NOTE: This fic is complete at chapter 100. All chapters after that are merely bonus, additional stories, drabbles, AUs, etc., that are not connected to the main fic, but I hope you enjoy the fun little stories I have included throughout, and after the end as I worked on the original book version for this fic, which you can purchase as a complete trilogy of books if you Google The Incubus Saga. THANK YOU!

ARC 1: Sasha, PART 1: Incubus

Dean hated shapeshifters. No, Dean really hated shapeshifters. Of course, he could understand why the first one he and Sam had ever run into had coveted his extremely handsome appearance. But the second one really pissed him off.

The third was just plain gross.

"Dude, I think I have ear on the back of my neck. Get it off, will ya?"

"That's disgusting, Dean," Sam replied, keeping his distance since he had managed to remain annoyingly spotless.

Typical.

Dean cringed, reaching to the back of his neck where he peeled away what definitely wasn't an ear. He decided he didn't want to know what the flaps of gooey skin had actually been.

"No, Sammy, disgusting is that slimy bastard shedding his skin two floors up and tossing it down the stairwell. Where it found me. That is disgusting."

Sam didn't argue. "Well, it's dead now. Vengeance has been had. Can we go?" He reached for the passenger door of the Impala, but Dean stopped him from getting in with a gore covered hand on his shoulder.

"No way am I getting this stuff on my baby's seats. We'll walk back and get her in the morning." Dean said this with finality and started down the street.

"Walk?" Sam called after him, "Dean, our hotel's on the other side of town."

"It's a nice night."

"It's three AM!"

Dean kept walking, keys securely in his pocket, ensuring that Sam would have to accept his fate for the night and tag along. "Wuss," he mumbled under his breath, loud enough to be sure Sam heard him.

Of course Sam didn't comment outright. He was too upset to play into Dean's hands just now. It was late and he was cranky from more than just lack of sleep.

The shapeshifter had managed to kill its intended target despite Sam and Dean's best efforts. A young mother. A widowed mother. It would have killed the kids next, pretending to be Mom with perfect accuracy. They both knew they should be happy they managed to save anyone. But somehow, it never seemed enough.

Dean wasn't oblivious to how his brother was feeling. He knew well how Sam wore a "willing martyr" sign for the downtrodden. And Dean wouldn't deny that right now he was feeling the same way. Better them than some innocent young mother of three whose husband died two months ago in Iraq. But better the demon, or shapeshifter, or whatever it happened to be at the time than Sam or Dean. They had their own war to fight.

Once in a while Dean wondered if he would rather be fighting like that woman's husband, against real living people instead of monsters. He never wondered long. Monsters he understands. Humans are crazy.

"You think those kids are gonna be okay?" Sam asked, effectively ruining Dean's quiet introspection, "We did kind of just…leave them with the neighbor."

Dean rolled his eyes. They had already discussed this. To an excessive extent. "She said she was a family friend."

"So. Everybody lies."

Dean huffed, "Thank you, Doctor House," he teased, "I'll be sure and remember that one."

Sam threw Dean a nasty glare, one Dean remembered well from back when they were kids. This particular glare of doom was usually reserved for times Dean stole the remote and changed it from Count Duckula to Transformers. Really, it had been for Sam's own good. Count Duckula was a bad representation of vampires; it would have given the kid the wrong idea.

Transformers on the other hand…

"Dean," Sam pressed, making it clear that he had not yet been appeased and wanted an answer.

"Look, the kids went right to her," Dean said, "And you and I both know how good kids are at reading evil. She's a family friend and she's going to call the grandparents in the morning. End of hunt. End of story."

"Right," Sam scoffed, "For you maybe. Even for me. But what about the people that get left behind after we've been through? What about those kids without a dad or a mom now, huh? Whose fault is that?"

Dean came to a quick stop. He hated this fight. He hated how many times they had it, how many times a week he had to get it through Sam's head that yes, they were the good guys. No, Sammy, you're a good guy too. You're not going to go "darkside" and kill me, or anybody else. You got that? Not. Going. To. Happen.

