Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. It belongs to Kripke...that's a good thing. The poem included is #101 by Catullus (one of his very few that isn't sexually explicit or obscene).

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Multas per gentes et multa per aequora vectus

advenio has miseras, frater, ad inferias,

ut te postremo donarem munere mortis

et mutam nequiquam alloquerer cinerem,

quandoquidem fortuna mihi tete abstulit ipsum,

heu miser indigne frater adempte mihi.

Nunc tamen interea haec, prisco quae more parentum

tradita sunt tristi munere ad inferias,

accipe fraterno multum manantia fletu,

atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale.

She's got her heel pressing into the small of his back, forcing him into her harder, deeper with every thrust. He's going to have a hell of a bruise there, and Dean tries not to think of his kidneys as he grunts with the effort of fucking her.

This is insane, part of his brain informs him, and he really can't argue with that…just keep his mouth firmly on hers so she doesn't have the chance to rip his throat out with her teeth. Remember to keep his tongue in his own mouth so she can't tear that out either.

She's too skinny, her hipbones like knives as he grinds against them. Perfect though, because this is wrong on levels he can't even comprehend. The least of those is that there's a girl in there, buried beneath the film of evil. The worst is that Sam is dead.

Nails rake trails of fire down his back as she comes, through no effort on his part, and she screams against his mouth, thrusting her tongue in, violating him just like he's busy violating her.

The weak afternoon sunlight makes the gun on the nightstand gleam as exertion sends a trickle of sweat down the side of Dean's nose. That was their deal—the Colt for his help in hunting down the yellow-eyed demon. Her father, who banished her. His enemy, who took Sam away from him. Encounters like this, though, are just a way of killing time until nightfall. Of killing what's left of himself.

Meg purrs in Latin, whispering obscene things as she eggs him on to an orgasm of his own. He collapses on top of her, spent and not caring if he's crushing her. A small hand pets his hair as if he were a dog, not a person. Dean doesn't really care.

She wiggles out from under him—all her narrow bones meshing like the scales on a snake as she squirms—and heads to the bathroom to get clean up. The small she tosses him from the doorway is full of I've got you because even if they're allies now, she's still an evil bitch from Hell.

The door shuts behind her. After a moment, his eyes fall on the red jacket crumpled on the floor beside the bed. He imagines he can see red splotches on the abused leather. Old blood from Father Jim, Caleb. At least, when all this is over, he'll see his dad again, down in Hell.

It breaks his heart that he won't be seeing Sammy.