Arc 3, Part 1: In Dreams
-----
For two weeks Dean did nothing but clean the wounds on his chest twice a day, drive, listen to the click clack of Sasha and Sam both on their laptops, and breeze through towns with demonic signs that turned out not to have any actual demons. That was Dean's two weeks after the pheromones. That and dreaming.
The first night Dean wasn't even surprised. The pheromones were out of his system, leaving him sober and free for his subconscious to run wild. The dream was of the morning they dealt with the seven deadly sins, and of Sasha looming over Dean menacingly. Nothing happened that didn't happen in reality, so although Dean woke up gasping and sweaty, he was able to shrug it off.
The next time it happened, events did not go quite as smoothly. In the dream Dean had waited for that moment when Sam's voice called to him to save him from his fate at Sasha's hands. But it never came. Sam never came. Dean was left to Sasha's plans for him, and worst of all he was forced to enjoy it from the pheromones' power. Because it was a dream, half of Dean remained omniscient, watching over the scene from above, knowing he could do nothing but unable to look away as Sasha took his body hard and left him numb and bleeding on the floor. That time Dean woke up trembling.
The third time it happened, Dean expected it, knew it was a dream, and tried to fight it. It was his dream, damn it, he could control it if he knew he was dreaming. He tried to will Sasha back to his safe, sane human form. When it worked, Dean was overjoyed, thinking maybe he could have a good time with a lucid dream for a change. But the dream carried onward, just as it had the time before, only now Sasha was taking him as the Sasha Dean saw everyday. He even smiled, whispered in Dean's ear, but it wasn't really Sasha. He was cruel and harsh, forceful in a way the real Sasha never was. When Dean woke up from that dream he ran straight for the bathroom and threw his dinner up into the toilet.
During the day, Dean could act normal around Sasha easily. Sasha wasn't the cause of his dreams, after all. So their friendship didn't waver, though Dean knew it was only because he refused to let it. He refused to let his subconscious ruin one of the few good, peaceful, wonderful things in his life. Reality did a good enough job destroying things anyway.
Dean wasn't usually good at interpreting dreams, but he wasn't a fool either. The two things his dreams had in common were Sasha and fear. They were violent dreams because Dean's life was violent, but what lay at the heart of them was the same. Dean was afraid. Even he could admit that, if only to himself.
So when those two weeks had come and gone, and Dean had managed to avoid several days without another dream, he felt safe. Safe enough that he even went to bed early when Sam said he was going to stay up to do a little more research.
He should have known better.
Sasha's hands were so soft. Dean hadn't forgotten that. He assumed it was some kind of incubus healing factor or something, to make sure their touch was always pleasurable. Well, Dean couldn't deny Sasha's touch was pleasurable. His hands moved gently down Dean's naked thighs and a kiss accompanied those caresses just beneath Dean's navel.
Dean's eyes snapped open as he realized he was dreaming, but it was his dream form's eyes not his real ones. He was lying on a bed, the same bed as the one he had curled up on when he went to sleep. He assumed the room was the same too but it was too dark to see. But Dean could feel. He could feel Sasha's hands sliding up his sides now, the incubus' lips climbing Dean's chest. This was not like Dean's more recent dreams. This felt like the one from long ago when he first imagined the taste of Sasha's lips. And if Dean was in that dream…
Full lips touched Dean's in a tender press, Sasha's hands remaining flat on Dean's chest as he kissed him. When Sasha's lips started moving against his, Dean had to kiss back, couldn't help himself, he wanted that feeling so badly. This was where he felt safe, where he felt blissful. Kissing Sasha here in this dream was where Dean knew the answers. Here his mind was clear.
But in another minute, it would all change.
Dean started to pull away, much as it pained him to leave the safety of those lips before their time was up. He didn't want to wait for the curtain this time; he wanted to wake up before it happened. He couldn't bear to live through that part of the dream again.
"Dean…?" came Sasha's voice, whispered and worried, "What is it?"
Dean clenched his eyes shut. He didn't want to see what would come next. "I'm waiting for the scary part," he said.
Although Dean couldn't see it, somehow he knew Sasha smiled down at him. "It doesn't have to be scary, Dean. You just keep making it that way."
There was nothing menacing or threatening in Sasha's voice, only the trust and comfort Dean had come to know so well even when he was awake. Carefully, Dean peeked an eye open, then another, met by the brilliant blues and perfect smile of his friend hovering over him. Sasha really was beautiful.
When Dean turned to look to the side, he knew he would find Sam's bed, because that was where Sam's bed was. His brother was sleeping soundly, the sheets riding low to show that Sam was only wearing his shorts.
"But what about him?" Dean asked.
"Don't worry about Sam. He's asleep."
"He could wake up."
"He will," Sasha said, starting to lean down towards Dean again so that Dean had no choice but to look up at him, "But it's okay. We have time."
