Darkness Before Dawn
With Sam firmly under the demon's thumb, the only thing that stands between him and oblivion is Dean. Shadow AU.
Devil's Tower, Wyoming
"'Why does the lamb love Mary so, Mary so, Mary so? Why does the lamb love Mary so?' the little children cry."
John had always said that Wyoming was his favourite place to visit. He took Mary there once- before her belly grew round with Dean- and camped under the stars south of Devil's Tower. They'd cooked in mess tins left over from John's service days, and drank beer chilled in the blue and green cooler Mary had packed in the trunk. Maybe that was where little Dean had been conceived, the demon wasn't quite sure. All he did know was that Wyoming was really the perfect place to be. It was the only place to be. Winchester must have his own brand of foresight, or else fate really hated the poor bastard- Devil's Tower?The man was asking for trouble.
Weather was warmer than usual for summer. Muggy heat punctured by freak thunderstorms that were driving the locals in herds to the local bars for a cool Miller's after work. The height of August saw temperatures rise to eight degrees higher than the previous year. However, there, in the root cellar, things were blessedly cool.
And dark. Meg had blacked out the small windows with the black masonry paint she had found in the garage. She'd also ripped out the wiring for the only electric light in the room. Small, dark, and minus any clutter, entering from the sweltering heat of the kitchen was like stepping under a fountain of water after crossing Arizona.
"Why does the lamb love Mary so?" The demon loved nursery rhymes. There was something dark and sinister, and vaguely morbid about them that appealed to the lighter side of his temperament. Only humans could compose songs about tragedy and teach them to their children. Ring a ring of roses? A classic. "Come on, Dean. Sing with me now. Do you know why the lamb loved Mary so?"
Being neither alive, nor dead, the demon had no difficulty seeing through the darkness around him. The human he kept locked down there wasn't so lucky.
Chains rattled lightly. He'd grown up with that sound. First in the halls of Tartarus, where real torture was an art, and he had grown to see the human race for what it was; weak, pathetic. Hopeless. Then in the mortal plane, in Sasania, where the dungeons of Ctesiphon swelled with the fallen Byzantine soldiers abandoned to the bitter eastern horrors they had whispered about over blazing fires. The Islamic state had not been so fond of such blatant and traditional torture, preferring to use more inventive methods. The demon had stayed, for a while, as stability frayed around conquest and invasion, before moving onto the Christian states.
The students he had had there… So willing to do God's work, and so sure that true devotion was shown in blood and tears. His love for the clang and rattle of chains had born the vigour and might of the Inquisition, where fire and metal tore and violated their way to justice. To righteousness. He missed the good old days.
"Come on Dean. It's not hard. Tell me, little lamb. Tell me why you loved Mary so."
A few months ago, and he could have counted on the spitfire he had captured to keep him wildly entertained with backchat and bravado. He had learned more curses in the last three months than in several thousand millennia amongst man. Dean had been refreshing, at first. And so much fun.
Now he didn't get so much as a fuck you for his troubles.
The demon crouched alongside his captive, pleased when a flinch and a shuffle proved there was still some spirit let to break.
Three months in the dark and bleached the human of his golden skin. Chains and Meg's idea of suitable rations had ensured that no matter how wilful the kid's spirit might be, he wasn't up to any McQueen like efforts.
The demon had watched The Great Escape twice since coming to Wyoming, and wished he had spent the war in Europe instead of South America.
"No?" Dean flinched wildly when the demon shuffled forwards and pulled the human half into his lap. The kid was smart, though. He'd learned which battles to fight, and didn't put up more than a token resistance when the demon stroked his hair in a fatherly manner. "I'll tell you why the lamb loved Mary so." He leaned forwards and pressed his lips to Dean's ear. The human needed a haircut. Sharp teeth nipped Dean's ear, and he whispered words like a great secret. "Because the lamb was too dumb to realise that no matter how much he loved the bitch, she didn't give a shit about him."
The demon laughed wildly, even as Dean slammed his head back into his captor's jaw. The blow lacked any real force, and probably hurt the human more than it did him. "That's my boy. Still in there. Good. I was getting worried. We don't want you dead before daddy finds you. What's the fun in a family reunion if brother Dean isn't there to enjoy it."
"He won't come." The words had been said a thousand times already. Each time the conviction in the human's voice slipped from cold assurance, to a quiet desperation. He wondered if Dean still believed them, and what it meant if he did. A question for later.
"Of course he is, big brother." The demon whispered wickedly. He happened to know that daddy was tearing apart the country in the hunt for his boys. "He'd come for me. You both would."
A shuddering gasp left Dean's throat. "You're not him. You're not Sam."
More words. Spoken even more often that the previous three. It was the only conversation he really got from Dean any more. The kid needed to change the record. He was getting boring.
"I am Sam. Sam is me. We're just one big family." He pulled Dean closer, grasped his chin and forced the human to look up into the face of his kid brother. "I'd have thought you'd have figured that out by now." The demon had discovered long ago that Sam's voice could convey disappointment better than most. "Still. It must be a Winchester thing. Dad's still no closer to finding us. Perhaps I should give him a little nudge, whaddya think?"
Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from Sam's. They were still the same light colour they had always been. The demon was smart enough to keep them that way. He'd hulked out on the kid once before, regained his natural golden eyes, and Dean had just flipped a switch. The more Sam looked like Sam, the more it fucked with Dean's head.
The demon leaned closer. He caught Dean's face between one hand. Held him still. "How about an eye? Hmm? Such pretty eyes. Just like mommy's. No? Maybe I'll send Meg after one of our friends then. Pastor Jim maybe? Caleb?"
