Hello Everyone! This is a bit of a departure for me. But I have just recently discovered the show, Supernatural, and I have fallen deeply, deeply into obsessive love. As one does. :) So, it's been a long time since I posted, but I and my darling sibling beta have had a great time banging out a new fic.
The first time I saw the episode, Time For a Wedding, I couldn't help but feel that something was missing. I mean, Becky was so ridiculously crazy there was no way she let Sam go of her own accord. So, I wrote this story to fill in some of the gaps. Hope you enjoy!
0-0-0-0
Furious. It was the only word to describe him at the moment.
Well, there were a few others.
Helpless.
Nauseated.
Increasingly concerned…
That's two words, Sam.
His head throbbed, making him wince. He could hear Becky in the next room,
speaking with her 'friend'. What she was saying made bile rise in the back of his throat. She had slipped him some kind of potion.
He remembered the last few days, and it almost made everything worse. Seeing Dean's face at their 'wedding.' Hearing his words, "I'm gonna be sick." and agreeing with them wholeheartedly. Sick. Absolutely, gut-wrenchingly, hurling for days and nights kind of sick.
"Do you know we haven't even consummated our marriage?"
As angry as he was, her words did ignite some small portion of relief in his aching head. Not much though. If she got that potion, it was only a matter of time…
He actually gagged.
Becky appeared in the doorway, smiling at him.
He had never hit a woman who wasn't a monster. But he was ridiculously tempted to make an exception.
Her smile slipped in the cold grip of his withering glare.
"So you dosed me with love potion."
Becky's face fell in a way that would have been humorous if he were in a position to find anything remotely funny. He wasn't.
"How?"
Good grief. She sounded so pitiful. He could've pitied her… if he were in a position to extend pity. He wasn't. "Thin walls." The fury in his tone should've made her take a step back. Instead, she smiled.
"Look," she admitted, as though it were obvious and excusable. "Yes, I used a social lubricant-"
"You roofied me!" Sam snapped, angrier than he had been in a looooooong time. God, he felt violated. Not physically, which made things marginally better, but definitely mentally.
"A roofie?" she honestly sounded shocked. As though he had suggested something obscene. Never mind he was tied to her bed, against his will and MISSING HIS PANTS.
Oh yeah. He was going to be sick here for sure.
"I'd never," Becky insisted stoutly. "We had a great time together. You were happy."
She was un-friggin-believable. "Oh yeah," the sarcasm in his voice could've peeled paint from the walls. He jerked his arm angrily, hearing the bed creak; feeling the burn of the rope against his wrist "I'm thrilled."
Becky's eyes slid away from him, her eyebrows knotting together in consternation. "I have to go."
"You know your pal, Guy, is the one icing all those people, right?" She had to. Right? She had to realize...
Becky snorted in disbelief. "No he's not."
For the love of… he would not have believed anyone could be this naive, but the evidence was extremely compelling. "Oh, so he's not a witch?"
"No," Becky said soothingly, with the air of explaining something obvious to a very small, somewhat simple child. "He's just a Wiccan. Wiccans are good. Like Glinda of Oz."
He was going to kill something. The instant he had the use of his arms again, somewhere, something was going to die "You're not this stupid, Becky." Sam's voice was hard. Cold. Deliberately cutting.
Becky shook her head, unwilling to listen. "Whatever is killing people, it's something else."
"It's never something else!" He couldn't believe his ears, his eyes, or the bizarre set of circumstances that had led him to be in this position. How… for the love of all that was holy, how could someone have an inside scoop into his and Dean's lives and still be this blind? "When are there ever two crazy things in town at the same time?! Guy's the creep. And you're on his list!"
Surprisingly calmly, Becky shook her head. "No, he's my friend."
"No," Sam shot back instantly. "He's your dealer."
Becky blinked, a hurt, pouty look spreading over her face.
