THANK YOU to gothpandaotaku for betaing :)

this may feel different to read. i'd like you guys to tell me if it's BETTER than before, or if it doesn't make any difference, okay?

CHAPTER IV

Dean's left eyebrow rose in suspicion as he eyed the hunter on the other side of the table. He looked a bit grey, his eyes clouded and his breathing seemed labored. There was a thin layer of sweat shining on the younger man's forehead and his hands lay flat on the table as if he needed to hold onto something.

THIS was not normal, and made the demon's radar for "something's-fucking-wrong-with-this-situation" switch into hyper-mode.

"Sam?" he asked, shoving his plate slightly away from himself. "You okay over there, buddy?"

But the hunter didn't react. He just sat there as if he was carved in stone or something. His eyes grew more and more dull by the second.

Dean banged his flat palm on the table, so that the glasses and plates rattled with the violent impact to gain his attention. But there was still no reaction. Sam continued to stare and slowly his gaze was drifting into nothingness – as if he wasn't even here anymore.

The demon stood up, shoving the chair backwards with his calves and leaned over the table. "Hunter," he said more demanding. "You allergic or somethin'?"

Sam blinked, his gaze shifting slowly, until he was looking him straight in the eyes. Ever so slowly, a broad, triumphant grin grew on the hunter's lips. A grin that said more than words could ever do. Whatever it was, the hunter knew what was going on and he sure as hell wouldn't stop it.

All of a sudden, there was a knot building in Dean's guts and his heart started to hammer against his ribcage at the realization about what was going down right before his eyes.

"It's not an allergy. It's an illness," Dean hissed through gritted teeth, a mixture of horror and anger written all over his face. His forest-green eyes burned dangerously. "You fucking bastard."

Sam's eyes rolled back into his skull and his upper body slumped over the side of the chair. Wouldn't it have been for the demon's fast reflexes, the hunter would've hit the ground unprotected like a fucking bag of potatoes.

Dean eased him down to the floor slowly and cupped his face forcefully, trying to get the man's attention.

"What is it, Harvelle?" he ground out, well aware that the hunter was in no condition to answer.

Dean's thoughts flew to the cabinet upstairs in the bathroom which seemed to be the most frequented one. He had taken five pill-bottles out of it and stored them in the medical case under the sink, since he feared that the idiot would try to pull a stunt.

He hadn't looked up what the medications were for – not yet – since he hadn't time for it. NOW he wished he would've.

"What do you need?!" he yelled at him angrily.

For a very long second, he stared at the prone form beneath him, seeing as the fight inside the hunter's body seemed to get more intense. Samuel Harvelle's muscles grew taut, his jaw tightened, his breaths came out in short gasps ...

THIS wasn't supposed to happen.

Dean let go of him and hurried over to the sink. He yanked the cabinet doors open and pulled the case out, falling to his knees before it. With more force than needed, Dean wrenched the case open and dug through it, hurrying up to gather all the pill bottles inside in his hands.

He stole a glance at the body just a couple of feet away from him, before he started to check the descriptions on the bottles.

Okay, he – at least – knew three of them, all pain killers in different severities and agents. The other three he didn't know in the least. His mind spun with the intensity of this situation. Partly because it was his fault – even if indirectly. And partly because he should've known that something was off about the man's health when he had first noticed the shaking hands the other day, when he had still been in the basement.

He didn't have time for this shit. Whatever the guy had, it seemed to get worse – it seemed life-threatening. He just KNEW that it was ... He could somehow sense it, the strangest sensation he'd ever felt, but he didn't have time to analyze it. So Dean gathered two of each from the stranger pills and was back on his feet in an instant. On his way back to the hunter's side, he grabbed a glass of coke and went down on his knees beside him.

He put the glass on the floor and took the man's jaw in one hand, prying his mouth open with close to no force. Actually, Samuel Harvelle seemed to be more towards the twilight, than in his world already.

