Rating: PG-13 (Gen)
Characters: Dean and Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Bobby Singer, The Trickster from Tall Tales, the Ilimu, Various civilians and fug lies (no pairings)
Warnings: harsh language, weirdness, animal and human violence, Dean whumping, Sam comfort and so much angst Stevie Wonder could see it.
Timeline: immediately after Tall Tales
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and the boys. If I did I sure as hell wouldn't be working this day job. Yeah, I said it.
Spoilers (so far): In My Time of Dying, Born Under a Bad Sign, Tall Tales
Summary: Dean changes after a botched hunt; the boys deal with it.
Author's Notes: I plan on posting more on Friday if you like this. So please review! I'm very interested in what you think about this story.
Dog Eat Dog
By Silver Ruffian
Chapter 1 Better Living Thru Chemistry
"... down in the sewer..." the tall cop was saying. Dean was having a truly hard time paying attention, but that was okay, he didn't mind.
He didn't mind a lot of things right now.
His wrists and ankles were strapped down to the armrests and chair legs with leather restraints. Another, wider strap fit snugly over his chest. Dean stared at the fingers of his right hand. His fingers were moving, twitching a little. His head was tilted to one side, and he was fascinated with the after-image. Each time his finger twitched the finger separated into five different images. It was as though each image was trying to catch up with each other. When he stopped moving, there was one finger. When he moved, one became five.
He tried not to laugh, but he couldn't help himself.
"….FBI database…. suspect…St. Louis…buried…." the cop droned on and on and on. He reminded Dean of his home room teacher in eighth grade. Dude was a sleeping pill with legs. "…and well, you know the rest...found lying on top of him... emptied the clip ...silver ammo..."
The two talking heads turned and stared at him, but Dean didn't care. He was flying, floating. He hadn't felt this good, this light, this..high, since...well, since never.
Dean didn't even notice when the tall cop left the room.
"You look like you have some breeding." Talking head number one might have been a woman. He couldn't tell. Silver hair, nose tilted up, thin cruel lips. She reached out and carded his short dark blond hair with her fingers. Her cold blue eyes bored into his hazy green ones. The drugs had taken the edge off so much Dean didn't even flinch when her hand came near his face.
He smiled lazily. He was feeling no pain anywhere any more, didn't even mind the injection in his right bicep, which was something because he hated needles.
Oh, but he had struggled and cursed like a madman before the drugs took effect.
"Don't have any breeding," he mumbled softly, leaning into her hand. He closed his eyes. "I'm a mutt."
She pulled her hand away slowly. "Who do you work for?"
It took him a minute or so to realize that her hand was gone. Dean sat upright and wobbled a little when he did it.
"W-work...for...?" Dean looked puzzled. His body swayed slightly against the leather straps holding him in the chair.
"Yes. Did the Family hire you? Who is your employer?"
"Family business," Dean repeated with a wistful expression on his face. Talking head number one and number two exchanged significant glances. Dean cocked his head to one side, stared at the silver metal earrings talking head number one was wearing. So shiny. So…pretty.
"Do you have a partner? Are you working with someone?"
Dean's smile widened, proud and somewhat goofy. "Yep! Geek boy."
"Geek boy. He's...he's gonna come...get me outta here..." Dean's eyes narrowed as he looked around the room. Despite the warm glow from the drugs, he didn't like this place. "You guys like to hit too much." His eyes became distant, and he began to nod off. He jerked his head back up, blinking slowly. "Good drugs, though..."
The second talking head spoke for the first time. "What's your name?"
Eyes narrowed, head tilted slightly to one side, Dean stared down at his left hand. The fucker was up to something, he was sure of it. He had to watch it very carefully.
The right hand was on the side of the angels. So dependable, so helpful. Always the first one in to stroke a woman's soft skin, pick up a glass of beer, curl up into a fist and knock the hell out of some fucker who deserved it. Could handle a pool cue like a mad sumbitch, too.
The left hand was the bad seed.
The second talking head leaned in closer.
"What is your name?"
"Huh?" Dean finally swung his head around, annoyed. So many distractions….
