Another one shot here. It came about because I was thinking about season 3 again and it occurred to me that the brothers are going to be looking for all the demons that escaped through the gate in the last episode, but what if one of the demons that escaped is looking for them.

I had a beta this time, which was much appreciated, thanks for your help Ali.

You know I have no entitlement to Supernatural, goes without saying.

Oh and there's a little bit of naughty language in here, which I don't usually use, but it seemed appropriate.

The Lunch Date

A quiet lunch--

It wasn’t too much to ask was it?

A bit of downtime. A bit of newspaper reading time. A bit of minding their own business time.

Weren't they entitled to that?

Sam was starting to wonder.

They were at a café, in nowhere middle America, only passing through, stopping for a bite, indulging in that pleasant cusp between finishing a job and throwing themselves into something new. It had been non-stop since the devil's gate had opened, locating the demons who had escaped and despatching them back to hell, they had earned some time to sit, unwind and revive.

Dean was devouring something grossly unhealthy while Sam had ordered responsibly, a salad, trying to ward off scurvy, which he was pretty sure his brother was going to get if he didn’t eat an apple or something.

Neither of them noticed a woman enter the cafe until she sidled up to their table and pronounced, “I’ve been looking for you boys.”

Sam glanced in surprise at the woman then rolled his eyes toward his brother, assuming her to be one of Dean's friends. Even though they'd only been in town about twenty minutes his brother could lay ground work pretty fast.

But Dean looked perplexed, and a little put out at having his peace interrupted. There was a silent conversation between the brothers. You know this chick? Dean asked with his eyes, Sam replied with a small shake of the head.

“I think you have the wrong guys,” Dean stated, politely blowing her off.

But the woman insisted, “Oh no, I have the right guys,” and her eyes filmed over with black.

Sam was aghast. They were just eating lunch for chrissake. They were just reading the newspaper. They were minding their own business. They were only stopping in this town for half an hour tops. They sure as hell weren’t looking for trouble. And here they were, in trouble central, totally unprepared.

Dean froze, his fork hovering over his plate, he didn’t want to make any sudden moves, didn’t want to start something before he was ready, it was just his eyes flicking around the room thinking shit there’s a lot of people in here.

“Meg?” he asked quietly.

“By any other name,” she replied lightly. “Actually, in this outfit I’m Julia. What do you think-” she did a twirl, “does it suit me?” And she was a pretty girl, around their age, Sam thought if she wasn’t possessed his brother would probably be flirting with her.

“What do you want?” Dean's mouth was tight, his voice sharp, he wasn't interested in shooting the breeze.

“I want some payback for sending me to hell,” her smile was hard, “that wasn’t very friendly.”

“Well you're no friend," the older hunter retorted, pursing his lips together. " How do you keep climbing out?” Dean's tone hinted at the unfairness of it. I've dealt with you twice, that should be the end of it.

“If a gate’s open I’m going to walk through.”

The woman put both hands on the table and leaned toward Dean with a smug smile, until they were eye to eye. What to anyone else in the cafe would have looked like an amiable gesture was in fact the gauntlet being thrown, the signal for game on, an unspoken challenge, what are you going to do about it?

Dean carefully lowered his fork to his plate, no sudden movements, didn't let his gaze leave her face.

“How bout we take it outside,” his voice was a low growl, more of an instruction than a suggestion and Sam loved that his brother was making demands on a demon, showing no fear. That was awesome. And a little frightening because he was pushing his luck.

“How bout we don’t,” she countered.

“Don’t get these people involved,” Dean hissed through clenched teeth.

“I love collateral damage,” she purred and Sam knew this could go very badly, worse than usual because she had their number, she knew how much they hated to see innocent people getting hurt in their fight. Sam twisted his head around to look at the unsuspecting crowd and felt a small relief that there weren’t any kids in the place.

His focus was pulled back to the table when Dean launched himself at the woman, pulling her down to the ground in a bear hug. Taking his brother's lead, Sam stood up and yelled, “She’s got a gun. Everyone out.” He started herding people toward the door, yelling and insistent. The front door slammed shut and couldn’t be pulled open so he grabbed a chair and smashed it through the front glass window. That really got people panicking. It was a stampede after that.

The place emptied in minutes and Sam was aware that the demon could have made that hard, could have skewered people, or thrown people or thrown things at people. He was grateful that she didn’t but it made him nervous because obviously she wanted something else.

When he returned to Dean his brother was straddling the chick punching her in the face, which was horrifying to watch because she may have been a demon but she looked like a pretty girl. Sam was amazed that his brother could disassociate himself enough to throw punches at a pretty girl. He wasn't sure that he could do it. Especially when the girl wasn’t putting up any sort of fight, she was just laying under Dean taking whatever he dished out because the demon wasn’t the one being hurt.

