Crimson Redemption, a Supernatural + Twilight Crossover fanfic

Entry for "Twinatural Crossover Contest"
Title: Crimson Redemption
Pairing: Dean/Isabella
Rating: M
Prompts: Prompt # 15 and Possession by Evans Blue
Disclaimer: I own neither Twilight, nor Supernatural. I just like messing with their psyches and shoving D/B together until they do the dirty.

Summary: Sam's always wanted an angel for himself. When he finds one clad in red leather sitting on his shoulder one morning, all he wants is silence and peace. There's only one Dean-like personality he can handle. Strictly Dean/Isabella romance, but I love Sam/Isabella friendship.

He knows why this is happening; Dean's punishing him. His older brother is punishing him for all the pranks he'd pulled throughout their lifetime. He's punishing him for leaving him in Purgatory. This has to be it. Why else would he be pretending to ignore the she-devil sitting on his shoulder?

She pokes him on the neck with her pointy tail that he hadn't noticed before, smirking at him when he glares.

"Are you high already?" Dean's incredulous voice breaks through his haze of distracted thoughts and musings.

Sam sighs. "No, Dean, I'm not high. And I still don't know how you're pulling this off!"

"Pulling what off?"

"This!" He points to his left shoulder, where a doe-eyed, five-inches tall girl is sitting, grinning at him while waving her red pointy tail around. She flutters her fingers at him. It only serves to agitate him further.

"Dude, seriously. There's no one sitting on your shoulder. No one," Dean replies, saying each word slowly, as if speaking to a toddler…or a puppy. The look that Sam is giving him certainly makes him seem like a wounded pup. "I swear!" The exasperation is clear in his tone.

"Yeah, Sam. There's no one here…except me," she whispers seductively in his ear, her tiny hand caressing his earlobe. It sends a tickling sensation down his throat, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He shrugs his shoulder, smirking a little when she grabs on to the collar of his shirt to stay in her place. The daggers she shoots at him wipe the grin from his face, and he turns back to the mirror to finish his morning routine.

"I'm just going crazy. Just going crazy," he murmurs to himself.

"After ghosts, witches, demons, angels…about time, too."

He flicks her off of his shoulder, enjoying the look of complete shock as she tumbles backwards, her tail the last thing he sees as she disappears. His morning is turning a bit better without her sarcastic remarks being muttered into his ear. At least Dean won't think he's lost his marbles, now that he won't have to scream at his shoulder.

.
CR

The Impala rolls to a stop, its loud engine cutting as Dean turns it off. The brothers step out, going to the trunk. Never without weapons; they're like a shield, against both the supernatural and the humans. They wear them like a metal barrier, to protect themselves against the harm from the creatures of the night; it also helps in reminding them that as much as they want, they cannot have a normal human life like those they interact with during these cases.

They're lucky today, though; the officers have left, and the crime scene is in the middle of the forest with a large clearing, offering lots of sunlight to aid in their search. The earthy smell of the trees and the grass would be soothing to them had the murder not occurred just footsteps away from their current stance.

This particular case caught their interest when reporters wrote about the police covering up the murders, as there had been a victim, and there had been blood, but the body had gone missing. There was a body outline, and in the cops' statements, there had been flesh…and then there hadn't been.

Dean nods his head towards the left side before moving to the right. Sam takes the hint, his eyes scanning every inch of the trees before he makes his way back towards the car, this time looking at the dirt. He's about to call out to Dean when a soft whoosh at his ear halts his steps. He groans internally, trying hard to ignore the stroking sensation at the side of his neck.

Up, down.

Goosebumps.

Up, down.

Hairs rising.

Up, down.

Biting lower lip.

His shoulder twitches. He can almost taste the satisfaction rolling off of her, but he refuses to pay any heed.

"Hi, Sam." Her suggestive tone causes Sam to freeze, not even breathing for a mere second before he snaps out of it, his eyes trained on Dean to make sure he doesn't see. "Hello?" she drawls out, rasping her tiny, tiny knuckles against the side of his skull.

If I ignore her, she'll go away.

His teeth clench together tightly, painfully, as he feels a wet sensation in his inner ear. Oh god. Did she just give me a wet Willy? Fuck.

"Psst, Sam. Over there," she murmurs, and he falls for it. His eyes find her and almost bug out of his sockets. Gone is the simple white attire from the morning—he hadn't paid attention to the exact thing she'd worn—and in its replacement is a red, leather cloth covering her flesh.

Wet Willy forgotten.

She wiggles her fingers at him in greeting.

"What?" he growls out.

