[fic] Devil's Disciples || Sam/Dean, nc17 || Part 4

[hybridshade]

<--Part Three


"Give your hand to the pretty lady, Sam."

What pretty lady? All Sam could see was a faceless creature with black holes where its eyes and mouth should have been. Its fingers were bony and gnarled, like thin branches on an old tree, and they reached out for him, for his hands, and Sam realised his father was talking about this thing. Couldn't he see its terrible face?

"Don’t make me angry, boy. Do as I say and give her your hand."

Sam shook his head wildly and tried to step back, only to be stopped in his tracks by his father's hands on his shoulders.

"Don't be like that, John," the creature hissed, the black void of its mouth expanding and contracting in a gross simulation of lips, "It seems your boy can see my true face. It's only right that he would be scared."

The witch creature snatched his hands up anyway, its grip tight like a strangler vine. He was pulled in close and stared at with those two hollow eye sockets, its mouth curling into something resembling a smile.

"You've already been marked," it said, pointing to the birthmark on his left hand and the mild difference of colour between his two eyes, "But you are only half of a whole, little Sam. How can you ever hope to please your daddy when you'll only ever be a sliver of a good thing?"

Suddenly he was knocked from his feet and pushed to the ground, the witch's prickly hands grabbing onto his left wrist and the right side of his face. Sam struggled with every last scrap of energy he possessed, but after the beating he'd already been subjected to that day, there was no way he was escaping from the creature's considerable strength.

Strange, unnatural sounds started pouring from the thing's mouth, repeating over and over like a war cry. Everywhere the witch was in contact with him started to burn, growing hotter and hotter until his skin felt like it was on fire.

He screamed.

And the witch laughed.

"Don't fight me, child. Don't you see? I'm making you useful! You will bring about the ends of things – your very touch will drag life down into death, and you'll see your brothers perish every time you close your eyes! Cursed for the sake of all!"

"You, Witch! What d'you think you're doing!"

Sam felt the creature's body pull from atop him, a blurred vision of his father filtering through his untouched eye. His expression was furious and Sam tried to curl away but his body wouldn't cooperate.

"See how you like that, John Winchester!" The witch cackled, "That'll teach you to demand favours from those you've wronged!"

His father hollered in anger and leapt after the creature. Sam couldn't see either of them, but he could hear the harsh screeching of the witch and the shattering of glass and splintering of wood. He laid there in agony, while all he could do was listen to the destruction going on around him. Gradually the small hut he was in crumbled down piece by piece, until the roof came down from above.

+||+||+||+||+


It was two in the afternoon. Dean was awake – feeling fatigued like he always did during daylight hours, but still awake nonetheless.

He and Sam had chatted some more after their meal, and they had done a little training session to teach Dean to drop his fangs. He'd gotten the hang of it after a while and he'd asked about needing to feed. Sam had told him they'd get Samandriel to drop by the next night since he'd gone a little overboard with his own feeding, and nearly drunk the kid dry – not that it would kill him or anything, since his body didn't work that way, but he'd need a day to recover all the same.

When morning had come around again, they'd both retreated to Sam's bedroom without questioning the sleeping arrangements. Dean had no doubt there would be plenty of spare rooms in the place any of which he could've taken, but neither of them had said anything as they'd stripped down and gotten comfortable in Sam's bed, each keeping to their side of the mattress. The fact that Dean even considered he had a 'side' was ridiculous, but somehow it felt natural between them, like they didn't even need to discuss it – it just was.

He'd managed several hours of sleep before he'd woken, his bleary eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. Probably just too much going on, keeping his brain busy.

As the minutes ticked away, Dean noticed Sam start to toss and turn a little, restrained moans catching in his throat. Dean tried calling his name but Sam didn't respond, merely kept kicking and fidgeting more acutely as time wore on. By the time he started whimpering outright Dean was getting quite concerned, and he lifted himself up and took hold of Sam's shoulders, shaking him nervously.

Sam blinked awake suddenly, his lips parted as he gasped for breath. His hair was strewn about wildly giving Dean a good look at his eyes, both of which were spilling tears down his cheeks.

Not wanting to frighten him away, Dean took Sam's face in his hands, ever-so-gently wiping the tears away with his thumbs. Sam just laid there and let him do it, staring back at Dean with those fascinating hazel eyes, one just a little greener than the other. Not wanting to break the spell, Dean kept on stroking with his thumbs, the world around them narrowing down to nothing more than the bed and their two bodies, so close but not close enough.

The smallest stutter of Sam's breath was all it took to destroy the moment, Sam thrashing his head to the right to bury the side of his face in the pillow. Dean kept his hands where they were, though, determined to not let Sam shy away from him.

"I didn't want you to see that," he whispered.

"You think I wouldn't eventually?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "It's horrible. There's no reason to look."

"It's part of you, isn't it? I wanna know every part."

"Be careful what you wish for."

Dean sighed. "What were you dreaming about?"

"My father. And the witch who cursed me."

"You—" Dean wanted to say such a thing was ridiculous, but after all that he'd seen and experienced so far, how could he justify it? "A witch cursed you… And your father – he saved you?"

"No. He was the one who took me there to begin with. I was a failure to him. She was supposed to fix me. But like everyone else who'd ever met my father, she hated him right down to her bones, so she cursed me instead. It nearly killed me."

Dean hardly dared to ask. "What did she do?"

