My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding

I haven't posted in a while, here is a story I wrote awhile back while I was writing fanfiction.

Hope you like.

Rated: NC17
Disclaimer:  all rights to Supernatural belong to it's creators, I merely wander through their -verse.

My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding

"...Doors do not hold them, locks do not restrain them, through the doors they glide like snakes, through the hinge boxes they blow like wind."

--Thorkild Jacobsen, The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion, p.12

Part I

It wasn't much of a honeymoon suite, but it was the largest room the manager had available at The Heartbreak Motel. Yeah, it was cheesy, from the name to the Pepto and cherry tinted decor and the heartshaped bed with it's mirror on the ceiling. Even the dimmed lighting couldn't disguise the fact that the room looked like some disgarded porn set.

At the moment Marty Fitzgerald couldn't find a reason to give a damn.

He was twenty-one, a hornier than hell and married to the most beautiful woman on the planet.

Excited, he stripped out of the black suit jacket and tossed it on the chair next to the window, uncaring that it landed on the floor instead of it's intended destination. Humming the lyrics to the song that had blasted in his dark green GTO when he parked in front of their room he eagerly removed his clothes. They had listened to that song day, he called it their theme song. Marty yanked his grey tie free and began working on the buttons of his white dress shirt.

"I was crying when I met you, now I'm trying to forget you. Your love is sweet misery. I was trying just to get you, now I'm dying cause I let you. Do what you do, down on me."

It was like destiny the way they met. He was driving along with his buds in the Pimpmobile, as they liked to call it. It was Marti Gras time, and they had been on their way down to New Orleans to celebrate the end of a championship football season with a little drinking and debauchery in the Big Easy. He stopped for gas at a little dink station right off the highway and there she was. Leaning in the open door way with the sounds of some mechanic working under a hood and Aerosmith announcing her presence like some kind of sex goddess.

Blond hair, big blue eyes, a lushy body made for fucking and legs for days.

The guys had been pissed when he dropped them off at the airport but could they really blame him for not tapping this piece of ass when presented with the opportunity?

She kinda surprised him when she whispered in that husky voice that made him harder than hell, that she was a virgin. Stunned him clear down to the bone and he had joked about the yokels not appreciating true beauty when faced with it. That little blush that spread across her cheeks made him wonder if her entire body could blush like that.

Then she turned the tables on him, oh they looked, but they didn't want what she wanted. Marriage. Now call him stupid, but he was young, a few months from graduation and a job at his father's company had been waiting for him from the day he was born. So he agreed. A woman like her actually wanted to marry a jock like him? He wasn't that stupid.

He paused for a moment, looking at his reflection in the mirror, noting the confusion in his dark brown eyes, then shook his head with a wry smile. "Delilah Fitzpatrick," he sampled his wife's name aloud, grinning as he glanced back at the bed and imagined all the fun they were going to have, lighting those sheets on fire.

In a move his buds would have recognized him perform each time he suited up to step out on the playing field, he clapped his hands together in three sharp movements, then rubbed them quickly together. "My wife," he laughed and scrubbed fingers through his choppy brown hair. Held a hand over his mouth and gave three quick breaths.

"Minty fresh," he smirked, assured that he wouldn't offend his beauty then slapped a hand over his bare chest. "This is going to be so good," he closed his eyes, lifting both hands upward in gratitude.

Wearing only a pair of dark blue boxers he crossed over and leapt on top of the bed, making it shake from the impact. Marty licked his lips, then sucked in his gut, released it, sucked it back in and looked over at the clock. "Delilah baby, you okay in there?"

"Yes, sweetie," she answered back softly, "I'll be right out."

Normally he would have hated being called sweetie, you just couldn't fit sweetie on a six foot three, two hundred and ninety pound guy without making him sound like some kind of pussy whipped bitch. But if Delilah wanted to call him that, it was just fine. As long as she came out of the bathroom and climbed into bed so they could proceed to the honeymoon portion of the marriage program.

