Born of Ill Intent.

Dean desperately searches for his kidnapped brother, only to discover that the fallout from Sam's captivity has alarming consequences.

Hurt Sam. Protective Dean. Fatherly Bobby.

Set early season two.

Return of a previous OC.

Would help to read Ice Cold in LA, but not essential as the story is summarised in this one at some point.

WARNINGS:

Dark, dark themes with some dark humour to match;

drugging, rape, kidnap, bad language

MPREG – NOT Wincest!

Medical facts are a myth, so please don't have a go, yeah? You'll only serve to piss me off and we don't want that now, do we?

Weird plot alert!

Rather Terry Prachett in places, so if you don't like the Discworld books then I really wouldn't recommend this story.


Chapter One.

"Shifter, huh?" Bobby's voice sounded hollow on the line, but there was no masking his concern. "Give you any trouble?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle. All taken care of, dude," said Dean, casually kicking up dust with his feet.

"Uhuh," said Bobby, somewhat dryly. "And how's Sam?"

Dean sighed and slumped against the Impala, a small, bitter smile twisting his mouth. "Same as always… bitchy, moody. Nothin' changes."

"Look, Dean", Bobby's tone changed from fond exasperation to fatherly concern. "I know the last few months have been tough, with your Daddy gone and all, but you boys need each other, need to talk..."

Dean snorted. "Kid does nothing but damn well talk! It's all I can do to get away from the guy before he starts crying into his latte!"

There was an angry silence at the other end of the line before Bobby growled:

"You know good and well what I meant, boy! Sam's worried about you!"

There was a brief pause until Dean sighed again, this time in defeat.

"Look, I'll talk to him, ok? I'll drag him to a bar, shoot some pool, sink a few beers, and we'll talk." He heard it all in Bobby's knowing silence, and rolled his eyes. "I promise."

"You'd better, or I'll threaten you same way I once threatened your Daddy."

"Kinky bastard," Dean shot back, but smiled sadly.

It was merely a faded memory now, but he vaguely recalled a disagreement between the two hunters which lead to Bobby brandishing a shotgun at John, and to this day Dean believed the guy would indeed have filled his dad's ass with buckshot.

"Never knew your bread was buttered that side, dude," he added with a soft laugh.

He just about heard Bobby's grumbled "Idgit" before he snapped his cell phone shut.


"Busy tonight, huh?"

Sam looked to his right and nodded politely. "Yeah."

"So, you here alone?"

Putting his drink down on the sticky bar, Sam turned to properly study the girl.

She was attractive enough, blond, early twenties, came up to Sam's chest. But he'd seen her flirting with his older brother earlier, and they'd both disappeared out back for a half hour or so. When Dean returned he'd seemed uncomfortable and even gave Sam a warning tilt of the head.

Don't go there. Girl's a fruitloop.

In any case, Sam didn't play that kind of game.

One night stands had never been his thing, anyhow, but his brother's cast offs? No thanks. Sam gave up hand-me-downs a long time ago, once his shadow stretched taller than Dean's.

He turned his head away and began scanning the room for his older brother. Resisting the urge to chew nervously on his bottom lip, Sam tried to draw in long, even breaths. He felt distinctly on edge tonight. There was something in the air, a nervous tension that only he seemed to pick up on, while everyone else carried on in their own sweet drunken way. For Sam, keeping Dean in sight, making sure his sibling was safe and sound, was his number one priority.

An ominous tingling started at the base of his spine, playing his nerve endings like an Irish fiddle but, no matter how hard he tried, Sam couldn't for the life of him figure out what was wrong.

The shifter was dead.

Three silver bullets to the heart, followed by a salt and burn for good measure.

They didn't come much deader than that.

Sam's left leg jiggled up and down, regardless of his own inner reassurances.

"No, I'm not here alone," Sam finally replied, after spotting Dean by the pool tables.

His brother was grinning from ear to ear, smug over his winnings no doubt, and Sam felt a part of himself, deep down inside, relax a little.

It was good to see his brother smile again. Since their father died, Dean's smiles were few and far between. He'd snapped at Sam more than once, threw a punch or two, and even taken his grief out on the Impala.