When her eyes closed Sam couldn’t stand it any longer. He put a hand on his brother’s swinging arm and said, “Enough.” You’re hurting the girl not the demon.

Dean met his eyes with furious impatience. “I’ve got nothing else Sam.” But despite the protest he dropped his arm and ceased the flurry of blows.

All was still for a moment while the two men considered how to proceed, each acutely aware that they were on the back foot and their options were limited. Sam was about to suggest that he run to the car and get some holy water, when Dean flew across the room, bounced off a wall and into a recently vacated table before crashing onto the floor. He stayed down for a moment, cursing under his breath, before slowly pulling himself up.

“That brother of yours is all hands,” the demon commented as she raised herself to a sitting position and wiped her bleeding lip.

Sam crouched down next to her, examining the damage to her face, his mind confused by the pretty girl disguise which almost caused him to offer her a hand until he remembered she was the enemy. He turned his head around to check on Dean, who was sitting on the ground, one arm sprawled over a chair for support, the other pressing gingerly at the back of his head. Sam wanted to move, wanted to join his brother across the room, face the demon in solidarity, but he worried that movement may be interpreted as a threat, may precipitate some reaction, so he remained still, by the demon's side, waited for what was to come and hoped liked hell they could survive it.

Suddenly Dean slid backward, the chair ripped from his grasp, his eyes wide with surprise until he hit the wall not far behind and was held in an unnatural pose, still seated, with his arms splayed to the side. There was an expression of dread on his face and Sam could tell it wasn’t dread for himself but for what he thought was about to happen to Sam.

Feel it for yourself Sam wanted to say, worry for yourself, stop worrying about me, because so far I'm doing okay.

A light tap on his leg drew Sam’s attention to the girl beside him and she said with a smile, “You’re good baby, I'm not going to hurt you. You’re like family. We’re like brother and sister or something.”

His stomach flipped because it was true, he had demon blood in him, the same demon blood she had in her and he wasn’t sure whose brother that made him. And his relationship with this demon was complicated by the fact that she’d been inside him, she knew all his secrets, she knew him better than Dean did and that thought made him shudder. He was grateful for the protective charm Bobby gave him, resting against his chest, which meant she couldn’t get inside him again.

“Let him go,” Sam demanded nodding toward Dean. He looked her in the eye and added, “Brother to sister. Let him go.”

There was a look on her face that he couldn’t quite read. Delighted puzzlement? Guarded respect? He knew it was because he hadn’t denied they were related, hadn’t caller her a liar, hadn’t tried to justify himself, hadn’t contradicted her words.

“You’re not her brother Sam.” Dean’s voice was hoarse, he sounded betrayed and Sam could understand that, Dean had invested a lot in him, more than most brothers invest in a sibling. What a kick in the teeth if that was a misplaced investment.

But Sam didn’t look at his brother, didn’t want to see the hurt in his eyes as he tried to take advantage of the only card in his hand.

"He's nothing to you," Sam cajoled, whispering to the demon like they were co-conspirators. "He's unimportant. There's bigger things going on, things involving you and me that he knows nothing about, that he can't possibly overcome. Just leave him. Let destiny take care of him."

The words were bitter poison in Sam's mouth, the treacherous disloyalty to his brother made him feel sick. And he hated how truthful the words sounded, how believable it was that he was part of some grand diabolical plan. He wanted to give Dean an exaggerated wink to let him know it was just an act, but he couldn't break the illusion, he had to maintain the facade to try and win Dean's life.

The demon frowned, appraised him uncertainly, looked like she was considering his words, measuring their accuracy.

“You’re a good brother Sam,” she said, the crease in her brow making way for an appreciative smile, and he wasn't sure if she meant a good brother to Dean or to her, “so I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I won’t kill him,” she cast a look of disgust toward Dean. “I know he’s not long for this world anyway.”

Sam felt both relief and sadness. Dean may not die today but he’s dying soon anyway.

“But I am going to hurt him.”

Before Sam could protest Dean cried out in pain. Sam looked at his brother in horror then his eyes danced frantically around the room for some kind of weapon he could use on the demon. His brother’s cries waxed and waned and it chewed up Sam’s brain, he couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. It was the cabin all over again, Dean getting ripped to shreds with Sam as an onlooker. He needed it to stop, he had to make it stop. But there was nothing around to fight a demon with, salt, silver, it was all useless. Sam was naked, he had nothing. Not even a gun, which wouldn’t have helped the situation but at least he wouldn’t feel naked. It was lunch for chrissake. It was a quick stop. It was minding their own business. Were they going to have to be armed for demons every time they stepped out of the car now?