And nothing on Earth or from Hell was going to change that. Dean wouldn't allow it.

"Listen to me, Sam," Dean said, and his tone clearly stated that his words were not open for debate. Dean was no longer sick of their argument; he was finished with it. For good. "Those kids, maybe they won't be fine. Maybe they'll never be fine. But that is not our fault. If we hadn't come on this hunt, they'd be dead."

Sam opened his mouth to speak but Dean grabbed him by the front of his shirt. The goo that covered him didn't seem all that funny anymore.

"They'd be dead. Because of us, they're alive. We did everything we could. Get. Over. It."

Dean let Sam's shirt go. Normally, he wouldn't feel the least bit guilty for acting so severe. Normally. But these days he was getting softer on Sam. He couldn't help it, not after he had almost lost Sam forever. The younger man's wounded look, with those damn puppy eyes that made anyone want to tell him their whole life story and then some, was slowly whittling Dean down. And Sam was wearing that look now with newfound gusto.

Damn it.

"Sammy…"

"I just get so sick of it, Dean," Sam broke in, his hazel eyes big as ever and filled with anguish, "Even when we win, we lose. We fight evil. We try to protect people. But how much good are we really doing?"

Here we go again. "We can't save everyone," Dean said.

Sam turned away from him, but Dean distinctly heard the "Then what's the point?" Sam tried to muffle.

Dean knew just who Sam was thinking about. There were many 'whos', but it wasn't about them anymore, it was about him. About Dean. Sam would never forget that the reason he was alive was because Dean made a deal. Dean only had a year if things played out as that she-demon wanted, and Sam was determined to fix things. Because of that it hurt Sam even more when they failed to save someone. He didn't dare think that saving someone wasn't possible, not when the most impossible person to save was his own brother.

This was when Dean was supposed to make some smart-ass remark about what a pussy Sam was being, or how he wasn't going to turn into a girl and hug his brother just to make Sam feel better. There were so many times Dean wanted to hug Sam but figured it would just make things worse. They needed to be strong. They couldn't cry on each others' shoulders all the time. He had to be tough. He had to be…Dad.

Because Dad wasn't here anymore either.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean cursed, kicking at the ground, "You think I don't want things to go our way for once? Huh? You think I don't wish that every time we went on a hunt, we came out ahead, with all our parts in tact, with all the targets safe and sound, monster dead, the end? Maybe…maybe one day we'll get lucky and everything will turn up roses. But nine times out of ten it's going to be just like tonight. You know that, Sam. It's part of the job. People get hurt."

"But…why does it always seem like it's because of something we missed?"

It isn't the response Dean expected. A soft whine, a plea. Sam should be yelling back at him, god damn it. "Sam…"

"No, Dean. We messed up. And we keep messing up. I know, okay, I know there aren't easy rules to follow, or any way to know what one of these creatures is thinking, but they're always one step ahead of us. How's that going to help us when…when your time is up, Dean? What the hell are my abilities good for if I…can't…" Sam trailed off, this last sentence starting low and finishing at barely audible.

Dean still heard it though, every word. They had never thought to have Sam hone his powers, and Dean certainly wasn't going to suggest it. He never said so out loud, but they both knew Sam's abilities scared him. Evil things have powers. People don't. Seers are one thing, but with the way Sam's powers were tied up with demons it would be too risky to deal with them directly.

Apparently Sam no longer agreed with him on that.

"Sam, if you're talking about trying to use your powers to help people, help me, great. But the way those other psychics got when they tapped in, the way Jake acted..."

Sam didn't look at Dean. His voice was low as he said, "Yeah, wouldn't want to risk a freak like me going psycho on you, right?"

That was Dean's cue, "But you've always been a freak, Sammy," or something similar. He couldn't find the words this time though. They just weren't in him. He teased Sam about things like that to make it easier, but the truth was always buried there somewhere, and Sam was calling him on it without even having to say so outright.

You think I'm a freak. Dean practically heard the words. You think I'm a monster like the rest of them. You're terrified I'm just another demon, waiting to stab you in the back.