Just when he was starting to get annoyed, the door creaked open, the light immediatley going off as she stepped out.

"Aww, baby, you look like an angel." And she did, all that long flowing blond hair looked like a halo around her beautiful face. She had on a plain white gown, cotton from the looks of it, but it looked like something out of one of those medieval chick flicks one of his exes made him watch.

"Thank you Marty," she sighed, brushing a hand across her stomach, instantly drawing his attention to her silhouetted form beneath. "I want to be pretty for you."

"Baby, you have surpassed pretty and went straight into hotness," he held out a hand to her, "Don't be afraid, come here and let me see you up close."

"Okay," she glanced down at the floor shyly and began crossing to him, climbing into the bed when he insisted. "I don't want to disappoint you Marty."

"You could never do that," he swallowed thickly, hands itching to pull down that neckline and expose more of her creamy cleavage for his pleasure.

"Are you going to kiss me now?"

Marty nodded, "Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah, I want you to kiss me, I feel all warm and tingly inside."

"I can do better than tingles," he wiggled his brows confidently, and leaned up to press a kiss to her moist lips. The kiss was soft, and sweet and not nearly enough. He slid a thick hand into her hair, groaning at the silk against his skin.

When she opened her mouth to his tongue, it was like paradise had been opened for him.

"Yeah, baby, you're so hot," he whispered against her seeking lips. His hands already brushing aside the material and shoving it away from her body. His pores had opened, slicking his skin with sweat and Delilah was purring like a kitten under caresses of his mouth and hands.

"I want you to straddle me okay," he lay back on the bed, gripping her tiny waist, "I just want to see you."

"Is this what you want," she demurred, unconsiously arching against his raging erection, her slick heat shooting the blood from his head and making it swim. Her breasts bounced every time she jerked her hips, then she shook her hair back and if he had been deep inside her he would have come right then.

"Yeah, baby, just like that," he moaned. "Now this might hurt just for a second," he knew this was a shitty way break in a virgin but his greedy desire had eclisped that little whisper of consideration he had wanted to give her. He gripped his dick by the base and was shocked when she lifted enough and took him in.

If he had thought about it for a second he would have realized he hadn't pushed passed a barrier of any kind. No virgin was his sweet Delilah. He was just too caught up in the moment to give a damn. Sweet gripping heat. And then she began to ride him.

"Damn that feels good," he closed his eyes just missing the flicker of red in hers. Nor did he notice the nails that gripped his pecs extended slowly, into his skin, pricking deep and drawing trails of blood down onto his chest.

His loud moans of pleasure combined with hers to fill the room.





No one noticed when those moans turned into screams.













Flat River, Tennessee




Whoever said that life on the road was an adventure had never been stuck in a Chevy Impala with a stereo blasting AC/DC for more than tweleve hours and a brother who barely spoke more than three words at a time.

Their adventure had officially ended three months ago. Winchester Brothers 1 Demon 0. Ass kicked and tossed back into hell where it belonged. They should still be celebrating. The psychics like him who could be rescued were back home and probably settled into their normal lives. Deaths were avenged. The End.

Except nothing ever came without a price and damned if they hadn't paid a heavy one for their vengence. Dad. Ellen. Jo. Sam risked a sidelong glance at his brother who stared silently out the window concentrating on the road like it was the most important thing in the universe. As if Dean couldn't drive with his eyes shut and half way unconscious.

He'd almost lost his brother. That red welting scar wrapping the width of his neck, the arm resting in his lap encased in an ace bandage still and the stiff way Dean held himself upright in his seat proved that. No matter how stoic, broken ribs and a knife to the side didn't heal easily. But that's what Dean did. If it tried to reach too deep inside behind that exterior, he shored up the wall with sarcasm, a hunt or sex. It didn't matter which order, though he caught the edge of Dean's wit more often than not.

Hard to get too upset with a man who was willing to die so that you could live.