He popped the pills into the man's mouth and then he pulled him up into a half-sitting position, before he set the glass to his lips and prayed that his swallowing reflexes still worked.

They did.

So Dean poured the whole glass down his throat slowly, not caring that half of it running down on the sides of Sam's mouth. He then let him sink back on the floor and put his index-finger on Sam's neck, feeling for his pulse.

"There we go," Dean muttered with a relieved huff.

Despite the fact he'd found the pulse, he kept his fingers to the man's throat. It started off as tentative, irregular and weak thumps against his fingertips, but grew stronger and more regular with every passing minute.

Half an hour later, the demon decided that the hunter's body was back on track and he got up from the floor, towering over the man. The relief he felt got replaced with anger again. Though he wasn't sure if the anger was addressed towards the hunter or himself.

Sure, Dean kept telling himself that the hunter deserved whatever would happen, because he was at least as much of a bastard as he was. But then again ... there were so many shades of grey in this world, not just black and white. Just like Dean – he didn't really belong in either category; to anywhere or to anyone. He was alone.

Of course the hunter needed to assume that Dean was as bad as the others – he wouldn't know better ... and Dean couldn't blame him for it.

But this?

This was definitely not part of the plan. Sure he had assumed that the hunter would try something at some point. That was why he removed the pills from the cabinet in the first place, and that was why he had searched the house for weapons. Had actually found some hidden ones in drawers, under the desk and other foreign places.

Dean picked him up from the floor as if he weighed nothing, and moved him to the couch, where he threw a blanket over him. Back in the kitchen, he took the hunter's laptop and turned it on, before he picked up the three bottles of medicine and placed them beside him on the table.

Not longer than thirty minutes later, Dean knew what the pills were for. While two of the bottles were something against fluid retention, the one with the small white pills in the form of small eggs were helping some weird sounding syndrome of the heart.

Something pretty serious ... though not life threatening as long as the hunter would keep taking them ... REGULARLY.

Dean assumed, that the hunter didn't take them regularly anyway. The man didn't look just bone-tired, he also looked like he was sick – ever since he had dragged Dean out of his cage.

This was getting a lot more complicated than he had thought. At least emotionally. Now he just needed to know what he wanted Alistair for. What reasons he had to want to track that particular demon down ...

~*DW & SW*~

Dean sat in the recliner, which he had pulled to the opposite side of the coffee-table across from the couch where the hunter was still out cold. The demon had put the remains of Sam's meal into the fridge, so that he'd finish it later.

His thoughts circled around the hunter since he had found out about his illness. Dean needed more information about that man. He had some contacts, who obviously knew more about a hunter called Samuel Harvelle than he did.

He called them.

Two hours and five calls later, he could assume why Sam wanted to get to Alistair. The demon held him captured for a couple of weeks and then let him go. That was about two years ago. A long time.

That surprised Dean. Of all demons, why would HE drop a hunter on the side of the road and leave him to die? Alistair must've known that there was a possibility that he'd survive this. And Alistair wasn't a demon who did things halfway. He was a man who finished things properly. So there had to be something more to the story. Something the hunter would be able to tell him – or Alistair himself. Then again: It was none of his business, right?

Dean huffed out a breath. He'd never tell him. Why should he anyway? Dean Winchester was a foe. He was the thing he was supposed to hunt and kill.

It took three more hours, until the hunter began to become restless. All the while, Dean had sat in the chair, staring holes into the man's skull as if he'd try to analyse its insides.

"Shit," Sam groaned hoarsely and squeezed his eyes shut. Shit. He was still alive? Damn it. That couldn't be. He was supposed to be dead. That bastard must've found his pills or something ... at least that was the only logical explanation that he was on a too short, but otherwise snug berth. It felt a lot like the couch in the livingroom ...

Dean waited several moments. "Welcome to the land of the living, Sammy," he said calmly, leaning in the recliner, arms placed comfortably on the armrests.

"Why?" was what came over his lips, before he even noticed.