All Dean wanted to do when Sasha started to go for his lips again was let Sasha kiss him, let Sasha have him fully and completely. At least here, in this part of the dream, he was safe, and anything they did would feel safe.
But Dean didn't feel safe, not really. At the back of his mind he was haunted by the truth waiting behind the waning months.
"No. I don't have any time. I gave up my time to bring him back." Dean choked on his words as they left him. He had no regrets, he had to save Sammy, but he hated his fate anyway.
"I know you did," Sasha said, smiling serenely above Dean. Then he was nudging Dean's head to the side again so he could look at Sam's sleeping form. Sasha's voice was the barest whisper as he said, "That's why he hates you, Dean..."
Sam's eyes sprang open and their mottled yellow color was so clear, so intense, Dean knew he would be trapped in them forever the moment their gazes met.
When Dean woke this time he couldn't move at all. He wasn't sure he was even breathing. The ceiling was right above him and he almost didn't dare turn his head to find Sam's sleeping form in the bed next to his. Again Dean's dream had something in common with the others. Sasha. And fear.
Eventually, Dean did turn his head, but Sam's bed was empty. As Dean's other senses began to refocus, he understood why. He could still hear the constant clicking of Sam at his computer.
Dean reached for his watch. It was after three-thirty. Sam sure could be a masochist sometimes. "Dude, you gotta be kidding me. Do you know what time it is?" Dean sat up and the covers pooled at his waist.
Sure enough Sam was sitting at the motel room's table, typing away, and staring hard at his computer screen. He didn't even lift his eyes as he responded. "I'm fine, Dean. Go back to bed."
"Well, thanks to you, I'm wide awake," Dean said. At least that wasn't a lie. "What are you doing? And if you say 'trying to save you, Dean,'" Dean said in his most lofty, mock-Sam voice, "I swear to God, I'm kicking your ass right now."
Sam didn't say anything, but his eyes darted momentarily from the screen to meet Dean's. That alone said enough.
Dean was out of bed the next second. "Damn it, Sam."
"Just go to bed, Dean. I can spend my time how I want."
"Yeah, well not if it's gonna get you killed." Dean reached the table, grabbed the top of Sam's laptop and slammed the cover closed, almost nipping Sam's fingers in the process if Sam hadn't flinched away just in time. "I told you. The demon said if I try anything, anything to get out of this deal, you die. That's not gonna happen, Sam."
"Why, because you decided my life was more important than yours?" Sam barked, glaring up at Dean from his chair.
Sometimes it was better to tell the truth. "Why not?" Dean said, "I'm the older brother. It's my job. I protect you. Not the other way around."
"Dean, that's ridiculous. We can protect each other. Don't forget Dad asked you to kill me if you had to. That's to protect you from me."
"No, it's to save you before…before…"
"Before what, Dean?"
"I don't know!" God, Dean wanted to punch something. He'd punch Sam if he thought it would get them anywhere.
The truth was they didn't know anything, not anything substantial enough to help. Sam was special, and maybe that meant there was something evil inside of him, but Dean was the one going to Hell. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe Dean's sacrifice was necessary to save Sam. Maybe…it was the last straw it would take to push Sam over the edge. Dean didn't know. And if he didn't know the answers to those questions then he would stick to what made sense.
Protect Sam. It was the mantra he had learned before he even knew how to read. Protect baby Sammy, Dean. Protect Sam. Don't let anything happen to your baby brother. He's all you have left.
No. Dean had Sam, but he had Sasha too. And Bobby. Even Ellen. And Jo. Dean had a family, it was just fractured. The only part of it he fully understood was the one part that shared his blood. Sam. And that meant something. Dean didn't want to die but he couldn't let Sam take his place.
"Dean, just listen to me, please," Sam was saying, and all the anger that had shown in his eyes gave way to compassion and pleading, "What if…what if there was a way to get rid of the deal and not trade one of us for the other. What if I could save us both?"
It would be a miracle, Dean thought, and he didn't believe in miracles. "Sam…"
"No, Dean. You have to let me try. Let me try. We still have time. I can save you."
There was so much desperation in Sam's words, Dean wanted to believe them. He didn't want to die. He thought he did once, thought he could handle this, that it would all be okay as long as Sam was okay. But damn it, Dean could be selfish too and he didn't want to go. Not when he was finally getting to know his brother again. Not when he had a friend, the first friend he'd had his entire life. He wanted to live for them. He didn't want to leave them.
He didn't want to leave either of them.
"What if…there isn't a way?" he said. Finally, his voice was as soft as Sam's again, and they both sounded close to crying. It made Dean glad the room was so dark.
"There's a way, Dean, and I'm going to find it. All I'm asking is that you let me try. I have a few ideas." Sam reached for his laptop and opened the cover again.
