Baited: DIABOLO-NUMBER #666

I'm baaaaack. After the lovely success of Baited, I decided to give in to popular demand for the first time ever and write a sequal.

NOTE: You don't have to have read the original for this to make sense. This sequal can be a stand-alone.

Granted, some things will make sense if you've read the first one, but you don't have to read it if you haven't already. Also note, I do respond to all reviews - always have, always will. So, if you want to ask me something (like you didn't understand something or anything), go ahead and ask it, because I'll get back to you. Plus, I love discussing Supernatural, whether it's the most recent episode, an older episode or just Jensen and Jared (and Misha - gotta throw him in). So...yeah.

Anyway! I won't keep you any longer, so enjoy it after the disclaimer!

Disclaimer: All I own is the plot and some character names.

1

Mr. JOY

There was a loud shriek that pierced through the night air from the inside of a factory basement. A loud crash followed as a figure collided into metal debris, groaning as they fell down the pile, serrated pieces falling on and around them. A moment of distraction was all that the creature needed to take advantage of the disarray and jump up onto a pipe before hoisting itself up and out of an opened window a few feet above its head. A few shots were fired, hitting the wall around it, the bullets ricocheting off and falling to the floor. They cursed and dropped the gun to their side, running over to the fallen hunter.

"Shit, Sam!"

Sam rolled over, some of the debris falling off of him. "I'm fine, go!"

He pushed Dean away. He barely nodded, turning and following after the creature they had finally found after three days. He pulled himself onto the pipe, balanced himself, and then grabbed the edge of the window to pull himself out. He landed on his stomach at the end of the three foot drop, groaning and cursing at the creature, which was not even it sight. Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled slightly before recovering his balance as he ran through the surrounding storage buildings and factory crates. He stopped short, panting as he looked around. The silence that surrounded him would prove to be useful, since it would allow him to hear the slightest bit of movement; however, as he stood there for a minute, he hit the realization that the creature already made its escape.

He cursed again, hitting the ground with the sole of his shoe before turning away to return back to the factory basement to check on Sam. He kept his ears tuned in for any odd movements or sounds, but there was nothing as he made his way to the same window – the same one they had used to get into the basement in the first place. He crawled back in, dropping down to the pipe, then to the floor. He slipped the gun back under his jacket, walking to Sam, who was pulling pieces of broken metal from his shoulder. He glanced up as Dean made his way over.

"You get him?"

"Does it look like I got him?" Sam frowned at the annoyance laced in Dean's tone and went back to focusing on getting the pieces out of his skin. "All that work and for what? To lose'em in less than an hour? Well, wasn't this a waste of time." He gave himself a moment to calm down, watching Sam, who was not even paying him the slightest bit of attention. His eyebrows raised as Sam pulled a two-inch long piece out of his arm, stared at it for a second, and then threw it back into the pile. He tossed his arms down and looked up at his brother, who reached down to help him up: Dean could not help but look at the now-fresh wounds on Sam's shoulder, blood disappearing into the fabric of his jacket. "Why is it that you always get the cool battle scars?"

Sam just stared at him in disbelief. "So sorry. Next time I'll take that into consideration before I save your ass." Dean gave him a cocky smile, making Sam roll his eyes. He laughed at Sam's sneer and slapped him on the shoulder blade as they went to exit the building. When he stepped, though, a sharp pain shot down Sam's side and he released a shout from surprise, drawing Dean's full attention. He turned his head to see what had caused the pain and saw a small piece of metal sticking out between his back ribs. Dean had him turn and touched the metal, causing Sam to jerk. When Dean gripped it, Sam made a quick step away from him. "Dude, don't just pull it out!"

Dean groaned and grabbed Sam's shoulder, purposely having him cringe from the other wounds. "Fine. We'll take care of it at the motel."

"Thank you."

The tone was sarcastic.

"Goddamn it. You are such a girl."

o-o-o-o-o

Sam's hand was clenched into a tight fist, his eyes tightly shut, trying to ignore the pain that was coming with Dean pulling the serrated metal from under his ribs. A warm cloth was in Dean's hand right above it, ready to cover it once it was out; yet, as he started removing it, it was apparent that the piece was not quite as small as it had initially appeared. His eyes quickly moved to Sam's face, whose expression had not changed. Slowly, he pulled it out, immediately holding the cloth over it as blood began to seep out. He held it out to Sam.

"Want a souvenir?"

