Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dean had worked out how to kill the undead, but his instructions filtered out slowly to the She-Wolf's crew, barely distinct from the chaotic noise of battle. He pressed on, his heart hammering in his chest, determined to reach his brother, calling his name, hoping desperately for some acknowledgement.
Through the haze and the chaos of hand-to-hand fighting he could see Lucifer, rotting face smiling in triumph, standing over his baby brother, who was sprawled on the deck, still clutching his head in pain.
"Sam!" he shouted, "Sam! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM ASSHOLE!"
The dismissive sneer turned in his direction.
And then, something decidedly unexpected happened.
Sam suddenly looked up, and rose fluidly to his feet. Lucifer turned back to him, his face an almost comical picture of disbelief.
Simultaneously, Sam and Lucifer reached out to grab each other by the throat.
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"Well, as I live and breathe," Lucifer managed a strangled chuckle, "A child of Lycaon! I would never have guessed! Kudos to you, Lieutenant. Not many would have the force of will to resist me."
"To best you," Sam rasped back as the strange waking dream dispelled and he found himself on the smoking deck once more, facing off against the man who would steal his body.
"Not exactly, boy," Lucifer managed a grin. "I will admit it, I am impressed, but this is a fight you cannot win. The rage in you may enable you to overcome my compulsion, but it will be your undoing – the mindless savagery of the animal will out, and in that moment my superior mind will conquer..."
There was a strange swooping noise overhead, and Lucifer's attention was drawn to it.
"What in unholy hell is..."
"BOLLOCKS!"
The glob of guano hit Lucifer between the eyes.
Sam smiled, dimples showing in his cheeks, then he drew back his fist, and hit Lucifer as hard as he could right in the face.
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Dean laughed as he collapsed once more; watching Lucifer collapse to the deck, bespattered with parrot shit and clasping at his broken nose, he knew deep in his bones that his brother was safe. Whatever Lucifer had been planning to do was now terminally interrupted, and Sam would be safe. He was content with that, so as yet another opponent loomed over him, he laughed again, and prepared to meet his Maker with a weapon in his hand...
His would-be killer's head suddenly, inexplicably, fell from the shoulders, and the corpse folded neatly to the deck. Blinking with incomprehension, Dean heard a gravelly voice chiding him in a familiar exasperated tone:
"Dean Winchester, your habitual casual disregard for your own safety sometimes borders on the sin of self-destruction, and I wish you would not behave in such a reckless fashion."
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Mustering as much dignity as a man might when he has been hit between the eyes by poo from an angry parrot and in the nose by a fist from an angry werewolf, Lucifer looked up, eyeing his victim-turned-victor carefully. "I am at a loss," he said finally, "As to how you could do this, for compared to me, you are but a child."
"I am a man grown," Sam stated, "In possession of his senses, and his self. You may not steal that. You take your power from foul occult means, Lucifer; mine is from myself alone. And, man or wolf, that is something you cannot defeat." He offered another dimpled grin. "And I believe that you know it."
"Aye," Lucifer conceded, "You are indeed a man of great force of mind, Samuel Winchester. I yield to you, Lieutenant."
"But I did not demand your surrender," Sam's voice was dangerous in its mildness.
"And so you did not. But I shall ransom myself handsomely," Lucifer offered, "You have seen the contents of the hold, enough treasure for a man to live most splendidly."
"For more than a natural lifetime, I should think," Sam agreed cheerfully, "Mayhap the sum of the lifetimes of the men whose bodies you have stolen. And yet, I find I have no desire for coin or gems. I have done well enough without them so far."
"Then what would you have, young man?" asked Lucifer, temptation dripping from every syllable. "A ship of your own? For I have the means to furnish you with such if that is your desire."
"Oh, I shall have that, I assure you," Sam's grin changed from charmingly boyish to handsomely, dangerously, petticoat-rustlingly predatory, "But there is only one thing that I want from you, Lucifer."
The other man climbed carefully to his feet. "You need but name it, young man," he said, dabbing futilely at his face with a sleeve, "And to you it shall be granted."
"It will not be granted, but I will take it," Sam growled, his wolf teeth appearing once more, "I do not want your wealth, you godless wretch. I want your heart."
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Dean let out another spluttering chuckle as Castiel pulled him to his feet. "You are wounded," he began without preamble, "Your injuries must be tended."
Dean pulled his usually undemonstrative First Mate into a hug. "By Poseidon's prick, Castiel, I am glad to see you!"
"And just in the nick of time," observed Castiel, "For the crew of the She-Wolf was struggling, but as you can see," the sweep of his arm took in the Impala's complement joining the fight, "With reinforcement from us, they will prevail."
"How did you find us?" asked Dean.
"Bollocks!" Crowley fluttered from the air to land on Dean's shoulder. "Hello, sailor. Drop yer rompers, stupid hoe."
"I am sorry, Captain," Charlie the cabin boy came running breathlessly to grab the perpetually petulant parrot, "He got away from me in the fighting."