Talking head number two put his hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean wrinkled up his nose and drew back, frowning. No matter how much soap and water this dude used, he could never get that hand clean. Dude needed a girlfriend in the worst way.
Or maybe his romance with his right hand was the reason he didn't have a girlfriend.
"Your name?" it repeated.
Dean wanted to bite him so badly his teeth hurt just thinking about it.
"Hec-tor..." Dean said slowly, carefully, shaking his head slightly to get the images and sounds of torn flesh, dark red blood and screaming out of his mind. The second talking head was the stupid one and Dean felt he had to say everything slowly to it so it would understand, dammit.
Talking head number two frowned. "That can't really be your name."
"It's not! I lied!" Dean announced brightly. He swayed a little in the chair. "I do that a lot. It's my job," he added solemnly, then scowled. "But I don't have a job," he said slowly, bewildered, to no one in particular.
The two talking heads looked at each other, and Dean hoped they weren't going to hit him again. He was so tired of all these strange people, tired of being manhandled, hit, chased, and injected, even though he didn't mind the afterglow of the drugs.
He absolutely didn't mind the afterglow of the drugs.
It took his mind off things. He forgot about the long claw marks down his back. He forgot about his sore ankle. And the goose egg on his forehead was a distant memory. He didn't know if it was the drugs or something else, but it was like something sleeping inside his head had been shaken awake. He looked at the talking heads and he could hear thumping sounds coming out of their chests. There was this shushing sound along with the thumping. It was all very familiar, he just couldn't remember where he'd heard it before.
Right now, he wanted Sam. Or John. Or Cassie. He wanted his mother, Mary. He wanted to see the Impala again, too. He just wanted to leave, get away from this place.
He watched the two talking heads drift away, out of the room.
"Buh Bye." Did he say that out loud? He couldn't remember. Oh, well.
When the door closed behind them he felt his eyelids get heavy. Without something to focus his attention on the drugs were convincing his brain that it was time to zone out and just enjoy the moment. Just sit your happy ass there and just be, dude. He was trying to do just that when someone came around from behind and kneeled next to the chair. The scent was warm and friendly, but worried. It was dorky, and vaguely irritating. Very familiar. He couldn't understand how he knew all of that, but he did.
Dean swayed slightly from side to side. It took an effort for him to focus, then he saw who it was and grinned widely.
"Hi, Sammy!" Way too loud.
Sam flinched and put his big hand over Dean's mouth. "Say it louder, dude, I don't think everyone heard you."
Dean's answer, "Okay", was muffled underneath Sam's hand.
What the fuck?
Dean's chest expanded as he took a deep breath and Sam quickly took his hand off his brother's mouth and pinched Dean's nose shut with his thumb and forefinger. Dean gave a muffled squawk as the air huffed out of his lungs and he was forced to breathe thru his mouth.
Sam removed his hand slowly from Dean's nose. Dean looked at him wide eyed, blinked slowly several times and seemed to immediately forget about what Sam had done. Instead of cursing like a sailor, he sat there with this lazy half smile on his face and stared at Sam like he was very, very, very glad to see him.
Sam was feeling creeped out, concerned and relieved, all at the same time. He sounded angrier than he really felt. "What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?" Sam hissed.
"Nothing," Dean replied indignantly. He tossed his head to one side. "I'll have you know I am feeling absolutely no pain." He giggled. "It's nice."
Yep, it was the Apocalypse, all right. The End of Days. Dean Winchester just... giggled.
Sam stared at him, open mouthed. He grabbed his brother by the chin and stared into his glassy green eyes. "They gave you drugs."
"Yep! I got the good ones." Dean said smugly.
Sam closed his mouth with a snap. He put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry, man, I came as soon as I could."
"No prob, Bob," Dean chirped. "If you had come any sooner I wouldn't have gotten the drugs."
"We have to leave. Now."
"Oh-kay," Dean said in a sing-song voice.
"We've got to get to the Impala. You remember the Impala?"
Dean grinned and nodded. "That's my baby," he breathed.
"Yeah, she is. Now you have to be quiet, or we can't go. Can you be quiet?"