Now the demon straightened up in the seat and pursed his lips. "Because I'm not the bad monster you think I am."

Sam muttered something incoherent. "I tortured you. - I know it's not fair, and I honestly doubt that you'd care that much. So if this is some sick game: Don't bother." The hunter pried his eyes open to the dimly illuminated room and blinked. "Your boss's doin' a good job so far," he added in a soft whisper, and Dean might not have caught it if it hadn't been for the silence in the house.

"First: Yes. You tortured me, bitch. Second: You've no idea what I do and do not care about. Third: I don't have a boss. I'm no ones underling," he explained calmly with stable voice. "Fourth: Don't dare put me in a drawer with these black-eyed bastards."

Sam chuckled low. "Well ..." he closed his eyes again and freed his hand from under the blanket to shield his eyes. "... as far as I can tell you've a pair of them yourself."

"Which doesn't mean that I'm one of them," Dean shot back. "You got me out of there, hunter. You saw that they had something planned for me. - You should've kept one of the others though. They might know something about Alistair and where to find him."

Sam shook his head. "My bad." His arm slid from his eyes and he turned his head to face the demon. His expression turned serious. "I kinda screwed the hunt up."

"Yes, you did," he couldn't deny that. "Guess we're good. You tortured me. I tried to rape you ... Truce." He wouldn't look anywhere but Sam, seeing how he'd react to the word in specific.

And there it was: A barely noticable flinch of the hunter's body as soon as the words were spoken. A flicker of horror and fear mixed with anger flaring up in his eyes, but it was gone at least as fast as it had appeared.

"What now? You're gonna let me go? That's it?" Sam huffed out a breath, a look of disbelief on his face. "Why don't I believe you? – This is all some sick game, to you isn't it? Giving me hope and then destroying it again ... I've been through this, you know? I KNOW how your kind ticks."

Dean shrugged and leaned back again. "Guess you've to wait and see. - Anyway. I'm gonna stick around for a few days." He paused shortly. "If you want you can leave though. Get a motel-room or something."

The hunter looked at him as this was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "This is MY house. Mine. I'm not leaving it to you. If anyone's gonna leave it's YOU."

A mischievous grin spread over the demon's face, just his eyes remained somehow cool. "Told you. I'm stickin' around for some time. So either you suck it up, or you try to find something else. - Though I think you wouldn't get very far in your condition." He paused again. "And as far as I am concerned, this house does belong to Rachel Chandler Cornfield, New York City, Grand Avenue twelve, apartment two. Grandchild of Mary Garner – former owner of this shithole."

Sam glared at him.

"So yeah. I decided to let the charade drop and be honest with you. - I'm not going to hurt you, unless you won't hurt me," Dean explained calmly.

"That's so?" The hunter didn't trust him. After all he WAS a demon – a demon who had gotten too close to him. He couldn't let himself believe, he didn't dare, that Dean Winchester wouldn't wait for an unexpected moment to get the drop on him – in whatever way possible.

"That's a fact." With that, Dean rose from his seat and stretched. "I'm gonna warm your burger up. You should finish it." And then he was gone, heading into the kitchen.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes again. So, if he could believe the demon over there in the next room, that he didn't know squat about Alistair, he had truly screwed up the hunt for a demon. OR, he could blame his – lately lame – instincts to choose the one in the cage and not one of the demonic guards.

Maybe he should head out and get another demon ...

This demon – Dean Winchester – was too confusing anyway. So he popped him his meds and now he was warming up his food ... honestly? THAT wasn't what a demon would do anyway. A demon would never share his food. He'd rather chain him up in the basement and give him sloppy leftovers ... OR this was some sick game in which he'd try to gain the hunter's trust and in some not attentive moment, Dean would break it again.

Minutes later, Dean returned with the food. He then placed a half-full glass of water on the table and sat back into the recliner, having a wary eye on the hunter.

"C'mon. It's gettin' cold," Dean said and bit his lower lip.

