Kiss of Death
Chapter One
Disclaimers: I do not own the boys, I only borrow them occasionally for my own nefarious purposes…
Set in Season One sometime after Faith so minor spoilage up to that point.
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Dean paced the floor of the motel room, his hand reaching up occasionally to ruffle the back of his dirty blonde hair. A thin shaft of sunlight wedged its way between the curtains and glanced off the silver ring on his hand. Something about the image made Sam think of a caged lion. "Dude, you're wearing a path in the carpet."
Dean glanced over his shoulder, a look of annoyance crossing his face. He walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. Sunlight flooded the dimly lit room and Sam squinted and ducked his head under the covers.
Dean turned and gave a frustrated grunt. "Sammy, I can't do this. It's been over a week, man, my huntin' muscles are atrophying."
Sam peeked over the top of the comforter. "Uh-oh. He's using the big words… it has been too long."
"Very funny. So what do you think, Francis? You all better yet? Or do you still have the sniffles?"
Sam grinned in spite of himself, recalling Dean's ministrations over the past week. He'd seen the worry creasing his big brother's face as he fed Sam chicken broth and aspirin. He'd seen the look of concern in Dean's eyes when his fever spiked. But he could play along if that's what Dean needed. "Yeah, I was just fakin' it to get a little R & R."
"Bitch." Dean glared at Sam but relief reflected in his eyes. "Seriously, dude, you up to movin' on?"
Sam kicked off the covers and stretched, his shaggy hair mussed from sleep. "I gotta' admit, I'm not a hundred percent, but if we stay here another day I'm afraid you'll spontaneously combust or something."
Dean gave an exaggerated nod and rubbed his hands together. "I think I found something. On that thing," he added, nodding sideways at Sam's laptop.
Sam looked skeptical. "You surfed the net?"
Dean raised his eyebrows and gave a lecherous grin. "Heh. Check out your favorites, dude."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Nice. Seriously, what'd you find?"
"Benton, Oregon… They've had two unexplained deaths and one dude in a coma in the past few months. All males in their mid-twenties, all wasted away, like they'd aged in overdrive or something. Think it's our kind of weird?"
"Worth checking out, I guess. Lemme grab a shower and then we can head out." Sam swung his long legs over the side of bed and rested a moment before rising.
"You sure you're up to it?" Dean asked, all traces of sarcasm gone from his voice replaced with an edge of brotherly concern. He would never let on to Sam, but he'd been worried these past few days. It had been years since he'd seen Sam so sick, and the helpless feeling it triggered in him had made him feel about ten years old.
Sam took a wobbly step and looked back at Dean over his shoulder. "Nothin' a little breakfast won't cure." He forced a smile onto his lips. "Seriously, I'm good."
Dean tilted his chin up in response and Sam turned back around and proceeded on to the bathroom under his brother's watchful eye.
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Dean rolled the Impala into Benton in second gear, eyes shifting to take in their surroundings. Their first stop was the hospital where the coma victim, one Randall Cohn, lay wasting away. Dean wheeled into a parking space and adjusted his tie, then reached into the center console to rifle through a mess of ID cards. He grabbed one, squinted at it and threw it back, then grabbed another and stuck it in his jacket pocket. Sam did the same and they opened the car doors and regarded each other over the top of the vehicle.
"Doctor," Sam said, nodding at Dean.
"Doctor," Dean replied, a grin playing at the side of his mouth.
The two straightened and walked into the hospital as if they had every right to be there. Dean strode up to a young blonde nurse sitting behind the counter and cleared his throat. She glanced up from her clipboard, a smile flitting across her face. "Can I help you?"
Dean's gaze met hers. "I'm sure you can…" A grin twitched on his lips. "I'm Doctor Osborne, this is my colleague, Doctor Iommi. We're here to consult on the Cohn case."
The nurse's expression turned grave. "Of course, Doctors. Right this way," she said, standing and leading them towards a bank of elevators. She pressed the "up" button and glanced over her shoulder at Dean, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips. The elevator doors opened and as she stepped on Dean shot a lewd smirk in Sam's direction. Sam shook his head and followed her onto the elevator. As the doors closed, Dean hummed the tune to "Love in an Elevator", pouting his lips innocently when Sam elbowed him.