She rolls her eyes, and the only way he can tell is because of her close proximity and the sharp contrast of her dark brown eyes with her pale skin, blending in with the whites of her eye. She pushes her hand against his cheek, pushing him to look at something on the ground in the distance. The strength behind her pressure surprises him, but a sharp poke of her tail brings him out of the stupor.

He walks over, bending a little lower to see what she'd been pointing at. His eyes widen as he notices the spot he'd missed—the clear print of four hooves, appearing in a way different from that of a horse's.

"Dean."

"Find something?"

Dean comes up next to him, crouching low to get a good look.

"Horses?" Sam can't blame Dean, as he'd thought of the four-legged animal himself when he'd first seen the prints.

"No. See how the left match, as do the right vertically? A horse's back feet are narrower, and longer, while the fronts are rounder. Not a horse."

Dean pauses a beat. "Kids messing around?"

"Well, the cops just left, the body outline is still clear. I doubt anyone could've gotten in to prank around."

"The killer had a sense of humor?" Dean's smile is tight, and Sam realizes that his brother is only hoping for the killer to be a supernatural being.

They kill the "non-humans" because of their unnatural existence in the world, and because of their killer instincts. They know evil exists in humans through malice, but to acknowledge that fact by witnessing a murder puts a damper in their spirit. They're killing the supernatural to protect the innocent, but with all the murderers, rapists, and criminals present in the world, how much of a difference do they really make? What's to say that someone they saved today wouldn't be killed tomorrow?

Sam shakes his head. Those thoughts would only serve to slow them down, and that's not what they need at the moment.

"Ipotane," she quips.

"What's that?" he questions back.

"Okay. Now you're scaring me." Dean's hands are held up in front of him, his brows raised and pulled together, looking exasperated. "Why are you talking to your shoulder?"

Before Sam can respond, she starts speaking again, diverting his attention. "Man-horse."

"Man-what?"

"Half man, half horse."

"What? Like a Centaur?"

She nods rapidly, and Sam can feel the movement on his skin through his coat. "Except with two front legs, and the upper body of a man."

Soft pain shoots through his head as Dean smacks the right side of it.

"We're heading home. Now," he hisses, his jaw locked tight in rage.

Dean takes angry strides forward, his feet falling heavily on to the dirt covered floor, as Sam follows, his head lowered a little and cursing the snickering monster on his shoulder.

The car ride is silent, and Sam could swear there's steam coming out of Dean's ears. He's tempted to lower the window, grab the devil, and throw her out, but it would only cause Dean to become more concerned about his mental health. He decides against it.

Humming. She's humming now.

Two of Sam's fingers find his temple, pressing and rubbing circles to soothe away the dull throbbing headache.

Dean says nothing as both brothers make their way into their hotel room, dropping the car keys, the two knives, and the guns they hadn't bothered to put back in the trunk. Dean's hand makes its way under his pillow, just to touch his gun and his dad's journal for the peace of mind.

He points to the empty chair in the "kitchen," commanding, "Sit."

Sam does so without hesitating.

"Castiel." Dean's voice is rough, cutting. The fact that he didn't add any sarcastic statement afterwards shows the extent of his anger.

There's a sound of fluttering wings, before Castiel is standing behind Sam, looking down at his left shoulder with a look of utter wonder. The she-devil is now sitting, weight resting on her right hand, swinging her legs back and forth innocently.

"You too?" Dean questions.

Castiel doesn't look up, but his voice is strong, concerned. "You're distressed."

"Damn right I'm distressed. My brother is talking to something nonexistent on his shoulder, and our trench coat wearing angel guardian can see him, too."

"Her. It's a girl," Sam mutters out.

"So why can't I see this 'girl'?"

"Because she's Sam's angel."

Dean blinks. No response.

Blink. Step forward. Blink. Pause.

"Sam's angel?" He turns to Castiel. "Kind of like how you appeared to me first?"

"A little. I was lead to you to be your angel in aid," Castiel states innocently, not giving much thought to the personal pronoun. "She's the 'yes and no' angel on his shoulder."

Castiel brings forth his hand, scooping up the tiny angel onto his palm. He walks to the middle of the room, placing her on the floor, just seconds before she grows and stands before them, tall enough for her head to reach just under Dean's chin. The red leather dress she'd been clad in seems much smaller now on her larger than five inches frame, and Sam properly averts his eyes. He notices her throw her arms around Castiel from the side of his eye, who hugs her back tightly, while Dean watches, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You're an angel?"

She turns to look at him, not moving away from Castiel. "Sam's angel. Isabella."

Sam's head is whirling. Yes, he'd wanted an angel after he'd found out Castiel faster responded to Dean's wishes than his. But was 'Isabella' who he was expecting? No. Wet Willy giving, seductively distracting him from work isn't the type of angel he'd wanted. He can't even consider her an angel after she'd tried to entice him.

