Chapter Two
They sped through the night, silent and tense.
As the sky cleared, Dean's body relaxed and his breathing evened out.
"How is he?" Cass ventured, voice gravelly with disuse.
"Sleeping, I think." Sam had been carding his fingers through Dean's hair absently, a gesture that his brother would never have tolerated had he been awake, but which Sam found comforting.
"That wound: it's…."
"Yeah, I know. Cursed or poisoned." Sam was quiet for a moment. "Oddly enough, it isn't bleeding as badly as I would have expected. And given where it is, it should have destroyed something important enough to have killed him by now. I think the damned thing is keeping him alive."
"So no hospital then."
"No. And I have no idea how we get rid of it, or if we even can without it killing him."
"That woman: she's in my head."
He said it casually, as if remarking on the weather.
"She's what?" Sam was far less casual.
"She is speaking to me in my head. She said that what has pierced Dean is a portion of a claw, and she knows how to remove it."
"And we should trust her why?"
"She said that Dean knows her, and he trusts her."
Sam looked down at his brother. "Leave it to him to know an attractive, magic female."
"What was that?"
"I said, 'We don't really have any options.'"
"I could try to contact Jack."
"Yeah, because that's worked so well in the past. And we don't know that he'd be able to help any more than you can."
Cass was silent.
"Sorry, Cass," Sam conceded. "It's not a bad idea…I'm just…."
"I know, Sam."
They lapsed into silence.
"Can you talk to her, too?" Sam queried.
"Sometimes. She isn't there constantly. She is not there now, for example."
"What has she told you about the claw?"
"Well, for starters, Dean was right: it is from a storm god. A former storm god, technically, now a demon incubus."
"An incubus?"
"The father of all incubi."
Sam shook his head. "Sounds powerful."
"Yes, he is. And he's very angry with Dean."
"Why?"
"She hasn't said. He can use the claw to track your brother, but she is fairly certain that the warding in the bunker will be an effective deterrent."
"That's comforting. How long until we reach it?"
"If I continue at this speed, approximately one hour."
Sam sat up straighter, trying to read the speedometer. "An hour? How fast are you driving, Cass?"
"The needle is pointing to one hundred and twenty miles per hour."
"It only goes to one twenty, Cass."
"Yes."
"So you may actually be driving faster than that."
"I suppose so."
"Jesus. Don't get us killed."
"Of course not."
And the night rushed past.
Sam woke as the Impala rolled to a stop inside the bunker.
Dean snored softly in his lap.
"What next?"
Cass stared at him, eyes blank.
"Cass?"
His friend's eyes cleared. "Sorry. She was speaking." Cass pushed his door open. "She gave me a list of supplies for a potion, but we need to get Dean inside. She doesn't think that the garage is strong enough."
"Strong enough? I thought you said the warding would keep the thing out?"
Cass rested a somber look on his young friend. "No. It will impede him. She fears he will drop the building on us in order to destroy the warding – and Dean."
"What? Drop the building on us, Cass? Then what the hell are we even doing here?"
"If we can destroy the claw before he finds us, we will remain hidden from him. We need to get Dean as deep into the bunker as we can, then use the potion to dissolve the claw."
Sam shook his head. "This is nuts." He pushed his door open. "Why is this thing after Dean, anyway?"
Cass shrugged. "All I know is that the being in my head is the demon's granddaughter."
Sam groaned, sliding limbs gone numb from the pressure of his brother's body out onto the concrete. "Leave it to Dean to sleep with the daughter of a god." Sam's eyes widened, and he slapped his palm to his forehead. "Cass, I know who the woman is. Her name is Zellynnexia. She's a succubi."
"And Dean knows her?"
Sam grimaced. "Yeah. Biblically." He shook his head at Cass's inquisitive look. "Long story. Not important at the moment." He stood, leaning on the car, wincing as blood recirculated through his legs. When the worst of the tingling had passed, he leaned back in. "Dean." He shook his brother's shoulder gently. "Hey, buddy. We're home."
Dean grunted. "Fi' more minutes, Sam."
Despite himself, Sam smiled. "Sorry, guy, but we gotta get inside and start fixing you up." He licked a finger and stuck it in his brother's ear.
"Ack! Hey! Knock it off!" Dean batted the hand away, eyes blinking open. He moaned then, dropping his hand to his side. "Shit."
"Yeah. Still got that thing in you, but we know what it is, and we're gonna take care of it, okay? First step is to get you inside, though. Can you move?"
Dean pushed himself up onto his right arm, left curled tightly to his side. Once he had moved to a seated position, he tipped his head back, breathing hard. "Dizzy."
"Yeah. You lost a lot of blood."
"Was Alistair here? I remember Alistair."
"No. As far as I know, that asshole is still dead," Sam supplied.
"The claw is enchanted. It makes you hallucinate."
Dean opened one eye, studying Cass. "How do you know – "
I'm in his head, Dean.
"Zell…" He breathed the name reverently.
Cass and Sam exchanged concerned looks.
You need to get to the lowest, most highly warded place that you can until your friends are able to remove the claw.