Finally, in desperation, Sam took a swing at the woman, dropping all pretense that he and the demon were allies. She easily blocked the blow, didn't appear all that surprised by it, gave Sam a knowing smirk that made him think his impersonation of an evil conspirator hadn't been all that persuasive. Which in a way, was consoling.

But her shrewdness, her ability to mimic the human condition, which had Sam thinking, hoping, he might be able to talk his way out of the situation, sent a chill down Sam's spine, reminded him that her human form housed an inhuman temperament and gave him a renewed fear for both his and Dean's safety.

With a flick of her hand Sam was pinned to a chair, facing his brother and forced to behold his brother's torture.

Every muscle in Dean’s arms were taut, he was using all his strength to pull against the invisible restraints holding him. He shut his eyes as he cried out, held his breath against the agony being inflicted and then had to pant to catch up. He kept his gaze averted from his younger brother, not wanting to acknowledge that Sam was witnessing his vulnerability, his helplessness.

Sam couldn’t bear it, his breath came in short gasps as if he was the one being assaulted. Dean's shirtfront was saturated with blood and Sam had an urge to close his eyes so that he couldn’t see it but he didn't want to take the easy road, didn't want to pretend it wasn't happening.

“You said you wouldn’t kill him,” Sam breathed and realised that he was pleading with the demon, that it was all he had and that was a bad situation to be in.

“He’s not dying,” the demon dismissed, “he’s fine.”

Sam wondered if she had lied to him when she said she wasn't going to kill Dean, if she changed her mind when Sam took a swing at her, because his brother looked like he was dying, the red wetness forming a pool in his lap looked like his life ebbing away.

Then Dean stopped crying out. His head dropped onto his chest, his body lost tension and all that could be heard in the café were Sam's heavy ragged breaths and his small disconsolate cries of No!

Sam was nearly choked by his failure. He couldn’t believe he never came up with some sort of contingency for this happening again. Why didn’t he ever think if this ever happens again I’m going to do this... That sort of forward planning would have been invaluable today. He could have been doing something, working toward something, instead of just sitting around and letting it happen, watching it happen.

Dean’s head wobbled and with great effort he raised it to look at Sam. There was a sort of I’m okay message in his eyes, which was both unconvincing and heartening, before his head became too heavy and he let it sink down again.

“Alright, that’s enough fun for today kiddies.” The demon stood up and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, gazed into his eyes and there was an intimacy in the gesture that bewildered him. Does she really think I’m her brother?

“It was good seeing you again Sam. Maybe we can catch up next year after your brother’s - you know,” she raised her eyebrows. That’s what Dean’s impending death was to her - raised eyebrows, a slight smile.

Sam couldn’t tell if she was seriously suggesting they meet again or just messing with him. There was a look of enraged disbelief on his face that he was pretty sure telegraphed Fuck you, bitch! but she gave him a sweet smile and left the café.

It occured to Sam that this sort of lightning attack was smart on her part, in and out, no hanging around. If they wanted to retaliate (and chances were Dean would want to retaliate) then they were going to have to find her first.

Not until she had left were the brothers free to move again. Dean took his own weight with a groan, lucky he was already sitting down so he had nowhere to fall. Sam hurried over, knelt beside him and his hands hovered uncertainly over Dean's chest, not really wanting to touch.

“We’ve got to move,” Dean said, as he held his arms out for Sam to pull him up, cutting through whatever ministrations Sam might have been contemplating.

Sam nodded his understanding, they needed to leave before the cops arrived, and they couldn’t be far away.

As Sam helped his brother to his feet Dean joked weakly, “If you’re her brother does that mean I’m related to her as well?”

“Haven’t you always wanted a sister?” Sam returned, trying to keep things light because he knew Dean liked it that way.

Dean’s brow furrowed, his face became dark and intense as he said, “You’re not her brother Sam.”

Sam gave his brother a sharp look because Dean had made the joke and turning it into something else was shifting the goalposts. But he didn't call Dean on it, just answered, “I know.” And he was pretty sure he meant it. Pretty sure he knew whose brother he was.

It was a brisk shuffle to the car, the brothers joined as one, Dean huddled into Sam, unable to straighten against the pull of the many gashes on his chest. He bit back his groans as best he could, trying to regain some dignity after being so embarrassingly humbled, and slid heavily, gratefully, into the passenger seat of his beloved vehicle. Sam quickly retrieved the first aid kit from the trunk and tossed it to his brother in the car. There wasn't time to tend to the wounds now, they'd have to stop somewhere on the road to do it.

They flew out of the place in a hail of dust and a squeal of tires and drove for a half hour on back roads before Sam pulled to the shoulder in a deserted rural area. He took the first aid kit out of Dean’s hands and noticed that his brother hadn’t opened it, hadn’t made any effort to clean himself up. It worried him that Dean didn’t have the energy for it, that his eyes were dull and his movements achingly slow, made Sam wonder just how much blood Dean had lost, whether they should be seeking out a medical centre.

