Lambs for Slaughter
Part 2
Note: Hi everyone! I had such a good time writing the first Lambs for Slaughter, that I wanted to continue the series. This update schedule will be much different because I don't actually have more than 3 chapters written already, so it's more of a post as I go sort of thing...
But I'm really motivated to complete this story. I would love any and all favorites/comments/suggestions that you might have for this story to keep everything on the up and up!
P.S. I'm looking for a beta reader, so if you have some experience and are interested, please feel free to reach out through tumblr! shesliketexas-17
Chapter 1
"Why are you doing this, Dean?" Sam asked hotly, his expression pinched and frustration shining through his dark brown eyes.
Dean wrenched his gaze away from his brother and threw open the door to the Impala before climbing out, making sure to grab the paper bag from the backseat.
The boarded up building stood alone in the center of miles and miles of poorly kept cornfields. Years of disuse had left the wood to rot and fall victim to layers of spray paint.
"Because we're out of options, Sammy." He replied sharper than intended. He'd been over this in his head enough times to know that they were down to the end of the line, and Dean was tired. "We've exhausted our resources at the bunker, Crowley is no damn help, and…" he hesitated, working his jaw, "and Cas is in the wind. He hasn't answered a single prayer or phone call in a month. Death is the only being old enough to have any real answers about the Mark."
Sam shook his head, simply to be contradictory at this point. "But it's Death! He's..he's…" Sam threw his hands out to his side.
"He's helpful," Dean told him seriously. "Dude has actually been pretty straightforward with me every time we've met. Hopefully this time won't be any different."
Without giving his brother another chance to argue, he led them towards the building, stepping over the overgrown pathway. The rustic handle broke off as he attempted to jimmy it, so he shouldered the door with a grunt, pleased when it burst open under his weight.
The sunlight flitted through the boards over the windows, and the now open door provided enough light to see the webs of dust hanging in the corners and cloth-covered tables bolted to the floorboards. Sitting at one in a sharp black pinstripe suit was an elderly man with hollow cheeks and drawn features, and a cane resting beside him.
Death.
"Dean," the man greeted pleasantly, his voice a deep timbre that had the hairs on both Winchesters' arms rise.
Dean nodded as politely as he could, keeping in mind his previous encounters.
"Please, take a seat." Death gestured towards the chairs beside him.
He turned one around and straddled it while Sam crossed his arms and didn't move any closer. "I'm good here, thanks," he replied tersely.
Dean rolled his eyes, placing the paper bag on the table before turning his attention to the man watching him with bemusement. "Thanks for meeting with me. I got the goods."
The corner of Death's lips twitched upwards and he reached into the bag to pull out a cheeseburger wrapped in foil. "You shouldn't have."
"I thought it was our thing," Dean snorted, ignoring his brother's exasperated sigh behind him.
"It certainly is," Death agreed, taking a bite. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Dean glanced back at Sam and shifted in his seat. "I was wondering if you knew anything about this," he rolled his sleeve up a few times until the Mark was showing, then flipped his arm over.
If Death was surprised, he didn't show it. Which made sense, really. Dude probably knew the moment Cain transferred the Mark. "Indeed," he mused, cocking his head to the side. "The Mark of Cain. The Lock and Key."
"The what?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised. Even Sam stepped closer, hovering by Dean's shoulder.
"Tell me, are either of you aware of The Darkness?"
Sam and Dean looked at each other. "No, what is it?" His brother asked, sounding intrigued and lacking the hostility from earlier.
Death continued biting into his cheeseburger, reaching into the paper bag to snag a few fries as well. "In the beginning, there was God, the Light. But he was not alone."
"You mean The Darkness," Dean inferred with a frown.
The man across from him nodded. "God locked the Darkness away where it could do no harm, and he created a Mark that would serve as both lock and key, which he entrusted to his most valued lieutenant, Lucifer. But the Mark began to assert its own will, revealed itself as a curse, and began to corrupt. Lucifer became jealous of man. God banished Lucifer to Hell. Lucifer passed the Mark to Cain, who passed the Mark to you, the proverbial finger in the dike."
Dean slumped backwards, knocking into Sam's stomach as he felt the blood drain out of his face. "Before Cain, Lucifer had this son of a bitch?" He accentuated his point by turning his arm around and showing the Mark once again.
"So if the Mark is destroyed, then the Darkness will be freed?" Sam clarified, his voice sounding strained.
"Indeed," Death repeated. "The same result will occur if it is damaged."