But perhaps the load was beginning to lighten for Dean. Over the last few days, he'd cracked a few jokes from time to time, teased Sam over his hair and choice of coffee, and his appetite was improving; instead of surviving on caffeine during the day, and alcohol at night, he was back to greasy chilli cheese fries and bacon double cheese burgers with extra onions – Sam grimaced, as though the smell was still with him and perhaps it was, trapped in his nostril hairs for ever more, never to leave.

Ugh.

As for the brothers' relationship, well, they weren't up to their usual standard, and things were still a little strained between them, but Sam was secretly pleased when Dean had pulled up next to the bar that evening and suggested Sam might like to join him...

Ya know, if you're not too busy washing your hair, painting your nails...

Sam sighed in happy relief and knocked back the rest of his bourbon.

It reminded him of the weeks following Jess's death, when Dean was trying to help him deal with his loss. Having his brother teasing and ribbing him again, after everything that'd happened over the last few months, had never felt so good, so normal.

Grimacing at the sudden acrid, bitter taste in his mouth, Sam stared down into his glass. Barely noticeable, a small patch of white sediment, partially dissolved by bourbon, clung to the base, and Sam knew what the bitch had done to him.

It was his own fault, he reflected bitterly, as the room began to spin. He should have known better.

Like his dad once told him: One slip, one tiny moment of inattention, and that's how hunters get caught.

His stomach began churning alarmingly, his vision blurring in and out. Dean was still on the other side of the room, playing pool, his back to the bar. Sam tried to call out but his tongue refused to function much beyond a slurred grunt, and a surprisingly strong grip on his arm stopped him from stumbling away.

The blond leaned over and blew gently in his ear.

"Don't go, sweetheart," she whispered to him. "We could have so much fun together."

Sam stared blearily at her hand on his arm, and his mind shut down.


It wasn't the best of awakenings: spread-eagle and naked on some grimy bed with questionable sheets, wrists and ankles in chains and a thick cloth stuffed in his mouth.

Worst news of all was that the creature riding him like an oil donkey strongly resembled a miniature wendigo, and Sam's body was responding in spite of himself.

Nonononono!

Once it realised he was awake, it grinned down at him, mouth a grotesque twisted slash across its face, and sped up.

It's just a dream. It's gotta be a dream!

Sam whimpered into the gag and bit down hard, trying to control himself, but whatever he'd been drugged with was ruling the roost right then. The bed springs creaked in time as the creature grunted with pleasure, and raked its sharp claws down Sam's chest, leaving bloody scratches deep in his flesh. He screamed out his pain into the foul tasting cloth, apparently exciting the creature all the more.

A few more tight, hot squeezes and, to his absolute shame, Sam was coming.

Panting through his nose, Sam blinked up at his rapist, angry and bewildered until its eyes flashed silver, and his anger turned to deep seated fear.

Shifter, his sluggish mind informed him.

His self-disgust deepened when the shifter, still impaled on Sam, began peeling off its ugly, scarred flesh and tossing it on the floor. Sick, slippery noises filled the room and Sam fought hard against the dangerous urge to vomit as the blond from the bar gradually re-emerged.

"Hi honey!" she cooed, smoothing her slimy wet hands over Sam's naked chest. "Did you enjoy that? Wanna go again?"

Sam shook his head, frantically. "Mmmph!"

"Sure?" she pouted, eyebrows drawn into a frown. "Oh well. Maybe if your brother brings me that journal, I'll leave you alone."

Sam's eyes widened. "Mmmph?"

The blond grinned, revealing perfect white teeth.

"Why, your daddy's journal, of course." She shook back her long hair, still slimy from the shift. "Shit like that's worth thousands on the black market, ya know. All kinds of valuable information in a hunter's journal… like how to take out a shifter, for example?" she added coyly, batting her eyelashes.

Now Sam understood.

Terrific. He was being held hostage over a hunter's journal.

But it still didn't make too much sense to him. That kind of information was available anywhere on the internet, if you knew where to look.

"Not just any hunter, baby," said the shifter, obviously reading his mind. "John Winchester. You wouldn't believe how many of my kin out there are desperate to get their hands on that. It's a piece of history."