He had NO CLUE where the sudden concern came from ... not at all. He wasn't used to being concerned about anything at all that didn't affect his own situation.

Sam's eyes fluttered open again and he sat up awkwardly, pulling the blanket back over his legs and up into his lap as it slid down.

Dean saw himself tempted to support the man, but ignored the absurd urge.

The hunter eyed the burger for quite a while before he looked up at Dean. He seemed to be eager to see him eat the leftover from earlier. But why? Had he poisoned it? Was there something in the food that'd make him feel weird?

"I didn't put anything into your food if that's what concerns you," Dean said calmly. "I wouldn't have given you your pills if I wanted to kill you."

Sam huffed out a breath. "You said I can leave whenever I want to. - I think I'm going to head out tomorrow morning." He knew he wouldn't be able to stand a long drive – not even into the city – right now. But tomorrow it'd be different. Tomorrow he'd be better. So if this demon was planing something for him, he'd be at least able to defend himself – even when he didn't think that it'd help very much.

Dean's forehead creased and the space between his brows narrowed. "You're a free man. You can do whatever you want." He pursed his lips and there was a beat of silence.

Sam watched him, while he reached for the burger and took a tentative bite, chewing it carefully. He could've still put thumbtacks into it ... Or tiny shards of glass...

"I didn't spike the burger with anything," Dean said, well knowing how hunter's were ticking and acting around him – IF they knew who he was. Not that he ever had the opportunity to spend more time than actually necessary with a hunter.

Though, the thought of spiking his food brought up an idea in the back of his mind ...

Sam gave him the you-can-never-be-sure-about-that look, short followed by maybe-not-yet look.

"Well then .." Dean shifted – suddenly uncomfortable – in his seat and straightened up a bit. He sniffed and looked aside for a moment, obviously thinking about something. "I'm going for a walk." Dean looked outside through the window behind the couch and his eyes narrowed.

Sam's brows furrowed and he followed the man's gaze outside, trying to see what the demon's gaze was focused on. It wasn't quite dark yet, but in half an hour the sun would start to set and then it'd grow dark pretty fast.

There was nothing the hunter spotted and he looked back at the demon, who still stared at something outside. He was tempted to ask what he was seeing, and wondered if his hunter-senses were working correctly. Sam didn't feel watched or something ... though his senses could be tricked too. Wouldn't be for the first time. Usually he was sniffing trouble before it actually occurred.

Then the demon rose and walked over to the chair, where his leather jacket was thrown onto.

"Is there something I should know?" Sam asked with his mouth full of burger, eying the man warily as he turned around to face the hunter.

There was a weird expression on the man's face. Something that told him that Dean KNEW something he should probably know too. Which made him slightly uneasy. Maybe the guy had invited some of his friends ... for an early slay-the-hunter-christmas-special.

"None of your business," Dean said and then he left.

Sam stared after him, the bite of burger stuck in his throat. It wasn't like he would be waiting for Dean to return. - No way.

~*DW & SW*~

The demon sauntered around the house and headed through a belt of wood towards a clearing, which he had found earlier. The itch and pull in his back wasn't painful – but extremely uncomfortable. After all it had been weeks since the last time and he knew he couldn't hide it for that long. - Well, at least the hunter didn't have to see him doing this.

It was something that bastard could use against him. Because no one knew besides himself and Castiel. An Angel.

Wasn't this funny? An Angel. He and an Angel sharing a secret.

At least Dean knew his secret was safe with this guy – actually he had become something like a freaking friend. Sure, he was a giant baby in a trenchcoat and had no clue about humans. But he surely knew DEMONS and his own kind.

It's been years since the angel had pulled him out of the fiery pits of hell. YEARS. And he had always been there ever since that day, when he dug himself out of the grave in the middle of the woods.

Despite the shit that was going on in heaven and in hell, they stuck together. An Angel and a demon, fighting side by side. He just wondered where he had been, when those idiots of demons had captured him and locked him down in that damn cage like a wild dog.

