Title: Tainted
Summary: The boys are investigating a new case based on the seven deadly sins, when Sam starts suffering from inexplicable symptoms and a race against the clock for his life begins. Hurt!Sam. Protective!Dean.
Warnings: rated T for the usual graphic violence and language
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the show. Just playing around.
Chapter 1 – Wrath
The rusty creak of the Impala's door ripped Sam out of his peaceful slumber, causing him to jump up in his seat, heart beating wildly in his chest.
He squinted up against the blinding light that filtered into the classic car from the outside and found the source of his disturbance in the form of his grease-smeared brother.
"Where are we?" Sam asked tiredly, running a hand over sleep-crusted eyes.
Dean settled the gas pump back into its holder and wiped his smudgy fingers on his jeans.
"Gas station. What's it look like?" the older brother gave back with an implied 'duh' in his voice.
Sam rolled his eyes "Yeah, I can see that, Dean. I meant geographically…"
"About an hour from Wichita," Dean stated, before shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it on the back seat of their car. "I'm heading in to pay. You need anything from the store?"
Sam shook his head and watched his brother's retreating back, realizing he must have slept for quite some time if they were already in Kansas.
A quick glance at the watch confirmed his suspicion. It was half past four; meaning his brother had been driving for over 5 hours now, with this being his first stop since they left the motel in Little Rock.
A pang of guilt settled in Sam's gut at not having woken up sooner to offer his brother some release from his job as designated driver.
Especially knowing that Dean's back was still giving him trouble from a particularly vicious fall he had taken on their latest hunt.
Sam didn't even want to imagine what his brother's tense muscles must feel like after 5 hours of staying in the same position.
Deciding to at least take over the last bit of their route, Sam opened the passenger door, ungainly legs unfolding from their cramped up position as he climbed out of the car.
He was just about to throw the door back into its lock, when somebody roughly barged against his side, causing him to lose his balance and topple over into the side of the Impala.
"Watch it, you fucking asshole!" the stranger who had bumped into him sneered and Sam's eyebrows shot up to his hairline at the guy's audacity.
Shouldn't he be the one yelling?
Squaring his shoulders, Sam took in an intimidating stance, straightening up to his full height and staring the stranger down with a burning glare.
A few years ago he would have probably babbled an apology to the enraged man just to avoid an escalation, but a lot had happened in between and Sam was no longer the shy, self-conscious kid he had been when he left college all these years ago.
"You were the one running into me, asshole. Maybe you should watch where you're going before getting offensive."
Spending practically all his life on the road had taught Sam a lot about different personas and types of characters one should avoid at all cost. But the occasional bar fight or verbal shout-off was something both he and Dean had come to accept as a part of their lifestyle.
You couldn't be a conman and expect to live a life free of trouble.
But this? This was completely unwarranted aggressiveness from a total stranger and Sam wouldn't take it.
The man in front of him didn't look like he fell into the category of 'people to avoid at all costs' and he certainly didn't look like he had a whole biker gang waiting around the corner to back him up in a fight.
That didn't keep him however, from being incredibly stupid.
Stepping right up into Sam's personal space, the guy lifted his chin daringly. "We got a problem here, stretch?"
Sam's body tensed and he snorted in amused disbelief. Did this guy have a fucking death wish or something?
Sam really didn't want to start a fight out here in the middle of a gas station, attracting unwanted attention, but this bastard was pushing it.
Lucky for him, Dean chose that exact moment for making his reappearance. "Sam?" his brother asked in a wary tone, immediately sensing the palpable tension between the two men in front of him. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," Sam bit out with a pointed look towards the stranger. "Nothing at all. Let's get going…"
He was trying to be reasonable here, but the guy didn't let up.
"Yeah, pretty boy. Listen to your boyfriend and stay the hell out of this. Wouldn't want to get your girly face bashed in, would we now?"
Dean's eyes widened visibly at the threat, taken aback by the guy's blunt aggressiveness.
Sam's eyes on the other hand, narrowed in anger. Because while he would have let the guy's earlier comments slide, an outspoken threat against his brother was something he couldn't brush off quite as easily.
Locking his jaw, Sam took an intimidating step forward and stabbed his index finger into the guy's chest.
"I don't know what's wrong with you," Sam huffed, shaking his head at the guy's stupidity. "And I honestly don't care. But you're starting to seriously piss me off. And believe me when I say that you don't want to make me angry."
A smug grin spread on the guy's lips at Sam's obvious aggravation. Now that he finally found leverage to get the rise out of Sam, he was going to use it to his advantage.
