Obsidian ~ Raise A Little Hell
The Road So Far:
Termination dates were overrated anyway and he didn't have anything else besides the sedatives to keep the hunter under the surface …
Dean put everything back into the case and laid it back on the nightstand when he was done. Despite his aversion towards feelings, he stayed at Sam's side until he had settled down again. It wasn't like Dean cared (no way). But he needed the man. He needed him to save himself, so he had to take care of him and get him back on his feet.
Chapter 3 ~ The Devil You Don't Know
Dean hadn't settled back into his bed.
Nope.
He hadn't been able to do so ... no matter how bad he had wanted to ...
There had been this human douchebag hunter, who had been so damn restless again, two hours after he had given him the last shot, that he was tempted to give him some more sedatives (or to simply put a pillow over his face). But he couldn't. It was impossible. If he dared to, he risked the hunter's life. The sedatives weren't just sedating him, they were also slowing down his heart rate and laboring his breathing.
So he had stayed awake until the early morning hours, watching out for the hunter. In the meanwhile he had checked their route on the map and where he could possibly throw in another stop if it would get necessary.
At about nine in the morning, he decided that it was safe to leave the hunter alone and get breakfast from the diner.
The two men from the day before weren't there, just Missy behind the counter, putting out another cigarette in the full ash tray. When the door of the diner rang, she looked up from the newspaper she was reading in and eyed the arriving demon suspiciously.
With a smile, she placed a mug on the counter and poured in some black coffee, when he sat down on the same stool as he had the day before.
"You look like you need it.", she said with a risen eyebrow.
Dean gave her a sharp nod. "Thanks."
"Your friend kept you up all night, huh?", she asked then – still in this way as if she was weighing his very word.
When Missy didn't get an answer, she continued: "You look like a bacon-and-scrambled-eggs man ..."
Dean gave her a small smile.
He wasn't a morning person. He had never been. Best was, to not talk to him, nor even look at him. Specially not after a night like this. Sure, common demons didn't have to sleep and Dean wasn't any different. Though, every now and then he needed a nap, specially when he was wounded and hurting (what he would never admit to anyone).
She nodded, obviously taking that as a yes. "Fine. Eggs and Bacon to your coffee. - Up in ten, son."
The demon cocked an eyebrow at the odd lady and sniffed. Son? ... if she knew what he truly was. A murderer, a killer, a liar, a bastard. That was what he was and not someone's son. He had lived way too long to be even called boy.
But he decided to let it slip and took a gulp from the black luke-warm liquid. A surprised expression crossed his face. This place sure as hell looked like the worst diner he had ever been to, but the coffee was great.
After ten minutes, he got his eggs, bacon and toast, which he devoured slowly. When he was done, Missy placed a paper-bag beside him on the counter and looked at him seriously.
"If you pour my chicken brew on the gravel AGAIN I'm gonna whack you with a spoon, boy. - The man ain't your friend, nor a relative. I know who you are and what you are.", She said calmly. "You may passed the saltline's and didn't get caught im my devil's trap, but you sure as hell ain't human. You're a knight ..." Her eyes narrowed. "But then again ... you'd have put Steve and Garry down int he blink of a second yesterday. So I suppose you're the Winchester, aren't you?"
Dean looked at her surprised. By all looks of it, she was definitely human and though she knew who he was.
"That's none of your business, lady." The Winchester's eyes narrowed and flashed black. He leaned onto his elbows on the counter and a bit forward, coming dangerously close. "You're a psychic, aren't you?", he said low – feral, in the intention to scare her off.
"You better look out for the hunter, you hear me?", she continued completely unimpressed. "You feed him and you're gonna take care of him – in the best way your black soul allows you to." Her serious expression lightened a bit as she pointed at the paper-bag.
Dean snarled and sat back, never breaking eye-contact with Missy. "Why would I do that?" He thrust his yaw forward, the muscles in his neck working.