"We received your message," Castiel rolled his eyes at the parrot's foul tirade, "When Crowley returned to us with your note fixed to his leg, we made all haste to your assistance, conveyed by a most unusual current." He actually smiled. "I was most relieved and thankful to learn that you were not dead, for after you were washed overboard I feared that we had lost you to no grave but the sea."
"It is a tale that must wait," Dean told him, "But for now lend me your aid, for I must... SAM!"
For a moment, Dean froze with shock; as he turned his vision forward again, his brother lifted Lucifer clean off the deck, by the throat, smiling at him all the while, and his wavering vision gave him to believe that he saw two large fangs jutting from his brother's jaw.
Lucifer's eyes bugged as he clawed frantically at the hands around his neck. Then the stinging smoke hanging in the air and the sweat and blood in his eyes caused a stranger illusion: Sam raised one hand, and to Dean it appeared to change into a massive animalistic paw, with wicked claws extended for a killing strike...
"No!"
The anguished cry came from behind him, then Gabriel went barrelling past. Before he could stop the smaller man, he rushed headlong into Sam, sending himself, Sam and Lucifer sprawling.
Lucifer collapsed to the deck and stayed there, gasping for air, while Sam rolled lithely to his feet, snarling as he glared down at Gabriel, who crouched protectively in front of Lucifer.
"Don't," he begged in a quavering voice, "Don't, please, he's my brother, my big brother, spare him, I beseech you, please..."
Sam growled, his fangs showing, speaking no words but conveying an unmistakeable warning.
Get out of the way, runt. That is my prey. I will go through you if I must.
"Don't," pleaded Gabriel, as Lucifer stared at him in shock, "Sam, do not do this, it is beneath you. He is beaten. I beg for my brother's life..."
Sam snarled angrily, human thoughts warring with the rising bloodlust of the wolf.
Prey. Prey. Defeated prey. His to take. To the victor, the spoils, the trophy, the adversary's heart. Meat under his claws, blood in his mouth, blood of his enemy, prey
"SAM!"
The voice acted like a bucket of ice water upended over him. Thinking it must be yet one more strange mirage, he turned to see his big brother staring at him.
Dean.
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When the bewildered cry left him, Dean saw Sam turn to look at him; in a moment, there was nothing bestial about him, he was just a man, staring in shock back at his brother, his expression making him look all of about five years old again.
Pushing away from Castiel, he staggered towards his brother, who left the foredeck to meet him.
It was a manly hug, a brotherly hug, like a clinch between two wrestling grizzly bears.
But it was a hug nonetheless.
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"Dean, you are wounded!" Sam yelped when they broke apart, "Fear not, there is a most competent doctor aboard the She-Wolf, and I trust he is not inconvenienced by this most inconvenient fighting."
"Oh, yes, the blood-sucking abomination," Dean waved a hand dismissively, "We are acquainted, for I was picked up by the She-Wolf after I was washed overboard during a storm. His cold-handed ministrations will not be required, 'tis but a scratch or two."
"If it is a choice between Doctor McGregor and the naughty ladies with the ointment, I suggest you choose the former," Sam intoned ominously, looking about warily, "For though his hands may lack circulation, I warn you, they are most discombobulatingly... thorough in any ministrations they take it upon themselves to perform."
"I am more concerned for your welfare, Sam," Dean countered, ignoring thoughts for his own bodily well-being as usual, "For it seems you have been through a great deal since last I saw you."
Sam stared in disbelief at his big brother. "But how come you to be here? How comes the Impala to fight and board the Perdition?"
"That is something of a tale," Dean grinned, "Which will be most agreeably told over a tankard or two, once we have acquitted the situation here..."
The fighting began to peter out as the crew of the Perdition realised that their captain was bested, and their adversaries had worked out how to actually kill them. Some were decapitated, some leaped overboard and began to swim in the general direction of the West Indies, some yielded, but some seemed determined to fight to the death. From the melee on deck, a member of the Perdition's crew who had yet avoided decapitation darted out and rose behind Dean, knife raised, prepared to plunge into his big brother's back.
It happened so fast that Sam didn't even have time to let out a warning cry. Indeed, such would have been futile, for it would have come too late.
So he acted without hesitation instead.
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Years later, Dean would still be astonished at how quickly it had happened.
One moment he was talking to his younger brother, the next, an expression of horror crossed Sam's features, and then, and then...
He had seen members of the She-Wolf's crew do it, but it startled him nonetheless.
In the blink of an eye, Sam disappeared, and an enormous dark-pelted wolf was leaping clean over him to tackle the knife-wielding brigand who had stolen up and prepared to ambush him. Before the creature had even landed, one of the massive shaggy arms was coming around in a fatally rapid strike, the claws taking the would-be assassin's head clean off to land in a torn and gory mess at the feet of the body that took some moments more to realise that it was actually dead.
The beast stood up and snarled its vengeance to all within earshot. Some of the Perdition's crew dropped their weapons in fright.