Good. Maybe something was sinking into crazy town. "Look," Sam pulled his rage back, trying to sound earnest without making her do something she'd...okay, she probably wouldn't regret much at this juncture. "I don't know how much he's charging you for that spanish fly-"
And just like that, all the crazy came flooding back to her features in a wildly gleeful expression. "Nothing!" she crowed in triumph. Pointing her finger in a "gotcha" pose. "He gives it to me! And he said it wouldn't even work unless you already loved me deep down. It just activates it."
Her smug, knowing expression did away with any sympathy he might have experienced.
Ever.
For anyone.
"So you think I love you?" Sam's voice carried all the sweetness of a lemon dipped in vinegar. Hazel eyes glared balefully at his captor.
Becky swallowed nervously. "Deep, deep down?"
Unfathomably deep. Pit with no bottom deep. No friggin-way deep. Still, there might possibly be a chance to appeal to her… the words "better motives" had actually popped into his head for the briefest flash of a second. Good thing he had four limbs of rope burn to ground him in reality. Sam's eyes flattened dangerously. "Then untie me."
Becky's gaze faltered, sliding away from his glare. She bit her lip as her eyes traveled down the length of his body (he was pretty sure he could actually feel his skin trying to crawl away) and then flickered to the dresser that sat beside the bed. In a split second, he saw a decision made as her jaw set with determination.
He wasn't going to like this.
With a brisk, business-like stride, she crossed to the dresser, snagged a dishcloth that had been lying on it and sank onto the bed, wadding it up quickly in her hand.
Sam realized what she intended to do a moment before she crammed the cloth into his mouth. "No! No-" any further syllables were effectively muffled through the layers of cotton.
"You're still working through your emotions," she said calmly, with the crazy shining brightly through her delusional fantasies.
Sam tried to call her back, but all that emerged was a frustrated groan, tinged with desperation.
Becky turned and waved as she whipped out of the room. "I love you too!"
No, now he could feel his skin crawling away. Sam heard the door slam, and tried to take stock of his predicament logically and calmly. Not easy. He was bound hand and foot, with nothing sharp remotely near, an insane woman holding him prisoner, and no pants.
Sam let his head drop back against the pillows with a groan.
If he ever saw Chuck again, he was going to shoot him.
0-0-0-0-0-00
Sam winced as the roughness of the rope abraded his already raw skin. Panic was rising along with a hearty mix of desperation. Whatever else she was, the woman knew how to tie a damn good knot. He had been struggling against his bonds for over an hour, and all he had received was patches of rope burn for his trouble.
What he wouldn't give for a knife.
Hell, what he wouldn't give to be able to reach his wrists with his teeth. Not the most ideal solution, but better than being the… kept love slave of a certifiably crazy fangirl.
Dear God, he was a kept love slave.
If his skin hadn't been crawling before, it most certainly was now. If she got back and dosed him with more of that crap, he would stay here forever, willingly.
The bed shook and creaked as he struggled.
NO! No, no, no no nonononononononononononononononono…
A soft sound hit his ears, making his breath stop sharply. Blood pounded in his ears. Had she returned? But no… there was a step, but a stealthy one. Someone had definitely entered, and was trying very hard to avoid being heard. Difficult to do on wood floors.
They were wearing heavy boots, and Becky had been in sneakers.
Boots.
Dean.
It had to be Dean, right? Yes, Sam had told him that he wasn't needed, but his brother had to know that it was a spell or a deal, or a FRIGGIN' CRAZY…
Sam couldn't even find a word bad enough for her in his head.
Senses heightened, he strained his ears, hoping desperately.
There. The floor creaked noisily. Becky was tiny enough that she had barely made a sound even without moving carefully through her parent's cabin. Whoever was approaching was significantly heavier.
Please, please, please…
Of course, there was always the chance that whoever had entered the cabin was someone intent on doing him harm, in which case he was well and truly screwed. Although, given the choice of options, he would ultimately prefer to be gunned down rather than doped into a fawning love puppy.