Sam frowned. "I'm good, thanks."

Dean tossed it on the nightstand between the beds. Sam reached his hand back to hold the cloth in place when Dean got up to get the tape and gauze from the bag sitting on the other bed. When he walked back to Sam after retrieving the items, his eyes quickly glanced to the scar on Sam's abdomen; six months later and his stomach still dropped at the sight, but, for the most part, they were both doing well to ignore it. He pulled his attention away before Sam noticed and went back to his brother's side, dressing the wound. Once he was wrapped, Dean tossed the items back in the bag and hit Sam on the shoulder, having the other clamp on his jaw before giving him a nasty glare; Dean responded with a smirk. Sam brought his arm back and shoved Dean back, then stood up to walk into the small restroom.

"Awe, come on, Sammy. Not even a thank you?"

Sam turned back to look at his brother's plastic disheartened expression. He put on a smile to match it. "Wow. Thank you so much, Dean! What would I do without you?"

When Dean's look fell to a frown at the sarcasm, Sam's chest vibrated in a silent chuckle. "Shut up and go primp yourself, you damn drag queen," Dean sneered as he threw the closest object, which happened to be the remote to the television, at the other. Sam shook his head, tossed the remote back to him and disappeared into the bathroom. Dean released a loud groan the threw himself back on the bed, bouncing on the mattress as he tossed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. He heard the shower turn on and released a breath.

For the next few moments, he just listened to Sam in the bathroom, quietly wondering if the wrappings would hold up or come loose under the water. His thoughts began wandering elsewhere when he saw the mental image of the scars on Sam's upper body, two of which he had been the one to cause, and tensed, shaking his head to try and get rid of the thought. He inhaled, releasing it in a quick breath. Six months later and they still were not any closer to finding any leads on the demon that had caused it all in the first place; each lead they thought they garnered only wound up at a dead end, frustrating them further. The plus side was that the dreams and nightmares waned as time progressed; but when they did occur, they were just as prevalent as ever – not that they told each other that.

Shadows in the dark.

Occasionally, it would occur to both of them on the same night: the only evidence was whenever one of them was torn from sleep, they would see the other up and about, claiming it insomnia. Regardless, questions were never asked and answers were never pressed, no matter how poorly each other lied about it. However, a couple of months ago, Sam woke up in a cold sweat, panting and shaking with Dean leaning over him, concern flooding his features as he managed to pull Sam out of sleep. Dean could still remember the look in Sam's eyes as he stared back at him, gauging whether or not he was real or still dreaming, and then the relief that swarmed him once realization set in. Of course, once he was aware of what was going on, he pushed Dean away from him, saying he was fine to the disbelieving look of his brother; yet, as usual, neither one pushed it. The eldest joked about the revelations less and less as time went by, the subject slowly growing back to its original taboo state. For some reason, though that was what both had said they wanted, it made even usual pats on the shoulder feel and seem awkward.

The sound of the shower curtain being shifted in the bathroom momentarily pulled him out of thought. The clock on the table in between the two beds was shining eleven twenty-three, which burrowed the thought of it still being early into his head. Still early enough to hit up a bar and maybe have a little fun before morning rolled around. Using his arms to toss himself up, he rolled off of the bed, crossed the room and started shifting clothes around in a bag. Managing to find what he was looking for, he pulled out a long-sleeve black shirt and tossed it on the bed, turning back. Stripping himself of his jacket and tossing it next to the shirt, he turned his back to the bed, facing the bag again as he removed his dirt-stained shirt. Just as it was pulled over his head, the bathroom door clicked open.

He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Sam holding his hand over his stomach; a jolt shot to his heart and he jerked when blood could be seen dripping down his brother's abdomen, but when he spun around to aid him, the image was gone and the only thing he saw was Sam giving him an odd look.

"What?" he asked, shaking his head and moving to where his own bag lay on the other bed.

Dean shrugged and tossed his shirt on top of the bag before going back to get the other he had put on the bed. "Nothing." He slipped it on, pulling it down to cover his stomach and over the band of his jeans. He watched as Sam took out and threw some clothes over the chair in the corner, not appearing to actually change into them. "Hey, I'm goin' out for a drink. Up for it?"

Sam faced him, gripping the towel around his waist to keep it from sliding down. "Yeah. Just let me change." Dean nodded and went into the bathroom to clean up and allow Sam to change.