It took a moment to reboot from the sleep-mode Dean had forced upon it, but once it did Dean could see the different windows Sam had up. One, hidden behind the others, looked like a message board about selling your soul to the devil. Dean tried not to snort. Another was about the Colt though, some stuff they knew, some they didn't. But the last caught Dean's eyes the most. It was about using the power of demons to your own advantage.
Dean didn't like it.
"Sam…"
"I think I can help Bobby rebuild the Colt."
Dean's body went rigid. "What are you talking about? Bobby's been trying for weeks, months now, and nothing. It's just a normal gun now, Sam. Even Bobby's ready to call it quits, and he's been back at home working on that thing since we last saw him."
When Dean met Sam's eyes they looked too determined, and the glow from the computer, for the briefest moment, reminded Dean of that awful yellow they had been in the dream. "I can fix it. I don't know how, but…I think once I have it in my hands I'll know."
"You've had the Colt in your hands plenty of times, Sam."
"Now is different. Now…I'm different." Sam looked away as he said that. Neither of them ever wanted to bring it up but it was true. Sam wasn't the same Sam anymore. His powers were stronger, and though he kept them at bay to work on them slowly, they both knew that if he willed it, if he wished it, he could have them all at his disposal in a moment. All he had to do was give in…like the others had done.
No matter how Dean looked at it, that just didn't sound like a good idea. "I thought we agreed. You work on your powers but only at a pace where you are certain you know what you're doing."
"I know, Dean."
"Don't forget that chipmunk you fried last week, coz I sure haven't."
Sam grimaced. He had mentioned feeling the rise of a power like fire. He wasn't sure if it was pyrokinesis or not, but when he tried to use it on a small, dying tree in the woods outside their last town, a chipmunk had fallen from the branches with his insides melted.
Dean could only be thankful he hadn't had any nightmares about that. "Look," he said, because the last thing he wanted was to make Sam feel guilty. The powers were apart of Sam and they had to deal with that. "I trust you, Sammy. You think you can do this, think you can use the Colt somehow to help us, fine. But if there is ever a time when this gets out of your control…"
"I'd tell you, Dean. The chipmunk…I didn't mean…"
"I know you didn't. But it happened. So…so if you're gonna be a bitch about this and insist on trying to help me, be prepared to get the same treatment, coz I am still your older brother. Protect me all you want but you can't stop me from protecting you. Ya got me?"
The ghost of a smile caught Sam's face, and small as it was Dean knew it was real. "Yeah, Dean, I got ya. So…you think you and Sasha can handle that haunting in Danville alone? Bobby's place is on the way. You can drop me off. I've already been talking to him about this over the phone. He's as freaked as you are, okay, so you can be sure he'll be keeping an eye on me."
Dean wasn't entirely sure if he felt better about things or just plain pissed Sam had gone behind his back. In the end, since Dean was really tired, and he had to admit if there was anyone capable of saving him from the pit, it was his brother, Dean conceded. "Okay. But if you get that Colt working, wait for us before you do anything. Understand? No playing hero."
Sam turned back to his computer, half-smiling. "Go to bed, Dean," he said, "I'll join you in a minute, I promise."
Dean had to smirk. "You damn well better not join me, or you'll find yourself kicked to the curb so fast, I'll still be blowing chunks in the bathroom when you finally fall on your ass. Gross." Dean turned for his bed, pleased to hear the laughter that followed him.
"Goodnight, Dean."
"Night…bitch," Dean said under his breath, but loud enough for Sam to hear, of course. His instincts told him to duck just in time to miss the wad of paper that flew in an arc towards his head.
"Jerk," he heard Sam mumble, but there was a smile in the word. It made Dean feel a lot better. Sammy was still Sammy where it mattered. And even if Dean was scared out of his mind half the time, he believed, somehow, that things would work out as they were meant to.
They had to.
-----
"Witch."
"Which what?"
"No, witch, She's a witch," Sasha emphasized, turning his laptop screen towards Dean, "Well, was a witch." He gestured towards the old newspaper clipping he had brought up onto his screen and read, "Marisol Hawking. Died 1891, right after the building was finished. She had been living in room 409 while construction completed—that's the family's apartment—until her death. Says here she didn't want anyone to ever rent the apartment after her, and left that as a request in her will, along with a statement to have a small token of her remains buried in the foundation. Remains," Sasha said again, raising an eyebrow towards Dean, "Something like a finger bone is one of the most powerful final components for a hex bag. Makes a great way to keep an eye on her place too. This is only the second family to have rented the apartment since she died, but you remember what happened to the first."
"Both parents and all four children jumped to their deaths in the late 60s," Dean recounted. He wouldn't be forgetting a detail like that any time soon. "What's this broad have against people staying in her place anyway? Hidden jewels or something. She's dead. What does she care if someone stays there?"
Sasha shrugged, glancing back at the screen as if it might magically give him the answer to that question. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe she's just possessive. Anyway, it sounds like the only way we're going to be able to get rid of her and protect the new family in 409 is to get our hands on that hex bag."