He would prefer to be gunned down on his feet and wearing pants, but sometimes you just had to take the cards you were dealt.
The silver barrel of a pistol shot abruptly into view around the door and Sam felt a wave of relief sweep through him so strongly he actually became dizzy. He knew that gun.
0-0-0-0
Dean pushed the cabin door open slowly, all senses on alert. Quickly, he stowed his lock pick back in his pocket and drew his gun, holding it at the ready. Every instinct in his head wanted to charge into the room and put a bullet (or three, he had extras) into the crazy bitch exploiting his brother, but finesse was required here for a moment. That's why he had sent Garth to see if there were rear exits, and keep them covered. What he really did not want to end up doing was getting in a tussle with Sam. Aside from not wanting to hurt his brother, Sam had a punch like a semi-truck, and Dean didn't feel like nursing a black eye for a week.
No, he needed the element of surprise here.
Hazel eyes flickered around the room taking in everything. Kitchen was open to the living room, a small island with stools separating the two. The far wall was broken with a series of photographs, a window, and a pair of french doors standing ajar. Leading to a...bedroom? A lamp was on, the warm glow shining through the gauzy curtains and Dean froze, listening intently. Something was moving… and he could hear muffled grunting.
Oh…. please, God no.
The elder brother swallowed hard, throat clicking dryly. As much as he did not want to interrupt… that... he owed it to Sam to keep him from being molested by the psycho fruitcake. Sam wasn't in his right mind.
Moving as quietly as he could, he crossed the living room, freezing momentarily when the floor creaked alarmingly.
Hated hardwood. It squeaked, and hurt like a bitch when you landed face first on it. Give him carpet any day of the week.
Was it his imagination, or had the sound from the bedroom ceased as well? A man can dream, right?
Of course, if Sam was in there, and he had heard the creak of the floorboards, that could mean that his brother was preparing for a fight. Whatever. He'd take a punch if it meant he didn't walk in on his brother in flagrante delicto with a woman who made him nostalgic for hunting murderous ghosts. Time to move fast.
Three large steps took him to the doorway. Dean swung around the door, gun first…
And immediately swung back, hoping to God that whatever he had just seen could be seared from his brain.
I'm gonna be sick. Oh, I am gonna be sick. Back pressed against the wall, Dean took a few deep breaths. Okay, get a grip, Winchester. Sam was alone in the bedroom, so that meant Crazy Pants had to be here somewhere, and obviously, it looked like she was not far away. At the very least, their foreplay had taken Sam out of the equation.
Now he just had to live with the mind scarring. Super.
Dean shuddered, shaking his head violently to rid it of the image of Sam trussed up like the world's biggest turkey, wating to be the love slave of… wait.
As much as he did not want to, Dean forced himself to calm down and evaluate the scene he had just come on. Yes, Sam was tied to the bed… but he was also gagged…
Muffled yells were issuing from the bedroom. Sam did not sound happy.
Maybe... This wasn't what he was thinking?
Please don't be what I'm thinking.
Slowly, Dean forced himself to come around the corner, the barrel of his gun pointing at the floor, but ready to be brought up in a second.
Sam glared at him from his incredibly undignified position, arms and legs bound tightly to the posts of the bed.
Very tightly. Not playfully tightly. Sam had scraped patches of skin off trying to free himself kind of tightly.
The two brothers stared at each other for a moment.
"I'm gonna ask this once," Dean ground out, eyes wary and scrutinizing his younger brother closely. "Consensual, or non? Cause I swear, Sam, if you let that nutjob tie you up I am going to put you out of both our miseries, right now."
The look of absolute and total horror that crossed Sam's face filled Dean with relief even before the younger Winchester violently shook his head.
"Oh, thank God. Sam…" Dean quickly crossed to the side of the bed and yanked out the gag. "What in the ever-loving hell?!"