"Here we are, gentlemen," the nurse said. "ICU." She pointed to her right. "Mr. Cohn is in room 432. Doctor Shepard should be making rounds right about now so you can touch base with him. Anything else I can do for you?" she asked, focusing her blue eyed gaze on Dean, who opened his mouth to speak.
Sam interrupted, stepping in front of his brother to hit the "down" button. "We've got it from here. Thank you for your help, Miss…" His eyes traveled down to her name tag. "Miss Donovan."
Looking slightly taken aback, Nurse Donovan nodded as the elevator doors closed between her and the doctors. Sam shot Dean a look. "Time and a place, dude, time and a place."
Dean shrugged good-naturedly and set off down the narrow corridor before them.
They passed several rooms before they reached their destination. Dean glanced surreptitiously from side to side before motioning for Sam to follow him into the room with a tilt of his head.
Sam closed the door behind them and pulled out a digital camera. A curtain blocked their view of the patient and Dean reached up a hand to pull it sideways along a set of tracks in the ceiling. He nearly jumped backwards when the object of their attention was revealed.
"Dude," Dean whispered under his breath like a curse.
Sam stopped short directly behind Dean. "What the hell?"
Randall Cohn was an empty husk. If not for the steady beep of the heart monitor the brothers would have been hard pressed to say he was actually alive. His skin was chalk-white and pulled taut across his bones. Dark smudges pooled under his eyes.
Dean let out a breath and scratched the back of his head. "Looks like our boy's been sucked dry. What the hell does this?"
The camera beeped once and a flash lit the darkened room. Sam lowered it, his eyes glued to Randall's emaciated frame. "No idea, man, but whatever it was, it was thirsty."
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"Whatd'ya think? That dude looked wasted, man," Dean mumbled as he shoved a French fry into his mouth.
Sam sat across from him in the diner booth, burger in one hand, the other working the laptop. "Yeah. Did he look twenty-six to you?"
"More like eighty-six," Dean replied, shaking his head as if to ward off the image.
"Aging spirit, maybe? Some kind of demon that feeds on peoples' life force, like a psychic vampire or a shtriga or something?" Sam asked rhetorically, his index finger scrolling through the information in front of him.
"Dunno. Let's check out the two deaths, see what the common denominator is."
Sam leaned in towards the computer screen. "Says here Ron Carlton, aged twenty-five, died of natural causes in his home. His roommate, Chris Norton, was the one who found him."
"So we pay this Chris dude a visit," Dean said, glancing up at his brother. He frowned and narrowed his eyes. "Dude, you look like hell. You alright?"
Sam nodded, but the pallor of his skin suggested otherwise. "I just can't seem to shake this crap. To tell you the truth, I'm kinda wiped."
Dean motioned to their waitress and pushed his plate forward. "Let's go get checked in. We'll talk to the roommate in the morning."
Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah, sounds good."
"Wouldn't want to keep you out past your bedtime, Samantha," Dean added with a smirk.
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Dean reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. He took one last look at his brother sleeping peacefully in the adjacent bed and gave a silent prayer of thanks to a God he no longer knew if he believed in that Sam was on the mend. It had been one hell of a week, but Sam seemed to be out of the woods now.
Dean flicked off the light and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Breathing deeply, he realized how tired he was and closed his eyes, allowing sleep to overtake him.
Dean felt her before he saw her. He laid face down, one hand under his pillow, sprawled on top of the motel comforter. Warm breath tickled the back of his neck triggering an eruption of gooseflesh down his arm. Silken hair brushed against his bare shoulder and he shifted onto his side and craned his neck backwards.
His hazel eyes, hooded with sleep, peered at the face beside him. The edges of his vision seemed blurred, fuzzy and he swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Blinking slowly Dean took in the vision before him. Wide green eyes rimmed in impossibly thick black lashes, full lips the color of sunset, long dark hair that appeared almost liquid as the figure in front of him tossed her head.
She lowered her gaze and then looked up at him through her lashes, biting her lower lip seductively. Dean saw his hand reach up almost of its own accord to touch her cheek and brush back a stray lock of ebony hair. She smiled at this and darted a tiny pink tongue over her lips, then leaned down over him. She swirled her hair across his muscular chest and dipped her head to place a trail of kisses from his collarbone to his flat stomach. Dean's breath caught as she paused to look up at him, desire flashing in her eyes. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, succumbing to sensation that blocked out everything else.