In the end, they were all they had left and though some small piece of that knowledge saddened him, Sam knew they would always have each other and it was more reassuring.

For a month afterwards, they did nothing. Too busy healing and hiding out from the Feds that were after them. Hiding out in Texas near the border had been ideal. The Hunter sanctuary deep in the middle of nothing provided all they needed. A room to crash, food, sex and alcohol to wash away the nightmares when they got too bad.

Then he had that damned vision. Almost six weeks of quiet and then his head had filled with some demon making snackies on the nightmares of little kids in a sleepy town just south of Seattle. He kept it to himself for almost four days before Dean cornered him and made him spit out what the hell was bothering him.

He took a long look at the bandages wrapped around Dean's torso, the one on his neck, the many brusies and cuts healing on his face and had desperately wanted to say nothing. Only he couldn't miss that gleam in Dean's eye. That would never change, no matter how dead that Demon was, Dean was and always would be a hunter.

So he told him everything and they packed up the Impala and were on the road by nightfall. Back into the life that could probably get them killed, or arrested and sent to prison and the order of that sure as hell didn't matter.

"You could head up to Canada," Dean had muttered in the car after they had put the Krueger wannabe down. Ears still ringing from the piercing shrieks of the little girl they saved, heart still pumping, his brother steered the car down the dark highway for once leaving them in silence.

"What?" Sam resisted the urge to squirm in his seat because his damned back was killing him. The dreameater had flicked him against the wall like he was an nothing more than an annoying insect. "What are you talking about?"

"You had a life before all this," Dean released a small telling breath. He hadn't come out of this last fight unscathed either. "You were in college, had a girl. You could go back to something like that." He lifted a shoulder, then gave him a quick look. "We're pretty much screwed here, but you could get into Canada, make a new life for yourself, leave all this behind."

"And what about you."

"This is my life Sammy. Can you see me trapped down in some nine to five gig? That is if the cops don't catch up to me and try me for murder. I am what Dad made me, a Hunter. I kill the things that have no business screwing around with people and I'll do it until something finally gets the best of me."

Sam stared at his brother, hearing the resolute tone in his voice, that calmness in his eyes and saw that Dean Winchester had accepted his life for what it was. "And so, I should just leave you to your fate and take off to find some happily ever after life of my own?"

"I'm just saying."

"Shut up," he spat at his brother. "Just shut up. If you haven't figured out by now that this is my life just as much as it's yours then you can just," he paused, looking for something to say.

"Kiss your ass?"

"Dean-"

"Go fuck yourself?"

"Dean!"

"We gotta get you to loosen up a bit Sammy," the corner of Dean's mouth lifted in a bit of a smirk, "Maybe get you laid. How long has it been since you even smelled pussy?"

"Every time you open your mouth."

The burst of laughter that followed, ripped free from Dean's throat and belly, undiluted, warm and rich was the best thing he'd heard in a very long time. Dean leaned back on the headrest, resting his arm over his stomach as the sound of his amusement mixed with an occasional moan of discomfort.

"Well," Dean sniffed after awhile, "Since I'm stuck with you, we should probably find a motel for the night, figure out what we're going to do next."

And that was the end of that.

Dean still occasionally had his moods, like now for instance, but that was just part of who his brother was. He took his role in life seriously no matter how sarcastic he could be about it. The number one rule their father had drilled into him never changed. Protect Sam at all costs. And despite the fact that he had some kickass psychic abilities Dean always jumped in front of him whenever they faced danger.

Tired of the silence, he glanced over at the dashboard, "You know it's almost six, if we stop for gas in the next town we can get some breakfast before we get back on the road."

That got him a grunt at least. They had just come through Kansas, finishing off a demon in a small farm town. It never ceased to amaze him how often those Children of the Corn stories were true. You get a bunch of bored ass people together who don’t know a pentagram from a salt circle and the next thing you know some low level demon raises its head with delusions of granduer ready to take over the world. He still smelled like roasted popcorn and skin despite the long shower. Disgusting combo.