Sam didn't say any of that, but Dean heard it. It drove him crazy for Sam to think like that. Maybe it was true, maybe it was right on the mark, but they had been shown again and again that evil things aren't always evil. Thinking of it like that didn't make Dean feel much better but he knew what he meant by it. After that ghost on the highway who didn't even know she was dead, after Madison who didn't understand she had a werewolf inside her, even Dean Winchester could admit that sometimes the things they hunted didn't need hunting. They needed help.

So why couldn't he say anything? He was usually so good at this stuff. Joke around, lewd comment, whatever, get Sam to smile and they're home free. At least until the next time this crap gets brought up. But Dean couldn't think of anything to say this time.

Dean's life had a time limit, and maybe Sam's humanity did too, but damn it if Dean didn't want them to be able to just forget all that for one moment and pretend things were going to be okay. They tried, most of the time they even succeeded, but then tomorrow came and they remembered life was never going to be easy. Not for them.

Just when things were starting to get awkward and the three AM cold was seeping into the folds of Dean's usually warm leather jacket, Sam's cell phone started to ring. Sam answered right away, probably jumping for a chance to distract him from their conversation.

"Yeah?" he said, "Hey, Ellen. No, you didn't wake us, we were just finishing the hunt." There was a long pause while Sam listened. "You did? No, if you trust this hunter, you know it's fine. Sure. We'll stop by before we leave. No problem. You too. Goodnight." Sam hung up and put his phone back in his pocket. He still didn't look at Dean. "Ellen says some hunter she knows wanted to get in touch with us. She didn't want to give out our numbers so she just gave a PO box here in town. Sent a letter I guess. We can pick it up tomorrow." Sam started to walk. They still had a good distance to go before their motel.

"She called at three in the morning for that? What does this hunter want? We're not exactly on friendly terms with most of 'em. After what Gordon said, and Meg's little stunt, who knows how many think you're still number one on the 'to hunt' list."

Sam shrugged. He still wasn't looking at Dean and seemed all up in his head, like he was thinking too hard about something. Dean figured he probably was. "Ellen didn't say," Sam said, "But she wouldn't give another hunter any way of contacting us if she thought they were bad news. Probably why she had them send a letter, so we can decide for ourselves what to do. And she called at three AM because she realized we'd probably be done with this hunt tonight and didn't want us skipping town before we picked the letter up."

The words were stiff. Anything Dean might say along his usual veins would only make things worse, he knew that. And when Dean couldn't use his humor or childish brotherly ways in a situation, he never knew what to say.

He never knew what wouldn't push Sam further away from him.

"Sammy…"

"Let's just get back to the motel." Sam walked a little faster, pulling ahead of Dean.

Great. Dean wasn't even going to be given the chance to be sentimental when he had just bolstered himself for the sheer humility of acting that way. No Hallmark card, Lifetime movie moments for them, but that didn't mean there weren't times when they needed to remind each other that being brothers meant more than just fighting this war and killing things on a hunt. Apparently, Sam didn't want to be reminded of that right now. He wanted to sulk in his own self-misery over being a freak, and how no matter what he did Dean was going to die because of him.

Now, Dean didn't believe that for a second. Okay, so he did think Sam was a freak, but he considered himself one just as much. What he didn't believe was that Sam was in any way to blame for what was going to happen to him. But he also knew that nothing he ever said would stop Sam from feeling that way. Dean had dealt with the same thing when their dad pulled this stunt. He knew exactly how Sam was feeling.

Dean wanted to say something. He should say something. They had blocks and blocks ahead of them. He should say…something.

By the time they reached the motel, the silence was so thick, Dean could barely walk into their room and find his bed to collapse onto, and he still couldn't think of anything to say. He watched Sam curl up on the other bed, facing pointedly away from him. He would have to make this up to Sam tomorrow. And he knew just how to do it.

"IHOP?"

"Yeah. They have takeaway now." Dean held out one of the to-go containers. "Waffles?"

It wasn't childish. It wasn't silly or stupid at all. A corner of Sam's mouth twitched up into a smile. It was genius.