"She was dosing me with some kind of elixir," Sam grunted. "It wore off, and she cracked me over the head with your...wedding present."
Halfway through pulling out his knife, Dean froze. "She knocked you over the head? And hog-tied you?" His jaw twitched suddenly, which he tried to hide by compressing his lips.
"Are you laugh- ? You're laughing!"
"No," Dean ground out through clenched teeth. "No. I'm not laughing." He was about to have an aneurysm from trying not to, but Sam didn't need to know that.
"She's been getting the elixir from a friend of hers, she just went to see him and get more because she ran out."
Dean shook his head as his knife started sawing at the rope that bound his brother's wrist. "Got here in the knick of time. She came back with that stuff, I could've walked in on you two for real."
The elder brother didn't miss the way Sam actually shuddered. "Don't remind me. Anyway, her friend's name is Guy. She says he's a Wiccan."
Dean stopped, frowning. "No, he's no wiccan. There's been a lot of other deals in this town, Sam. He's a crossroads demon who's collecting early. Did Becky happen to say where she was going to meet him?"
"No." Sam winced as the rope fell free. "But… if it's a demon, why is he giving Becky potion? I mean, couldn't he have just snapped his fingers and…"
"And what?" Dean's brow crooked. "Turned you into her love slave, sans additives? Very organic, Sammy."
Sam looked like he was going to be sick. "Something like that. Knife, please."
"Wait…" Dean frowned, eyebrows drawing together. "Becky might be crazy, but if anyone knows how demons work, it should be someone who's been reading the obits of the Sam and Dean Gazette." Leaning over Sam, he started on the other wrist.
"You don't think he's told her who he is?"
"No." The ropes fell away, allowing Sam to sit up. His younger brother did so slowly, tenderly feeling the back of his head.
Dean could feel a smirk trying to twist his lips and forced them flat. There was a time and a place for teasing your younger brother, and it was not while he was still bound to a bed and…
Dean froze as the blanket that had been pulled halfway up Sam's chest slid downwards. "Sam… are you wearing pants?"
It had been a long time since he had seen Sammy blush like that.
Dean was going to crack a rib here before too long. Biting a smirk back took about all the willpower he possessed, but he did it. When Sam glared up at him, he met a face of rock hard impassiveness and professionalism.
At least that's what he told himself. In reality, he could feel the corner of his mouth twitching no matter how hard he tried to stop it, and he didn't blame Sam one bit for glaring harder.
Turning away to hide his face, Dean leaned over the bottom of the bed to cut Sam's feet free.
Suddenly Sam's hand caught his shoulder. "Wait…"
"Wait? For what, Sam? Please don't tell me that you're actually into this."
The hand balled into a fist and delivered a short, painful, but well deserved punch to his bicep. "I mean, we might be able to get more information out of Becky, and she might be more willing if she thinks everything is still going her way."
Dean didn't like this plan. "What if she comes back with more of that potion and doses you again?"
Sam shuddered at the thought. "Hide in the closet. If she seems to be going for dosing without talking… I'll keep my mouth shut, and you should be able to stop her."
Dean frowned. It was not the most dangerous thing either of them had ever done, but Becky had an air of crazy surrounding her that made his hair stand on end. "Are you seriously suggesting I tie you up again? Cause I keep telling people I don't swing that way…"
The fist delivered another well deserved blow. Geez, he was going to have bruises. But he would take it. He would take being bruised, and the glaring Sam over the sloppy, lovey, fawning Sam he had seen the last few days.
Just the memory made him shudder a little.
When this was over though, he was going to heckle the life out of his little brother, starting with the 'no pants' thing.
0-0-0-0
Sam leaned back against the pillows with their god-awful fish pattern. Who put fish on sheets? They should have been slapped, whoever they were. Dean had re-tied his wrists, but had at least left them slightly looser, to avoid rubbing his already raw skin bloody.