She… it? dismounted, paced across the room and disappeared into the bathroom. The shower was started up and the creature began merrily humming an old Beatles track. Sam vaguely recognised 'I'm looking through you' and figured it was eerily appropriate. The shower suddenly cut out and 'she' re-emerged minutes later, freshly showered and clear of shifter gunge, and began pulling on a pair of jeans and a blouse.

"Don't worry, Sammy," she told him, sweetly. She finished buttoning her blouse and pulled open the door to the room, letting a shaft of daylight in. "I'm sure your brother will come for you."

"Mmmph." Sam shook his head weakly in despair.

The shifter waggled the fingers of one hand at him while showing him the digital camera in the other. "Kinda like you just did for me."

She turned off the light, and closed the door quietly behind her, leaving Sam all alone in the dark.


Dean woke up in the early hours with a head like a burst balloon, blindly stumbled into the bathroom, and threw up a time or two.

Sam had somehow managed to sleep through all that, but the kid had also slept through Dean's clumsy homecoming from the bar just after midnight.

To be fair, Dean had tried to be quiet for once, and even pulled the main door shut without slamming it.

Unfortunately, he'd dropped a heavy boot on the floor while getting ready for bed. It had fallen with a loud thud and Dean had frozen, eyes carefully watching the bed on the far side of the room. Through the gloom, he could just make out a bunched up lump of blankets, and held his breath, waiting.

No movement. He hadn't awakened the beast this time, unlike the last few nights where Dean's noisy night time preparations had resulted in some minor brotherly squabbles.

Fortunately, it was still dark outside; the morning chorus had yet to add to his misery.

The Lake House motel room's bathroom facilities were fairly basic, but clean. At least, they were until Dean threw up over them, virtually pebble-dashing the basin, the tiled wall behind it, and the laminate floor beneath.

He stared at the mess through half-open, bleary eyes.

No way was he in a fit state to be clearing that up, and in any case he'd only wake up Sam, no doubt giving the little bitch something else to complain about. It would have to wait 'til morning.

Carefully pushing the bathroom door shut to keep in the rancid smell of vomit, he trudged back to bed through the dark of the room, relying on his awesome Jedi powers to guide him. Collapsing face down on the comforter, Dean smacked his lips, sighed heavily, and soon fell back into an uneasy sleep.

The second time he awoke, he was alone in the room, daylight seeping in through the lime green curtains, and the unmade bed next to his was empty, its sheets and blankets all bunched up and lumpy. It was easy to assume Sam had gone for coffee and breakfast.

Hope he brings extra strength, thought Dean with a grimace. And doughnuts...

Maybe not, he quickly amended when his stomach took exception, and lurched up and down like it was free riding a bungee rope.

Jesus. Exactly how much did I have to drink last night?

Knowing Dean's luck, Sam would order the greasiest food imaginable, an apt punishment for Dean's drinking binge the night before.

No doubt the smug little bastard would deliver the I told you so line with great pleasure, paragon of virtue that he was, all the while chomping on granola, natural yoghurt and a fruit cup.

Dean hadn't seen his brother leave the bar – it had become too crowded and smoky to see across the room clearly - but it must have been early because by the time Dean noticed he was gone it was only around nine O'clock, a mere half hour since they'd arrived.

Little Miss Goody Two Shoes had ducked out on his big brother for the rest of the night. Probably as sober as a judge, knowing Sam.

Dry swallowing a couple of Tylenol, and trying to remember what in hell's name he'd been drinking the night before, Dean sat down at the scratched up table by the window, and checked the laptop.

When he found the email with a video attachment entitled Little Brothers, alarm bells started ringing.

Dean wasn't sure what he was watching at first, it was so blurry, but after a while he made out the bound and naked form of his little brother, lying on some grungy looking bed in a dark, grungy room.

"What the hell?" he whispered, and leaned closer to the screen.

The kid was unconscious, or asleep, maybe, but he was suddenly blocked from Dean's view when a familiar looking blonde moved into shot.

His eyebrows virtually disappeared through his hairline when he recognised her. It was the girl from the bar.

"Sammy, you didn't…"

Oh hell.