Sam took the offered Styrofoam and sat down at the little table in their room. He failed miserably at keeping the smile from his face. Dean could tell there was an internal struggle going on since Sam still felt justified in sulking. But who could sulk when their oh so amazing brother had just brought waffles, from IHOP no less, for breakfast?

Well, lunch. It was noon already. They needed the sleep after last night.

"Thanks," Sam said, and it was no secret that he didn't say that just because the waffles smelled better than anything they had eaten in the past week.

Mission accomplished. And Dean didn't even have to say anything. This time. "Grabbed the letter on my way back too," Dean said, pulling a simple stamped envelope out of his pocket and tossing it between them on the table, "Haven't looked at it yet."

Sam stared at it. No return address, and the address to the PO Dean picked it up from was written in Ellen's handwriting. The hunter must have just sent her the letter first.

After taking a liberal bite of his food, Sam picked the letter up and opened it. It was thick, and now he understood why. It wasn't just a letter, but details on a case, along with pictures and a map of the creature's killings. All in all, a thorough job. He took another bite of waffle before reading the actual letter aloud.

"Winchesters, I am in Minnesota following a case of murders that has been going on for several weeks now. Attached is everything I have worked out so far. It should have been a cut and dry case, but I have my doubts and can't seem to track down the creature doing this. I asked Ellen to contact you with this information because you are the only hunters I feel I can trust. Please, if you decide to help me on this case, meet me at the following address tonight at six PM. I know you are close enough to make that. If you do not show up I will assume you have declined and will do what I can to finish the case myself. I hope to get the chance to meet you both. Sasha Kelly. Huh. Guess it's a girl." Sam said, passing the letter to Dean.

"A hunter chick, huh?" Dean grinned, "Not nearly enough of those." He briefly thought of Jo. Cute. And he did like her. But something never seemed quite right there, even before things got messed up. "I call dibs," he said, pushing the letter back to Sam.

"What?"

"Dibs. If she's hot," Dean amended.

Sam stared at Dean with his usual incredulous boy-scout look. "Dean, she's asking for our help, not a date."

"What's wrong with getting both?" Dean smirked around a mouthful of waffle.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Dean, the last thing this Sasha…" Sam looked down at the letter to remember her last name and something glowed in his eyes of recognition, "Kelly," he said, the rest of what he had been going to say forgotten. He looked up at his brother, "You don't think that's the same as…"

"Deklin Kelly," Dean supplied. How could he have forgotten? But then he hadn't thought of that name in years. "Dude, you don't think it's his daughter do you?"

Sam shrugged. "Could be. She is a hunter. And man, if I'm remembering Dad's stories right, Kelly was one of the best."

"Maybe even better than Dad," Dean agreed, and he could say that because their father had said so himself.

"Dad never met the guy though, right?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Couldn't have. Kelly bought it almost a year before any of our mess started. Dad just told us the stories he heard."

"So it's not coz of Dad…"

This soft sentence caught Dean's attention. He gave Sam a look that clearly stated share.

"I was just thinking," Sam explained, "She said she thinks we're the only hunters she can trust. If that's not because our dads knew each other then why? We don't know her."

Dean thought about that but he didn't have any more of an answer than Sam did.

"Hey, how did Kelly die again?"

This Dean did know. It was the one story Dean never understood. The others were all about the cases the guy had cracked, and creatures he had killed. But what killed him never made any sense to Dean. "It was another hunter," he said, sick at the thought, especially since those thoughts strayed immediately to Gordon who would have gladly done away with Sam, "Friend of his even," Dean added, "No one ever knew why. Couple weeks later the guy died on a hunt, so no one was ever able to find out either. Guy just snapped or something."

The brothers didn't make eye contact for a few minutes. Dean knew what Sam was thinking. That could be me. What if instead of saving you I kill you, Dean, and no one ever knows why? Sam didn't need to ask how Kelly had died; he remembered just as well as Dean did. He just wanted to hear it.

Damn martyr, Dean thought.

"So what do you think?" Sam said, spreading the case's research out in front of them, "We can make the meet time easy. Do we trust her?"