"Gotta defend your boy's honor, huh?" he snorted derisively, spitting a glob of saliva onto the ground between them. "I bet he's a real good bitch for y-"
And that was it. Sam surged forward, grabbing the guy by the lapels of his jacket as he slammed him against the gas pump with a little more force than necessary.
"Shut your goddamn' mouth," Sam hissed, whole body coiled tight in anger and tension.
"Sam, calm down…" Dean intervened from the side, resting a placating hand on his shoulder.
He sounded about as tense as Sam felt, but remained level-headed, aware of all the strangers that had started staring at the scene they were causing.
Sam wanted nothing more than to punch this guy into oblivion, but the heavy palm resting against his shoulder grounded him to reality.
"C'mon Sammy, he isn't worth the trouble."
Sam snorted, taking a step back and letting go of the stranger with a last warning jostle to his shoulders."Get out of my fucking sight now, or he won't be able to hold me back. Understood?"
The man's nostrils flared in anger, his eyes sparking with silent fury as he considered his options, looking from Sam to Dean and then back at Sam.
Finally he seemed to realize that the odds weren't looking too good for him.
"Fucking fairies," he spit out over his shoulder before rushing off to his own car and getting in.
Sam took a shuddering breath to calm his raging heart and tried to comprehend what had just happened.
"What the hell was that?" Dean asked, with open bafflement in his voice, watching angry-guy's Porsche pass over the exit ramp.
"Was that… did we just get… gaybashed?" Dean looked mortified at his own suggestion.
Sam shrugged, having no better explanation for the stranger's aggressive behavior himself. "Beats me. I mean it wasn't even like we did anything that would suggest-"
Dean shot Sam a warning glare, daring him to finish the sentence. Because they never did anything to suggest that they were more than brothers or simple buddies, yet people still seemed to assume that they were having their wicked ways with each other when nobody was looking. Not that being gay was wrong or anything, but they were brothers, for heaven's sake. Was that really so hard to understand? It wasn't like they were running around holding hands or anything… so why would people even think-
Sam sighed, rubbing his temples to soothe the oncoming headache. "When the whole thing started, you weren't even around, Dean. There's a very real chance the guy didn't even know we came here together until you showed up and he was already getting in my face before that."
"So what, he was just looking for a fight, is that it?" Dean frowned and Sam found himself nodding in answer.
"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, I think that's exactly what he was doing. He seemed… angry. Almost livid."
"He touch you?" Dean asked with a hint of protectiveness in his voice, before scanning Sam's body for any potential damage.
Sam's skin was prickling beneath his older brother's concerned gaze. "I'm fine, Dean… Who knows, maybe he was on drugs or something. Let's just get moving, alright?"
Dean's expression turned a little skeptic at the obvious blow-off, but he didn't say anything.
Just as he was to sit back down in the passenger seat, Sam remembered the reason why he had gotten out of the Impala in the first place. "I'm driving."
Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Uhmm… no, you're not."
Not in the mood for debates, Sam shot his older brother a warning glare, stretching out an arm over the hood of the Chevy and wriggling his fingers. "Gimme the keys, Dean."
"You're angry Sam. You just almost came to blows with some dude at a gas station and you wanna drive? Sorry, but no. You're too agitated."
Sam bristled at his brother's dismissal. "Oh but you're all good to go after the 5-hours drive you just pulled? Tell me Dean, what's better, me throttling the steering wheel in anger or you wrapping the car around a tree because you're too tired to keep your eyes open?"
Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's dramatics.
"Fine," he relented grudgingly, throwing the key over the hood of the Impala and swapping places with Sam, settling against the window on the passenger side and using his jacket as a cushion.
Sam started the engine and pulled out of the gas station with ease, thankful to leave this shady place in the rearview mirror.
Just as he was steering the Impala onto the main road, something hit his thigh and Sam glanced down to find a wrapped cheese sandwich and Gatorade in his lap.
"You need to eat something," Dean said in a matter-of-fact tone and then added as if afterthought "I had a bagel and coffee when you and angry-guy were facing off."
Sam nodded his thanks before taking a sip from the Gatorade, knowing his brother wouldn't stop nagging him until he had at least some of it.
"You know what's really weird, though? The clerk at the store was kind of a jerk as well…" Dean recounted, words already slurred with fatigue.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, instantly alerted by the news. Because two incidents with angry-for-no-reason guys in the same spot was already reason enough to be concerned if you led a life as crazy as theirs.
"He wanted to rip me off with the gas money," Dean snorted, shaking his head as if the mere attempt to deceive him was laughable. "And he called me a douche."