"Yeah. Okay! Sssssh..." Dean tried to put one finger to his lips but he couldn't because his arms were still strapped down. It was that damned left hand's fault again, he just knew it.
"Right." Sam shook his head, stood up and moved behind him. He had just unbuckled the strap around Dean's chest when he glanced down. The spit in Sam's mouth dried up instantly and his heart thumped painfully against his ribcage as he noticed the long clawmarks on Dean's back. Straight thru his black fatigue jacket, thru his denim overshirt and past the t shirt underneath, right into his skin. Then Sam looked at Dean and froze.
Dean sat there, head cocked slightly to one side, staring intently at the far corner. Sam could see over there. The corner was empty.
There was nothing there.
Eyes narrowed, Dean stared at the corner and growled, deep in his throat.
It's the drugs, Sam thought. Please Lord, please let it be the drugs they gave him. Dean's imagining he's a hyped up German shepherd or something. Because if it wasn't the drugs they were in deep, deep shit, and Sam could hear Dean now: "The idea of going tripod every time I have to take a leak just doesn't appeal to me, Sammy. I can't live as one of the things I hunt."
Sam was frozen for a moment. Hell, he couldn't just leave Dean here. He wouldn't. Dean could go full-on furry and Sam would still try to get him out, if he had to put one of the straps around his neck like a leash and lead him out like that. Or hogtie him, knock him out, something. Leaving Dean behind so these bastards could drug him and beat him or do God knows what else to him just wasn't an option.
"Dean?" Dam put his hand on Dean's shoulder and tightened his grip. Dean's shoulder muscles were tight and Sam could feel the growl Dean was making vibrate up his arm, thru his fingers. His somewhat shaky fingers, as Sam tightened his grip even more, tried to rouse his brother out of this spell or trance or whatever the fuck this was.
"Dean?" Another shake to the shoulder, harder, firmer this time.
Dean blinked slowly and a shudder ran thru his entire body. He seemed confused when he looked up at Sam. "You gonna unstrap me any time soon, geek boy, 'cause I sure as hell don't wanna spend the night here," Dean said tiredly. The paleness of his skin highlighted the spray of freckles across his nose.
"Dean, what were you looking at?"
He shrugged. "Don't know." His eyes blinked open and closed a few times and he smiled a little. "Good drugs." Dean suddenly went shifty-eyed as Sam continued to undo the straps. "You're not gonna hit me, are you?"
"Hit you? Why would I hit you?"
"I get that a lot lately," Dean mumbled. He pouted, and then squinted up at Sam. "My head hurts again."
"I'll bet." Sam pulled the restraints away from Dean's arms and chest, leaned down and draped Dean's right arm over his shoulder. "Come on, princess. Let's roll."
The Ilimu were intrigued, to say the least. They could've swarmed the boy, easily, brought him to his knees and pushed past his skin and defenses with little resistance, but…
But the other one, the green eyed one…
He saw them.
Looked right at them, and dared them to come any closer.
There was more to this one that met the eye. They'd scratched the surface, so to speak, and what was inside this human male looked out at the world for the first time in a hundred years. They sensed strength and confusion. This one would fight to the death to defend the younger one, but for all their brutality an all out fight didn't appeal to them. The Ilimu hunted. Seducing its prey to a secluded location, using shapeshifting and cunning and subtlety, herding the prey, making it go where and when they wanted it to go, that was all part of it. They enjoyed prolonging the agony. They killed without mercy, without hesitation, but there was an art to it.
So they waited. They were patient. They enjoyed the idea of a chase, and for all his special abilities they could tell that the younger one couldn't see them. He was nervous and wanted to take his brother and run.
So they let him. It had been a while since they'd had a good chase and even monsters get bored.
They could tell these two would be well worth the effort. They had their scents, and something more: the older brother's skin and blood. Just a touch, but it was more than enough. It would be put to good use. A good chase was something to savor, made the outcome all that much sweeter. There was no doubt of it, they would overtake both brothers. Separate them from each other, and bring them down.
Bring them down screaming.