Sam's eyes flickered open and he turned his head just enough to look back at Dean. "My eye. And my left hand. She ruined them. Now I have dreams – sometimes I see memories really vividly, other times I see things that haven't happened yet, warnings and cryptic messages, things I'm meant to do… It's not always clear."

"And your hand?"

"All it does is destroy. One touch and any living thing will crumble into ash before my eyes. Flock included."

His brow rose with intrigue. "You've tested that theory then?"

"It was an accident…" Sam heaved a sigh. "But I killed my father with it."

"Oh, jeez." Dean's hands finally slipped down from Sam's face. "I'm sor—"

"I'm not," Sam cut in, "Not really. Call me heartless if you like, but he deserved to die for the shit he put everyone through – put me through. It's a kind of poetic justice, don't you think? That he'd die from a curse that was his fault in the first place?"

Dean gave a half-smile. It was the best he could do. He could relate in one respect, though – some of his foster carers could definitely have gone directly to Hell, do not pass Go, for all he cared.

"Karma's a bitch."

Sam's face finally relaxed into a grin.

"C'mon," Dean said, sitting back on his heels and tugging Sam upright. He took the right-hand glove and pulled it off, throwing down onto the floor somewhere, and then very carefully divested Sam of his left glove – one of the two iron walls between him and the world. Sam jumped a little when Dean leaned in close, but he took extra care not to touch it, just wanting to examine what the Wingman was trying so hard to hide away. The skin looked almost the same as that around his eye – thin and tight and covered in raised lines over the entirety of his fingers, palm, and up to his wrist.

Once he was satisfied he'd made his point, Dean handed Sam back his glove and watched him slide it on and press it down between his fingers. But he wasn't finished just yet. The glove he could deal with, but the hair? Dean placed his hands on either side of Sam's neck and slowly let his palms glide over the surface of his skin, sliding up over the jawline until they were just where he'd had them before. Sam's hair was in the way this time, but Dean could still feel the edge of the scarring under the tips of his fingers and Sam hadn't moved away.

Taking that as a sign, Dean moved in for the kiss. He pressed their lips together just lightly at first, going deeper when there was no sudden reaction. He didn't linger, however, pulling back after just a few seconds – he didn't want to jump into the deep end before he'd made sure Sam was on the same page.

"Is this too fast, d'you think? Y'better say so if it is."

"Dunno about you," Sam said, biting anxiously at his lips, "But I think I've been waiting for a connection like this for nearly fifty years."

Dean grinned. That's exactly what it was – a real and true connection. "Fuck, yes."

They came together simultaneously, mouths hungry and searching this time. Dean angled Sam's head and pushed in deeper, curling his tongue against Sam's lips and then slipping it inside. Sam groaned and responded in kind, delving into Dean's mouth and basking in the heat of it. His arms came up around Dean's shoulders to draw their bodies closer, and Dean shivered at the cool slide of leather over his skin. Nervous but determined, Dean finally dared to move his own hands, using them to push Sam's hair up and away from his face, baring the whole of it to the room. Dean pulled back just enough to look at the other man eye-to-eye, hoping his gaze alone might project his acceptance.

The message seemed to get through, since Sam was the next to initiate, dragging them back into a kiss even more desperate than before. They only withdrew when the need for air became too great to ignore, and their breaths mingled as they leant against one another for support.

"I always wished for this," Sam whispered.

Dean let his eyes ask the obligatory 'what?' on his behalf.

"I wished for someone to see all of me and not be afraid of it."

Leaning in close, Dean whispered back, "Be careful what you wish for."

"Jerk."




He's in the darkness again. Forever in the darkness.

But this time it's moving, like he's in the deep of the ocean and the water is swirling around him.

He's floating, drifting, and it's almost calming. Almost.

The darkness is turning, turning, turning, and its eyes are red, red, red.

No, they can't have me.

Sam reaches for his weapon, but it disintegrates in his hand. Where are his gloves?

He reaches out. They're coming for him. He wants to push them away.

Sam's hand goes in, carving through the water, and it burns. It burns his skin and he can feel it peeling in the heat.

But the darkness. It shivers and ebbs away. Fades into the depths.

He touches more of it, more of the darkness, and it fades away.

He keeps touching, touching, touching, until he sees the light.


+||+||+||+||+


Out on the prowl.

Finally Dean felt like he was back in his element again, out on the streets ready to take down the bad guys. Several days couped up at the Flock compound had made him antsy and he was jonesing for a good fight. Sure, he'd had to prove his body was under control and ready to go, and yes, it was probably still too soon, but thankfully Sam had realised how in need he was of seeing some familiar territory.

So there they were, back in the city, in Dean's backyard. There was no guarantee they'd run into any Hellions, and Dean was actually okay with that, it was more the promise of it that was providing the high. Apparently, in the days subsequent to the 'pest bomb' that Gabriel had set off, the other brothers that had been patrolling hadn't laid an eye on a single Hellion. Dean had heard Uriel expressing his dissatisfaction on the previous night from all the way down the hall. Which was probably another reason Sam had said he'd make sure they were the ones out there tonight – the other Wingman maintained that he had a strange feeling about taking Dean back into the world, but clearly he'd realised that where Dean was concerned, it was a contest he wouldn't win.

