyes staring down at him from the window. Sam wiped at his forehead and looked up.
“Well?”
His father looked as hot and uncomfortable as he felt. “I’ll keep watch, you go get Dean ready.” Sam said, setting down his shovel in favor of the shotgun.
Dean paced the small room. It was almost time. He could feel it. Then again, he could feel…everything. He felt the girl die. He felt the baby asleep in the cradle in the room down the hall. The girl in the basement. The priest. His body craved contact…touch…and damn but he wanted to fuck something.
The demon’s blood was gone. The last of it burning inside him. The room around him was trashed, holes dotting the walls from banging out his frustration. Any minute now, his father would be at the door…would be stripping him, releasing him and taking him to the place where he would be transformed.
The skies outside the window were growing darker…a storm coming. And it wouldn’t be rain and thunder. It would be blood and demons and a battle unlike anything this town had ever seen.
When it was over, Dean Winchester would be a whole new man…or something. Something no one had seen in a thousand years.
He breathed out slowly, pulling back on the rampant lust for flesh and power. His father was just outside the door. Dean could taste him. He was fighting for control now too.
After three days Dean knew he stunk of lust and need, and his father was battling through it. They couldn’t fuck this up, or Dean would be getting a one way ticket to hell, and Azazel’s fury.
The door opened and his father stood in the open frame, his eyes dark, inky black, his fists clenched, his face a snarl.
Dean nodded and John moved into the room.
“We’re ready.” His voice was dark, his hands heavy as they moved to Dean’s shoulders. He didn’t even try to remove the shirt, just ripped and it fell apart in his hands. He yanked on the sweat pants and Dean stepped out of them, holding his hands behind his back to keep himself from grabbing John.
The leather cuffs lay on the bed and John moved to those next. Dean stood and waited. He had to let his father do it. He wasn’t allowed to touch them. He held out his wrists first. John fastened them on, then worked the ones for Dean’s upper arms. He did the ankles next, dropping to one knee.
John licked his lips as he raised the thigh cuffs, his eyes on Dean’s caged cock. Dean clenched his teeth. It was straining against the plastic, it wanted to be inside his father’s mouth…wanted the heat, the slip-slide of wet tongue and lips. John buckled the cuffs on and stood.
Dean dragged air into his lungs and stepped back, seeking something like control.
John’s hands fumbled in his pocket for the key that held the cock cage shut. Dean gasped as he was released, his cock springing to hardness and dribbling. His father chuckled. “Don’t have to ask you if you are.”
His hand closed on Dean’s neck, turned him to face the door and pushed. They stopped at the second bedroom. John went inside, emerging with the child. He put the baby in Dean’s arms. It didn’t cry or fuss, just lay quietly.
Dean’s breathing was ragged, harsh as they went down the stairs. They didn’t stop, didn’t pause. He could smell them stronger now as his father led him into the basement…could feel the wards Sam had already started…He dragged in air through his nose and stopped at the door to the ritual space.
“Your brother has it ready. We’ll be outside.” His hand let go of Dean’s neck. “Don’t have to tell you to get it right…won’t be me who punishes you if you don’t.”
“No, sir.” Dean responded, his hand on the door.
“Make me proud, Boy.” John stepped away then.
Dean opened the door and stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. A single lantern spilled a small yellow light at the bottom of the grade. Just enough light to get him started.
The dirt and gravel slid under his feet, but it was nothing compared to the way the sanctified dirt would feel. He stopped just shy of the circle, his eyes skimming over the set up.
Sam had down an outstanding job.
Dean inhaled deep…he smelled fear and desperation...the priest was reciting Latin in a string of words broken by sobs. Dean turned to look at him. He was crying and had pissed himself. He cocked his head and moved to the cage. He reached through the bars to pet the priest’s face. “Easy now, it’s almost over.”
In the center of the space a small cradle awaited the child. Dean prepared himself for the pain and took the first step. It stung, the holy ground beneath his feet, and he knew it would only get worse with prolonged contact. He moved to the cradle and nestled the baby into it.