"Why are you here?"

There's an innocent smile on her face, almost serene. She hasn't moved from her spot close by Castiel's, but Sam can tell she's looking different than when she'd been tiny on his shoulder. As a miniature version of herself she looked toy-like, breakable, and fragile; she didn't seem real. Life size like now, she's standing tall, straight, as if ready for an attack at any time. Whereas before, her…attire had shocked him, it now makes him look away just so he wouldn't be tempted to stare at the pale skin of her upper thigh peeking from the short dress. No tail. Where's the tail?

He can tell that Dean doesn't care. His brother's eyes are trailing up, over, down, and back up. But the look of caution, suspicious hasn't left his face. The nature of their lives has left a permanent mark on their souls; trust is hard-earned.

"Ask Sam," she replies coolly.

They all turn to him, and he fidgets under their gaze. He doesn't know how to word his thoughts, nor his explanation in a way that would make them understand.

She saves him from answering, though. It's the first time since she'd appeared to him in the morning that he's glad she's there…on his side, apparently. "Castiel, Dean wanted to talk to you, didn't he?" she asks sweetly, batting her eyelashes at the other angel.

Dean is hard to budge, but when Sam nods at him discretely, he follows the angel out the door with a grunt. He'd get his answers first from Castiel, and then later from his brother.

Sam clears his throat, his eyes going back to her form before looking away again. There's no way he'd feel comfortable talking to her in those clothes.

It's almost as if she's reading his train of thought. "Would you like me to go back to your shoulder?" Her voice is no longer tauntingly melodious; it's a low murmur. He can't ever imagine her yelling.

He nods sheepishly. Fluttering wings, and there's a very light weight on his shoulder again. It's almost a little soothing. When her small hand touches his skin, warmth spreads through him—a hot sensation, similar to that of nostalgia, as if he's meeting someone after a long time, as if he's reuniting with someone he'd known his entire life.

"Who are you?"

"Isabella." They both know it's not the name he's really asking. She doesn't need more prompting, either. "I'm a fallen angel."

"How'd you get stuck with me?" he jokes.

He can't see her smile, but he can feel it. "I'm fallen, Sam; tainted. Angels are bound to Heaven through their duty and their love. Fallen angels have nothing left to stay in the paradise, so we're given humans, just so that the government up in heaven," she jabs a finger towards the ceiling bitterly, "can make sure we're walking a straight line on a leash."

"Doesn't sound very pleasant."

"You get over it after the second human."

"Why me? Why not Dean?"

She's silent for a few moments. "I don't know. I think it's because of Castiel already being there for Dean, but it could be something else." She shrugs her tiny shoulders, looking like a porcelain doll.

"So you'll be staying with me?" No more privacy, nor any silent time.

She tugs on his ear to pull him to an awkward angle so he can stare at her expression. She pulls a face at him. "Not always. I won't peek when you're showering, I promise," she comments with a wink. The statement says a lot more than just for his showering time. In her own way, she's letting him know that she'd back off when he needed her to, that she wouldn't intrude on the moments he'd need just to be his.

He can live with that.

"Ow. Cut that out," Sam whines, trying to swat away Isabella's grip on his hair.

"You walk like a kangaroo! I'll fall if I don't hold on!"

"Someone shoot me already," Dean mutters, his eyes pinched together shut briefly.

"You can walk beside us," Sam whispers, quickly adding, "In something warmer, maybe."

She rolls her eyes. "You're not fun." But he weight lifts off of his shoulder, indicating that she's taken his suggestion. She doesn't appear beside him, though, and he's surprised to find himself becoming a bit anxious wondering where she is. He consoles himself he's only reacting so due to the fear she may be going through his things back at the hotel room.

"So, an ipotane. How do you kill it?"

"I don't know."

Dean grunts. "I wasn't asking you, genius."

Sam startles to see Isabella walking between the two of them, head straight forward. The smile is no longer present, nor is the warm air about her. She's as aloof as he's ever seen her.

"Hand through heart."

Sam sputters, "Excuse me?"

"Ipotane creatures were created within the Greek mythology as live, moving house pieces to gift to Gods and Goddesses. They weren't meant to be strong, nor to last for over a week, which made them extremely rare and priceless, as the reproduction wasn't as fast as the destruction."

"So I just stick my hand in its chest, and take its heart?" Dean makes a face, looking anything but relieved at the prospect of what he'd have to do.

"There's a positive side to it, too," she quips. "The day you kill one becomes the best day of your life."

"What do they feed on?"