Every few minutes Sam would prod at him mentally and Dean would be expected to do the same. He was still getting used to the whole 'mental connection' business, and it was going to take some time. At first it had felt like a sudden headache at different points over the surface of his skull, but now it was more akin to being hit on the head with a rubber ball. Supposedly once he got used to it it would become as natural as breathing, but Dean wasn't quite so sure. There seemed to be some pretty high expectations on his shoulders, but being the new guy, he guessed he'd just have to wear it.

Several hours passed with no sign of any Hellions – which admittedly disappointed Dean, just a little – but the night wasn't to be without its excitement. Sam, having caught on to his dwindling good mood, challenged him to a sparring match in the middle of the street. As fun as their training efforts had been, different weapons, weights, padded mats and the like, it felt good to get himself smashed into a wall, and swipe Sam's feet out from under him.

They'd just been contemplating heading back to the mansion when there was a noise from somewhere nearby, prompting Sam and Dean to be on their toes, blades at the ready. When nothing more happened and they were nearly convinced it must have been a stray cat or something, yet another noise had them spinning on their heels, coming face to face with a tall, blonde man, two High Hellions flanking him from several yards behind. Dean knew instantly that he wasn't human, but he couldn't pick up on what exactly made him feel like an 'other'. Of course, the hauntingly pale eyes and blistering skin were somewhat of a giveaway.

"Ooh, lookie what we have here," the man purred playfully, though his eyes bespoke the sinister nature of his intentions, "I do believe it's the Winchester duo! You guys have no idea how long I've been waiting to meet you all grown up and in the flesh. And fine specimens you are too."

A stunned stillness passed over them, where Dean had to ponder what particular fragment of his words had tugged more at his uneasiness. He sensed Sam was busily rifling through his thoughts, and then an alarmed punch knocked him in the chest – Sam was panicking.

"Lucifer," Sam hissed.

"Oh, so you've heard of me? I'm flattered."

In a split second Sam had one of his blades in hand and ready to strike, but before he could even make a move to lash out, the blonde's hand was around his wrist, holding him back. Dean had to rope himself in hard to hold back from running straight at the guy, but something about the man's bearing spoke volumes to how much of a threat he really was.

"Careful with that thing, Sammy. You could take an eye out – and really, you've only got one to lose, don't you?"

Lucifer looked over at Dean, making sure he understood exactly how out of depth he was, and as quickly as he'd closed in on Sam, he was back to where he'd stood in the first place. Without hesitation Dean moved in close to Sam's back, dagger in hand. Surely they'd be able to do more damage if they moved together. Except Lucifer looked like he was about to crack up laughing, and in Dean's mind, that didn't bode well.

"Start talkin'," he demanded, thinking quickly.

"And say what, Dean-o?"

"I think you know," Dean spat, feeling Sam tensing up at his side, "You approached us for a reason. And you called us the Winchester duo for a reason, too. My surname happens to be Smith, but since you know who I am I'm guessing you already knew that."

Lucifer grinned. "Look who's a clever boy then? You know you really were much better at your job than you got credit for. You would've made a great detective, y'know?"

Dean held his anger in check. "As it happens, they did offer. I said no."

"Oh, now that's interesting. I don't suppose it had anything to do with your former partner, did it? Such a tragedy befell poor Benny. He was taken well before his time."

"And what would you know of it?" Dean growled.

"Tetchy," Lucifer teased, pacing here and there like he owned the place. "And no doubt I'd know a lot more than you could even imagine."

"Try me."

The blonde chuckled. "So eager. It's adorable."

"You gonna answer the question any time soon?" Sam piped in.

"But of course, Sammy. There's no way I could keep this tasty little morsel to myself any longer."

Lucifer did make them wait all the same. He paced in circles for several minutes, picking idly at his fingernails and smirking every now and then as Sam and Dean continued to stare him down with their eyes. Their blades were still gripped in their hands, but it was looking as if they wouldn't be getting a chance to use them any time soon.

"Do you know how you got to that orphanage, Dean?"

Dean froze, and didn't dare take a breath.

"It really is quite a sad story. But basically you were dumped there carelessly by someone who didn't even know your name, only that you were the first son of the most heartless bastard that ever lived. And you Sammy… you know all about that heartless bastard, don't you? He taught you how to pick up a knife, and then how to use said knife to slice open a man's body, and make them live just long enough for them to watch their own entrails fall out. A real charming guy, wouldn't you say?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Why should we believe you?"

"Why indeed, Sammy. But I think if you did a little digging, you'd find enough evidence to support my accusations."

Sam and Dean shared a look – taking their eyes from their target for the first time since he'd appeared. It wasn't hard for them to put the pieces together, consider the outcomes. Mothers hadn't been mentioned, but it seemed they shared a single 'heartless bastard' in common.

Lucifer stepped in closer, and both warriors automatically shifted into fighting stance.

“Do you know what your father did to me, Sammy?”

Dean watched as the blonde got far too close to his apparent brother for comfort. Lucifer was intentionally getting into their space, riling them up, though Dean couldn't precisely tell whether Lucifer was just playing, taunting them for kicks, or if he aimed to actually hurt them in the end. He was hard to read in that way, and it made Dean only that much more enraged by the whole situation.

Sam snorted at the question. “Probably no worse than what he did to me,” he mocked.