"Typical salt and burn?"
"We'll need more than that. This isn't just remains. If it's really a hex bag, then we're going to need an incantation to counter the magic before we burn it. And there's the other problem."
This hunt just got better and better. "What?" Dean asked.
Sasha turned in his chair again, grinning as he looked up at Dean behind his shoulder. "There are no records telling where the remains were placed in the foundation."
"Great," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest, "I'll grab a sledge hammer, you start punching walls."
Sasha laughed. Dean had to enjoy the fact that Sasha actually appreciated his humor, unlike Sam who usually just shook his head and scowled. "I don't think we'll have to worry about resorting to that," Sasha said. He pulled up another screen on his laptop. "We might be able to summon the bag, but we'll have to do the spell on the roof, to make sure the entire building gets included. And…" Sasha looked a little sheepish as he glanced over his shoulder again, "We need to gather all of the people who've seen the ghost in the past year. That's both of us, the Shaws, and their little girl."
"Dude, she's like five years old."
"I know."
Dean let out a long whistle. "Her folks better be prepared for long years of therapy. If they even agree to this."
"If they want Marisol out of their home…they'll have to."
-----
Dean enjoyed hunting, always had, but Dean really enjoyed hunting with Sasha. In fact, Dean thought he probably enjoyed hunting with Sasha more than he enjoyed hunting with Sam.
While they didn't have the same rhythm and natural flow together yet like Dean had with his brother, Dean knew he could trust Sasha to watch his back. Sasha was also the research type, which left Dean off the hook again, but then Sasha had to be the researcher since before he had always been alone. Sasha laughed when Dean told a joke, even if it was a bad pun or really lewd, and while Sasha would occasionally question Dean's decisions just like Sam did, Dean never got mad about it.
Dean supposed it was just the difference between hunting with your brother and hunting with your friend. If Dean really thought about it though, he liked things best when it was all three of them. Sasha had the same affect on Sam as he did on Dean. Things felt easier when they were all together, like Sasha knew how to balance both of them out so they weren't at each other's throats so often. It was…nice.
Having hunt after hunt was also nice, because it kept Dean thinking about hunting and not about his little problem with Sasha. It wasn't a problem really so much as a…well, a question. Dean was still working on answering that question. He just hoped his dreams left him alone long enough for that to happen.
"Dean?"
Dean turned his head and there was Sasha, smiling at him but looking concerned too. They were getting things ready on the roof of the apartment building. The family would be joining them soon, and no, they hadn't been too keen on bringing their daughter along since she had been the one most spooked by their haunting.
"Are you okay?" Sasha pressed further, since Dean had simply stared.
Crooking his mouth up into his usual smirk, Dean made a face he hoped was believable. "You've been asking me that for weeks, Sasha. What do I need to do for you to believe me, burst into song?"
As was expected, Sasha gave a genuine laugh, but still looked worried when it passed. "It's just…sometimes you try a little too hard, Dean."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Sasha shrugged. "I don't know. I guess…maybe it feels like you're trying so hard to make sure we're okay, I gotta wonder if we're not." Sasha's eyes disappeared somewhere in the runes they had drawn on the roof. "I…I heard you dreaming last night," he said.
Every muscle in Dean's body tensed in alert. It would have been stupid for Sasha and Dean to get separate rooms, but now Dean wondered if maybe it would have been safer. Dean didn't remember his dream from last night, which he was grateful for, but he did remember that Sasha had been in it, like the shadow of a memory not quite complete. If he had spoken aloud in his sleep, he might have said anything, and every possibility Dean thought of was more incriminating than the next.
"You were…shaking," Sasha went on, his eyes still on the rooftop as he continued to pour salt from the container in his hands, "Breathing hard, sweating. I tried to wake you up, and…you sort of did, halfway, just for a moment. You looked right at me. You don't remember?"
Dean just stared. He didn't remember anything.
A crooked smile caught Sasha's features and he looked sad all over again. Dean had been pleased not to see that expression for awhile, but now it was back, and again it was all for him. "You…you looked so scared. You grabbed my arm real tight. You said my name. Then you just went back to sleep. Dean," Sasha's eyes lifted finally, and their bright blue burned in the darkness of the falling night around them, "Are your nightmares about me?"
The door to the roof opened, admitting Daniel and Teagen Shaw, and their little girl Esther. It had taken of all Dean's tact not to comment on the girl's old lady name when they first met. Apparently, it was a trend these days.
Dean was so pleased to see the family now that he might have kissed any one of them for their perfect timing.
"Almost set here," Dean said, ignoring the lingering stare from Sasha that still sought an answer to his question, "I'd suggest you stay by the door, behind the line of salt. We only need you present. It'll be safer that way."
Daniel Shaw nodded, holding his wife and daughter away from the various paranormal signs Sasha and Dean had drawn and setup on their rooftop. "Are you sure we need Esther here for this?" he asked. His wife had their daughter hoisted up and held firm in her arms.
