Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

A/N: Late again. Hope they've fixed FF this time.

The Monster's Child (Chapter 7: Meet The Boss) by frostygossamer

They had a few drinks in a bar, and Dean calmed down some. It was a lot to take in, the revelation that he was not and had never been human. But the presence of normal people going on with their normal lives around them seemed to make their situation somehow less painfully real. For now.

Sam tried to keep Dean's mind off of that can of worms by talking about the id he wanted to source and where the hell they should go next. They couldn't stay in that squat forever. The owner could come back anytime. Dean said he knew a guy, someone not exactly unconnected, who maybe could fix them up with id.

After a couple hours, Sam got up to use the john, and when he came back in the bar Dean was gone. Sam hoped to God he'd gone back to the house and he hauled ass there fast.

-~=O=~-

There was no sign of Dean when Sam walked in the door.

"Dean?" he called. No reply. "Dean!"

For some strange reason, the way his friend's name echoed around the house unnerved him. He quickly checked the rooms downstairs. No sign of Dean. So he bolted upstairs.

Dean was laying on his bed, limbs spread out decorously like a dying Romeo. His lips were slightly blue. It didn't look like he was breathing. A discarded bottle of sleeping pills from the bathroom lay by his side, half empty.

"Dean!" Sam cried, running to his bedside.

He grabbed the limp form of his step-brother and shook him impotently.

"Oh God," he croaked. "Dean, you meathead, not this way."

Awkwardly, he hoisted Dean's body into his arms, staggering as he carried him down the stairs and loaded him in the back of the Impala.

He was at a local doctor's office in eight minutes flat.

-~=O=~-

Dr. Death walked out of his examination room. He was a tall, elegant old man with a concerned expression etched on his elderly face.

"Looks like he's out of danger now," he assured an anxious Sam. "I had to use Gastric Lavage." When Sam looked puzzled, he added, "That's a Stomach Pump."

He paused gravely. "But it was damnably close."

"So, can I take him home?" Sam asked hopefully.

The doctor was doubtful. "I've ordered a few tests. I think he may require observation. Was this a suicide attempt?"

Sam thought about his answer. "No, no, Doctor," he quickly replied. "He just mixed up his prescription meds, is all. He'll be fine. Don't worry. I'll take care of him. Won't let him outta my sight," and he gave Dr. Death a fake smile.

"Very well," Death agreed slowly. "If you're absolutely sure. But if you have any concerns at all..."

Sam shook his head. "He'll be OK with me, Doc," he declared firmly, mentally crossing his fingers.

-~=O=~-

Sam sat by Dean's bedside all night. When Dean finally stirred, his step-brother woke with his head on the covers.

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore at no one in particular, angry to find himself still in the land of the living.

"Thanks," Sam replied.

Dean glared at him for a moment, then sighed loudly and threw his head back on the pillows.

"Some day you're gonna wish you'd just let me go," he said, bitterly.

Sam gave him a faint smile.

"Maybe," he agreed. "But right now I'm glad you're back."

-~=O=~-

Dean seemed to pull himself together over the next few weeks. The bald truth that Dean might not be human at all was, in fact, really hard to assimulate. It was easier to ignore it, something that was maybe part of the instinct to survive.

Sam had noticed that, after both suicide attempts, Dean's attitude had become distinctly more positive. It was as if he'd got some of the despair out of his system, temporarily at least.

They drove down to Florida, where Dean had once done some driving work for a shady guy who had mob connections and might be able to help them get Kubrick off of their trail. That particular guy, Dean said, was OK, some of his associates, less so.

The second night they were sitting in a bar enjoying a couple beers, when who should walk in but one of the two wise guys Dean had hoped he'd never meet again.

The sharply dressed young man flopped down on a barstool, and ordered a vodka and tonic. Dean turned and stared anxiously at Sam, but Sam simply returned a puzzled look. Dean gestured with his eyes toward the door, hoping they could get out of there before the guy recognized him. Too late.

"Well if it's not my old friend Dean Winchester," the guy drawled, spinning around on his stool to fix Dean with a toothy grin. "Since when you been back in town?"

Dean admitted defeat. "Hi, Brady. Guess I was doomed to run into you again, sooner or later."

Brady snickered nastily. "The Boss is gonna be glad to see you, Winchester," he grunted, taking out his cell phone. "Last time I heard, he wasn't exactly your number one fan."

-~=O=~-

A half hour later they were sitting in the backroom with the 'Boss', the other guy Dean had hoped he'd never meet again.

"It was just one job, Crowley," Dean insisted. "One delivery. I took the Ferrari down to Reno. Delivered it to the address specified. Handed over the keys and that was it. No questions asked. That was my part of the deal. Don't owe you nuthin'. In fact I reckon my share was kinda short."

Crowley was a small, dapper guy whose smooth manner masked a quiet authority.

He chuckled. "The job is not the problem, Deano. It's not the job I want to chat with you about."

"Then what?" Dean demanded.

"Ruby," Crowley stated, suddenly very serious. "Where's Ruby?"

Dean sucked in a gasp then plastered on a smirk. "Ruby is gone? What? She jilt you at the altar?"

Crowley groaned. "Ruby left two days before the wedding. She didn't run out on me. You took her."

"Listen, Crowley," Dean retorted. "Ruby didn't leave with me. Hell, if she'd asked me I woulda told her she was making one big damn mistake marrying you, but she didn't wanna know. Maybe she just sobered up in time and got cold feet."

"Oh really? And why don't I believe that?" Crowley asked. "Ruby and I were just dandy until you showed up with your perfect damn smile. You really gotta learn to keep your hands off other men's women, Winchester."

Crowley pulled out a flick knife and twirled it in his fingers. Sam didn't like where this was going.

"You saying your fiancee disappeared when Dean left town?" he asked. "You report it to the cops?"

Crowley grinned. "Cops," he sneered. "I don't need police, friend. I'm a fair man. I can deal with your chum here myself."

The flick knife traced a line across Dean's throat, and from the look on his friend's face, Sam knew Crowley was deadly serious.

TBC

A/N: Now they're in a pickle. More soon, if FF stays up.