“Oh,” Lucifer chimed, his head crooking to the side in thought, “Well, yes, you’re probably right. Maybe you don’t remember, but I was there back then, at the camp. I saw it all go down. Granted I was usually locked in a bamboo cage and strung up twenty feet in the air. But one does get a pretty good view from above, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sam’s face darkened. That there was anyone still living who had witnessed his shame like that… was not something he could deal with. Especially not now.

"Aww, poor Sammy. I'm sorry you're still hung up on your daddy issues, kiddo."

Even from where he stood, Dean could hear Sam's teeth grinding together, but a brief touch of Dean's hand on his shoulder steadied his rage just enough.

"That's sweet," Lucifer purred, and somehow he moved in close enough that Dean felt the warm skim of his breath lightly over the back of his hand, where it was still pressed to the leather of Sam's jacket. Dean would have moved, but the blonde was gone again before he could react. "But, nice as it was talking to you both, I really gotta dash – things to do, chaos to plot, you know how it is."

Neither of them moved as Lucifer backed away and ambled down the alley, his hands in his pockets.

"Don't worry though, kids. I'll be seeing you again real soon, I just know it."

The two High Hellions who, up til now, hadn't moved an inch, suddenly advanced on them with hunger clouding their eyes. Sam and Dean immediately parted, each of them picking a beast to take on – one-on-one was fair game, right? Dean saw Sam lunge at the Hellion out the corner of his eye, putting the weapon in his hand to expert use. He was fluid but ruthless, slicing the creature's shoulder open on the first jab, and Dean just wanted to sit there and watch.

But he had other things to deal with – namely the Hellion standing just a couple of feet away. It was his first real fight as a newly minted Flock warrior, so he had to make it count. Dean still had the dagger in his hand, so he quickly whipped it up to chest height, twirling it threateningly where the High wouldn't be likely to miss it. He circled to the side, waiting for it to strike, and strike it did. It came straight for him as if it couldn't help itself, like the rope that had been holding it back had finally dropped away. Dean skirted to the side again and brought his hand down low, clipping it in the thigh. The thing grunted angrily and Dean quickly slipped his second blade from its sheath, swinging both arms in a complete circle and relieving the High of two and a half of its claws.

Flexing his arms, Dean breathed with contentment, enjoying the easy strength and speed of his new body where his previous incarnation had needed to struggle and push endlessly.

His confidence made him careless, though, and before he could blink Dean found himself with a ravenous Hellion breathing its foul stench down his neck.

"You've changed costumes, Wingman."

There was that voice again, like murky water spiralling down a drain. It had Dean freezing up in an instant, his eyes wide with fear. There was just no way…

He could feel the creature's arms rising up behind him, ready to slice him up into little pieces, but somewhere in the split second before contact was made, something inside him took over and time seemed to come to a standstill. His eyes dropped shut so he was looking only at the blackness behind his eyelids. Except it was more than that. It was like he could see and feel the creature and its lifeblood all at once.

Dean didn't even have to try. He just opened his mouth and the shadow from within the Hellion ripped smoothly from its outer body, pooling up in the air for a moment before tumbling like an avalanche straight into his throat. It stung. And tasted foul. And felt like he'd swallowed a rock. Just gross.

"Dean?"

He opened his eyes to Sam looking back at him, gaze filled with worry. There was a splatter of black over the left side of his clothing, but other than that he was completely fine.

"Dean, what happened? Start talking or I'll never let you out to patrol ever again."

"You wouldn't," he teased, "At least, I'd wear you down eventually."

Sam pursed his lips.

Dean relented.

"Yeah, okay, so these guys really like to have a fuckin' chat, right? And it spooked me and caught me while I wasn't lookin' and then just bam. Same as last time. Something just, like, took over and sucked it in like spaghetti."

"So…" Sam thought about it for a moment, "So, you can't control it?"

"Hell if I know. I haven't tried to control it. What do you think it is, anyway?"

"No idea, man. I dunno what-… Dean? You feelin' okay? You look a bit…"

Dean was about to say yes when it occurred to him to think about it. His stomach was kind of off, and, well… his hands were a weird colour. "Ugh, maybe not so much. Feel like I'm gonna—"

He launched himself to the side and said hi to the steak he'd eaten earlier. He coughed and spluttered for a few minutes, Sam patting his back sympathetically, until he finally wiped his mouth and straightened up.

"Feelin' heaps better now, actually."


+||+||+||+||+


"Do you believe him? What he said about us?"

Sam looked up from the blade his was polishing, staring at Dean from his chair across the room. They'd both showered – and Dean had all but scrubbed his mouth with mouthwash – and they were in sweats again, gearing up to go to bed. Neither of them had said anything on the way home besides Sam asking if Dean was okay every five minutes. And maybe Dean wasn't usually the type for deep and meaningfuls, but what Lucifer had said to them earlier had really gotten under his skin. Besides, he needed to know where Sam stood on the issue. If things between them were gonna go to shit already, he needed time to deal with that.

"I don't know for sure," Sam admitted, finally putting his weapons away, "But he's got no reason to lie. And anyway, I've been thinking about things. Things I heard my father say, and things I heard about my father, and it seems to all make sense."

"I see."

Sam stood from his seat and pointedly made his way over to Dean where he was sitting on the bed. "I'm not sure that you do. Everyone's been making a big deal about how we're both similar in age, right?"

"Right."

"And supposedly something happened a few years before I came along that turned my father from generally callous, arrogant warrior into 'I'll rape your wife and eat your young' heartless-type warrior."