He truly had needed some help back then. AND when the hunter decided to torture him ...

Dean sniffed and pulled in a lung of cool autumn-air, as he shrugged his jacket off and dropped it into the frozen grass to his feet.

"The hunter is still alive?" came a calm voice from behind him.

Dean didn't turn around. "He's going to kill himself anyway if he's planing on going on like this." He sucked in another breath and shed his button-down shirt, so that he remained in his boots, jeans and t-shirt.

"I was thinking that you will not tolerate to be dominated by a human." The man stepped closer, his beige colored trenchcoat waving a bit, when a cold drift of air blew over the clearing. "You became more patient."

"I could've needed you back then, you know? Where've you been anyway?" Now he turned around to face the man with ocean-blue eyes and ruffled hair.

"I was ... tied up with other matters in heaven," the angel said too hesitant for Dean's liking. "So to say ..."

"Tied up, huh? Literally?" The demon pursed his lips. "You want me to gank some angel-asses?"

There was a small smile playing on those lips.

"I took care of it myself. But thank you, Dean."

The demon grinned back at him, as he tugged his shirt out of his jeans and pulled it off to drop it onto the heap of clothes.

"You know you shouldn't hide it." The angel looked down for a moment and then back up again. "It's what you are."

Dean huffed out a breath. "Really? You think I could run around like this among other humans?" He pointed with his thumps over his shoulders, his eyes wide and a look in them as if the angel was kidding him. "How am I supposed to do THAT? - I'm already a freak. A handsome freak, but a freak. - Trust me, we don't want to make that worse." He smiled an dishonest smile. "At least the ladies think they're scars."

Castiel breathed out audibly. "This hunter you are sharing the house with ... is there something I should know?"

The demon looked at him confused. "What? Are you kidding me? He TORTURED me, dude. I attempted to RAPE him. - I beat the shit out of him. So NOPE. There's nothing you should know."

The angel nodded and tilted his head to the side, when Dean rolled his shoulders forth and back and wiggled with them.

"Though you are still at the same place with him." Castiel mentioned calmly.

The demon huffed out a breath and shook his head. "Because he's sick. And I beat him up. He's got several broken ribs, a concussion and some illness I didn't know before. So leaving him on his own ..." Dean didn't continue as he saw the amused look on his angel-friends face. "WHAT?"

"... You are sorry, aren't you? For doing what you attempted to do ... You learned something about him, and now you feel the urge of helping him." How right the angel was.

"Stuff it. I don't need your psycho-shit. He's leaving tomorrow anyway. Bet he's going to try to capture another demon." He couldn't hinder his voice from sounding disappointed. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"You called me and I came as soon as I could," Castiel answered.

"Well, too late, buddy," the demon shot back with a cocked eyebrow. "But ... I'm sure you would know how to track down Alistair, wouldn't you?"

The angel shrugged, a surprised look on his face. "A demon? For what would you need this information for?"

Now it was the demon's turn to shrug. "I could use your help later on. - When you know where he is."

The angels eyes narrowed. "Were those demons who captured you Alistair's men?"

Dean pursed his lips, taking a wider stance. "Cover your eyes." He looked serious. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Castiel nodded. "You will not answer my question will you?"

Dean grinned. "I need to hurry up, before he's comin' out here. After all he's a hunter and he'll get suspicious."

Again the angel nodded. "I understand. You are avoiding my question, so it has to do something with the hunter in the house?"

"Yahtzee – and now go or cover your eyes," Dean said, still grinning.

There was the rattling of wings and then Castiel was gone. Dean looked around warily, making sure that no one was watching – but who would be watching out here anyway? It wasn't like there was anyone around in a fifty-miles radius.

He then hunched his shoulders slightly forward, rolled them one more time and threw his head back, making himself ready.

"This is gonna be uncomfortable," he muttered and his eyes went pitch-black.

... to be continued

A/N: YES, I had to stop there.