"I'm really sorry," Sasha said, walking towards the family since he was done spreading salt around the runes, "But we do need her here. You're a brave little girl, aren't you, Esther?" Sasha said then with a broad smile as he turned to the girl. They had taken an instant liking for each other, and at the time Dean thought he should have known Sasha would be one of those guys who genuinely loved kids. "I bet you're not scared at all," Sasha finished.
While Dean wasn't one of those guys—or rather kids just rarely seemed to like him—he had to admit that Esther was probably one of the cutest little girls he had ever seen. Her hair was the same dirty blonde as Dean's actually, just like her mother's, and her eyes were large and amber, an almost golden brown.
Her grin was twice the size of Sasha's as she looked back at him.
"I know you'll get rid of the ghost, Sasha. I'm not scared," she said. Dean couldn't even remember that kind of blind faith anymore, the kind kids seemed to have so much of.
Sasha reached out to ruffle Esther's hair affectionately and gave a reassuring smile to the parents. But when he turned back to Dean he was all business, stoic even. Dean knew they would be having a talk about this later, whether he wanted one or not. Wonderful. For now at least he could focus on finishing this hunt, always a welcome distraction.
They were expecting a counterattack after the summoning started, hence the salt, because although Marisol Hawking seemed to be confined to apartment 409 that would no longer be the case once her hex bag was disturbed.
Sasha stood in the center of the runes, speaking the spell in calm, even tones, while Dean stood ready with his shotgun. If that bitch decided to attack, he had a load of rock salt with her name on it.
The first thing Dean noticed as Sasha got deeper into the spell was how much the wind began to pick up. Ha. Wind. He could handle wind. The witch was going to have to do better than that.
Dean continued a slow pace around the circle of salt that encased Sasha and the runes. The family stood by the door as they were told, safe within another circle. Only Dean remained outside that safety, holding his gun, eyes ever watchful as he moved along the outer rim of Sasha's circle. He passed the family, nodding towards them in acknowledgement, but as his head turned to continue his pace, he almost walked right into the figure he had been waiting to see.
The shotgun was up and Dean fired, no hesitation. But Marisol was good. She vanished before the shot went off, grinning smugly. Her form was that of a middle aged woman, the kind that still retained most of their beauty but looked tired and angry for having aged at all. She kept no color, unlike some ghosts, but flickered in and out in faint shades of grey.
Dean stepped back to better survey the entirety of the roof. The family had seen Marisol too if their close-knit huddle was any indication. Sasha, however, remained unaffected, reading through the incantation steadily. Just a little longer and they'd have her.
"Leave me be…"
Dean couldn't swing around fast enough, but wherever the voice had come from, carried on the wind, there was no sign of Marisol. "Hurry it up, Sasha…" Dean mumbled beneath his breath. Dean hated ghosts, but he hated witches even more. They were supposed to be human but rarely acted like it. A ghost that had been a witch in life was about as bad as you could get. Dean had already dealt with that once at the Grand Canyon a year ago. Zombie forest animals occasionally taking the form of real dead people was not Dean's idea of fun. Those things had protected the last remains of their mistress til the very end.
Dean couldn't wait to burn this bitch the same way.
The wind picked up more and more as Sasha's voice continued, and after a while Dean could barely hear Sasha over the roar. It was only when the wind suddenly stopped, that Dean heard the silence telling him Sasha had finished.
Looking back at his friend, Dean shared a relieved, pleased smile with Sasha as the incubus lifted the small bound bag that had materialized in his hand. "We did it," he said, clutching the bag tightly. But when Sasha started to bend down to place the bag on the pile of salt at his feet, the wind came back with newfound power, three times as strong as it had been at its worst.
Dean knew instinctually to get low to the roof, walking with heavy feet, but he saw the surprise on Sasha's face as the incubus was knocked onto his back and successfully outside the circle of salt. Dean tried to run forward, tried to call out, but the wind made everything harder. He blinked heavily and saw the family pushed up against the door. At least they had a bearing. Sasha and Dean were out in the open.
"Sasha!" Dean called, his voice lost in the wind's roar. Sasha was still on his back, but although he seemed more capable of fighting the wind as he tried to stand again, his incubus strength didn't mean he had eyes in the back of his head.
Marisol appeared just behind him, reaching what looked like gnarled branches for fingers to grab Sasha's shoulders. She had him a moment later and was pulling him further out of the circle of salt. She made a lunge for the bag in Sasha's hand then, but Sasha had clear sights on Dean, who was only a few feet away.
At first, Dean thought Sasha was going to try and throw the bag to save it from Marisol's clutches. That would have been really stupid, considering the strength of the wind right now. But Sasha was on the ground. It was easy for him to slap the bag onto the rooftop and roll it towards Dean with a great incubus-backed push.