Dean blinked. "And supposedly that's something to do with me."

"I think so, yeah," Sam nodded.

"So maybe it really is like Lucy said. Someone stole me away and your - our - father went nuts."

"And then a few years later he got me as a replacement but it didn't make him feel any better."

Dean watched the emotions play over Sam's face. Obviously it was a sore spot for him – or maybe 'gaping wound' was more accurate – but it only made Dean want to try harder to make him feel better. Sure, Dean had his questions, just as any not-so-orphaned child would, but it wasn't as if Sam was the only one who had met him. Castiel had seemed pretty chatty, if a little rigid, so he'd have to ask him sometime.

"So then, we're…"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, flopping down beside him on the mattress.

Dean took the opportunity to push him down on his back and lie down beside him. He shuffled close enough that each time Sam exhaled it would puff over the side of his face.

"I don't feel any less strongly about you, if that's what you're worried about."

Something flashed in his brother's eyes.

"You mean it?"

Figuring his actions would speak louder than words, Dean ducked his head just slightly and brushed his lips just lightly over Sam's. He felt Sam gasp, the rush of air skimming over his mouth, and he licked at him, coaxing his mouth open and into the kiss.

Perhaps their newfound connection would blow a few people's minds, but if there was something Dean was determined it would not do, it was to break them apart before they'd even gotten started.


+||+||+||+||+


Dean stood back from the lesser Hellion he'd just plunged with a knife. He'd been feeling strangely woozy ever since he'd sucked up that High two nights before, but he'd insisted they go out again anyway. Now that he had a theory or two to test, he was determined to find out exactly what he could and couldn't do when it came to the (not-so) simple art of creature consumption.

The night's findings so far included 'yes, he could do it intentionally' and 'no it didn't work if they were already dead'. Dean nodded in satisfaction. Finally he was getting somewhere.

"And here we all are again."

Sam and Dean whirled around in sync, finding themselves faced yet again with Lucifer. His skin was as horrible and blistered as ever, and this time he'd brought not just two High Hellions with him, but a whole dozen.

"What a coincidence," Dean groused, "I could almost think you had it in for us or something."

"Ah, and there's those adorable detective skills of yours. Like I said, Dean-o, you really were robbed by staying as just a beat cop."

The former warrior sauntered toward them, licking his lips.

"Y'know, I've been watching you, and I've seen your little tricks. So I brought a few of my children along, and I hoped you might give me a demonstration."

The beasts ignored Sam completely, and bombarded Dean all at once. He lashed out with his blades, but in the end he simply had no choice. This time he willed his body to take over, his eyes closing and his arms going slack. Black smoke was teeming into his mouth until it suddenly wasn't. Then there was a subsequent cluster of thumps as the empty bodies fell to the concrete like dominoes.

And then there was one last thump. Dean realised a moment later that it was him.


+||+||+||+||+


It's all grey. All he saw was grey. It wouldn't clear no matter how many times he tried to blink it away.

Dean groaned and tried to move, but the motion just made his head spin and he suddenly felt the increasing need to upchuck. He needed to get up, made an attempt to, and something pushed him back down again, a warm hand draping itself over his forehead. It's blissful.

"It's me Dean."

The words glided over the side of his face. Smooth like silk.

"Don't try to move okay? I don't know what you're feeling right now, but you look like you're in a lot of pain."

He didn't know how he felt. It was just numb. Numb and cold.

"You sucked in all twelve of those Hellions, man. Can't fucking believe you did that. And now I don't know what to do. You're pale as a sheet. And your eyes are all weird. I just… don't know what to do."

Dean could feel his body shivering with cold, and he sensed the dip of the mattress as Sam climbed in next to him. Long limbs wrapped around him and anchored him to the living.

Time passed in a haze.

He woke after an unknown amount of time and blinked his eyes open. He could just make out the vague shapes around him, but it was still as if there was a veil of cloud over everything. Standing on a hill in the early morning mist.

Dean turned to his side, reached out, and found Sam gone. That one realisation was like a stab to the heart, and despite the roiling nausea he forced himself upright. He had to find Sam. Needed to.

There was the sound of running water and Dean immediately knew what was up. He shuffled his way toward the bathroom, feet skidding over the threadbare rungs lining the floor, to find the door ajar. His knees were getting weak, they didn't want to hold him up any more, but he was nearly there.

"Nh… Sam? You there?"

Something clattered on the ground, and there came a gasp from nearby. The bathroom walls were all white and it was like a light was being shone straight in his eyes, blinding him.

Suddenly Dean's legs gave out and he was falling, but strong hands were there to catch him. Bare hands. A hand. That felt rough and tight with scars.

"Fuck, fuck, no, Dean. Don't, please, don't leave—"

But Dean wasn't going anywhere.

He was half kneeling on the tiles, half propped against a familiar hard-muscled stomach. His eyes were clear. And his hands were sure.

And he intertwined his fingers with Sam's left hand. It was shaking.

"Sh-shit, Dean, I thought I'd-... b-but you-"

"Right here, Sammy," he said, wincing at the rasp of his voice. Just how long had he been asleep exactly?

"Three days," Sam sighed, a long moment passing before he realised what he'd done. "What-?"

Dean shut him up with a kiss, a long hard kiss that he never wanted to end. The longer he stayed in contact with Sam's cursed hand, the better he felt, they endless grey soon falling away completely. The veil slipping away from his eyes.