"The same reasons why you want your soul to be human, Dean.", she said, rising both eyebrows as if the demon's intentions were clear as day. "Tell you that, son: No matter what your daddy said to you when you was a kid, no matter what YED thought he'd be able to make of you ... you're stubborn as hell and only follow your own plan. You won't be able to take his blood when it's time. You won't be able to let him bleed out, sacrifice him to get what you want. - For the same reasons you couldn't kill Gordon, even if he deserved it." She tilted her head to the side. "Because you're more human than you think. - So ... since I knew you'd come ... There's a ritual inside – one where you won't have to kill Sam to get what you want – but the ritual bargains something else ..."
Dean frowned, his eyes returning to his normal green as he looked at the bag, obviously thinking hard about the woman's words. "Is that so?", he asked pensively.
"I wouldn't say it if it weren't that way, Dean." She poured him some more coffee into the mug.
"Who says that ain't a trap and I'm gonna explode?", his gaze darted back at the dark tanned lady.
She chuckled and shook her head. "I'm not a liar – compared to you."
Dean laid two ten-dollar bills beside his empty plate.
"Take it, or leave it, boy." She took the plate from the counter and turned around. When she turned back towards the counter, Dean had already grabbed the bag and was about to leave the diner. "And hurry up with packing up your precious freight!", she called after him, "They're on their way."
Dean stopped in his tracks and gazed back over his shoulder, giving her a nod. "You are going to be okay?" He couldn't suppress to ask her that. It wasn't like he was a complete bastard and would let a defenseless woman to a bunch of rabid demons.
She just grinned. "Don't you worry, boy. - I ain't made of sugar." Missy winked at him.
Half an hour later, he was back on the road with a unconcious, drugged hunter on his backseat. He haven't taken time to check the paper-bag, or had a look at whatever present she had inside. Dean'd have time as soon as they were in their save place.
A cabin that had belonged to his father and haven't been occupied in about twenty years now. He hoped that the building was still standing and not rotten to the ground. Because THEN he'd have a little problem.
Dean cursed himself, but then again he wouldn't have had time to check on it anyway. Everything had gone fast these past couple of days and he haven't got time to check on the damn house before.
He made two stops on their way. Each one to check on the human, giving him some water and drugging him with antibiotics and morphine.
All the while he was thinking about the psychic's words and an alternative ritual to what he had found years ago. He thought about how close he was to what he longed for and though how far it was away.
He also thought about if it was even possible to cleanse his soul from the darkness, since he had been born with it, since it was a part of him ever since. The Winchester just wanted to get rid of it. He didn't want to be a knight of hell, nor what the Yellow Eyed had in plan for him. He wasn't a ruler, nor a commander. Hell, he wasn't even a leader.
Dean Winchester was a straying lone wolf and he loved it that way. Okay, he maybe didn't love it all the damn time ... but most of it he did.
They didn't stop again, except for gas and snacks. One of the awesome things were, that Dean could eat whatever the hell he wanted without having to regret it later. There wasn't even a single pound of fat on the man (well, except for the little of baby fat below his navel).
It was some time in the night when they pulled up in front of a cabin, surrounded by woods. It was way cooler over here than it had been in Fargo, where they had stopped for the last time. It didn't bother the demon, though he knew that it would definitely affect the human. So he got a second blanket from the trunk and threw it over the sleeping form on the backseat. Again his look lingered way longer on the hunter's sleeping form than he was aware of.
His first way was into the bedroom, on the left side of the small kitchen-living-room. Everything looked filthy and old and not very inviting.
Already pissed at the work he had before him to get this damn place halfway clean again, he got to work and started with the damn freaking bed. Dean was wondering if there were mice in that mattresses ... at least there had been some, since the mattresses were all holey (so was the comforter and dusty pillows). He wouldn't be able to keep that things anyway. They were too dirty to sleep on them. Specially not very good for a wounded human.
With a deep sigh and thinking about what he was going to do about it, he decided that there was no way he could lay the human on that crappy bed, not to mention, covering him with any of the comforters.
Something he should've thought of before ...
Frustrated and pissed at himself, he got back into the car and stole a glance at the backseat before he turned the ignition around.
"Fuck it.", he cursed.