You gonna tell me what's going on, Zellynnexia?
My grandfather found you, and he's trying to kill you. His claw will keep you alive while he tracks you, and he will use it to cause you extreme pain, then to drain your soul for his consumption.
That sounds pleasant.
He is very cruel, and he feeds on fear. You must hurry. Your warding is hindering him, but given enough time, he will find you. The claw must be destroyed; it is the only way to hide from him.
And you know how to do that?
Yes. I have been instructing your angel friend.
Just…instructing?
He felt her smile. Yes, my sweet, just instructing. I cannot do more, not in this place. It is too well warded.
That's why I haven't seen you.
Yes. And my grandfather: he has been looking for you, and for me as well. It has not been safe.
But if we destroy him, then it will be safe?
Again, he could sense her amusement. Have you missed me, Dean?
He felt his cheeks flush and his jeans suddenly seemed uncomfortably tight. Maybe.
Her laugh tickled through his mind. I promise that if you survive this, I will find a way to reward you.
"Move, Sam." Shoving past his brother, Dean exited the car, pulling himself to a shaky upright position. "Let's get to the dungeon and get this thing done."
With Sam supporting him on one side, Dean made it to the hidden room behind the storage area– a space that had once been strong enough to keep the King of Hell captive.
Dean lowered himself into a chair, breathing hard.
"We'll get the potion ready. You gonna be able to stay in that chair until we get back?"
Dean grunted. "I'm fine, Sam," but his voice was tired, and his eyes were closed.
Sam shook his head at the characteristic, yet still annoying stoicism. "C'mon, Cass."
They returned a few minutes later, pushing a wheeled cart from the infirmary, to find Dean stretched out on the floor, blood pooling on the concrete beneath him.
"Dean!" Sam dropped to his knees, fingers seeking and finding the reassuring beat in his brother's neck. "We need to move, Cass. This thing is killing him."
"'S okay, Sam. I'm okay." Dean's voice was barely audible.
"Get his shirts off," Cass directed. "I need to pour the potion directly onto the object."
Sam flicked a knife open and began cutting away the interfering clothing. "What exactly is going to happen?"
"The thing has fibers wrapped around Dean's nerves. The potion will dissolve them. Once the entire thing has disintegrated, I should be able to heal your brother."
Sam had peeled the clothing aside, revealing a jagged, black, sharp-tipped object protruding from Dean's abdomen, with a wider, hollow portion visible at his back.
Cass held an ancient clay jug. "Hold him. She said this may hurt."
He began to pour.
Electricity crackled from the claw, and Dean arched his back on a howl, fingers clawing furrows into the flesh around the object where it protruded from his abdomen.
"Dean, stop!" Sam caught his brother's hand, pulling it into his own chest.
Strapped to the rack, and Alistair has one hand buried in Dean's abdomen. He pulls it out, clutching loops of glistening intestine, and the burn where demon skin scorches flesh that was never intended to see daylight is nothing compared to the lancing agony as something that is attached deep, deep inside pulls loose with a sharp tug -
"Sam...I can't…" a choked scream tore its way out of his chest, and Dean twisted his fist into Sam's shirt, pulling desperately as his boots scrabbled for purchase on the slick concrete. "I can't…"
Cass moved to the back, filling the hollow object with liquid, and Dean cried out, struggling to pull himself away along the floor. "Alistair," the older hunter choked. "Can't...I can't…Please…"
Sam was horrified. "Cass! Do something!"
"This is what we need to do, Sam. Hold him." He continued to apply the potion to both ends of the cursed object.
The stench of necrotic flesh and rotting eggs filled the room.
"We're going to have so much fun, Dean." Alistair motioned with his free hand, and a female demon appeared. With a feral smile she knelt at Dean's feet, pulling a knife from her belt.
"Can't...can't…." Dean's arms and legs moved weakly as his body instinctively tried to get him to flee from the nightmare it had become mired in.
"Morphine!" Sam shot to his feet, but Castiel caught his arm.
"She said that it won't help."
"Please. Please," the normally stoic hunter sobbed, voice weak.
"Please what, Dean? What can I do?" Sam leaned close, straining to make out the breathless verbiage.
"Kill me. Please, Sam. Please." Fire. He was on fire. "Alistair…"
"Alistair is dead, Dean. You're not in Hell."
"'S burnin'. Gutted me….fire inside…" He convulsed once more, shrieking mindlessly through clenched teeth. The spasm released him, and he collapsed, sobbing. "Please, Sam, please. Jus' kill me. Please."
"Hold him," Castiel commanded, and continued to pour.
He is nude, spread-eagle on a metal rack. A gaunt-faced demon is smiling in sadistic pleasure as he transfers glowing coals into a long rent in the tortured man's abdomen, filling it with fire. A female demon kneels before him, one hand gripping his genitalia, the other sawing through it at the base with a dull knife. A third hell spawn stands just behind him, tightening a vice around his left shoulder. The sound of cracking bone can be heard each time Dean inhales to renew his screams.
"Shhhh." Sam stroked Dean's hair, tears streaming down his face. "We've got this, Dean. Just hold on."