She'd come on strong and heavy, batting her eyelids at him, pushing her ample breasts in Dean's face. Feeling unusually drunk and way too horny, he'd seized the day and gone outside for a little back alley fun. But his heart hadn't been in it and, after a few minutes of some clumsy fumbling, he'd refused her offer of a nightcap, or a romp in the sack. There'd been something a little creepy about her – too eager, maybe – but nothing he could put his drunken finger on. She'd whined and pouted, and clung to his arm like the most stubborn kind of dangleberry. Clingy girls were never a turn on, so he'd shrugged her off with disgust and strolled back into the bar, sending his brother a warning glance.

Last thing either of them needed was a one night stand with some psycho stalker. The Winchesters had enough to deal with as it was.

But somehow she'd nabbed herself a Sammy.

"You crazy fucking bitch," he breathed as he carried on watching, studying the room on screen and trying to gather clues to Sam's whereabouts.

Sam clearly wasn't there by his own free will and it left a nasty taste in Dean's mouth. He growled angrily as the blond smiled into the camera.

"Hi Dean!" she giggled and briefly glanced over her shoulder. "As you can see, Sammy was even less enthused with me than you were." She shrugged, nonchalantly. "Don't know why the drugs didn't work so well on you, but Sam sure went out like a light." The crazy bitch giggled. "Don't worry; all you have to do is bring a special little gift, and I'll let you have him back in one piece."

The grin suddenly dropped from her face, and she became deadly serious, her mood changing faster than a traffic signal on Speed.

"Plain and simple. I want your daddy's journal, Dean, or you don't get to see your brother again."

The grin came back in a flash; all sickly sweet like butter wouldn't just melt, but boil and stick to the bottom of the pan. Her once attractive features were now twisted and ugly, and Dean wondered what the hell he'd seen in her to begin with.

"You decide, honey. I'll give you plenty of time to think about it so just keep checking your email for further instructions. But no replies, understand? I'm not in the mood for threats or arguments. You ain't the one calling the shots, here, so reply to the emails and poor little Sammy will suffer for it."

Silver eyes suddenly flashed on screen, and her skin began to bubble and twist. "Ewww gross!" Dean stood so abruptly his chair fell backwards to the floor with a loud thump.

He watched, heart in his mouth as the shifter became a damn wendigo, and then…

"No. No, you can't…" he stared in helpless horror as the monster climbed on the bed, swung one leg over the kid's slim hips, settled itself, and began stroking Sam's hair.

Dean's jaw clenched, angrily.

Sam had clearly been double-drugged and molested in his sleep because his cock was standing tall and proud despite his unconsciousness.

Dean nearly threw up again when the wendigo-shifter snarled suddenly and mounted his little brother.

Sam was being raped, for fuck sake!

The shifter-wendigo moved up and down in fast, painful looking strokes that jostled Sam's head from side to side.

"You sonofabitch!" Dean roared, tears suddenly streaming down his face.

Caught up in his anguish and fury, he grabbed his duffle and yanked open the zip, immediately sweeping up the silver Taurus. But his hands were shaking so much that he dropped it.

"Dammit!"

Usually so graceful and in control, Dean was rapidly falling apart. Before he could retrieve the weapon he glanced at the screen just in time to see Sam's eyes flicker open.

"No, Sammy," he whispered futilely. "Shut your eyes, little brother. Don't look at it… please don't look at it."

He saw the moment Sam realised what was happening to him when fear and self-disgust enveloped the kid's face, and his brother's muffled cries broke Dean's heart.

"Just hold on, kiddo."

Channelling his anger into regaining much needed composure, Dean picked up the fallen Taurus and checked it for silver bullets.

"I'll get you out of there, I promise."

Next, he grabbed his father's journal, and stared down at the leather cover.

"I'm sorry, dad. I got no choice."


TBC.

Well, here it is. That dark, humorous story I promised you all before Christmas. A thousand apologies for the long wait, but as some of you know my health has been somewhat fragile these past twelve months. And when I finally made it back to work in August, I lasted less than two hours before I was right back in hospital again, this time for an emergency hernia operation.

So, in between that, returning to work, fighting chest pain, colitis, dogged by constant fatigue, and waves of medication induced nausea, I finally managed to finish this for you guys. Enjoy!

Please note: it is complete in twelve chapters, so please do not make any requests or suggestions for this story.

Gimme lotsa love in your reviews, and I'll post the next chapter very, very soon…

Love and hugs,

ST xxx