Pushing to his feet, Dean dragged Sam along with him, pulling them both into the shower which was still running. He grunted when Sam suddenly pushed him into the wall, the soap dish digging into his back, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

"Fuck, Sam, keep-"

"Is this even real?" Sam cut in, "Tell me it is. Tell me this hand is actually good for something worthwhile."

Looping an arm around his brother's waist, Dean pulled their bodies flush together, Sam's back shielding him from the water showering down from above. Dean made a point of swivelling his hips back and forth, grinning when he felt the answering twitch of Sam's cock between their bodies. They hadn't tried this in the shower as yet.

"Pretty sure I can find a good use for your hand, Sammy," he teased, and he lifted his chin and coaxed Sam down with his tongue, nipping at his lip playfully. A thought suddenly occurred to him and he focussed for a moment to will his fangs to drop into place, before going back to Sam's lip and biting just hard enough to taste blood.

Sam started at the sting, and he gasped when he realised what Dean was trying to do, bringing his hands up to hold him at bay.

"That's... We're not supposed to do that."

Dean pouted. "Why not?"

"I don't know why. It just is. It's been a rule for as long as I know of, at least."

"Ever heard the saying that rules are made to be broken?"

"'Course," Sam smirked, "I'm guessing that one was pretty much custom made for you, right?"

"You don't know the half of it, bitch."

Dean gasped when Sam leaned down to his neck, something sharp, like the point of a needle, tickling the surface of his skin.

"Show me?"

It was music to a guy's ears. And Dean had every intention of utilising it to the fullest.

Firstly he dropped his right hand down to waist level, encircling both their cocks and stroking them together, his knuckles brushing against the dark hair peppering Sam's lower abdomen. It was hard to make himself focus on anything but that for several long minutes, but eventually he returned to the task at hand, his free hand slipping over the planes of Sam's chest until he reached his neck.

Hesitant, but determined, he let the points of his teeth sink into the flesh of his brother's shoulder, Sam jerking against him when he finally pierced deep into the flesh. The taste of blood filled his mouth and Dean's whole body throbbed with hunger for it, his dick pulsing in his hand.

Clearly getting impatient, Sam whacked his wrist out of the way and took over, his larger wrapping around them more fully. He didn't stop there though, sliding his left hand down between Dean's butt cheeks, rubbing gently against the furled ring of flesh. Dean couldn't hold back a gasp at the intimate contact, his fangs dislodging from Sam's neck. It had been forever since he'd let someone touch him there, but the fact that it was Sam, the fact that he was using that hand, the scarred ridges catching on his rim, there were no words for how sated he felt in that moment. And he hadn't even come yet.

"...Sam?"

Fingers prodded at his hole, just the one fingertip slipping inside, swirling around gently.

"Fair's fair," he teased, pushing the finger in deeper.

Dean's back arched as Sam found that place inside him, rubbing relentlessly until he couldn't hold back a cry of pleasure. His body tensed and Dean's orgasm rushed over him like a wave, catching him completely unaware.

When he finally came back to himself he found Sam holding his hand out to let the evidence of their release spiral down the drain. He looked up into both Sam's eyes, his hair slicked back by the water, to find a haze of contentment lingering there.

"You did?"

"The way you looked... And feeling you clench around my finger? Gone, man. Just gone

Dean smirked, leaning over to turn the water off.

"I ain't even finished with you yet."




+||+||+||+||+


Dean wakes to intense heat.

There’s smoke billowing from somewhere behind him, but for some reason he can’t make himself turn around. It’s like there’s someone standing there with their hands around his neck, forcing him to bend to their will. He’s pushed forward and has no choice but to comply, turning left and right as he’s bid, until he’s faced with what looks like the entrance hall to the Flock house.

It’s the same wood panelling on the walls, the same metalwork on the bannisters, but there’s still something about it that doesn’t look right.

It's probably the ocean of liquid black, far as he can see, tumbling over the floor like waves.

Looking to his right he sees Sam, just standing there. Sam's watching something intently, and as Dean turns back around, he sees that it's himself. There's another Dean, sitting in a cage, dangling from the room of the hall. Smoke and flames are coursing around him, but Dean Two doesn't seem affected by it.

Sam waves to him and leaves in a hurry, flying down the stairs and racing through the rolling liquid as if it weren't even there.

Dean tries to follow him, but the moment he steps into the waves, the blackness drags him down. Swallows him whole.


+||+||+||+||+


Sam didn't even have his pants done up before he was already sprinting down the hall. Castiel's room was his first port of call. He didn't bother to knock, he simply let himself in and started shaking his older brother awake.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, Cas you gotta wake up, man."

The Wingman eventually cracked open an eyelid, his body reflexively sitting upright once he identified his intruder and nearly knocking Sam in the face.

"What in the Superior's name? Sam, you know its… five-oh-five? There'd better be a suitable explanation for your waking me before dusk."

"You think I'd get you up like this without a reason?"

Castiel pondered the question a moment. "No, I suppose not. I'm hoping this means you might inform me of said reason."

"I had a vision," Sam confessed, biting his lip as he waited for Castiel's reaction, "A small army of Hellions is heading this way. Right now."

The Wingman's shoulders dropped in a hunch. "Sam, you realise how absurd that sounds?"