"I had been meaning to tell you about that," said a sheepish voice beside him. He turned to see Ronnie Shepherd, skyclad no less, covered in blood and panting from the exertion of battle, giving him an apologetic look.
Dean stared at her, open-mouthed. "Sam, my brother, is a, a, a, werewolf, and you didn't think to inform me of this?"
"Well, we had other matters to occupy our attention," she protested, "And I did not wish to distract you with... trivial concerns."
"Trivial concerns? Trivial concerns? Did you just refer to the transformation of my brother into a shape-shifting creature as a trivial concern?"
"You cannot speak about your brother like that!" she snapped, "He is entirely in command of his faculties!"
"Oh, yes, very good, he is a great hairy beast in command of his faculties, that makes it so much better!"
"If he had not used his wolf form, you would now be dead!"
"If he had not used his wolf form, at least I would have died thinking he was human!"
"Oh, you thick-witted dandy!"
"Squalling fishwife!"
"Clay-brained loon!"
"Mannish unsubtle virago!"
"Stop this at once," commanded a voice in a tone of long-suffering patience. Doctor McGregor was glaring sternly at them both. "There is a battle situation to be resolved here, requiring the leadership of competent commanders, not the bickering of idiot children! Dean, Sam is in no danger, and the transformation may be reversed at the coming full moon. Ronnie, it is quite natural for Dean to be concerned for the welfare of his younger brother. Now, have done, and recall your duty!"
"Don't fight!" Sam, fully human and fully unclad having burst out of his trousers once more, beseeched them. "Dean, I am no unthinking cryptid. This is merely... one more aspect of myself. I grant you, unusual, and unexpected..."
"And also undressed, I note," Dean commented.
Sam looked thoughtful. "It has just occurred to me that I am not actually undressed per se," he noted, "I just happen at this moment not to have any clothes on." He sighed with resignation. "I suppose that before we make landfall I must negotiate more haberdashing with those naughty ladies. Oh, the promenading it will require..."
"And we will be happy to undertake such haberdashing for you," said MarieLee as the three aforementioned naughty ladies emerged from the throng.
"At a very reasonable rate of promenading," added LeeLiz.
"With hardly any more measuring required," Ranger stated with a beaming smile.
"Just don't have any clothes on, huh? Hmmmm. There's a kind of relentless logic in that," mused Bobby, wiping his own sword as he joined them. "Good to see you again, boy," he greeted Dean with a fond clap on the shoulder, "You led us a merry dance, I can tell you. How do," he nodded briefly to Ronnie, staring her directly in the eye. "You must be the she-captain the tales do talk about."
"I am Veronica Aoire," she replied, gazing back without shame. "I am mistress and commander of the She-Wolf. You will find that many of my crew are blasé about going skyclad, so I suggest that you accustom yourself to it."
"Goodly women do not show themselves publicly in such a state," complained Castiel. "I can see your ankles, woman. I can see above your ankles. And above what's above your ankles."
Ronnie's face broke into the smile that softened her otherwise unfeminine aspect. "You must be Castiel," she surmised, "For Dean has told me much of you, aye, and already guessed at how disapproving you would be to see me so – I know not why, for this is the form God gave me, made after His own image, a beautiful and natural thing."
"It is an occasion of sin," Castiel muttered.
"Not aboard my ship, you Puritan," she retorted sweetly.
"BOLLOCKS! BOLLOCKS! PISS OFF, DICKHEAD!"
"Oh, dear," sighed Bobby, "Look, we don't use the p-word out loud when that stupid bird is about, it has the most unfortunate effect on his already defective psyche."
"I say, is there going to be any ointmenting?" asked a cheerful voice.
Sam let out a groan. "Oh, God, why is she still alive?"
"Speaking of defective psyches," grunted Dean, "Becky, what are you doing here?"
"Just push her overboard," suggested Ronnie. "It's what people usually do when she annoys them."
"You cannot just push a member of your crew overboard," protested Castiel, "If you find her to be annoying, then think of it as an opportunity to practise Christian charity towards her."
"I'd rather see them practise 'charity' towards each other," Becky enthused, "Being as the term caritas is oft translated in the Protestant idiom as 'love'."
"Of course they practise love towards each other," Castiel confirmed, "They are brothers, and share a strong family bond, as do I with Dean, who is my best friend."
"Why don't you two hug again?" Becky suggested brightly, "I did not think of it before, but when I saw it I liked it – shirtless was interesting enough, but now that Sam is naked again..."
Castiel reached out and pushed her overboard.
She hit the water with a thumping splash, and some cussing from the undead sailor upon whom she had landed.
"Doctor McGregor is correct, though," Dean changed the subject with unusual tact, "We may have prevailed, but there is now much to do – we must attend to the welfare of our crews, and we have two ships in need of urgent repair if they are to remain seaworthy enough to make it to Jamaica..."
They were interrupted by an angry, rumbling snarl.
Perched on the lowest yard above them, covered in blood from the battle, a figure grinned down at them with a face that was a mask of gore.
Ronnie looked up, gasped, and whispered a single word.
"Andrew."