"You know how to end this, Dean." Alistair's sibilant voice bordered on seductive, offering him release from torment.
"Can't," he whispered, voice raw.
"Can't what, Dean?"
He sobbed in a breath. "Can't...say 'yes'." His breath hitched erratically. "Kill me. Please." He turned his face into Sam's thighs, digging his fingers into the back of his brother's jeans and drawing himself in even tighter as a long, low moan squeezed through clenched teeth.
Smoke curled from the object in his side.
"Explain to me again why morphine won't work." Sam was on the verge of breaking.
"She says that the thing in Dean wraps fibers of itself around the host's nerves," Castiel explained. "It travels, spreading, entrapping more and more of the host's tissues, sending pain impulses along every strand it touches. Attempts to alleviate the pain result in amplification of the signals and a hastening of the spread."
Sam's expression was horrified; Cass's more thoughtful. He shifted the jug again, directing the potion into the hollow core. "It also won't allow the person to lose consciousness, as is the normal reaction to excessive nervous system stimulation."
Dean writhed, crawling up his brother's body, emitting choked sounds of agony.
Alistair pushes a hand up, clawing through Dean's diaphragm muscle to penetrate his chest cavity. "Lungs are so nice and soft, Dean. Did you know that? They feel just like pillows. Here, feel." He tugged, and Dean convulsed, tasting blood in the back of his throat.
"Cass! He's coughing up blood! What the hell?"
"It's almost fully dissolved, Sam. In just a moment I'll be able to heal him."
"Not real," Dean ground out between gasps. "You're. Not. Real."
"I am, Dean. I'm your brother, and I'm right here. Alistair isn't real. It's almost over, I swear!"
"F-fuck y-you, Alistair. N-not –" he broke off on a coughing moan, "not sayin' it, you sonofabitch."
Dean's back arched, and black smoke boiled from his mouth, nose, and the wounds in his torso, carrying the man's tortured cries with it.
Abruptly the smoke dissipated and his body went limp.
Dean held himself very still as consciousness returned, assessing.
His body ached the way it had after he'd been electrocuted.
He was lying on something comfortable, and the air smelled familiar.
Sam was snoring somewhere close by.
He smiled. Think I'm in my room.
He opened his eyes, confirming his guess. He was lying on his own bed, floating on memory foam. Sam sat in his chair, feet up on Dean's mattress with his ankles crossed.
What did I dream, and what was real? He began running his hands gently over his body, checking for injuries.
It was all real, except the parts about being in hell.
Zellynnexia?
Yes, my sweet.
He glanced over at Sam. Now isn't the best time….
Her musical laugh sizzled along his nerve endings. Oh, Dean! I wish that I could. Your bunker is too powerful for me.
He frowned. But you can talk to me?
Yes, but only because we've touched. Physical contact leaves a portion of oneself behind.
He sighed. I'm getting' a hotel.
Not yet, Dean. My grandfather is still looking for you, and he is intent on killing you.
Why? I don't even know who this guy is. Sam and I thought we were going to a simple salt-and-burn, and next thing I know Sam's gone, and this thing has him –
My grandfather is Irdu Lili. He was a god who was banished for his evil deeds. He created all of the 'Cubi.
Son of a bitch.
Yes. He feeds on fear and pain. He is incredibly cruel.
Dean swallowed. So how did I get so lucky as to have an asshole like that burnin' a torch for me?
It's not your fault. It is because of something that my mother has done.
Yeah? And what was that?
He was met with silence.
Zell?
I cannot tell you.
Great! So I just spend the rest of my short life running from a freakin' god because he's pissed at me for something I didn't do and don't get to know about so there's no way I can fix it? Nice, Lynne, real nice.
You have to kill him.
Kill him. A god. He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. Well, wouldn't be the first time. You got any hot tips for us?
Yes, but I have to be careful: he is looking for my mother, and for me. He wishes to destroy us all.
Sam dropped his feet, leaning forward. "Hey, bud. You awake?"
Dean opened his eyes. "Yeah, and I've got great news: we get to kill another god." He draped an arm over his face. "I fuckin' hate my life right now, you know that, Sammy?"
Sam dropped his head, soft locks falling forward to shield his expression. "I hear ya, brother." He raised his eyes, resting his palm on Dean's shoulder. "I'm right there with you, you know. You won't be fighting him alone."
Dean removed his arm from his face. "Better get the band back together." He pushed himself up on a groan. "And Sam?"
"Yeah, Dean?"
"This time I better get laid out of the deal. And pie. There better be pie."
Sam grinned. "I'll see what I can do."
Dean threw the blankets back, swinging his legs out of the bed.
"Gonna hit the shower. But the gods or karma or the universe or whatever fuckin' owes us, Sam, and I don't think a little action and a piece of pie is too damned much to ask."
Sam chuckled as he watched his grumbling sibling make his way down the hall to the shower.
And the taller brother stood, still smiling as he stretched out the kinks in his long spine.
"Apple pie. Think I can do that." He followed his brother out of the room.