Two hours, and a full trunk and stuffed on passenger's seat later, he returned to the cabin. Pissed at the fact that he had been waiting for an eon in every one of the shops he had been, he stomped up the porch with his arms full of STUFF. Again he went into the bedroom and dropped the things he had brought inside on the crappy mattresses.
His eyes flashed black and he rose his right hand. Then – ever so slowly – dust and dirt seemed to rise into mid-air, so did the crappy comforters and pillows. The window of the room flew open, and with a single wink of Dean's hand, the dirt and waste and everything else, burned up and smouldered into black and grey ashes.
"Out.", Dean commanded and the ashes flew out of the window.
The demon's eyes changed back to normal and he looked around satisfied. Okay, it might haven't been that bad to clean the damn room, though it wasn't one of Dean's favorite things to do.
Anyway. He hurried up to get the bed covered in new sheets, beddings and pillows.
When everything was settled, he went back out of the house and to the car, getting the hunter inside and settled. It was time for another set of shots against the fever and pain and maybe he'd add a bit of the sedatives.
Finally done with the freaking gigantor next door, he brought the other things inside and dumped them on the sideboard beside the sink.
Dean cleaned the kitchen-living-room the same way like he had done with the bedroom. He then stored the bought food in the cupboards and went outside to the back at the house to refill the generator with gas and turning on the water.
When he was all done there, he filled the wheelbarrow with logs and placed it in front of the porch. With a couple of logs he then went inside and made fire in the fire-place.
Demons froze too. - They just weren't bothered by the cold, except when they were. And Dean Winchester prefered it to have it warm nonetheless. Besides ... the human would appreciate a warm house too he, guessed.
Before he sat down on the couch, he checked on the hunter once more and secured his wrists to the head of the bed with a pair of cuffs. He couldn't take any chances about that, or he'd lose his head.
Time to relax and have a look at the contents of the paper-bag. He reached for it and opened it, gazing inside.
Dean grabbed two burgers and fries and laid them on the small coffee-table before the couch, to get to the precious sheet of paper at the very bottom. Dean pulled it out and unfolded it.
On the top of it was written:
You give that boy something do eat, or I swear I'll whack you with my spoon!
Dean Winchester's lips curled up into an amused grin.
Then he kept on reading, concentrating on the ingredients that were written in a line and then the instructions about how to use them. Then he read the line at the very end of the sheet and his frown grew deeper ... and pissed ... straight towards annoyed.
Of course had this spell a special note. A circumstance that was inevitable to make it work. It had to happen in consent. Sam Campbell had to give his blood because he wanted to give it to him ...
Say those words in one's free will and from the bottom of one's heart.
Suddenly the ritual he had already, seemed more appealing as this new one. He wouldn't need the man's consent. Though it would high likely cost his life ... bleeding out, rarely someone survived ...
Or he would make the hunter want it.
A genuine smile formed on the demon's lips as if a lightbulb got illuminated in his mind.
Though he had to get the hunter coherent enough to say his part of the spell, make him cut himself and bleed into the bowl. Something that was high likely manageable. He'd get the hunter to say it out of free will and from the bottom of his heart. And if not ... he'd make him ...
Dean folded the piece of paper and stuffed it into the front-pocket of his jeans. Then he sighed and eyed the both burgers wich were wrapped up in paper.
But before this spell would get to work, he needed the hunter's blood clean ...
Upon the next task. Gettin' the Campbell to open up and drink and eat something. He couldn't let him starve, could he? Now that he would high likely survive the NEW ritual.
Okay ... this pissed him off somehow. How would he get the guy to eat and drink in his condition?
A new idea bloomed in his mind and he went into the kitchen-part of the room, where he grabbed one of the cans from the cupboard above the sink.
He opened it and glared daggers at the red goo inside, as if he wanted to threaten it. Dean then grabbed one of the middle-sized mugs from the cupboard beside and eyed it for a moment. The filth of about twenty years in and all over it ... Dean blew into it, spinning up a small fountain of dust. He thought for a moment, but shrugged and poured half of the red goo (that was calling himself tomato-soup) in it.