Sam laughed and Dean shot him a glare in return.
"That's funny to you? Thanks a lot, dude. Next time you knock heads with a stranger; I'll cheer him on instead of helping you out."
"Oh so that's what we're calling it now? Because as far as I recall, I was handling the guy just fine by myself," Sam teased, knowing his brother would have been the first to jump between them, if the stranger had been stupid enough to actually attack Sam. "In fact, I was the one defending your virtue."
Dean grimaced. "Shut up," he shot back grumpily, trying to hide his angry blush by burying his face deeper in his jacket. "If anything, you are the girl in this relationship."
Sam snorted out a laugh, feeling the tension slowly leave his body. It was almost ridiculous how his brother always managed to ground him through his agitation or anger.
"At least you put the fear of god into him." Dean chuckled with a glimmer of pride in his half-lidded eyes. "That was rather impressive, you know? Guy almost pissed his pants when you went all Rambo on him."
"Yeah well he deserved it," Sam gave back. Because anybody who talked shit about his brother, or god forbid, even threatened to harm him- deserved to be put into their place. Period.
"So what's this new case about, again?" Dean asked with a yawn, changing the topic. Sam shot him a skeptic look, debating whether it still made any sense to explain the case to his brother, when Dean was already two seconds away from falling asleep.
Shrugging his shoulder, Sam figured he might as well tell Dean. They needed to go through everything again anyway, before appearing at the crime scene.
"Apparently the local police found the body of a 40-year old housewife and mother, who had 'screamed herself to death'."
Dean's nose wrinkled, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "How's that even possible?" he wanted to know. "She have a stroke or something?"
"Medical verdict stated that the reason for her death was asphyxia. She stopped breathing and literally used up all the air to scream her lungs out."
"Okay. Weird." Dean shook his head, rubbing a hand over his eyes like a sleepy toddler. "Sounds like the people in this city have some serious anger-management-issues."
Sam snorted. "No kidding. You wanna catch some shuteye before we get there? You look like you need it…"
No answer.
"Dean?"
Sam took a sideways glance and found his brother already fast asleep, mouth slightly opened and features smoothed out in relaxation.
With a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Sam settled back against the driver seat and mulled over the facts for their newest case in his head.
Something big was going on here and Sam was hell-bent on finding out what it was.
"So Mrs. Caraway, could you tell us more about the night of your neighbor's death?" Sam asked the old lady in front of him with his trademark 'compassionate' voice.
Dean used the woman's distraction to take a stroll through the house, while at the same time listening in on their conversation.
It was an old manor with wooden banisters and dusty chandeliers, like straight out of a horror movie.
The owner was a cat-crazy spinster with colored hair and painted nails, regretting bygone times and beauty.
Dean had taken one glance at her and left his brother to take over this part of their investigation, knowing Sam's penchant for elderly ladies (or should he say his magnetic pull on them?).
Whatever it was, he had definitely made the right decision, and not only to see his brother's pinched face as he squirmed awkwardly under the witnesses' appreciative gaze.
"You can call me Elizabeth, agent," the lady insisted with a sultry voice and Dean couldn't help the gleeful smirk that escaped him when she rested a wrinkled hand on his chest.
"Uhm…right. So Elizabeth, did you notice anything strange on the night of her death? Before the screaming, I mean…" Sam sputtered with a forced smile, body visibly tensing under her touch.
"Strange…as in…?" the woman queried with a frown.
"Weird noises, creaking doors, flickering lights…" Dean piped in from where he was standing in the living room. "Anything out of the ordinary."
"Well I'm not sure if it counts, but the dogs in the neighborhood were acting up a few hours before it happened."
Sam's eyes narrowed slightly. "Acting up?"
"Yes. Well they were barking and Mr. Abora's Chihuahua from across the street ripped free from his leash and started attacking my neighbor's Labrador. It was brutal."
Dean hid another smirk behind the huge vase he was 'inspecting', trying to shake the image of a Chihuahua trying to attack anything, from his mind.
He shared a brief look with Sam over the lady's shoulder, finding suspicion in his brother's pensive eyes.
"Right…uh, so apart from that, was there anything else…uhm-" Sam's voice faltered, when the woman's hands started roaming his chest. "…that seemed strange to you?"
"You mean apart from the screaming? Nothing I can think of, right now, agent Smith." She turned imploring eyes on Sam before shaking her head in sad resignation. "Annie was such a loving woman and mother; I never heard her lose her temper like that before. It was completely out of character."