Dean glanced out the window again and something flickered in his eyes, "We're almost to Nashville. If we push it, we won't have to stop."

"What's in Nashville?"

That earned him an affronted look, as if he had just pissed on the floor of Dean's beloved car. "Are you kidding me? Graceland?"

"Dean come on," he groaned, "Have you forgotten that our face is right up there on every police board in at least thirteen states? We'd be idiots to go take some dumb tour."

“Just a little trip to Graceland, Sammy. How can we pass through Nashville and not visit the King? Two hours, man. We’ll get some ribs, maybe one of those fugly ass velvet portraits before he went through that whole white jumpsuit phase, take a walk through the jungle room and be on the road by dark.”

Maybe it was the much too rare gleam of real humor in Dean’s face that made him relent but Sam found himself rolling his eyes and caving. “Fine. Two hours, that’s it. We're still stopping for breakfast, though. I'm not riding for four more hours listening to my stomach grind.” And figuring his brother owed him one, Sam pushed the eject button on the tape deck and tossed the offending music into the glove compartment.

"Hey!"

Ignoring his brother's protest, he switched on the radio and the twang of a woman's voice singing filled the car. "You've got to be shitting me. I am not listening to some whiny country song about," Dean paused, his eyes filling with horror, "The Dixie Chicks! You think I'm listneing to the Dixie Chicks!"

Feeling smug, Sam blinked several times tilting his head a bit before asking, "And just how do you know this is the Dixie Chicks?"

~xx~

The little diner wasn't much, a Mom and Pop style place straight out of the fifties complete with counter that stretched the span of the building a few smaller tables in the center and booths lining the wall. What ever the case the place wasn't too busy, but Dean couldn't tell if that was due to early hour or what.

Hell the town wasn't much. A few buildings that looked like they had seen better days, especially that gas station where he had filled his tank. A grocery store, a church toward the edge of the town whose bells had rung loud and just a bit spooky through the silence.

What rubbed him wrong were the people. They looked liked they were hiding something. He knew small towns had their secrets, like the preacher was sleeping with the town hooker, or Uncle Buck ran over his brother Pete with the tractor when he caught the man in bed screwing his wife then used him for fertilizer. Small towns had some of the deepest nastiest secrets and the faces on these people proved it.

Someone had come up with the idea of captializing on their proximity to Nashville and named the one motel in town The Heartbreak Motel, then Dean snorted, probably not. That might require original thinking.

So when he opened the door to Flat River Grill, Dean wasn't surprised at the number of heads that turned in their direction. Naturally affable, Sam, nodded in the direction of one of the waitresses and that earned him a small smile in return. He on the other hand was a suspicous bastard and scanned the room for a empty booth close to the exit.

Before everything, he cut that thought off, preferring not to dwell on that shit during daylight hours. It haunted him enough when the sun went down. Through his nightmares. Yet he couldn't help noticing that he would have flirted with the little waitress himself that finally approached their table to take their order.

Only he didn't think his reluctance had to do with his normal brooding. No, it was just something about this town that had all his instincts screaming at high alert.

"Hello, I'm Anne, can I take your order. Hey, you two are new here," the words were supposed to sound perky, as was that tilt of hip, the flutter of eyelashes. She passed them small rectangular menus. "I haven't seen you around." Only there was just something underneath, something empty in her eyes that had him staring for a moment.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," Sam hurriedly answered, always the boy scout. "Not at all, so um, what's good today?"

"We're still serving up breakfast," she answered giving him a wary glance before turning back to his brother, "But I'm sure Johnny can make up a sandwich or something just as easily if that's what you want. Do you need a minute to decide?"

"No, no. Breakfast is fine," Sam glanced down at his menu, "I'll have the short stack with bacon and the homefries."

"You want some coffee with that?"

"Yeah, and a glass of orange juice if you've got it."