The demon made his way into the bedroom, his gaze glued to the unconscious form on the bed while he walked at the bed's side. He then bowed over the hunter and thought again.
The Campbell needed to be conscious or otherwise he'd choke on the soup.
Dean rolled his eyes and placed the mug on the bedside-table. This sucked bigstyle. He wasn't a damn nurse, was he?
There was just blackness. Blackness and the cold. And he felt pain. Searing hot pain that radiated from his chest into his neck, shoulder and generally into his whole damn torso. And if that wasn't enough, every single breath hurt like a bitch.
Oh god ... how bad he wanted to stay in that cold darkness. How bad he wanted to draw back again. But he couldn't. There was a strong hand on the back of his neck and one on his yaw. Then there was a burning sensation all over his right cheek ...
Had someone just slapped him? HIM? He heard a muffled voice tearing through the haze in his mind. A voice that wasn't any familiar – at least at first. The voice sounded male and annoyed ... or actually pissed?
Sam didn't care. He wanted to sleep and be left alone. He didn't want to open his eyes.
The hands shifted slightly and he felt his head being tilted up. Then there was something cool against his bottom lip ... and liquid made its way into his mouth.
Crap – that tasted like piss.
Worse than just piss. Three days old piss.
Not that there was any possibility Sam knew how three days old piss tasted like ...
The liquid made its way past his tonsils and down his throat.
And it was too much in one go. Whoever was pouring that shit into him, had no clue how to handle that. Sam hurried up to swallow the piss-like cold liquid, but his abused throat couldn't handle that much at once and he choked, gasped and fought to get some air into his lungs.
Dean cursed and pulled the mug away from the hunter's lips. Maybe he had to go a bit slower ...
When Sam had stopped to wheeze and gasp and cough, he set the mug to his lips again and let him empty the rest of the soup. This time slower and with some pauses.
Satisfied with himself and the mastered task, Dean eyed the hunter for a long moment. "Wasn't that difficult, was it?" He cocked an eyebrow.
Dean went into the kitchen and got another mug full of soup and returned to Sam's side to feed him the rest of that shitty looking goo. When the hunter had drunk it all, he took a napkin and cleaned Sam's lips and wiped away the thin red trail of soup that had gotten down his neck.
Even more satisfied now, he went back into the kitchen and dumped the dirty mug into the sink. The demon then got bandages and disinfection liquid (corn schnapps) from his duffel. Moving back into the bedroom he laid the things out on the nightstand to have a look at the wound where Sam had been injured.
About time he'd see how good his healing abilities really were, he thought. All in all – for the fact that the hunter had been abandoned to die – he had done real good, hadn't he? The hunter was alive. And for the fact, that it had been his first time he healed someone, he supposed he was all special and utterly proud of himself.
Without giving a lot of thought about the way he would do this, he yanked the comforter and blanket from the bound body on the bed. He didn't even give a damn about privacy at that part. The guy was meat. - Handsome meat but nonetheless meat.
The hunter could be glad he had saved his life, shouldn't he?
Dean pulled the hospital gown up and threw the thin fabric over Sam's face in the process. There was a giant bandage covering the left side of the man's chest and half of his ribcage. Without uttering a single thought about how uncomfortable (or hurtful) it was to rip the plasters from the hairy part of the man's chest, he pulled it off.
The skin below the bandage was of an angry red and the area around the stitches, where the surgeons had cut the man open, were swollen and didn't look that good.
Okay, maybe his healing-skills weren't that amazing. He was a demon, okay? Born to torture and deliver pain ... not to heal humans who'd probably try to kill him if they could.
Dean poured a generous amount of the antiseptic fluid (corn schnapps) over the stitches, not caring that the sheets below the man got soaked and would stink of alcohol.
There was a pained whimper from under the hospital gown where the hunter's face was covered. The demon cocked both of his eyebrows and repeated the action – just to see if it'd have the same effect.
It had.
Since he hadn't any clean sheets to wipe the fluid from the skin, he let it dry. Meanwhile, he made himself a pot of coffee with five spoons full of sugar and drank it slowly before he went back to the hunter, who still laid in the same position.