"I promise you, it's real. I don't know why none of the Flock believe me even when my visions have come true before, but I can't just shake it off this time. They're coming through the sewers. They'll come out into the open from the man-hole at the end of the laneway and their going to bombard the compound from all sides." Sam implored his brother to see that what he was saying was truth. Of all the times he'd recounted his visions to his brothers, Castiel was the only one who had ever listened to him with genuine concern.

"I… I'm not sure what to say, in that case. Do you know what we are to do?"

"There's nowhere to run. We have to fight them. Lucifer said as much."

Castiel's eyes popped. "Lucifer! Sam, that's… The First Made has been gone for centuries."

"Everyone always said that my dad killed him, but anyone with sense would know that's not true – Lucifer would never have gone down so easy, we woulda known about it if he had. Cas, do you remember the baby that disappeared?"

"Of course."

"Lucifer was the one that stole that baby away in the middle of the night. He didn't kill it. He took it to a human orphanage. He left it—"

"Sam, stop." Castiel shook his head and sighed. "That baby was Dean, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. And now Lucifer wants to end it all."

"Okay, I believe you. But what about Dean? I'm assuming he won't be able to fight."

"I've locked him in my basement. He'll be safest there. I can't risk him getting hurt."

Castiel looked like he was about to protest, but then thought better of it. "I'll make sure everyone is up and ready. But even if we fight these Hellions, what of the First Made?"

"Leave that to me," Sam said, his expression set with determination, "I'm on my way to the Summoning Room now."

"You know," Cas grinned, "You might just be even more crazy than your father."

No further words needed to be said, so Sam rose to his feet and nodded his farewell to his older brother. He could trust Castiel to do what needed to be done, so thought no more of it as he marched his way across the compound to the Summoning Room. At first, all was dark and quiet as per usual, but as Sam made his way further inside he was stunned to find the Superior already present. Even more startling was that he was in his human form, once again in a flannel shirt and old jeans, and he was kneeling on the floor on a cushion, head bowed and hands resting on his lap.

"Superior? I wasn't expecting to—"

"Just call me Chuck," he interrupted, raising his head, though not far enough to meet Sam's eyes, "I'm not feeling particularly superior right now."

Sam frowned. "Why? What are you doing? …It kinda looks like you're meditating."

"You know some people use meditation as a form of prayer?"

"You're praying?"

"No." Chuck looked back down at his hands. "Maybe I'm reflecting, though. Looking back upon my mistakes to see what I could have done differently… I've made so many mistakes, Sam. We wouldn't be in such a dire situation if it weren't for me. None of you would've had to endure such hardships. There's really no way for me to apologise enough."

"I'm not sure how to respond to that."

Chuck sighed. "Sit down. I have some confessions to make."

"I doubt that confessing to me will absolve you of anything," Sam said, even as he took a seat on the floor sitting opposite the Superior.

"Maybe not, but you still need to know these things if you're to make sense of this whole mess."

"Time for a history lesson?"

"Yeah. Gotta start at the beginning, like they say." Chuck wiped his hands down the side of his jeans and rolled his shoulders back. "So, a really long time ago I was charged to watch over a people. Things went well for the most part – they'd make regular offerings to me and I'd make sure they were moderately healthy and their crops were sufficient. But as the world's population grew, different communities would cross paths and sometimes there'd be disagreements, sometimes the locals would freak out a little if they came across people who looked bit different. Mostly it was manageable.

"There came a point where a group of ferals tried to encroach on my people's land. They were nomads, hunters who'd grown up wild in the forest somewhere. They were vicious in their search for food, and over time had taken a liking to the taste of human blood. It was the first time my charge had been threatened and my people were being killed – I had to do something. I asked for volunteers – five men, five women – and I changed them. I granted them what I thought were gifts. But those so-called gifts poisoned their minds and they became even more wild and vicious than those ferals it had been their purpose to kill."

"Hellions?" Sam chanced. He got the feeling that no one had ever heard this version of the story before, and Sam was eager to know every detail.

Chuck nodded sadly. "That's eventually what they became, yes. It was a mistake to have changed both men and women. At first I'd thought it was only fair, but in the end all I accomplished was that my creations-gone-awry were able to procreate. Each generation of children that came about were slightly more mutated than the last, and it got to the point where I was terrified of what I'd done and didn’t know what to do. It wasn't in my power to will them dead, and there was no way I could ask my people to try and fight them."

"If you couldn't kill them, what did you do?" Sam asked, intrigued that his maker didn't possess the ability to destroy what he himself had made, "Couldn't you change them again?"

"I did try that on a couple of them but all it did was transform their ferociousness into sheer madness. The only thing I knew I had skill at was creating, so I put myself to work and started making hunters from scratch."

"The Flock?"

Chuck's smile showed itself briefly, but quickly retreated back into blankness. "Not at first. The initial lot were almost robotic. They knew their purpose and not much else, which got them killed pretty quickly. I eventually figured out the trick, which was to use my blood along with part of a normal human and form the humanoid around it. That's how the first Flock was formed – your father among them."

"And when you say human parts you mean—?" Sam was vaguely horrified by the prospect.