The bar, a few drinks and getting rid of some "excess" tension was right up the alley of what he needed, and he was quite certain Sam was in need to do the exact same thing.

o-o-o-o-o

The bar was full, people chatting loudly due to intoxication; others were trying to be heard over them just to get their orders to the on-floor servers and bartenders. Sam and Dean weaved their way in and out between people to get to a high-round table that was open against a separator in the middle, separating booths. As with typical bars, the bar was dimly lit, playing into the psychological effect of lingering, which appeared to be working quite well, seeing as how many of the people were well past their third and fourth drinks. A group of college students were doing shots at a group of tables they had pushed together to form for their large party, being loud and yelling as they continued to get each other to drink more.

They settled in to two of the three stools at the table, practically in unison setting their feet on the bar under stool to keep them from dangling. As one of the servers passed by, Dean grabbed their attention to ask for two beers; she quickly disappeared after a smile to get their drinks, and probably a few others. Once she vanished into the crowd, he turned back towards Sam, bringing his head to face him last. With a heave of the shoulders and a sigh, he had to speak up to be heard.

"Guess we'll go at it again tomorrow," he said, referring to the hunt. "If only someone could manage to keep up, this time."

"Dean…." Sam looked at him sympathetically. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You just have to run faster."

Dean sneered at the insult being turned around, to which Sam smirked. He took a good look around the bar, scanning for anyone eligible – easy, detached, somewhat or completely drunk. The server came back not a moment later, setting to House Drafts on the table. Before either one of them was even able to thank her, she was gone and seen grabbing empty bottles and glasses from other tables. Quickly raising his brows, Dean grabbed the glass and took a swig; the alcohol settled uneasily in his stomach, reminding him that he had not eaten since early that afternoon. At least it would make it easier to get to the drunken state he was desperate to get to tonight.

He snorted at the thought along with another drink.

"So, I'm thinking we check the Morrison's out again – I still think the mother knows something." Dean only nodded at Sam's statement, staring at the liquid in his glass instead of glancing up. "Or we could get hammered, find some drunk chicks and get laid."

Dean looked up at him, eyebrows knitted together, about to comment until he saw Sam started to laugh. At the reaction, the eldest frowned. "Awe, don't tease me like that, Sammy. I was hoping you were going to cross over to the Darkside. I need a wingman."

Sam nearly spit out his beer, forcing himself to swallow it before releasing a laugh in a breath. "You? Need a wingman?" he asked in disbelief, to which Dean shrugged.

"Thought I'd give you a chance, but, nope. The moment's gone." Sam rolled his eyes when Dean shook his head in disappointment. "I don't want to talk about the case or the fact we got our asses handed to us tonight. I just want to sit here, have a few beers and relax." He paused as he brought the drink back up. "And get laid." Another drink. "Maybe that's what you need to get that hair out of your ass." In the middle of chugging half of it, his eyes moved to look at Sam, who was no longer looking at him and, instead, was drinking his beer while staring down at the table. Dean brought his glass down, shaking his head. "Shit…Sam—"

"Dude, it's whatever." The response he received was a sympathetic look. "Seriously, it's not that big of a deal."

The air between them lay thick with silence, leaving them both to drink their beers; Dean appeared a bit more eager to get to a drunken state that night, whereas he chugged it down and thumped the empty glass on the table. When the same server was within earshot, he called her back over and asked for another drink. It was different, but Sam's ears were unable to pick up what he said. As she walked away with the empty beer glass in tow, Dean leaned on the table towards Sam, his grin back on his face.

"I'll have to be honest with you, Sammy. Before the night's over, I wanna have my ass carried out of here."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I can rearrange that. Just give me something heavy." Dean's lip curled as Sam laughed. The server came back and dropped off Dean's drink, which ended up being half a glass of Guinness with a shot of Irish whiskey and liqueur. He nodded thanks and barely had time to tell her a Blue Moon before she was gone once again. Despite barely speaking with anything other than an "okay", she was efficient, which is what a full house called for. He picked up the Guinness and shot, hovering the shot glass over the beer as he looked to Sam with a smirk: the response he received was an eye roll as Sam took a swig of his own. He dropped the shot into the glass and swallowed it down as it foamed, then nearly slammed the glass on the table.

"C'mon, Sam! Have some fun or I'm going to make you down a Bloody Tampon."

"Right. No sooner than anyone can get you to take a Hot Mexican Hooker."