"Fallen Angels. Since the gifting remained amongst Gods and Goddesses, the food couldn't be mere humans for something as valuable as an ipotane."

"But we didn't see the wings in the forest," Sam states in confusion.

"To die with wings is a great honor. Fallen angels don't get that distinction. When we die, we disappear, either to a lower level of heaven."

Dean doesn't pause a beat. "Awesome. We have bait."

Black. Trees, grass, branches are all black because of the darkness. The moon isn't shining through the forest clearing, and their flashlights are turned off. He can briefly make out Isabella's outline in the dark, her white clothes offering an eerie glow. What makes his anxiety increase is the fact that he can't see Dean.

"You okay, Isabella?"

"Shh!"

Sam concentrates on the sounds near him, his eyes close. A distant chirping, an owl hooting, and hooves—a pair of hooves. From the sound and the seconds ticking between each step, the ipotane had a limp in one of his legs.

Dean taps his foot once, almost a nonexistent sound, but it lets Sam know to not react yet. Not yet…

His heart beat is increasing in his chest, hammering so loud that he can hear it in his ear. His grip on machete is getting loose as his hands become sweaty. There's a nagging thought at the back of his mind that brings guilt to him for using Isabella as bait. Dean wouldn't hear anything of it, though.

The hooves get closer still, a rumble bursting forth from the creature.

They'd laid their bait in the same area where the previous angel had been found dead. It had been a foolish move, and Isabella didn't hesitate in telling them as such, but they'd hoped he would come.

One tap. Not yet.

Isabella's humming again. It's a calming, soothing melody that enters through his ear and spreads throughout his body. Perhaps it's her way of relaxing herself.

One tap. Not yet.

Closer. His grip tightens. Almost there.

Two taps. Sam swing out from his place, his feet pounding against the ground as he moves in front of Isabella, just as Dean blasts the flashlights situated on the Impala. He can see the wounded, vulnerable horse-man in front of him, its hands empty of any form of protection. It's not what Sam expected.

The Ipotane has the face of a man, without any hair until a mane starts from its lower back towards its tail. Its human body is leaning forward, as if supported by invisible legs, while it has the lower end of a horse.

Dean swings his axe towards the Ipotane's wounded leg, causing it to erupt in a howl and fall to its knees. It gets back up, pushing its arm against Dean's stomach, causing him to fall on his back from the surprise. Sam swings his machete forth, the sharp blade slicing through the animal's flesh easily. Instead of the red blood he had expected, there's a black substance oozing down the mane of the beast. It breathes heavily, trying to gather to its feet, but falls back down again, onto its knees. Its expression supports one of pride even at his vulnerable stance, yet of defeat.

Sam realizes a second too late. It's sacrificing itself.

Isabella pushes Sam away, moving towards the creature.

"Stop!" she requests softly, her brows pulled together in confusion.

Dean grabs her, one of his arm going around her waist, and when that doesn't halt her, he drops his weapon to wrap the other arm around her shoulders, pulling her body flush against hers.

"Sam," he starts roughly, "Finish it."

The Ipotane looks straight at Isabella, its eyes speaking to her alone.

"Sam!" Dean yells, prompting his brother.

"Dean, he's not bad." His words fall on empty ears.

"He's killed, Sam."

"Not with malice intention." Its voice is low, rough, in some ways that's familiar, but in others, completely unique than that of a human. It's as if it's speaking from its throat rather than forming words with its tongue. "I am weak. Better dead than dangerous to Heaven's warriors."

Acceptance. It hadn't fallen into their trap, it had walked into it.

"Why did you kill the other one?" Dean's head jerks towards the chalk outline, his eyes staring at the determined eyes of the Ipotane.

"I was helpless. Weakened by hunger and my wound. I only meant to feed a little…not kill." There's guilt in its eyes and its voice. It's still on the floor, waiting and hoping that they'd grant it. Even Dean's hands falter, but when Isabella goes limp in his arms, he tights them around her, supporting her weight.

Sam does what he needs, telling himself that he's only putting the creature out of its misery.

They're moving on. They'd finished their job, packed, and left town all within a night.

There's a voice nagging at the back of Sam's mind that what he's done was wrong; no matter how he'd tried to assure himself through his reasoning, he couldn't convince himself.

Isabella's leaning against his throat, and it's the only solace he has for the night. He's gotten used to her short, warm breaths against the side of neck, and the soft nuzzling she does just to get comfortable. Her legs are swung over, so her tiny feet are lingering just above his heart. Comfort.

He can see Dean glancing every so often towards him, but it's more towards Isabella. Sam doesn't want to talk, and Dean doesn't want to talk in front of Isabella. Their ride towards the next town is in complete silence.