Dean rubbed his face with the heel of his hands, putting pressure on his eyes as he thought about his options. If he did anything to screw with the Mark, then who knows what kind of Hell would be unleashed here on Earth. They'd already dealt with the Apocalypse, so Dean wasn't in a hurry to relive that nightmare anytime soon.
He also knew that he couldn't keep surviving like this. The call of the Mark was taking over everything. He was forced to use the blade only one other time since their encounter with Hotch four months ago, and the pain was becoming unbearable. The thirst for blood sung in his veins and consumed his thoughts, and he knew it was affecting the people around him. Cas hadn't even called him back or shown his face in weeks. The angel probably cut his losses and took off before he could live to see Dean become a demon again.
Sam thought he was an idiot for even considering such a thing, but Dean didn't know what else to think. Especially when they had - when they were working things out. Figuring out their feelings for one another. Why else would Cas just abandon him without a word of goodbye?
The worst part was that it was becoming too dangerous for Sam. Even in the bunker away from everyone else, Dean's moods were explosive and hostile, the smallest thing setting him off. Once he calmed down and wrangled the Mark under control, he would always apologize, but Dean was terrified that he was steadily losing control. What if next time he accidentally killed his brother?
No, he couldn't keep living like this.
"Then kill me."
Dean could feel Sam jolt beside him, and his brother's hand moved to grip his shoulder. "Are you insane? No!"
"It's the only way," Dean argued weakly, the weight of his decision sucking up the last of his energy. "I'm going to hurt people, Sam. Death is the only one powerful enough to kill me and make sure I don't become a demon again."
"No, not happening -"
Death hummed, effectively cutting Sam off with a swipe of his hand after setting down the napkin from his finished meal. Both brothers turned their attention back to the man. "Sam is correct. Killing you will not work. If the bearer of the Mark is dead, and circumvents the position as a Knight of Hell, then there is nothing stopping The Darkness from being released."
Sam let out a relieved breath and tightened his grip. "See, Dean? Don't think like that. We'll figure this out, I know it."
"There is another way," Death offered with a tilt of his head, his dark eyes boring into Dean.
Dean perked up, clutching onto the last strand of hope in sight. "Tell me."
"Very well." He brushed a piece of lint off of his shoulder. "I can send you somewhere else. Somewhere where you would still be alive, but no longer a danger to anyone around you. Not your loved ones, and not your friends."
Dean swallowed thickly and moved to stand, holding onto the wooden chair with a white-knuckled grip. "Really? You can do that?"
"Wait, Dean-"
"The price, however…" Death lingered with a dip of his head. Dean's stomach shriveled and his chest constricted with the feeling of dread. Of course there was a catch. That was his fucking life.
Dean gestured for the man to continue, ignoring his brother's protests.
"The price for such an offer is Sam's life."
It was like all of the stale, dry air in the boarded up old bar was sucked up into a vacuum. The tension was thick and Dean swore he could hear a fucking pen drop. "Excuse me?"
Sam grunted in surprise and offense beside him.
Death shrugged, completely unperturbed with the Winchesters' reactions. "The two of you are infamous for risking everything to bring each other back to life. If I send Dean away with the Mark, I need a guarantee that Sam will let things lie. As I am certain he will refuse and do exactly that, his life is the price for my offer."
"He wouldn't!" Dean shot back hotly, although the lie settled heavily on his tongue. He knew Sam would do anything and everything to get him back, just like Dean would do for him.
Death was right.
And Sam wasn't denying anything.
Based on the unimpressed look the powerful being gave both of them, Death knew that he had them pegged.
"I can't agree to that," Dean told him instead, gritting his teeth and tilting his chin towards his chest.
"Dean-" Sam started, but Dean shoved him in the arm.
"No, Sammy, just shut up!" He ran his hands through his air and took to pacing the rotting floorboards. "That's not an option. I'm not willing to risk your life, just like you're not willing to risk mine."
His tone brokered no argument, and his brother's shoulders slumped in defeat. He remained silent as Dean tried to work it out for himself. "So you can't kill me, and you can't send me away."
"Correct," Death agreed solemnly. "Not unless you pay the price."
"Which isn't fucking happening," he hissed.
Death simply crossed a leg over the other and picked up his cane, his long, slender fingers holding onto the steel tip. "Then it appears we are at an impasse, gentlemen."
Dean groaned and leaned against one of the walls with his head down. He knew it would be no use, but he prayed to Cas. He prayed to his angel with everything he had, telling him how helpless he felt. How Dean was stuck with his back against the wall. How he couldn't handle it anymore.
It was hopeless.
And just as he suspected, Cas ignored his prayer.
Fuck.
