Wayward Son

Rated: OT (16+)

Pairings: Sam/Ruby, sort of one-sided Sam/Lucifer (you'll see what I mean later on)

Warnings: Angst, violence, language, slash, het, adult situations

Summary: Dean returns from hell far, far too late.

Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable characters or events and I am NOT profiting off of this story. It's written purely for entertainment purposes ONLY, and because patience is not one of my virtues (I hate waiting for season six).

Notes:

Dean is NOT a part of this first story. Sorry Dean fans, but this fic (and most of the series) is Sam-centric. Dean WILL come in at the end of the next part, and will be a part of the third. Again, though, this whole series is mostly Sam-centric. If the series goes well then i MIGHT write out a version as seen by Dean. Maybe. Probably.

Takes place roughly two years after Dean is sent to hell so some events in the series don't (or will not) happen.

Events from the series WILL pop up from time to time, but they won't be exactly the same because I don't have the patience (there's that word again!) to go back and copy them line by line.

Will contain OOC moments for all characters I use, though I'll try to keep them as close to canon as possible.

This fic IS finished - i will post the chapters (there are seven after this prologue) every few days. I'm hoping for a few reviews per chapter but i won't "require" it as some other writers do. Hint: reviews keep me going. Any flames or rants will be used as gerbil bedding. Don't like what you read, then don't read it. Plain and simple. I welcome CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. And FYI: the second part of this series is ALSO finished, and the third is about 90% done. There will four fics for this series in total (or so i plan) but that could always change.

Part One of my "Wayward Son" series.

Prologue

Pages: 6

Word Count: 1,697

Sam Winchester slouched down and let his head fall back to rest on the tan leather of the 1967 Chevrolet Impala's door. He kicked his shoes off and propped his feet up on the opposite door handle, vaguely wishing that he hadn't spent the last of his money on the whiskey. He was just too tall to be sleeping in the backseat comfortably and the hotel down the street, as crappy as it looked, was sure to have a bed he could stretch out on.

But the need to drown himself in alcohol far outweighed his need for a bed. The need to numb the physical and mental pain and anguish far outweighed the want of comfort. He slurped at the drink as he settled in to get a few hours rest before he would hit the road again. His sleep, however, was anything but peaceful.

When he wasn't dreaming about seeing his brother ripped to shreds by hellhounds he would see his brother's lifeless face and glazed hazel eyes staring up at him in frozen horror, or the dirt being thrown onto Dean's make-shift coffin complete with thudding sound effects. In the end he slept for about three hours and then gave up: he was used to it by now.

He shoved his shoes back on, didn't bother with the laces, and climbed haphazardly into the front seat. He banged into the shifter, nearly smashed his head on the steering wheel, and finally managed to sit upright in the drivers seat. He turned the Impala on with shaky hands, smiling a bit at the throaty rumble, and burnt rubber on his way out of the small town he'd just – barely - saved from a nest of vampires.

It was on to the next town – maybe the next state - and hopefully the next hunt. But hunting was no longer a job to him, and no longer so much a means of saving lives - though he still fell back on that when he felt depressed. Instead it was more of a means of filling the void left by Dean's death and a way to vent his anger and frustrations on things that deserved it.

Ghosts, poltergeists, vampires, werewolves, and a few low class demons – all fell to his anger. His frustration. His despair. He recklessly hunted them down and jumped in swinging, not caring that he would usually be injured in the resulting melee. He was beyond caring at this point – he had nothing left to live for, so why bother? So he traveled. And he hunted. And he pushed his boundaries to the limit. And he punished himself for his stupidity, when need be.

He managed to hustle some money when he stopped a few days later at a town screaming with omens, and made his way to an old decrepit hotel where he booked a room for four nights. After he got a little bit of shut-eye and allowed his most recent wounds to heal he would hunt down the demons like all the others. Hopefully with more success at the killing part and not so much with the getting injured part.

Sam entered his room and shuffled inside, closing the door and flipping the lock closed as an after thought. "Well, you look like shit." He jumped in surprise, glanced up, cursed himself for not being more vigilant, and scowled at Ruby in her coma-patient Jane Doe vessel. "Well, are you done feeling sorry for yourself or do you want more time to mope?"

"Leave me alone." He mumbled, kicking off his shoes and throwing himself messily onto the single bed. He stretched out on his stomach, and sighed – much better than the backseat of the Impala, although his feet where dangerously close to hanging over the end. Ruby shuffled around in the room until he felt her directly behind him.