Sam took a step back with an apologetic smile, stroking a wayward hair strand from his face in a nervous gesture. "Mrs. Cara-uh, Elizabeth… did you- by any chance- hear what she was saying when she started yelling?"
"Yes. I remember that she was angry about something. Furious, actually. I couldn't make out any specific words but it almost seemed as if she was speaking another language."
That caught both of the brothers' attention.
"Any idea what language that could have been?" Sam pressed, face growing somber with foreboding.
"Well I have never been into languages myself, but my last husband- god rest his poor soul- had a doctor in Law and he used to read these dusty old scripts from the library… I picked up a few words here and there and well…"
Dean met Sam's somber gaze over the distance that parted them, already knowing what the rambling woman would say next.
"If I didn't know it any better I'd say she was talking in Latin."
Dean languidly rubbed a hand along his stubbled jaw. "Are you sure you can't remember any particular words she used, Ma'm? Anything would help us here, really."
"You know my hearing isn't what it used to be when I was younger but… my eyes on the other hand are still able to appreciate a special treat when they see one."
As if to prove her point, the woman let her eyes devour Sam's body one more time, before Dean finally decided to take his brother out of his misery.
"I think that should be it for now, Mrs. Caraway," he stepped in from the side, breaking her gaze from his brother's uncomfortably squirming form and reaching out for a handshake.
She took it with a tight smile, looking unpleased at the interruption. "Thank you for your cooperation. We'll keep in touch if we need further information from you."
As they stepped through the doorway onto her porch, Sam took a relieved breath, visibly relaxing now that he was no longer subjected to the woman's obtrusiveness.
"Seriously, dude. What is it with you and old chicks?" Dean chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.
Sam's face twisted into the patented bitch face as he stiffly walked towards the Impala.
"Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Now what do you think about what she told us? Demonic possession?"
Dean contemplated the option before shaking his head. "Nah... why would a demon possess a host only to kill it the next second?"
"Maybe the victim was putting up a fight- trying to eject the evil spirit from its body," Sam suggested with a shrug.
Dean looked unconvinced. "Possible but unlikely. I was thinking witches, but I really hope I'm wrong."
Sam groaned inwardly at the suggestion, knowing Dean had a point. "So, police station?"
Dean opened the door on the driver side and plopped down on the leather seat of the Impala.
He started the engine with a heavy sigh, "Yeah. Let's see what else we can find out."
The Wichita Police Department was buzzing with noise; stressed officers running around, exchanging information and copying files, or talking on the phone with panicked victims.
Sam's eyebrows rose in surprise the second he stepped into the tumultuous jumble alongside his brother.
"So tell me again why this case requires federal forces?" Officer Joneson, the head of department asked as he led the way to his office and closed the door after them, shutting their conversation off from the annoying background noise.
"No specific reason. Just covering all the bases." Dean explained, taking a seat in front of the officer's desk.
Sam followed suit, all the while eyeing the man in front of them with suspicion.
He had noted a hint of annoyment in the officer's voice earlier and given their current situation, he felt entitled to be a little wary.
"So can you tell us more about Mrs. Cooper's condition when you found her?"
The officer leaned back in his leather seat with a smug grin. "Shouldn't you already know all of that? Given that you read the file, gentlemen?"
"Are you suggesting that we didn't?" Dean shot back without batting an eye, always quick at repartee. "Because for a second there, it almost sounded like you questioned our integrity."
Sam lifted his chin, silently daring the officer to speak up, but the man was visibly deflating at Dean's self-assured comeback. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Well good," Dean smiled. "Then you'll have no problem answering my partner's question."
"Right." The officer turned towards Sam with a sour expression. "Mrs. Cooper's body was found dead by her oldest son, Desmond. Forensics told us that her death was caused by suffocation. Neighbors unanimously claimed to have heard the woman screaming before she died but there were no signs of a forced entry or struggle inside the house."
"So nobody was with her when she died?" Sam asked with a frown.
Officer Joneson shook his head. "Not as far as we know. Her husband was at work and the kids were at school at the time of death, we got multiple witnesses affirming their alibis. "
"Any idea who she could have been screaming at?" Dean wanted to know.
"Hell if I know," the officer gave back disinterestedly, leaving both brothers about as clueless as they were when they came to the police department.
"Well, how about you get out the photos from the crime scene so we can build our own opinion?"
"Suit yourself…" the officer gave back with a dark glower, before turning around to dig into his file cabinet.
Dean turned to shoot his brother an exasperated look, only to find Sam hunched over in his seat, pale face lined with visible tension where it had been neutral only seconds before.