Marisol screamed, her voice alone seeming capable of piercing above the high wind. The bag rolled close to Dean, but the wind was still strong, and before Dean could bend to grab it, the bag started rolling past him. Movement of any kind was hard, so Dean decided on another tactic. He fell. Limbs limp, he let himself collapse straight to the ground, which ended up being the fastest way to catch the bag. It was just under the crook of his arm.
Dean needed to get the bag to some of the salt. It didn't have to be the salt in the center of the runes, but it had to at least be from that broken circle. The runes were necessary to destroy the bag's power, while the salt would cleanse the bone inside. A match was all they needed after that, and as long as Dean stayed close to the ground, he could keep a match lit long enough to set the bag ablaze.
Starting to crawl the few feet to Sasha's broken circle, Dean had the bag in his left hand and his shotgun in his right. He saw Marisol coming, and this time, since she was so concerned with retrieving her bag, she was caught in the blast of rock salt Dean fired at her, exploding into fragments. That would only buy Dean a little time, but hopefully that was all he would need.
The wind died a little after Marisol's momentary banishing, but her power was still strong. Dean reached the outer edge of the circle, held the bag just inside, even if the lines were broken, and dusted it with some of the salt. Now for a match.
Dean's eyes lifted and met Sasha's across the few feet of roof separating them. Sasha had the matches.
Understanding dawned on Sasha's face immediately and he pulled the matches out of his jacket pocket, slapping them onto the rooftop just like the bag. They were so close to each other that it should have been easy to pass the matches, but the wind was picking up again, and as soon as Sasha pushed the matches in Dean's direction, the wind caught them, lifting them into the air to fly towards the family by the roof's door.
No! There wasn't time. Marisol would be back any minute and the wind was still too strong. There was no way either of them could get over to the matches in time. Dean watched them roll away, right to the edge of the second circle of salt that was keeping the family safe. Tegen Shaw had set her daughter down and was holding onto her on her knees as Daniel kept his arms around them both. But Esther was so small. It didn't take much at all for her to slip out of her mother's grasp to reach down and pick up the matches herself.
Faintly over the wind, Dean heard Sasha yell for Esther to stop. It was too dangerous. But Esther was small enough, light enough that she could move through the wind more easily than the adults with her. Her parents couldn't even move from where they were being held by the wind against the door, their mouths wide and screaming soundlessly.
Esther was braver than Dean gave her credit for. There was no hesitation in her eyes, no fear. She believed in them so strongly, there was no room to be afraid. And it wasn't just because of Sasha. Esther was smart enough to understand that Dean needed the matches because Dean had the bag, so she went straight for him, crouching as she moved inside the wind. Dean couldn't believe it.
In another minute she reached him, and her small hand passed the matches over the roof, much closer than Sasha could have managed. And then Dean had the matches, but the wind was so strong, being light was no longer an asset for Esther. She moved so quickly across the roof as the wind lifted her, there was no way Dean or Sasha could have caught her.
"No!" Dean heard faintly in Sasha's voice. He almost thought he heard the mother's scream too, or maybe it was just Marisol, screaming in anger. Dean didn't have time to think about consequences, not even as he watched Sasha allow himself to lift and be carried off the roof as well, diving off the apartment building in pursuit of Esther's small form.
Dean had the matches. Dean had the bag. This had to stop.
Marisol appeared, whole and ready just off to Dean's right. There was no time. Dean lit one match only to have it blow out. He lit another. Same thing. Damn it! Marisol would be on him any second. He lit a third and willed that it would stay lit. The sparks flickered, teased him, taunted, but when they touched the edge of the salt covered bag, it erupted more beautifully than anything.
Marisol screamed. The wind instantly died. And Daniel and Tegan Shaw howled over the loss of their daughter, a sound no longer muffled, though surely it had been ringing true for some time.
Dean knew better though. He stood slowly, his muscles aching from working against that unholy wind, but he knew not to panic. Sasha diving off buildings could never worry him. Not when he knew his friend had wings.
The first thing Dean noticed was the sound, the great flapping that preceded Sasha's reappearance. Dean turned with a smile then to the edge of the roof where Sasha and Esther had vanished. Like some morbid painting, glorious and frightening, Sasha the incubus, wings spread, flew up from over the edge carrying Esther in his arms. She was completely unharmed, of course, but that didn't stop her parents from screaming.
This was where things got complicated. The parents didn't rush Sasha, too afraid Dean imagined, but soon their horror turned to even more horrified recognition as they realized they knew who the creature was. Sasha's face was the same in either form, sometimes it was just hard to notice that when the first thing you saw was wings and horns.
Sasha landed on the roof with a crunch, the concrete cracking and breaking under his strength. But despite how imposing he might look to anyone else, Dean only saw the compassion, the gentle nature that showed so easily when Sasha set Esther down on her feet and knelt in front of her with a fanged smile.