Dean then patched the stitches back up and pulled the gown down. Carelessly he threw the comforter and blanket back over the hunter's form and went back to his own business – which was to adjust the antenna of the TV on the roof of the cabin.
Three hours later and covered in bruises from half a dozen falls from the roof, Dean returned into the cabin, where he slumped down on the couch and switched on the TV. Annoyed about the lack of channels and the shit that was playing on every single one of them, he started to devour the burgers from the dinner.
Two days ... two damn long days of cleaning that bastard up and feeding him soup. Two days of changing bandages and bed-sheets, since that idiot of a hunter was pissing himself at least three times a day ...
Dean was tempted to not give him anything to drink anymore until he was more coherent and would be able to get into the bathroom by himself.
He wasn't a damn nurse, was he?
Nor was he the Catholic Charity. - It wasn't his fault, that the Campbell hadn't any clothes ... It wasn't his fault that the guy needed help with every damn thing.
He was a hunter, wasn't he? He was supposed to get his shit together faster than a normal human. There was no way a guy like him would let himself go like that ...
Dean Winchester was beyond annoyed. He hadn't thought that it'd take that long to get the guy back on his feet.
Besides all that, the Campbell had managed to screw the skin under the metal-cuffs up. All raw and red ... such an idiot.
Another day later, the human finally managed to come around. THANK GOD!
Dean had been beyond annoyed and had to get the cuffs off of him and wrap fabric around the metal so he wouldn't start to bleed – just to cuff him again. This time just his right arm.
Sam groaned. The pain in his chest wasn't that bad anymore as the last time he had gotten woken up by loud chattering somewhere close to him. Even his wrists didn't sting that bad anymore. Okay, maybe his left wrist didn't, but his right arm was still held in an awkward angle, that made his elbow and shoulder hurt.
What a mess.
At least he felt partially better. The haze in his mind wasn't that thick anymore and his way to the surface of conciousness wasn't that hard to reach.
After what seemed like an eternity, he managed to roll his heavy eyelids up a bit to get a glimpse from where he was. And to his surprise, it wasn't white (like it was supposed to be in a hospital). Instead there were brown colors and a shape that looked like a doorway. His forehead creased and he started to remember what had happened that made him hurt and find himself here.
Okay, he remembered the car and the chest wound. He remembered that it was hard to breathe and the dark tanned man who was yelling at him ... and then everything was fading pretty fast. And now he was here ...
NAKED. Holy shit, he was naked. He could feel the fabric of the comforter against his precious parts as he tried to shift.
That was about the same moment he noticed that he was bound – with one hand ...
"Fuck ...", Sam breathed and squeezed his eyes shut. He actually felt like puking. And there was this foul taste in his mouth and the feeling of fur on his teeth and tongue. "Shit ..." He groaned and tugged weakly on the cuffs that were holding his arm in the same position.
"See who decided to come around, ha?" The voice came from the blurry figure that was entering the room. Something told the hunter that he should know who this was ... something told him that he had to be careful and wary about this man.
Sam sniffed and followed the man with his gaze as he moved with a mug towards him. He didn't like the tone in the man's voice ... nor the expression on his face as the blur started to fade and everything became clearer.
When he stood beside him, Dean wore a serious expression. "From now on you're gonna get your ass into the bathroom when you've to take a leak.", he said coldly.
Sam blinked up at him confused, not quite clear what the man was talking about. "Who ... who 're ..." He swallowed, tried to get the words out, but his throat was dry ... and somehow his tongue wouldn't obey either.
"Who I am?", the man asked, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Your savior, hunter.", he said and let his eyes morph into obsidian.
Sam Campbell's eyes widened in an instant. Horror, fear and anger crossing his features with a mix of confusion.
"Demon.", he hissed through gritted teeth.
Dean's eyes morphed back to normal and he tilted his head to the side. "Now that you know who I am and I know who you are ... What about gettin' the show on the road, huh?"
Sam's eyes widened. He was screwed. SO SCREWED.
... to be continued
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