"Hey, not a bad idea. Get a few Mexican hookers over here and really make this a party."

They exchanged expressions.

The server came back, this time a little less frantic. She took a breath and smiled at them. "Sorry about the runaround, earlier. Had to get caught up."

Dean shook his head. "Not a problem." The usual flirtatious grin was back on his face.

"Yeah, well, normally I'm a bit more people-friendly. But with Spring Break starting at the college, we're getting a lot more business. So, I haven't seen you two in here before and I'm pretty good with faces." Her eyes darted to Sam. "Pretty sure I'd remember you guys. Where are you from?"

Dean's eyes followed the server's gaze to Sam, who merely shrugged. "Everywhere and nowhere," he replied, a small smirk growing at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, the Mystery Duo. Well, Green Eyes, what else can I get for you?" Her eyes were on Sam's nearly empty glass.

He stared at it in his hand. "Uh…yeah."

"Make it two Car Bombs, then," Dean cut in.

She nodded, still smiling. "You've got it."

o-o-o-o-o

An hour-and-a-half later, Sam barely had a buzz and was drinking enough just to keep it going. Dean had already downed more than enough to give reason to his pointless laughter and overly joyous attitude. Between hitting on just about every female that walked by, including some of the college students, and making a fool of himself in the process, he drove off one of the students that had been hitting on Sam. However, when some of the guys around the bar dropped by the table, they had Dean in a drinking competition, which evened out after doing five whiskey shots in a row. At the current moment, he was rocking the stool back on two legs, his hands keeping him balanced by holding onto the table. Empty shot glasses littered the table and, as one of the other guys slammed down a shot glass, laughter erupted from their throats.

"Hey! We need another round!" one of them called over the noise in the bar. They exhaled a laugh and looked to Dean. "What was it you said you and your friend were here for?"

Sam looked at Dean from across the table with his arms crossed over his chest. Dean let the chair fall back into place. "Just driving through, seemed like a – a fun place." His words were slurred slightly, but he was always able to hold his alcohol well, even when he was already wasted.

"Well"—one of the others spoke loudly, probably from having more alcohol running through his system than Dean—"doesn't seem like he's havin' much fun," they said, knocking their scrawny elbow into Sam's arm. Sam faked a smile, which wound up looking more like a sneer.

Dean scoffed at Sam's attitude. "Oh, he's having fun; ain't that right, Sammy?"

"Yeah." He watched Dean pick up his half-empty Pig Stout. "Always."

Dean nodded as he swallowed, putting the glass back down on the table. "As fun as this is, Nature calls." He pushed the chair back and got down from it. As he passed by Sam, he patted him on the shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I'd never dream of it."

He chuckled as he walked away, steps uneasy from the alcohol, and disappeared into the crowd towards the restrooms. Sam picked his glass back up to take a swig, but nearly spilled it all over the table when one of the other guys knocked him on the back. He set the glass on the table, showing his annoyance; the people around the table did not seem to pick up on it. One of the guys grabbed the set down glass, leaving Sam to sigh in aggravation; but when he shifted to reach for it, they pulled it out of his reach while the stockier guy to Sam's right gripped his shoulder.

"Come on, Sammy. Loosen up. You're among friends."

Sam shrugged the guy's hand off and watched the guy holding his beer chug it down. They put it back on the table, the sound of the empty glass clanging on the wood bounced around them. Sam stared at it. The guy that had initially involved Dean in the drinking completion, who, oddly enough, had a similar build to his brother, kicked his friend from under the table.

"Hey, knock it off and stop being a jackass. Go get him another beer." They just stared back at him, their swimming eyes slowly taking in what their friend said. "Do it or your walking your ass back to the house." They groaned, called them a dick and left to go to the bar; the servers that had been on the floor were difficult to find. "Sorry about him – he's a prick when he drinks." They sloshed their own beer in their glass, and then took a swig.

"Sounds like someone else I know." He smirked and the guy laughed. "What was your name, again?"

He caught him in the middle of drinking, and the guy made a throaty noise as he swallowed. "Ah, it's Gai." Sam raised his eyebrows. Seeing the expression, the guy nodded his head. "It's a nickname. Don't ask." He took another drink, obviously not fond of his own name.

"Wasn't gonna."

Gai laughed.

"I like you, Sam. You're okay in my book."