"Sasha…?" Esther said, blinking at him unafraid but curious.
"Yes," Sasha replied, "It's me." And as he said that his form began to change, morphing seamlessly into a human man with jeans and a leather jacket. "See. I'm still Sasha."
Children were unpredictable, but Dean had no doubts that Esther would be okay. Her face lit up and she launched herself back into Sasha's arms. "You're so cool! Like an angel!" she said, "Are you an angel?"
Dean tried not to snort. Maybe if angels had wanton sex with every prospect they met.
Sasha didn't get the opportunity to answer though, because Daniel and Tegen Shaw were closing in and the mother grabbed for Esther as if she were pulling her daughter out of a burning building.
"What are you…?" Tegen said, staring fearfully at Sasha as she clutched her daughter to her chest. Daniel's expression was much the same.
Sasha looked heartbroken, standing slowly, but he had no words to give. Something in his face told Dean that this was not the first time something like this had happened. Sasha had abilities and he used them when he hunted. That meant accidents happened, people found out the truth, and people, humans were not forgiving.
Dean couldn't allow this. He couldn't allow these people who they had just saved, whose daughter Sasha dove off the roof of a fucking building for, to look down on Sasha like a monster.
"He's one of the good guys, that's what," Dean said, walking over to Sasha and the family with his shotgun up on one shoulder. They turned to him with varied expressions—the Shaws in frightened surprise while Sasha looked something between tears and gratitude. "Let me tell you, it is rare, no, damn near impossible to have one of the supernatural on our side. So you better be thankful Sasha is. He just saved your daughter's life." Dean didn't care if his tone was harsh; he just didn't understand how people could be so ungrateful just because of a little thing like their savior not being human.
The irony of thinking that way wasn't lost on Dean, but he decided not to dwell on it.
Though such speeches hardly worked to change a person's mind when they saw something like Sasha for the first time, Daniel and Tegan both turned back to look at Sasha after what Dean had said. The fear in them remained, that was clear, but there was something else too.
And then came the miracle. "Thank you…for saving Esther," Tegen said, still holding Esther close, but no longer in a way that seemed guarded against Sasha's close proximity.
Then came the other. "Thank you," repeated Daniel, who went so far as to reach his hand out for Sasha to shake, and just as readily moved that hand to shake Dean's. "For everything," he finished.
Sasha turned to Dean with such brilliance in his expression, even Dean understood why Esther questioned his holiness. There was something so beautiful in Sasha that demonic just wasn't the word. Dean supposed it was the man's fae side, but he preferred to just chalk it up to Sasha's own personal nature. It's just the way the guy was. You sort of…had to like him.
Later, Dean talked with the parents inside their apartment, explaining tricks and talismans they could use to prevent further hauntings, though Dean was fairly certain they would be safe from then on out.
Daniel and Tegen had left Esther with Sasha, after the girl's extreme insistence, since they were going to have 'grown-up' talk anyway. Sasha was more than happy to stay with Esther in her room and play until her bedtime, and although the parents were wary, they eventually gave the okay.
It was only after it had been a good half hour, and after Dean had pretty much given these folks a crash coarse in Ghosts 101, that Daniel Shaw turned to Dean and asked, "Your friend…he's not human, is he?"
What was your first clue, Dean thought. "He's more human than most of the real thing I've met," Dean decided on saying. It was certainly true.
"But what…is he?" Tegen pressed. Dean must have been wearing a pretty nasty look because she immediately amended her question with, "It's not that I don't believe he's good. I wouldn't leave Esther alone with him otherwise, but…well…he looked so…dangerous when he was like that. You're…hunters, right? You hunt things like these ghosts and witches and whatever else?"
Dean nodded.
"Well…how did you know not to hunt him?"
At that Dean had to smirk, because after all, "I didn't. Learned my mistake pretty fast though, and he's saved my ass plenty since. He may not be human, but he's a good hunter, a good man, and a good friend. He'd risk his life for a stranger faster than I would, I can tell you that. No offence, but…I don't think anything could have gotten me to jump of that rooftop after your daughter. No wings," Dean added, even turning his back to them a little as if he needed to prove it.
He talked a little longer with the Shaws and though they weren't the type of people Dean could be friends with, going out for a drink and whatnot, he had to admit he kind of liked them. They couldn't be all that bad if they could understand the good in Sasha.
Understanding that good was not Dean's problem. He could defend Sasha til the cows came home and it still wouldn't help him with his problem. The only thing Dean could be sure of was that he was afraid of something. His dreams proved that much. Whether that meant he was secretly afraid of Sasha the incubus trying to molest him again, afraid Sam and Sasha would team up to do the same, or just…that Dean was terrified to figure out if he really did have feeling for his best friend…Dean didn't know. As the weeks kept going by though, he knew he was making things that much harder on Sasha for leaving that question unanswered.