Dean looked down at the pictures, all women in various disarray with wide horrified looks frozen on their faces. When he looked up at Sam, he didn't have to say his answer aloud.

Sam took another bite of waffle. "Looks like we're going to Minnesota."

Traffic sucked. There was no other way to put it.

"I hate going urban," Dean grumbled, jolting to another quick stop behind the minivan in front of them.

They were on highway 35W going north and traffic was backed up in every direction. Sam had reminded Dean several times that it was almost five o'clock on a Friday, but Dean never understood that kind of logic. He just couldn't fathom how traffic got so backed up in the first place. If people weren't such idiots, it wouldn't matter how many cars were on the road, traffic would still flow as it should. But people were idiots, and Minnesota drivers weren't any better than drivers anywhere else.

"Oh come on!" Dean shouted, honking his horn at the car that just pushed in front of them from the onramp, "How'd ya like it if I shot out your tires, you hayseed farm boy!"

Sam idly flipped through the research they had now gone over several times, "Dean, we're from Kansas. I don't really think you have a case there."

Dean huffed. "Oh yeah, well we have Superman. What do you have, huh?" he yelled out the window, "Josh Hartnet!"

"Dean, that's an actor, not a farm boy or a superhero."

"Whatever."

"Look," Sam said, "We're sure about this, right?"

Dean blared his horn again, "What? Helping the girl?"

"It's a little late for that," Sam said with a smile. He knew Dean wouldn't be able to turn back now even if they did decide to ditch this case. Dean's principles wouldn't allow it, not after the seventh mini Copper they had come across just cut them off.

"Asshole!" Dean shouted.

"I mean are we sure about what creature we're dealing with?" Sam asked, pretending Dean wasn't experiencing some of the most impressive road rage Sam had ever seen.

Dean pounded the horn a few more times before responding. "Sure we're sure. The signs are all there. Dead girls, all naked or close to it. Found in bed or somewhere equally obvious. Not raped but clearly sexed up, with no sign of wounds anywhere. No mystery here, Sammy-boy. We got ourselves an incubus."

"But according to Dad's journal—"

"Don't hunt an incubus or a succubus unless you know for sure they're killing," Dean interrupted, "I know, Sammy, I read it too. These things aren't always evil. We've been getting a lot of that lately. But this time we can be sure. An incubus is killing in the good ol' Twin Cities, and we have the pleasure of putting it down. Hopefully with the help of a hottie female hunter."

"Dean…"

"I still got dibs."

"Dean."

"What? Can't a dying man have a good time?"

Sam just rolled his eyes. "That was our exit."

"Oh."

They pulled into an apartment complex in St. Louis Park, a suburb only a few short miles from downtown Minneapolis. The building looked pretty nice form the outside, but no heavy security. They were in Minnesota after all, and even if they had gone urban, it wasn't like being in a place like New York. The people here still had block parties and talked with their neighbors, ignoring the occasional gun fights in the bad neighborhoods and unexplainable deaths.

It was only too easy to break into the building.

"What number again?"

"Three twelve. But Dean, shouldn't we wait? We're almost an hour early."

"So we look around for awhile til she gets here. How long ago did this thing strike again?"

Sam looked down at the piece of paper he had about Meryl Jorgenson, the most recent victim. "Two days ago. Cops found her in the bedroom, completely nude, no signs of injury or struggle. Looked like she had a heart-attack during sex. Official report too," Sam huffed.

"Yeah, coz twenty-five year olds take such a strain during sex," Dean commented. He stopped in front of room three twelve. "Ready?" he said.

Sam put the papers he had been looking at away and nodded. They didn't expect a confrontation here but monsters and demons had a tendency to follow that 'always returns to the scene of the crime' rule. The brothers didn't pull out their guns but they had them ready.

The first bad sign hit them right away—the door wasn't locked. Dean and Sam shared a knowing look before Dean gave the door a push and let it swing open on its own. Nothing. No signs of anything in their immediate line of sight anyway. They went in slowly. It was possible that the door hadn't been locked after the cops left. Small towns and suburbs often missed things like that if a case was still fresh. Who would want to go into the apartment of a girl who had just croaked, after all?

