Whisper in a Graveyard
Warnings; this story involves elements of slash – which is, to put it bluntly, written homosexual romance. In other words – incest, meaning the sexual bonding of two blood related brothers, will be involved.
If you are uncomfortable with such material – or are too underage to read it – I plead with you to leave this story alone – I do not want to suffer for your company, merely press the 'back' button and go about your usual activities. That being said – on top of being slash and incest, this involves manipulation – deceit, and incubus-like demons. Oh – and it's kind of dark too.
Well that covers everything – save that I'm not responsible for you not reading the above warnings and finding all this out as you read. That being said – enjoy.
Oh, before you start, be assured - Dean is not going to die.
Dean was laid out in the coffin – they'd dressed him up in a suit – the one he'd always referred to as "the Fed get-up"- Dean had hated it. But… both brothers had long ago agreed that it was far better to wear it - and be trusted by those who were otherwise inclined to not be trustful of them – then to risk taking the days, and lives, to find out what they could have learned by questioning a witness from the start of a case.
Sam had thought – had been sure – that only a moment ago he had been alone in the graveyard – dusk had long ago settled over it, he should have been alone. But these little things he knew didn't match up – little bits of reason tugged at his attention in the midst of tormented, if silent, emotions.
One thing Sam knew – was sure of – was that Dean had ordered long ago he be cremated – therefore there shouldn't be a body for Sam to look down at. Also, though he wasn't as sure about this as the other bit was that the caretakers would have insisted to shutting the casket and burying it long before now – at least before sunset. That was something of a superstition, something of modern "business hours" for the undertakers.
Even so, Sam found he could not pull his eyes from his brother's clam face. It was too healthy looking, Sam had seen dead people before – they were pasty, having no 'life' to them – but with Dean… it wasn't like that. It was like – for all he was, physically, dead; the demon had trapped the life –the soul - in him… entombed it in his decaying body.
With that painful thought, alike a chill breeze that made Sam shiver, shuddering he dug his hands into the pockets of his long coat, seeking warmth, to be reminded of the life he still carried within himself – for all the good it did him. He noticed then that feeling of not being alone intensified until with wary eyes he looked again around him. Only tombstones, monuments – and freestanding statues greeted his gaze. Overturned earth drew his attention to one of the freestanding statues.
It would have looked like an angel to anyone else. Something about it screamed that it wasn't an angel – fallen or otherwise. With it's closed eyes, and peaceful features of the not long dead, it was draped in robes, with two wings that sprouted seamlessly from its shoulders – each as long as a man was tall – framing the loose stone hair that draped over stone skin and stone shoulders. Its eyes opened – the cold grey lids peeling open to peer at Sam.
The eyes were black, demon black.
A demon with the feathered wings of an angel…the thought was almost laughable. Cold as the stone it had been carved from, those black eyes watched him – and Sam found he could not look away. Slowly, bit by bit – chips of stone fell from the face and though the face changed the eyes stayed the same dead black. Sam inhaled, freed, when those eyes blinked, seeming to release him from those dark depths that went on forever like tunnels to the very core of the earth.
The face it wore was his, the same high cheekbones – the very same nose – feeling violated at how very effortless the demon had seemed to change into his own likeness, Sam swallowed back his anger – unthinking emotions would get him killed swiftly. Though there was now something about death that was no longer so terrifying, so awful – perhaps it was that he felt depressed, but death didn't seem so bad in the face of his brothers death.
The demon tilted its face to look down at Dean.
It shouldn't have been here. Not among the dead of the graveyard – not standing beside his brother's grave marker. It seemed to mock him – to mock what Sam thought he could not change. Abruptly, the face of the demon – Sam's face – looked up at him again, caught and held his gaze, and for the first time spoke.
"You can change this." It hissed the words at him, and though Sam was startled, he did not move away – did not cover his ears. The features looked pitying, thoughtful.
"You do not have to watch him die." Just when Sam was about to speak – to ask how – to plead with all he was, demand with threats or promises alike just so long as that the demon would tell him all it knew…then, then he heard Dean's voice, as if from afar, calling for him…
"Sammy – damn-it, Sam, wake up – we don't have time for this!" Dean exclaimed, tone both frustrated and worried as he hovered over his brother – Dean gripped Sam by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the skin – a reaction to the fear gnawing at Dean.
Sam's eyes fluttered open, awake and as aware as he could be coming out of a nightmare – when his puzzled gaze met his brothers worried one, Dean exhaled – letting his worry fall away from him. Sam scrunched up his nose, having smelt Dean's sour morning breath. Dean, though he had showered, had likely been in too great of a hurry to brush his teeth.