Dean figured it had been about an hour since they left Sasha and Esther alone when Tegen finally got up, saying that it was long overdue for Esther to get into bed.
Then they heard it.
"Hush now baby don't you cry…" The song came softly, but since the apartment was quiet and it was fairly late, they heard Sasha's voice all too clearly. "Rest your wings my butterfly…"
Dean lifted his head to listen. Sasha was…singing. Dean had never heard Sasha sing, aside from humming alongside his own voice in the Impala to the occasional ballad Dean allowed over his baby's speakers. Dean knew Sasha liked to sing and assumed the only reason he didn't in the car was because of the company. Dean still remembered what Sasha had said when he asked if the incubus played the guitar.
"I don't suck. Better at singing."
If Sasha played even half as good as he sang then it was a damn shame he wasn't on the radio somewhere. Dean perked his ears to hear more, standing from the couch to follow Tegen to Esther's room.
"Know though I must leave, my child…but I would stay here by your side…"
Dean knew this song. He didn't know from where at first, but he knew he knew it. Hearing it on Sasha's lips, in Sasha's voice, made it seem like a haunted memory traveling on that wind they had so recently beaten back.
"And if you wake before I'm gone…remember this sweet lullaby…"
Dean's feet were still moving, on the heels of Tegen as they approached Esther's door, but Dean wasn't in the apartment anymore. He was home. He was in Kansas, four years old, and baby Sammy had just come home from the hospital. His mother was singing that lullaby. Her voice was so beautiful, sweet and soft. She was holding baby Sammy and Dean was snuggled up on his Dad's lap, listening.
"And all love…through darkness…don't you ever stop believing…"
But Dean was in the apartment, and it was Sasha singing, and Sasha was sitting on the edge of Esther's bed, who was already tucked in and half asleep.
"With love…forlorn…with love you'll find your way…my love," Sasha sang, noticing just then that he was no longer alone with Esther. His eyes lifted to the door, and he smiled past Tegen right at Dean, "The world has turned the day to dark…" He continued, even as he nodded to Tegen then and started to get up, reaching over to turn off the lamp though a little star-shaped nightlight still burned brightly, "I leave this night with heavy heart…"
Dean felt tears welling up in his eyes and didn't know how to stop them. He had so few memories of his mother, but this one was strong, so strong now as he heard Sasha sing the same lullaby his mother sang to him and to Sam those short months they were all together.
Sasha was heading for the door, his voice dropping lower and lower, but still he sang. "When I return to dry your eyes…I will sing this lullaby…"
Tegen and Sasha passed each other, both smiling, as Tegen went to tuck in her daughter and Sasha came towards Dean. There was nothing on Earth that could turn Tegen or her husband against Sasha now. He was an angel in their eyes forever.
A hand came up to wipe at Dean's eyes before he could stop himself. He hated that he had done that as soon as it happened, because now Sasha knew, Sasha knew how close he had been to crying over a fucking lullaby.
"Dean…?" Sasha whispered.
"We should go."
"Yeah…" Sasha agreed, but it was clear he wanted to talk more about this, about whatever it was that had Dean's face looking so distraught.
Dean was thankful Sasha didn't press him as soon as they were in the car. He just couldn't deal with this right now, with the feelings Sasha had stirred in him, half tied up with his mother and half because it was Sasha and Sasha just made Dean come undone. Dean needed more time, he needed to think, he needed to know why he felt so damn confused about everything and decided with some finality that it was all because of the ticking time bomb that was his life. Dean had only so much time, and time was all he craved right now. Time to mourn, time to fight, time to figure out why Sasha made him feel warm inside like nothing else could.
He knew Sasha would be waiting to talk once they reached the motel, but as soon as they pulled in Dean excused himself and flipped his cell phone open to call Sam. Suddenly, he wanted to hear his brother's voice so badly, he would have driven straight to Bobby's place that second if Sam hadn't pick up.
"Dean?"
"Sammy?"
"Dean, what's wrong?"
"God…" Dean choked into the phone, "I wish I knew…"
tbc...
A/N: Damn, I wish these boys would stop writing the story for me, because just when I know where it's going, they pull shit like this. I plan to start right there on the phone for the next part, and I'm pretty sure I can get them back on track without losing this marvelous angst Dean's feeling. You guys are great! Really, the support here has been so wonderful, I hope you know how much I love writing for such thoughtful readers and reviewers.
Okay, so that chipmunk thing for those who remember the kids with powers is supposed to be like the guy Gordon killed who fried his neighbor's cat, and he's telling his srhink about it...you remember? I always thought it was a shame that power got so little air time. The Grand Canyon comment is from the second Supernatural book (both rock). The song is just "Lullaby" sung by Josh Groban and gorgeous if you can find it out there. I can just imagine Sasha singing it, and Mary for that matter.
Feedback? Love you! And yes, this is still the Gordon arc, but that doesn't mean he's going to show up right away. There are issues to cover!
Crim