"We have it," she scribbled it down, then looked back at him and Dean had the feeling she would have preferred not to take his order at all. Her eyes kept glancing down to the scar on his throat then nervously back to his face. "And what can I get you?"

"Same thing as my brother there, but add on a couple of eggs scrambled hard," he took a deep breath, ignoring the concerned look on his brother's face. Yeah, his appetite had increased lately. Losing twenty pounds the hard way could do that to a man. He had put most of the weight back on, hunting keeping it muscle and not fat but he still wasn't back to his normal frame.

He wouldn't feel right until then.

"I'll be right back with your order," she offered Sam a smile, ignored him and almost ran back behind the safety of the counter.

Dean scanned the resturant, catching the fleeting eye of a few patrons a second before it skipped nervously away. Small towns weren't always friendly and welcoming to strangers, especially ones with secrets and this one had all the makings of Creepyville. Shit, he should have taken the next exit.

"Stop glaring."

Dean looked across the rectangular table, "What?"

"Stop glaring at people. You look like you're going to shoot someone."

"Yeah, well," he leaned back in the chair, taking the weight off his torso. His ribs had healed but that gut wound still pulled if he moved the wrong way. It had been deep and nasty. Hell, it had almost killed him, all the blood that had spilled from his body but he had finished the job. Protected Sammy. Most days he barely noticed it but bouncing around a corn field hadn't helped any.

"You'd think we were here to run off with all of their women the way they keep staring at us."

"I wouldn't put that pass you," Sam muttered as he leaned back in his own seat.

"Just because that waitress didn't tell me she was married, it isn't my fault," he felt obligated to point out, for probably the thousandth time. Every time they stepped foot in a small town, Sam felt obligated to remind him of that mess.

"No, but it is your fault for shooting that guy in the foot," he pointed out.

"Did you see what he did to my car?" Hell that damage took almost a week to fix. Bastards angry about their cheating wives and tire irons were never a good combo. "Besides, I didn't shoot him in the foot. That bullet was miles away from his foot."

"It hit the ground right beside him."

"Then you know I wasn't aiming for it," he answered. They both knew that if he had been trying to shoot that guy's foot off, he wouldn't have missed.

"Just let me eat before you start the riot this time."

"I'm not the one Anne there was giving the eye." Dean smirked, enjoying the look of discomfort that flashed in his little brother's eyes, "That's all you Sammy."

Before he could protest, the door from the kitchen slammed open and a petite woman stalked out, face bright with fury. "I don't give a damn what you people think! I know what I saw, and what I heard and you're crazy if you expect me to hide your dirty secrets for you!"

Bingo.

An old man followed her out, dressed in a dark suit that screamed Preacher and the small Bible tucked under his arm confirmed the thought. Or was it that pious sneer on his weathered face? With him was an woman who looked like she was just tumbling over the edge of fifty and rolling quickly toward sixty. Brown hair shot through with streaks of grey was scrapped brutally back from a harsh face. Mouth so tight, looked like she sucked lemons for breakfast this morning. And that ugly ass suit? She didn't look like anyone's Grandma that much was certain.

The firebrand stalked down the aisle, snatching off the white apron around her waist and throwing it on the floor in her wake. Low riding jeans moved with her slender hips, and that bright blue henley cupped breasts that were just the right handful. Dean took a moment and drank her in. Now this was more his speed. Short dark brown hair, nice wiry body that looked ready for anything, and eyes that burned with passion. Well rage, but he wasn't complaining. Rage was better than that vacant expression in old Anne's eyes.

"Miranda, you must see reason," the Preacher man spoke softly but every eye in the diner was focused on them and no one uttered a sound.

"No I don't. I'm taking Gabriel and we're getting the hell out of here and nothing you do is going to change my mind."

"He's our grandson, Miranda," the woman pointed out. Grandson, this bat had kids? Hell, that bat had sex? A brief image of her doinig her wifely duty tried to flash through his head, but he quickly shook it off. The hell he wanted to ruin his appetite. Forever.