Dean noticed his reaction, but only snorted, muttering a soft, "served you right, sleeping beauty" which Sam did not think he was supposed to have heard. Restlessly, he pulled the rest of the bedding off himself, going into the bathroom to at least attempt to look as if he hadn't dropped out of college – Dean could pull off the "just got out of bed" look – Sam knew he couldn't.
"What's the rush?" Sam asked, having remembered hearing the last part of what Dean had said as he had awoken – his voice echoed oddly in the bathroom. He was still getting used to the fact that in any hotel you could hear your neighbors through the bathroom wall.
"Well, according to the newspapers, California is having more then its usual amount of monsters." Dean stated as he moved about in the other room, packing up their things. Usually Sam would argue in being able to do his own share of work – partly out of guilt, partly because Dean had the habit of picking up after Sam, but he wasn't going to argue the point when Dean wanted to rush.
"Oh? What've you got?" Sam asked while he was running a comb through his hair, when he glanced out of the bathroom door – clothed only in the boxers he had slept in, Dean grunted and – having not even glanced in his direction, threw Sam some of his somewhat-clean clothes. The hotel may have had a washer and dryer available – but it cost almost half of what the room had to do more then two loads of clothes, and gas being what it was it was both a place to sleep and gas money, or smell soapy and no gas money – they chose the gas money.
"Put those on, there clean enough," Dean told him sternly after seeing Sam's look of distaste – even at college, Sam hadn't gone a week without washing his clothes properly – he was learning, as Dean put it – "to live on the road" – Sam just wasn't sure he wanted to finish learning that 'lesson', "while you were making like sleeping beauty, I tracked where the victims died in relation to each other. Get this, they are dying in a pattern – like a giant summoning for a demon, only a wide scale...circle. I suspect that there's a demon hopping around from body to body killing the people it's inhabiting in that pattern, only we've got to hurry only two more bodies are needed to complete the summoning – and I, for one, don't want to know what's going to be called up from the depths of hell to have a ritual like that."
Dean made the gesture for a demon-summoning circle they both were all too familiar with. Sam sniffed at the shirt Dean had thrown at him. Tugging on a pair of jeans first, he set the shirt aside. Amused, Dean only watched him – waiting for him to ask a question.
"Do we know why a demon would want to summon up something bigger then it is?" Sam asked unable to help his curiosity, after deciding the shirt was as good as he was going to get and pulling it on.
"No idea – but it can't mean anything good." Dean had waited till he heard Sam close the bathroom door before looking again to his younger brother. There was a glint of excitement in Dean's eyes – he loved being on the hunt, lived for it.
That was why Sam knew he couldn't ask Dean to spend his final year safe – Dean wanted to take as many of the monsters out before he was taken in turn. Sam had chosen only to follow him – he had no doubts that Dean could, if needed, do this on his own. Sam didn't want that though – he didn't want to die, true enough, but his brother deserved better then to die in the grip of a monster – or, worse, alone.
"The dream you had give us any clues to what we might be looking for?" Dean asked him in turn, Sam took a moment to mentally shake away the thoughts that clouded his mind like a fog. The dream – he hadn't forgotten it – how could he? But Sam didn't yet think it was important – just a wish, just his subconscious seeking a way out of the impossible situation they had found themselves in.
Before he could say as much he noticed Dean had gone out the door. Without pause, before Dean came back around after collecting the weapons (he'd likely taken those out first – then the food, and then would come the clothes) - Sam stripped out of his jeans and pulled up another, darker, pair – the pair Dean knew Sam only wore when there was likely to be bloodshed.
"No – nothing helpful, just a normal dream I suppose." Sam answered reluctantly – whenever he answered in a negative to the 'visions question', he always felt as if he had let Dean down somehow.
"Too bad – could have used the help." Dean teased lightheartedly, and Sam could only shrug – as it was, he felt guilty. Dean did not mean to, but he only rubbed it in that, in regards to what they did – Dean had the most experience. Dean seemed to sense all was not well with Sam and he paused in the doorway – the strap of his own day-bag swung over his shoulder, he had obviously seen something in Sam's expression that he hadn't expected. Something that Sam felt every time they did this – and tried more desperately each time to hide. His fear…
"We'll do fine on our own Sammy – we always do." Dean spoke awkwardly – it was as close to comforting as Sam could ask – and in some way, it did, at least, settle his nervous stomach.
He wanted to ask Dean if his own feelings of nerves energy, and the nearly choking surge of adrenalin, would ever really go away. He didn't – he merely nodded, snatched up his day-bag, and followed Dean out of the hotel room – feeling as if he was, even now, hiding things from his elder brother.