"What's wrong?" Dean asked under his breath, immediately concerned by his brother's unhealthy pallor and the pinched look on his face.
He threw a brief glance towards the police officer, not wanting to blow their cover, before resting a comforting palm against the nape of Sam's neck. "You alright?"
"Yeah… just- just gimme…a minute," Sam panted, biting his lower lip while clutching at his chest with his hands.
Shit. Dean had no clue what was happening, but it sure as hell didn't look good.
"Talk to me, Sam. What's going on?"
"What's up with him?" the officer asked upon noticing Sam's pained expression.
Dean clenched his jaw at the insensitive approach and shot the officer a poignant glare. "Don't just stand there! Get him a glass of water or something. And open the fucking window."
"Dean, I c-can't...- my chest hurts…" Sam pressed out in between little gasps, twisting in his seat as the pain in his chest intensified.
Dean's own heart started beating frantically in his chest at the sight of his brother's distress.
"Should I call 911?!" the officer asked in a panicked voice, liquid sloshing over the rim of the water glass he was holding.
"No, I got this," Dean shot back in a clipped tone. A hospital was the last thing they needed right now. "Can you give us a minute?"
"What?" the officer asked, voice squeaking. "B-but he needs a doctor!"
"No, what he needs is some space. So how about you back the hell off and leave us alone for a moment?"
The officer blanched at the sharpness of Dean's tone before scrambling out of the room in a hurry, leaving the two brothers alone.
Sam's wheezing got worse the second the officer was gone, almost as if he had been trying to hide the gravity of the situation to their unwelcome spectator.
"Alright, alright," Dean murmured, throwing one of Sam's arms over his shoulder before lifting his brother into a standing position and gently guiding him over to the open window. "Here we go, that's better. Now lift your arms for me."
Sam sluggishly tried to comply with his request, while Dean tugged the cheap suit jacket off of him, freeing him from the constricting fabric.
"M-my chest… Dean, gah-" Sam gasped, clawing frantically at the white shirt he was wearing until Dean caught his fingers with his own hands, halting his brother's movements. "H-hurts-"
"Alright, hey, stop it, I know it hurts, buddy- let me take a look at it, okay?"
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and Dean ripped the shirt open, not bothering to waste their precious time with buttons when his little brother was suffering.
His eyes widened when his eyes fell onto his brother's exposed chest.
Right there, above Sam's heart, his skin was breaking as if cut by an invisible blade, blood protruding from the gaping lines that were slowly carved into his skin.
"Shit," Dean burst out in panic, frantically glancing around the room in search for a hexbag. This wasn't good. Not good at all.
Even if they were dealing with a witch- and that was one big IF, Dean wasn't sure if he would be able to find the damn hexbag in time to help his brother.
But he had to try- he had to do something- anything, to save Sam from whatever was attacking him.
Just as he was about to take the room apart, Sam's finger's wrapped around his wrist, holding him captured. "W-wait. I think… I think it might have s-stopped."
Dean immediately stopped in his tracks, mouth falling open in a horrified gasp when he realized that the carved lines on his brother's chest were not just arranged in a senseless pattern but actually forming a three-letter word.
IRA.
The Latin term for 'wrath' was written squarely across Sam's chest, fresh blood quelling from the gaping flesh like crimson ink on parchment.
Dean stared at it in unadultered shock before ripping himself out of his rigor.
Then he gently prodded at the wound with shaking fingers, examining the extent of damage done to his little brother and shooting him an apologetic look when he hissed in pain at the probing touch.
"It's not deep enough to have caused any real damage..." Dean assessed quietly, nerves frayed and body shaking. "Just...just broke the skin on the surface."
Sam bit his lower lip, looking utterly miserable. "Sure felt like more than just broken skin."
"You okay?" Dean asked with a shaky voice, cupping Sam's cheek with his blood-smeared fingers, a gesture that drew as much comfort as it gave.
"Yeah…" Sam breathed, eyes still glued to the word that was carved into his chest with abject horror.
When he finally looked up to meet his brother's gaze, Sam's eyes were filled with an uncharacteristic fear. "Dean, what's happening to me?"
Dean's lips opened on instinct, heart aching for a way to erase the frightened look from his brother's face, when the door to the office was suddenly ripped open and all hell broke loose.
TBC...
Happy New Year, everyone! I decided to kick off 2015 with a brand new WIP based on an old idea of mine. This is to all of you who are fondly remembering the old days of supernatural, wishing for the boys to just be brothers again and hunt monsters, carrying out their family legacy. Please drop a note if you liked it and let me know if you're up for more! Reviews always make my day :D