"He won't come." Dean rasped again. The demon's hand came away sticky with blood. He shook his head in disappointment.
It was to be expected. The kid had made it to the front door this time before being caught. He'd once made it all the way to the end of the drive before the Daevas had dragged him back.
He was good, he'd give the human that much.
Still, the demon had promised Meg that she could take care of Dean if he tried to escape, and she had never been any good at taking care of her things. One would have thought that the first time would have been enough to put the human in a more accommodating frame of mind.
It hadn't.
"Don't try to run, Dean. You can't leave me here alone." The demon whispered, enjoying the shiver of pain that ran down Dean's spine. Feeling strong enough for a fight, the demon seeped into Sam's mind, into his untapped psychic potential, and hotwired a ride into Dean's subconscious.
For the most, Sam slept through the demon's occupation of his body. It was easier that way, for the both of them. The demon needed Sam whole, and the youngest Winchester was possible more volatile than his older brother was. The only time Sam ever stirred to consciousness was when the demon used his abilities to have a little fun with Dean. There was always a fight, but he had never failed to win one yet. Sam backed down with only a little persuasion. A hand around Dean's throat tended to do the trick.
Dean whimpered as memories were unleashed in his mind for the both of them to see. Arguments between father and son were the demon's favourite, closely followed by the shotgun incident. That had been a little gem to uncover. Forcing Dean to relive that memory had done more damage than any physical violence. It was just as shame the handgun hadn't been loaded. Such a shame.
Just like Sam. The kid still hadn't learned his lesson. Whilst Dean curled in on himself in the demon's arms, Sam kick started into reality, seeing through his own eyes, and unleashing a barrage of curses that would have made big brother proud.
The demon's hand, Sam's hand, curled around Dean's throat, and the battle ended before it had really begun. The youngest Winchester sank back with a cry in to the recesses of him mind. Dean stifled a sob as the memories crashed over him in waves, and in the darkness, the demon began to sing again.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird…"
Manning, Colorado
It was an unwritten rule that hunters did not turn on other hunters. Professional courtesy, right there along side the line that said first come, first kill, on a hunt. Still, no one was particularly surprised when John Winchester took two handfuls of checked cord between his hands and lifted Daniel Elkins clear off the ground.
It was a miracle the man had restrained himself for as long as he had. Winchester was not known for his patience.
"The gun, Daniel." Winchester snarled. He was about ready to start shooting people, and this man stood between him, and the thing that could save his sons. "I won't warn you again."
Elkins bristled at the treatment. "Damn it all, John, I told you I don't-"
"Lie to me and I'll break both your legs." John hissed. At one time, he had considered the man a friend. But friend or no, nothing was going to stand between him and his boys.
They had been missing for close to four months now, and at first he had wondered if their silence was their way of showing how pissed they were at their own, similar treatment. Leaving them in Chicago had hurt more than he could possibly have imagined. So much so, in fact, that at times John whished he had never shown his face in the first place.
"I don't have the damn gun." John slammed Elkins into the wall, to jog his memory.
Six weeks passed without word. Even when John had walked out on Dean to follow the demon's trail alone, his eldest had still followed the same rules of their hunt. He called in once every week. A 'hi dad, we're still alive, and where the hell are you now?' that Dean had never expected to be returned. His voicemail picked up one message after Chicago. One 'hi dad', and then nothing.
"My sons could be dying, Daniel." John roared. It hurt too much to think about. They were supposed to be safer on their own, away from his influence and the danger that followed. He pulled back in order to deliver another wall shuddering slam, when a woman appeared in the doorway.
Missouri Moseley held a wooden box in her hands. She met John's gaze unflinchingly.
"Normally I wouldn't encourage this type of behaviour." The dark skinned woman said crossly, tipping her head towards the study in a way that showed her displeasure at being forced to use her skills for illegal, unethical means. "John Winchester, you put him down now."
John was used to following orders, and Missouri was a woman used to giving them. Elkins slid to the floor gracelessly. He looked up from behind tangled, sweaty grey bangs. "You can't just take it." He said, seemingly ignoring the fact that he had only moments ago denied possession of the box and it's contents. "If that gun falls into the wrong hands-"
"It was made to kill evil. Guess what I'm going to do with it!"
John's phone rang, cutting Elkins' response off before it could begin.
"Winchester."
"It's me."
"Jim." John seemed to relax slightly. "Tell me Caleb came through for us."
"He seems to think Ellen is possessed, but he is convinced of Ash's credibility. The boy is running the information for you was we speak."
John thanked his friend quietly, his voice catching as hope rose in his chest. Ruthlessly, he quashed it, knowing that false hope would only lead to bitter disappointment. John had called on contacts in every state. Obits had been scored, morgues searched, hospitals and prisons torn apart. There was no trace of the Winchester boys. It was as if they had stepped into another world, and left no evidence behind them. Even the car was missing.
During the short phone call, Elkins climbed unsteadily to his feet. He glanced uneasily between the hunter and the psychic before sighing and deflating under Missouri's stern glower and John's tense posture. "What do you plan on doing with it?"
John crossed to the doorway and took the box from Missouri without so much as a thank you. He checked the contents. "I plan on finding my sons." He said. "And when I do, I am going to kill the son of a bitch that took them."
TBC
"Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."
-Terry Pratchett b.1948
This is my first foray into a darker side of fan fiction, so please, drop me line and let me know what you think. Too dark? Not dark enough? Feed the author!