No matter how stupid it was – as a kid Sam had made a habit of telling, and asking, Dean of everything he had witnessed and thought. It had become a habit that annoyed Dean in later years, but some habits were hard to break. Trusting in Dean was not one he intended to.
In the pre-dawn hours they arrived, most of the hotels having too much of a price tag, they'd already decided to sleep in the car, taking turns on the sight of the next 'marker' –it was all too likely the place someone would die, soon.
Dean had volunteered to take the first three hour shift.
Sam was jerked awake – but not reasonably alert - by Dean's yell. Usually, Dean would have waited, he didn't this time. Sam didn't blame him – the girl was no more then ten, and held a hunting knife over her own wrist. Her eyes were entirely black – a mark of the demon inhabiting her, they looked to the car – as if daring Sam and Dean to interfere. They did more then dare.
In Sam's rush to leave the car, to go after Dean, who had already gone ahead; his foot caught in the door. Sam landed hard on the pavement, gravel digging into his palms as he jerked his leg, trying to tear the bottom part of his jeans that was stuck. Sam struggled – his attention divided, between keeping an eye out for any sign of Dean's movements in the dark – and freeing himself; he was too late to do more then see the aftermath of what happened next.
Finally managing to rip himself free of being caught - fear glittered in Sam's eyes as he looked up – only too meet the demons bleak eyes. Sam swallowed hard, managing to choke down the sob that caught in his throat – Dean had tried to save the girl. Dean had gambled on Sam being a distraction as he approached from behind the little possessed girl.
Even in that – Sam had failed, the girl had likely spun around as only a demon could – surprising Dean. He took a stumbling step away from the possessed little girl. A hunting knife was sheathed inside his brother's gut. Dean's eyes were wide – startled, as he looked up from all the blood on his hands - even running down his shirt.
"Sammy…" Dean gasped softly- his brothers blue eyes meeting Sam's brown, regret and guilt twisted his brother's features.
Sickened by the sight, Sam rushed to get up off the ground and get to his brother– unknowingly; he limped his way to Dean. Not feeling the pain past his fear for his brother. Sam managed to get to Dean before he fell farther then onto his knees. Sam was shaking, watching with blurred eyes as his brother was dying in his arms.
He couldn't do anything – he was helpless, Dean was dying – and it hadn't even been the end of the cursed year he had gambled away to save Sam. The girl made a raspy choking noise, he looked up at her, surprised – he had forgotten about her in the onslaught of emotions rushing through him – she was….was giggling.
Sam's arms were wrapped around his brother, his hands clenched on the handle of the blade – it was slick with blood, and slippery with the sweat of Sam's own skin – Dean kept trying to pull it out – but…but that would surely do more damage then help, wouldn't it?
"You can change this." The little girl spoke, whisper soft – echoing the words of the winged demon that wore his face in the graveyard in his dreams. Chilled and torn, for he knew that a demon deal alone would not save Dean, who dealt with demons too much to be affected by their powers any longer. Especially with a life debt hanging over his head – that Sam knew – even if the demon offered, it could not save Dean.
"You do not have to watch him die." The possessed girl insisted – just as the demon that was himself had.
"How can I – or you - save him then?" Sam shouted at her – so fed up with words that echoed eerily the dream of Dean being dead in a graveyard. Sam thought he remembered seeing a graveyard coming into the city – why had it taken him till now to put the two together? It had been a warning – and Sam had dismissed it.
"Embrace what you are." Sam shook with realization at her words, he knew she meant for him to 'embrace' the demonic 'gift'; the demonic blood dripped into his mouth on the very day his mother died.
"Become a demon in part…then you will have the power to heal him…" The demon possessing the girl promised. Sam looked down at his brother, Dean couldn't tell him to do this – or not to – this would wholly be Sam's own choice. Dean had made a deal for Sam's life with a demon – could he live with Sam being, at least in part - a demon?
Sam clenched his jaw – feeling as if he had already made up his mind. If it saved Dean, it was worth falling into darkness.
"Show me how." Sam pleaded with her – not looking at the possessed girl, having only the will to look into Dean's eyes which begged him not to do what they both knew Sam had agreed to. Sam didn't know what was going to happen to him – was he going to become the super-solider the demons had wanted?
Or…or was he going to become something else entirely?
It was too late to second guess the motives of the demon that possessed the little girl – he felt the presence of the demon within her next to him. Could see, out of the corner of his eye, that the girl was right there – in his face – there was no taking it back – because Sam wanted …no, needed to save Dean's life.
The girl sighed softly, the demon releasing her, Sam did nothing as he heard the girls body slump to the pavement – for all he knew, the demon had already killed her. He could not help but partly blame her for his brother's swiftly chilling body.