"Fuck," he repeated out loud of good measure. Just as he began turning around to try and reason with Death again, a bolt of blue lightning tore through the wooden ceiling and struck his arm with an enormous crack!
Dean screamed and fell to his knees, clutching his elbow as the Mark ignited on his skin. A blueish glow enveloped his arm and centered around the Mark with a faint humming noise, but Dean was deaf to anything and everything around him, the pain burning within his veins.
Finally, an eternity later, the lightning faltered and the blue light dimmed. When he attempted to pry his eyes open - he didn't even remember closing them - he risked a glance at his arm.
His heart fell out of his chest.
The Mark was still there.
He wasn't sure what to expect, but Dean had secretly been hoping that whatever the fuck just happened was some way to free him of the curse that had taken over his life, but it was no such luck. The damn thing was still tattooed onto his skin, now singed at the edges and pulsing hotly as if alive and very, very pissed off.
Dean's lips pardoned in shock as Sam crashed to his knees beside him and placed both hands on his shoulders, demanding to know if he was alright. He simply blinked, unable to answer.
A disbelieving tsk sounded, cutting across the chaos that was warring within his mind. Both Dean and Sam snapped their heads towards Dean, who was now standing, towering above them.
"That angel of yours has done something very foolish indeed."
Dean's eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. "Cas?"
Death shook his head slowly, side to side. "His attempt to banish the Mark has only resulted in it's damage."
Their earlier conversation came roaring back, forcing its way to the forefront of his mind. "No," he rasped.
"Yes."
The grip on his shoulders tightened until it was almost painful, but Dean paid it no mind. "Are you saying -"
"The Darkness shall be free once more," Death declared.
XX
"Sir?"
The abrupt interruption of the deafening guitar solo from Highway to Hell was enough to tear Tony's attention away from the Mark VII, just barely managing to avoid DUM-E's claw which held out a green smoothie. He set his tools down on the bench and took a sip, grimacing when he tasted a hint of motor oil. "Yeah, J?"
"The Stark Satellites have picked up a disturbance of unusual proportions."
Tony leaned against the workshop table, absently patting DUM-E's head and taking another sip of his drink. He swiped a greasy hand through the air. "Bring it up. What do you mean 'a disturbance'?"
A fifteen by eighteen inch holoscreen appeared before him and he adjusted it with a flick of his wrist. "I believe you will need to see for yourself, Sir."
There was no audio, but the satellite image zoomed in from the World Globe until it centered onto the outskirts of a small town in Kansas. He watched with growing confusion and fascination, wondering what the hell could have gotten his A.I. so riled up, when he saw it.
Lightning, a lot of lightning ripped through a slowly darkening sky, barely enough cloud clover to register as a storm. "What the fuck? Did Thor throw a hissy fit or something?" But the strangeness didn't stop there. The earth shook beneath the feed, the evidence of a powerful earthquake. Hundreds of deep black plumes of smoke broke free from the ground, miles away from the centered lightning strikes, seizing upwards and curling over the sky until converging into a thick dome. The shadowed dome pulsed with increasing speed until it exploded, sending darkness rippling over the barren countryside and stretching onwards for miles, lingering for at least ten minutes until it slowly dissipated away.
Tony stared. Then stared some more. And then he replayed the video over again fifty more times until he finally ran a shaking hand through his hair once again. "J?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"Call Agent and let him know that we've got a situation."
"Of course, Sir."
XX
Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose to hold off the groan that wanted to crawl out of his throat. The case they had been working on had taken almost four days longer than they were expecting, and it took them too long to reach the Unsub. Nicholas Grayson had murdered two more seventeen year old girls with his hammer before they caught him, and Aaron would have a difficult time forgetting their parents' sobs when they had to break the news.
And now that they were back home, he had reports to fill out before he could go relieve the babysitter. Looking through the stack of paperwork, Aaron estimated he had about another hour and a half left to go. With a sigh, he buckled down and put his pen to paper.
Not long after he got started, movement from the bullpen caught his eye. Aaron frowned and pushed up to his feet. There shouldn't be anyone else on this floor, his team had already left for the night. By the time opened the door to his office, four unfamiliar agents in matching sharp black suits were filing into the BAU's area.
"Can I help you?" Aaron asked with an air of caution.
One man, with thin blonde hair and a carefully blank expression that gave nothing away, stepped forward with a manilla folder in his hand. "Agent Hotchner?"
Aaron nodded carefully.
"My name is Phil Coulson with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. I'm here to speak with you about Dean Winchester."
XX
Note: Thanks for reading, I'd love to know your thoughts!