Suddenly she was above him again, her movements almost feline in their grace. Her small, soft hands found his large, calloused ones and with a strength belied by her petite physique she raised his arms above his head and pinned his hands to the pillow. In the same move she gracefully straddled his hips and lowered her body onto his, pressing her weight onto the smooth, hard planes of his chest and abdomen. Dean's eyes widened and flashed, his full mouth opened slightly as if to speak and was instantly covered with hers. He felt as if he were melting into her, lines blurred and he couldn't tell where he ended and she began. He devoured her mouth with his own, the taste of her like honey on his tongue.
They were moving together now, sheets tangling, bodies entwining. God, she felt so good. He felt ravenous, hungry for everything she had to share. He couldn't seem to touch enough, kiss enough, feel enough. His skin felt feverish, his lips were bruised, he could feel himself unraveling. He tightened his fists around her long hair as he cried out and thought to himself, I'm going to break apart.
And then suddenly he was alone, confused, blinking in the moonlight. His breath came in short bursts; his heart pounded, sweat glistening on his bare chest. He glanced around the room and saw Sam sleeping soundly in the adjacent bed.
He let his breath out in a shaky rush of air and reached a hand up to rub his furrowed brow. Wow, he thought. That was one hell of a dream.
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Dean woke to the sound of coughing. His eyes felt like someone had placed weights on them during the night but he managed to open them enough to take in the hunched figure of his brother sitting on other bed.
"Sammy?" The two syllables were laced with meaning. One simple word conveyed so much… You alright? I'm worried. What needs fixing? I'm your big brother, that's my job.
Sam glanced in Dean's direction. "I'm fine," he said, his voice hoarse. "Seriously," he added as he regarded the concern creasing Dean's brow. "I feel a lot better; I just have this damn cough when the Nyquil wears off."
Early morning sun slanted through the window and Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean as he noted his haggard appearance. "You alright, man? No offense, but you kinda look like crap."
"Wha'? I'm fine," Dean said, ignoring the exhaustion that seemed to permeate his bones. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and stretched his back. "Let's go talk to this Chris dude, see what we can find out."
Sam pursed his lips and gave his head a small shake. "You're changing the subject, Dean, but alright. You can even have the first shower."
"Thanks, man." Dean raised himself onto his forearms and rolled his neck from side to side. There was an ache deep in his spine that felt like the beginnings of the flu but he shook it off and swung a leg over the side of the bed. He stood and shuffled towards the bathroom, trying to overcome the heaviness that weighted his limbs.
He kicked the bathroom door closed behind him and stripped off his boxers. He reached a hand in to turn on the shower and held it there until the water ran warm across his palm. Stepping into the stream he closed his eyes and ran his hands back through his hair. The water soothed his aching muscles and he found his mind returning to the dream he'd had the night before. Damn, that felt real.
Felt real…felt damn good… It had been so long since Dean had felt anything but the all too familiar emotions of worry, pain, anger… How long since anything had broken through that hardened shell and actually touched something inside? Everything he did was a means to an end; work this angle on a credit card scam, flash this fake badge to gain entry to a crime scene, say some pretty words to the girl at the bar to get laid, salt and burn this spirit's bones to keep it from hurting anyone else. But this…even if it was only a dream, at least it made him feel.
Dean tried to remember the last time he'd allowed himself to truly let go with a woman. Usually he was in control, giving just enough to make his partner lose herself but holding back anything that might actually leave him vulnerable. Last night had been different. He was sure there was some psycho-babble bullshit Sam would come up with to explain why he could only completely relinquish control when he was asleep. Whatever the reason, he couldn't seem to stop thinking about the woman in his dream.
Before he knew it the water had cooled and Sam was pounding on the door. "Dean! What the hell, dude? A twenty minute shower? Save some hot water for me, man."
Dean shook his head, raining water droplets onto the shower curtain. He stepped out onto the tiny motel bath mat and rubbed a hand across the blurry mirror. Leaning in, he gazed at his reflection as if seeing a stranger. Beads of water glistened on his skin and clung to his hair and lashes. He blinked a few times as if waking, then grabbed the towel from the sink and wrapped it around his waist. "Coming, Sammy. Hold your damn horses."
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Thanks for taking time out of your day to read my ramblings!
Reviews are craved, welcomed, always appreciated.
Amanda, thanks for the beta – I owe you some cake;)