Sam pulled his brother’s t-shirt over his head, all the way off so he could see the damage and he drew in a breath at the lacerated skin over his chest and stomach.

“Do you still think I’m beautiful?” Dean asked, with a tired smile that was trying too hard, that didn't reach his eyes.

“Not at the moment.”

Dean breathed out a laugh and the fact that he didn’t come back with a sarcasm told Sam he was spent. Sam twisted the cap off a half drunk bottle of water, poured it over an unbloodied part of Dean’s shirt and wiped down his brother’s chest. It was a crisscross of cuts some not too deep but others bearing through muscle. Most of them had stopped bleeding but the few that hadn’t Sam pressed down on until they had. Dean was pliable and uncomplaining beneath his hands, watching through heavy lids.

As Sam examined the cuts, figuring out which needed stitching and which didn’t, he noticed a pattern. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sam covered, deciding this may not be the best time to tell Dean he’d been graffitied.

“Don’t nothing me. What is it?”

“Um. She cut a message into your chest.”

“What?” Dean’s eyes widened slightly and he looked down at himself, trying to see what Sam saw. “What does it say?”

“Uh – ” Sam shifted uncomfortably and winced in anticipation of the explosive response from his brother when he told him, "Screw U."

Unexpectedly there was just an exaggerated sigh, Dean didn't have the strength for outrage.

“A demon with a sense of humour. What a fucking joy.” Dean closed his eyes. “If I come across her in hell we’ll see who’s screwed. I’m going to be carrying a big stick. In fact send her down to me Sammy, I’ll know it’s a present from you.”

“Don’t,” Sam whispered and had to lower his gaze to maintain his composure. He hated it when talk turned to Dean in hell, he hated it when Dean talked about it as an inevitability because Sam wasn't willling to concede it yet. It was an excruciating subject for a number of reasons and he couldn’t stand to think about it, couldn’t stand to discuss it and there was no way he could make jokes about it.

When Sam lifted his eyes back to his brother's face Dean was relaxed, breathing rythmically, asleep. Sam figured he may as well take advantage of his brother's unconsciousness and stitch up the worst of the gashes. He needed to disinfect the wounds first and with a tentative hand he applied the antiseptic liquid as sparingly as possible, knowing that it had a tendency to sting. Despite the tender application Dean's body jerked, his eyes flew open and he took a deep gasping breath.

“A little warning-,” the older brother managed to choke out as he pressed his arms to his chest.

“Sorry.”

There were layers to that apology. Sam was sorry for so many things and he wanted to list them off, it was an extensive catalogue that went back years, covering a multitude of things, but he knew Dean wouldn’t listen to it, wouldn't give it credence, all he could hope was that Dean heard the layers in that one word.

As Sam gently unwrapped his brother’s arms Dean said wearily, “We need to find a non-stinging formula because that shit really smarts.”

A faint smile crossed the younger man's face because finding a non-stinging antiseptic really was at the bottom of their to-do list.

Dean’s eyes closed again and it made Sam hesitate. Judging by the response to the disinfectant Dean was only in a shallow sleep and if Sam started stitching he was going to get another startled response. He decided to cut his brother some slack and reached instead for the steri-strips. It wasn’t ideal. There were so many gashes the band-aids sat on top of two or three cuts at a time, but Sam concentrated on closing up the worst of the wounds.

When Dean was a mish-mash of gashes and strips Sam sat back with a sigh, it was the best he could do right now, he'd look at stitching up the deepest gashes later when they were settled into a place for the night. He surveyed his brother's front and grimaced, there was going to be scarring and it was going to be hard to explain the next time Dean got amorous with a woman, which was probably the point of it.

Sam shook his head at the viciousness of the attack, the demon didn’t kill Dean but she had really hurt him and left him with a lingering reminder of the encounter. It was a very personal confrontation, very vindictive, when Dean was feeling better he was going to want vengeance and Sam couldn't blame him for that.

The young hunter reached for the roadmap crumpled under his brother’s feet and looked at where they could hold up for the next few days. Wherever they were going had now been deferred because Dean was going to need some recuperation time (whether he wanted it or not). There were a number of little towns on this back road and he decided to stop at the first decent motel he came across.

He headed to the trunk and grabbed a long sleeve button down shirt for Dean. It was a warm day but with the blood loss Dean was going to be cold. He tugged the shirt onto his brother, dressing him like he was a child and Dean’s eyes opened narrowly with the movement, a wry smile appeared and he uttered, “Thanks Mom. Wake me for dinner.”

Sam huffed a laugh and marvelled at his brother's resilience.

Although he couldn't imagine how Dean could be thinking about dinner after the disaster that was lunch.

The End