Miranda turned on them with such intensity, they stopped and jerked back as if she were going to strike them. "It wasn't enough that Darnell cheated on me," and though she sounded furious, Dean could hear the hurt beneath it. "But he did it in my bed, in my house! With that woman."

"Miranda," the Preacher reprimanded her sharply, his face brutal and cold. "That's enough."

"Gabriel almost saw," she went on heedless of the warning. "Gabriel almost saw and you think I'm going to let my son grow up here, so what, she can move on from father to son. You can just go to hell." She turned to storm away, then flicked a disgusted glance back over her shoulder, "But then, you've already sold your soul to one bitch, so I'm sure the devil wouldn't have you."

The bells over the door jangled wildly under the force of her slam and all eyes cut back to their tables as if trying to ignore the fact they had all been watching unabashedly. Dean watched the couple straighten their tattered dignity around them and leave.

"I hate small towns." When he glanced back at Sam, his brother had a fist to his forehead, his face a grimace of pain. Which could only mean one thing. "Oh, shit."

~xx~

The little room at the Heartbreak Motel was as unremarkable as too many of the other rooms they'd stayed in. Two full sized beds, plain dark brown blankets and curtains, a little ricketedy TV that sat on a stand that looked like the breeze when you walked pass would send it crashing to the floor. At least the bathroom was clean.

Dean closed the door, tossing his bag on the bed nearest the door and glared at his brother who sat on the edge of the other. He put up a brave front, even managed to choke down some food but Dean knew Sam was anxious. "So, what is it this time?"

Damned shining. Sure the premonitions allowed them to hunt the demons and help people, but all that psychic shit still made him nervous. Give him a gun, or an axe and he was good to go. Although it hadn't been a weapon that had finally put down the demon that killed their parents. No that had been all Sammy.

"Hell," Sam grunted, mumbling nonsense, "It just poured off her, wrapped around her," he broke off with a heavy groan of disgust. Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, probably trying to keep down the breakfast he had wanted. Dean grabbed the black duffel bag sitting on the floor next to Sam, found a bottle of water and passed it on. He waited until Sam drank several swallows trying to catch his breath.

"Thought you said you had a handle on these things?" Damned shining.

"It was her anger that trigered it and her fear," Sam finally looked up, control firmly regained. "All that blood, damn man, all that blood."

"So what is it?"

"I don't know," he shrugged with frustration, "I do know that whatever it is, is coming for her and it's pissed off."

"I knew I should have taken the next exit. Damned small towns, what is it about these people who keep embracing demons? Don't they have anything better to do, like cow tipping or something?"




Sam managed a small chuckle at his brother's anger, knew it was just his way. "So where do you want to start?"

"With little Miranda. You said she was in the vision, that the demon was after her specifically."

"No," he shook his head, that didn't quite sound right. "I said it was angry at her and was going to kill her, but it wasn't after her."

"And the difference being?"

Sam focused for a second, listening to that inner voice that whispered in his ear, "I think she was right, that it was going to go after her son, Gabriel. The demon's going to kill her to get her out of the way."

Dean nodded, "So I'll go scope out Miranda, you get on the computer and see what you can dig up about old Flat River, Tennessee and I'll meet you back here in an hour."

"No offense," he smiled at his brother, "But the way these people were looking at you, you could cameflouge yourself in a pile of hay. I'll go find Miranda and see if I can get her to talk. You do the research."

"But you're better at that kind of crap." Sam hid a grin, if Dean knew how dangerously close to whining that sounded.

"Then you'll have to get better. Besides, she doesn't need you flirting with her."

"I wasn't planning to flirt," Dean muttered.

"You weren't planning not to either. I don't know, there's something about this that's wrong somehow," Sam stood carefully and when his stomach didn't revolt, zipped up his jacket to leave, "I haven't figured out what it is yet but I know I don't like it."