Wary of the situation regardless, Dean pulled out his gun and shut the door behind them. He moved slowly through the apartment to check things out and see whether or not they were alone. It looked empty, but he couldn't see into all of the rooms. Next to him, Sam pulled out the EMF meter and started scanning.

"What are you doing?" Dean said, keeping his voice a sharp whisper.

"We don't know for sure if it's an incubus."

"Sammy, we've been over this."

"I know. Cut and dry. That's why we were called here, Dean. Because something isn't right. To us it looks like an incubus but Sasha said in her letter that it didn't add up. We can't be sure of anything." Sam continued to scan the living room while Dean covered him. The scanner didn't even flicker.

Dean snorted. "Satisfied?"

"We haven't scanned everywhere."

Dean reluctantly conceded and gestured down the hallway. "Stay behind me," Dean said, and wedged himself in front of Sam to go down the hallway first. He heard the huff Sam released at that but ignored it. He wasn't oblivious to how much more protective he was of Sam lately, but how could he not be? He basically gave his life to give his brother a new one. The last thing he wanted was for that sacrifice to be for nothing.

A creak sounded from the bedroom. Dean tensed, raising his gun and clicking the hammer back. Their job demanded that they shoot first and ask questions later, and they had learned to honor that. Hesitating had cost them too often.

Dean was halfway down the hallway when he heard Sam's call.

"Dean!"

In a second Dean was turned around, gun ready. What he didn't expect was for there to be another gun pointed at him. Or rather, pointed at Sam, who was still at the mouth of the hallway. The creak he had heard was nothing, the foundation settling probably. Their new guest must have come from the kitchen, and looked just as ready to shoot as Dean was.

Dean darted back down the hallway, keeping his gun on the stranger, who, recognizing where the threat really lie, repositioned his gun onto Dean immediately.

The guy had red hair you could only find in a bottle—Crayola red—and had even gone to the trouble of dying his eyebrows. His eyes blazed blue and Dean recognized the look of an experienced fighter in an instant. This guy looked no older than Sam, but he knew what he was doing. He was as fit as they were, maybe more so, and he was not bluffing. This was bad.

"Who are you?" demanded the stranger, "This apartment is under police investigation."

"Yeah," Dean countered, "Well you don't look like police to me, pal."

"I could say the same." The stranger knew to keep his eyes just as steadily on Sam, which was smarter than most people. Sam didn't need a gun to be a threat any more than Dean did.

Sam was trying to put away the scanner and avoid unnecessary questions, but the movement caught the stranger's attention and he pointed the gun back on him.

"Hands where I can see them!"

Sam obeyed, lifting his hands and the scanner into the air to show he meant no harm. The stranger eyed the scanner carefully but didn't comment on it.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded again.

Dean didn't like the look of this guy. He was good, steady, and calculating. He was also wearing a leather jacket Dean would kill for and clearly used more conditioner than Sam. A dangerous combination.

"Listen, pal…" Dean started, but Sam cut him off.

"Wait!" Sam said, "Look, we'll tell you. We're…private investigators."

Oh really good, Sam, Dean thought. Make nice with the guy with the gun.

"We're supposed to meet someone here about the case," Sam continued, "We didn't mean any harm."

Dean was convinced Sam was an absolute idiot when just then instead of asking more questions or shooting Sam in the head, the stranger actually dropped his weapon. "Sam? Dean?" he said, "You're the Winchesters?"

Sam lowered his arms. Dean stared over the top of his weapon. How did this guy know their names?

"Sorry about that," the guy said.

Dean and Sam were thoroughly confused.

The stranger just smiled, slipping his gun back into his jacket. "I'm glad you actually came. I have to admit, I didn't think you would."

Dean and Sam stared, not sure what to say or think about this guy.

Looking a little confused himself now, the guy looked to Sam and Dean and said, "I'm the one who sent for you. I'm Sasha Kelly."

tbc...

A/N: Thanks for reading. Hope Sasha was a nice surprise. A review of some sort is greatly appreciated. I will try and post again soon. Thanks again!

Crim