"Sorry Sam, but I can't do that." He didn't have the strength to protest as she gently climbed onto the bed and lifted a leg to straddle his thighs. She'd been coming and going ever since Dean died, which was why he wasn't overly concerned by her being there, whispering to him and trying to coax him into using the powers borne of Azazel's blood.

"The answer is still no." He said wearily, half-heartedly. It was Dean's dying wish – don't use your powers, don't do anything stupid. But as he hunted, failing just as many cases as winning, he found it harder to deny Ruby and today he just didn't have the same energy as before. Those damned vampire must have taken a lot out of him, or maybe it was life in general.

"Dean wouldn't want you to do this." She knew just what buttons to push and Sam sighed, ready to argue back. "You're failing, Sam. You need to embrace your power and learn to use it. You'll save more people that way and you'll be strong enough to go after Lilith." Right, Lilith, the bitch who sent Dean to hell. Sam sighed and rolled himself over so he could stare at Ruby.

"I AM doing what Dean wanted." He replied. "Saying no to you." She scowled a bit. "So leave me alone, would you?" She slowly leaned down until her full length was pressed against him and he had to admit to himself that the closeness, the heat, felt nice – he hadn't allowed anyone to be this close since Dean. A part of him was screaming at him but he didn't have the energy to tell it to shut up.

"Sam, I'm just trying to help you. I won't always be able to step in and save you." She hinted, referring to the time where she stepped in to stop a demon from decapitating him. It hadn't been one of his better moments. "Think about it – you'll be strong again. You'll be able to save more people, kill Lilith, and you might be able to do something about Dean."

"Ruby." He sighed and rubbed at his burning eyes.

"You know you want to." She said softly, nuzzling his neck. "You know what you have to do." She inched up and he felt her press against him with a hum of pleasure. He let his hands fall to his sides. "It won't hurt, and I promise you won't go evil on us." He was unable to stop his head from tilting sideways, allowing access as she kissed him.

Not for the first time he began to wonder why he was saying no to her. She wasn't exactly evil – evil wouldn't step in and save his drunken ass. Would it? He sighed in confusion, not knowing what to think.

If I do it, I'll be a freak.

He lifted his hands to her hips: he already was a freak, though. He had demon blood in him and there was no changing that whether he used the powers or not. And taking in more demon blood wouldn't exactly hurt – right? It would just… boost his powers. Make them easier to control, like she said. Right?

I'll be an abomination.

What did he really have to lose?

A monster.

He wouldn't be using the power for evil purposes, though. He wouldn't be a monster.

Dean asked me not to.

But Dean was dead – he was totally and utterly alone and his brother wasn't coming back to him. And that was part of the problem. Sam could feel his will power slipping away as Ruby moved against him. He felt her hands run up and down his sides, teasing at his shirt. As one finger hooked under the end and pulled it up, Sam let out a deep sigh and just relaxed his body.

He groaned as she teased his shirt up, lifting up when she poked him gently. She pulled it off and tossed it aside, and Sam lay back down on the bed. He lifted his hands to pull at her top but she brushed them away with a smile.

"Let me, Sam. You just lay back and relax." Sam complied and opened his eyes in time to see her pull her shirt off – she wasn't wearing a bra and he blinked sluggishly. "You'll see, it'll be okay." She leaned back down to kiss him and he let her, groaning as he hands traveled around his chest and abdomen, brushing lower and lower every second.

Her hands touched him through his jeans and he huffed. She laughed softly and unbuttoned, unzipped, and tugged on his jeans. He lifted up and she got up for a second. He watched her through dull eyes as she pretty much undressed him before climbing back on.

"It's okay. Just lay back and trust me." She smiled at him and he dimly noted that the smile was a bit creepy, but pushed it out of his mind. It was probably just her 'I-won' look. He dimly noticed that she was wearing a skirt today, so he could feel her heat as she pressed against him and he let out a few panting breaths.

The next few minutes where a blur as she touched him, pulled him out of his boxer briefs, positioned him, and leaned back onto him with a strangled moan. As she moved she brought out a gleaming silver knife and made a small slit on her upper arm near her shoulder. "Up." She said softly. He sat up, one arm circling her waist to keep her steady and the other bracing on the bed. She continued to move as she guided his lips to her shoulder.

He hesitated, panting, second thoughts whirling through his head. But he eventually gave in and let her coax his head until he was able to put his mouth around the wound. He heard her moan above him and she moved faster as he hesitantly suckled at the wound.

It was over all too soon. She pulled away from him and lay down beside him as he panted, struggling not to cry. He could feel the blood running through him, the power – he could also feel the despair at having failed his brother.

He didn't know which felt worse.

TBC