At that moment, the other guy came back with two beers: one for himself and one for Sam. He practically threw Sam's on the table, making it hit the wood with unnecessary force; the liquid sloshed over the rim, dripping down the glass. Sam did not bother thanking him and, instead, just picked up the glass and downed half of it. "So, let me ask you something, Sam," Gai started as he watched him. Sam nodded over his glass to give the okay. "Have you fucked him, yet?"

He snapped his head to stare at him, meeting his eyes with furrowed brows.

"What?"

The other two at the table turned to look right at Sam as he continued to just stare back in shock and awe.

"Damn. I leave for five seconds and you suddenly decide to get wasted on me." Sam turned to look at Dean approach the table. Sam watched him as her came around and reclaimed his seat across from him, nearly falling into it. His eyes quickly darted to Gai, who had gone back to drinking his beer.

Sam forced out an odd laugh, looking at his half-gone glass. "Yeah." He watched as Dean picked his Stout back up, brought it to his mouth and picked right back up where he left off. "I'm thinking about heading back."

That attracted Dean's attention. He looked from Sam to his glass. "Already?" Sam merely shrugged. "All right. Let me just kill this off and I'll go."

"Awe. You two are gonna just up and leave the fun?" the scrawny guy to Sam's right said in a higher voice, their intoxication blatant. "Party killers, man. Party. Killers."

Dean glanced at the guy, then to Sam – his look became curious when he saw the apprehension in his brother's downward-cast eyes. There was a loud bang as he slammed his glass on the table, liquid still filling it about a quarter; it garnered the tables' attention, everyone looking at Dean who has his head facing his lap.

"On second thought…." He slowly brought his head up, eyes meeting Sam's, a cockeyed grin on his face, one eye smaller than the other. "I think I'm cutting myself off." He leaned back and reached in his pocket, rummaging around before pulling his hand out and tossing something to Sam; he caught them without even having to look up. "You good to drive?" The response was a nod. "Awesome. Well"—he pushed the stool back and stood up—"it's been one hell of a good time, guys, but I think we're gonna call it a night."

Sam pushed back his own stool to follow suit, shoving his hands and the keys into his jacket pocket.

"Fine," Gai said, his peripheral following Sam's movements to stand next to his brother. "Maybe we'll catch you all tomorrow night?" He sent a casual smile to Dean, who nodded, head swimming and forming tunnel vision.

"Maybe…depends who's buying rounds," the oldest Winchester laughed as he hit Sam on the chest. "Let's go, Sam, before I change my mind." He nodded to Gai and the others as he turned to leave, Sam following right behind him.

They had to stop by the bar and pay off the tab, which ended up being less than what they thought it was going to be. Granted, it was probably due to a glitch, but why complain? Once it was paid off, they they maneuvered their way back through the bar, which was still full of college students and others in their mid to late twenties; they were told to have a good night by any servers they passed. The cool air outside was a nice greeting, the scent fresh and not full of booze and cigarettes. There were a handful of people outside, other college students looking to sober up before trying to drive home. They were talking and laughing, not paying any attention to the two hunters exiting the bar. The Impala sat alone in the back of the gravel lot and Dean was trying to avoid stumbling into other cars as they made their way to it. When they got to the car and Dean walked to the passenger side, after Sam had to push him away from the driver's door that he had gone to out of habit, Dean propped his arms on the hood of the car, peering at Sam on the other side.

"So why the lame bailout? What? You didn't want to get wasted? Because I"—he turned his head to the side as a loud belch came up from his throat before turning back to Sam—"did not wanna be able to walk this well." He smirked at the frown he was given.

Sam just raised his brows and released a breath, hands returning to his pockets and left hand feeling for the keys. "Just tired," he said with a shrug. "And I was not about to have to carry your sorry ass back to the motel."

Dean held his fist in front of his mouth. "Hold that thought."

He pulled away from the car and stumbled over to the bushes lining the fence surrounding the parking lot, retching as his body decided it did not want to process the excess alcohol. Sam rolled his eyes and pushed off the vehicle, opened the door and sat inside to start it up. He could see Dean through the passenger's window, still hunched over as another wave expelled more from his stomach. Sam could not help but find himself laughing at his brother and, as though Dean knew he was laughing, he could hear Dean groaning for him to shut up.

Yeah...like I said: some of the stuff will make sense if you read the original, but you don't have to. I just don't like things being OOC, and things that happened in the first are the reason for the brothers' reactions in this. But, blah. Well, that's all for now, folks! If you like it and you want me to continue, let me know!