Darkness, the essence of a demon without physical form, fanned out above them – bloating out the sky and stars. It was too thick to be smoke, yet was made up of thicker and darker stuff then the night sky around them. With malevolence it swirled into a cork-screw shape, and Sam knew all too well what it wanted.
It wanted him to submit, to arch his neck - lift his head, open his mouth, and let the darkness within…
Sam struggled with himself, he wanted to save Dean, more then anything…but…it was not knowing if the demon would possess him long term, not knowing any number of things that made him hesitate for the moment it took to see the hope in Dean's eyes. The hope that he would let Dean die…
Sam closed his eyes – like it or not, he was about to find out – if only to save Dean. His brother wouldn't die – not like this.
Dean watched in horror as his little brother, the little brother he had sworn to his father to protect, closed his eyes, looking almost peaceful with the resolve he found to accept the demons offer - to let it within him – to help him awaken something Dean feared. He regretted then, not telling his brother the whole truth of what their father had told Dean long ago.
"Dean, there's something you've got to know." John Winchester mumbled the words into his son's ear. He was dyeing and he knew it – he had traded his life, his soul, for his eldest boy. It was happening now, and there was no stopping it, the one thing he had asked for was to be given a chance to see Dean with his own eyes. Deals were tricky like that, he hadn't looked Dean full in the face yet, keeping his eyes to the side or only taking in one feature – but once he looked him whole in the face, he was dead.
"Dad…" Dean choked the words out – almost a sob, and John tried not to feel guilty for being selfish enough not to want to see his own flesh and blood die before him. A father wasn't supposed to bury his sons before he died. Hard enough that his wife, his Mary, had died before him, he couldn't live with one of his boys dead.
"Sammy swallowed demon blood at six months." John felt Dean tense up, he'd taught Dean what it meant when someone swallowed demon blood. It was the one area in training that Sam lacked. It meant one of two things – after a year old, it meant that the person would be drawn to darkness, twisted to it. Before a year old it meant that there was a fifty-fifty chance of either death, or the person became a demon, if the dormant blood was triggered.
"Protect him, but if he turns – kill him, family will always be the Winchester weakness."
This had been a trap, Dean knew – the entire thing, all to lure Sam to this place. All to make sure his dormant demon blood was triggered. There was nothing Dean could do – he couldn't even kill Sam before it happened, he was too weak from blood loss. To paralyzed with a pain that would spill his guts out of his knife wound.
Sam tilted his head back, exposing his throat – submitting to becoming possessed. His mouth opening as Dean watched, a tear sliding down his cheek as the darkness that had been swirling above them shoved its way down Sammy's mouth, stiffening his limbs.
Dean mouthed his brother's name, a whisper "Sammy". It was an apology, it was shame – it was fear, it was hope. Hope, that even though the possession would quicken the dormant demonic blood into awakening, there was still hope that Sammy would still be Sammy, even though his nature would be a demons.
Dean closed his eyes, praying, even as he lay prone in a pool of his own blood, dying. Blurrily he saw Sammy look down at him with demon silver eyes – those eyes held something, warmth. Life. Sam.
"…have to want to live, please, Dean…live…want you to live…don't leave…"
Dean exhaled shakily, his dying breath, in his last moment he knew what his choice would be.
Dean screamed as Sam brought him back to life, screamed as his skin knitted itself back together, as internal bleeding reversed itself he moaned, wondering if coming back to life would always make him long for death. Surely death would be less painful. Dean closed his eyes and let himself fall into sleep; he thought it ironic that it might be as close to death as he would ever get with Sam hovering over him until the end of days.
Rank of Demons.
Black Eyes – Lowest, often servants of the Greater Demons. They can possess and kill. Their intent is to draw blood or put a person or persons into a chaotic emotional state pending depression or death, often that "personal demon" of victim.
Red Eyes – Favored Servants, these are often Crossroad demons who directly serve a Greater Demon. Many victims through "deals" with humans act often as "between" for Greater Demons.
Yellow Eyes – High Rank, whose intent is usually to inflict chaos upon civilizations; feeds on the emotional act of destruction, death, chaos, or deals.
Silver Eyes – High Rank, Greater Demon/Legendary. While this rank, unlike the others, does not need to "feed" on death or emotion, their nature is twisted so they perform such acts for amusement or long-term plans. Manipulators, can often inflict death or destruction on a whim. "Born" demons, where one parent was either a demon, or at six months as humans they were tainted by demon blood. Long memories, even so there has not been a newly born Silver Eyes since before biblical account. Weakness is in their "youth" (after blood quickening, before power mastery) are subject to the whim of their "nature" (what their power will favor); such as killing sprees, orgies, wars, earthquakes, floods, fires – and so forth and so on.