Too bad the boy was destined for…well, Dean wasn’t entirely clear what would happen to the kid. He almost liked the idea of being a father. Of course, the kids that would come after this little ritual would be stronger and better, so it wasn’t really a loss.
He stood and gathered himself. It was time to begin. And for that, he needed both the priest and the girl in the circle. He went to the priest first. He opened the cage and reached in for him, pulling him out and up. The smell of him was nearly overpowering. The smell of goodness, sweet…and mixed with his fear and the soiled smell of his sweat and piss and Dean shuddered before forcing him into the circle.
“On your knees.” Dean pushed him down beside the altar. “You’re not going to try to run on me, are you?”
“Please,”
The priest was going to be trouble. Dean sighed. He pushed the priest onto his ass and reached for his legs. Snapping both ankles would keep him from running.
The man screamed in pain and Dean chuckled before heading for the girl. She cowered in the back of the cage. “Oh come on. It won’t be that bad.” He reached for her, growling in frustration when she slipped away. Finally, he got a hand in her hair and yanked.
She was crying and flailing as he dragged her out. If he thought the priest smelled good, the girl was delectable. He pulled her to him, smelling her hair and pressing his naked body against her.
“Too bad the rules say you have to be virginal…I’d love to get up inside you.”
She trembled. “Please. Don’t hurt me. Don’t…”
“Shhh…” He pressed a finger to her lips. “You won’t feel a thing.”
At least not after he slit her throat. “You’re a pretty thing. Do you know that?” Dean got her moving and up to the sacrificial altar. He lifted her up and gently laid her back. “See, nothing to it.” He caressed her face, wiping away tears with one hand while the other brought her arm up over her head. He secured it and went for the other one, all the while murmuring to her. Her breathing shuddered as he moved to her legs.
Now all he had to do was get her naked. He lifted the knife from the main altar. It was a wicked thing, with nine inches of blade. In the dark he misjudged and her scream when he nicked her skin made his cock twitch. The smell of blood added to the mix and he had to back away, squeezing his cock tight.
He breathed through it, then turned back to her. She was sobbing now. He backhanded her. “Shut up.”
He finished filleting her clothing and left her there. He had things to do before he could bleed her. He’d just have to deal with the smell of her. He moved to the altar then, setting aside the knife and picking up the box of matches. It was time to finish the warding process Sam started.
His feet were starting to really burn. And it was just the beginning. He move to the first of the black candles and began the chanting as he lit the match. Thirteen black candles. By the time he completed the circle his feet were smoking.
He ruffled the hair of the priest who seemed to have fallen into a stupor. The first step was complete. He breathed through the pain. It was nothing compared to what would come later. He turned to the sacrificial altar and its surrounding circle of seven white candles. Purity.
He grinned and moved with the matches to the girl. This chant was more complicated. It dedicated the altar and the girl and the blood he would shed to the dark forces that were the beginnings of all evil…a gift of purity perverted.
His hands shook as he lit the candles. His concentration wavered when she looked at him, her mouth moving, though no words came out. He could see her with his cock shoved in her mouth. He closed his eyes and worked harder.
As he finished the circle, the ground rumbled above him. He imagined that meant the war had begun above. He went quickly then to the infant and the candles around him. Three red candles…marking the child.
Dean licked his lips and started the new set of words, lighting the candles.
The stage was set. It was time to commence with the trials, prove his worthiness before calling forth the darkness.
“Watch your side Sam.” John called as he cocked the shotgun in his hand. So far nothing had come close to getting through, but they couldn’t let down their guard.
“He thinks he can dig under.” Sam said, a chuckle in his voice.
“I see him. Just make sure he can’t.”
Sam had a water cannon in his hands, loaded with holy water. He stepped out of the shadow of the house and started firing once he reached the edge of the inside circle. They couldn’t cross it easily, but Sam cozied right up to it and fired the gun, spraying the demon outside the outer ring.
It screamed and fell backwards, shaking the ground.
Sam laughed and stepped back.
John glanced up at the sky, judging the time from the sun’s position…or what he assumed was the sun’s position. If Dean was on schedule, he’d be getting ready to gut the priest.