"Oh, no, not living human parts. I took things from the recently deceased. For instance, Lucifer, who was the first as you know, was formed around the brain of a dead man. Your father, from a stomach and liver. Obviously it worked, and they were the monster-killing machines I'd wanted all along. But as time went on and more problems arose, I realised that the organs I'd formed them from had started to leach into the Wingmen themselves. The brain I'd made Lucifer from had been taken from a greedy, jealous man, so in turn Lucifer became hatefully jealous of my abilities as their maker and tried everything to steal my powers. Your father was ambitious and consistently vengeful. But they did their job and weren't afraid of death."

"Michael came next?"

"Yes. The first faction lasted well over a century. But they weren't immortal, and were subject to death in the same way as men, so in the end I found myself with just two and a half left – the half being Henry, since he sustained an injury but still managed to survive. Anyway, the next time around, thinking I'd learned from my mistakes, I introduced my blood into infants."

"You what?"

"I guess nowadays it sounds bad. Back then it was common for women to die during childbirth or for children to be born with problems that the parents couldn't handle. I took ten unwanted children and raised them in the small community we'd set up. As you know your father trained them from a young age. Only half survived."

Sam swallowed. "And me and Dean?"

"I'd been so pleased with how the second faction had worked out. But in my infinite wisdom I'd thought I could still do more, make something even better. I went to your father with my idea, and he agreed at a price. Then I fused an amount of my blood into a female's body and had John copulate with her. Nine months later Dean arrived."

"What was his price, though?"

Chuck looked away. "That once you were born he was to have you all to himself and would raise you as he saw fit. He already was training all the others so I thought that was an okay deal. But as you now know Dean was stolen away. Your father became enraged – moreover, depressed - and took it out on everyone around him. He was reckless, drunk most of the time, too. Even when he finally managed to get his mistress pregnant with you he never really recovered."

Sam watched the emotions play over the Superior's face. It was obviously a deep and distressing subject for his maker, and Sam was surprised by the lack of self-control he was showing. All his life he'd known the Superior to be a stern-mannered supreme being always cloaked in black, who very occasionally appeared as a scruffy, human male with confidence issues. He was beginning to wonder, however, if the whole thing was actually an act and the Superior was really the other way around entirely. Sam was still reeling with how open his maker had been with him, but there was something that still bothered him about the way he'd glossed over Sam and Dean's conception.

"You regret us, don't you. You regret that you did what you did to create me and Dean."

Hanging his head in his hands, Chuck laughed. It sounded desperate and defeated. "I regret that I got carried away playing God."

"But isn't that what you portray yourself as? It's what we think of you – the Flock, I mean. You're our maker – our God."

"I've said to you once before that I'm not omnipotent. If you were to equate me to a god, then you couldn't say I was a one true god or anything, because there are actually plenty of others like me. Or there were. I don't even like the thought of being called a god. It implies that I would be resolute in my decisions and that those decisions would be the correct ones, which, as I've explained, isn't the case at all."

"So what are you?" Sam questioned, to Chuck as much as to himself, "If not a god?"

"A guardian, perhaps? A sentinel with too much power in his hands? And too eager to want to mend the smallest of troubles. My fault is that I react too quickly – I seal the whole in the proverbial bucket with the closest plug available, not bothering to check and see if it's the right sized plug or made from a good material that'll last."

"Well, now we've got Lucifer running about with his legions of flesh-eating children. What's your quick-fix this time?"

"I'm not sure that I have one, to be honest. The easiest way would be to take down Lucifer first. All his 'children' are made of a part of him, so I can't imagine they'd deal very well if he was gone. That said, I can't kill him. I don't have the ability to destroy, just as I've told you."

It wasn't what Sam wanted to hear, but it was better than nothing. It was somewhere to start, at the very least. He needed to think fast, though. Sam couldn't make out any sounds of battle coming from outside, but if the Hellions hadn't arrived already, they wouldn't be far away. And now Sam knew where he had to concentrate his efforts. Taking a breath, he got to his feet and turned toward the door – his weapons were still inside the main house.

"What are you going to do, Sam?"

Sam shot Chuck a dark look from over his shoulder. "I'm going to fix this for you."

"No, wait!"

The Superior finally got to his feet and wrapped a hand around Sam's left wrist, a mere fraction from the edge of his leather glove.

"Don't do anything foolish. Which in turn is foolish of me to say because I know you're going to do it anyway. But, please. You must know that Dean can't - won't - survive without you. It was under my influence that your father's mistress became pregnant with Dean. I knew as soon as he was in-utero that there was something inside him that was different and beyond my original intentions – such was the consequences of my toying with a natural conception. It's also why I had to force the issue to bring your birth about. I knew that there would have to be a pair of you, to counteract one another. Not to mention that you'd be freaks among freaks, and truly alone without the other."

Grinding down on his back teeth, Sam tried to tamp down on the burst of anger that threatened to break free. For all that his maker had tried, his methods had still failed, and Sam and Dean had both grown up alone, as good as outcasts, with nothing to break their fall.

He shook off Chuck's hand. "I've got somewhere to be."


Part Five-->

Comments

[thruterryseyes.livejournal.com]

okay, shower scene.

Stands and applauds.

[hybridshade.livejournal.com]

Actually, if you refresh the page, you might get a surprise....

[thruterryseyes.livejournal.com]

I had to go back thru every chapter. Looks really good!

[hybridshade.livejournal.com]

Yay thanks! I went through and put all the images and dividers in relevant places. They're looking rather spiffy, I must say :)
As for the fic, I really hope you enjoy it!