He heard the door open and close. A shiver of anticipation and a little dread wove through his heart. What if she did go straight for dosing him? Got a little in? Turned him back into her willing lap dog?
The closet door was open just a hair, and as he glanced at it, he saw a sliver of Dean's face. His older brother might have been briefly amused by his predicament, but there was no trace of levity on the elder Winchester's face now.
Sam relaxed ever so slightly. Dean was there, and he wouldn't let anything happen.
A sigh from the door brought his eyes to bear on his captor. Becky was leaning against the french door, her face the picture of disappointment.
"This is not how I imagined spending my reunion," she said quietly. Defeatedly. Her eyes traveled over his body, and Sam forced down the wave of nausea that rose sharply at her perusal. "I was gonna show you off."
Her words actually irritated him beyond measure. Show him off? Like he was a pony. Or a piece of meat.
"Not that anyone actually knows who you are," Becky continued matter of factly. "Supernatural's not exactly popular."
Gee. Wonder why. A memory of Dean describing their lives popped into his head. A river of crap, that should send anyone howling to the nuthouse. Yeah. That was pretty accurate.
"But you're tall," Becky continued "And nice, and... they'd all think I was happy."
He did not feel nice at this moment. If he didn't need to ask her more questions about the crossroads demon… A muffled growl was all he could get out around the gag Dean had stuffed back into his mouth.
Becky sighed. "You're mad. I get it." Slowly, she moved forward, sinking onto the side of the bed (Sam's soul recoiled a little bit) and then lay against his chest, caressing him. Apparently completely ignoring the way he not only stiffened, but withdrew from her touch as much as the ropes would possibly let him. The closet door moved ever so slightly, and Sam shot a look at it; a warning and a promise. It sucks. I can deal. For now.
"Can we talk?" her voice was slightly muffled against his chest. He could feel her breath, warm through the thin material of his shirt.
Talk away. Not like he could exactly stop her. Or contribute.
"I know you don't love me."
Gee, you think? He couldn't make all the syllables travel through the cotton cloth, but he was pretty sure that she got the gist.
"I know what I am, okay?" Becky's voice was sharper than he had heard before. More grounded, somehow. "I'm a loser. In school, in life."
He felt for her for all of three tenths of a second.
"Guess that's why I like you so much," she finished cheerfully.
"What?!" That he managed to get around the cloth. He was pretty sure he heard a chuckle from the closet, but he ignored it. Becky straightened up, (much to his relief) her face chagrined.
"I mean, not that you're a loser, but you had that whole character arc about being a freak, and I can relate."
Sam let his head fall back on the pillow and glared at the ceiling. He hated those books. He hated Chuck. And right now, he was fairly positive Dean was laughing again, so he hated his brother.
"Honestly, the only place people understood me was the message boards," Becky said sadly. "They were grumpy and overly literal, but at least we shared a common passion."
Hazel eyes stared at her like she had truly and completely lost her mind. Her "shared passion" was his and Dean's lives. Written out as entertainment. Every gut-wrenching detail.
"And I'll take it, you know? Then I met you guys." The fanatic gleam rose in Becky's eyes again. "The real Sam and Dean. And I started dating Chuck." Becky's hand slid over his chest, caressingly. Sam knew in that moment, if he were able to, he would've run screaming regardless of whatever plan they had. Eyes flashed down to her hand and back to her face swiftly, wishing he could pull away even a little.
Oblivious to his obvious discomfort, Becky was in her own little world, eyes closed, reminiscing. " And everything was... amazing."
Abruptly, she pulled her hand back, face falling again. "But you left, and Chuck dumped me."
Smart man.
" I think I intimidated him with my vibrant sexuality."
Yeah. That was it. It had nothing to do with the fact that you radiate crazy.
"I just want someone who loves me for me," she cried plaintively. "Is that too much to ask?!"
Sam mumbled something through the cloth, confident that she wouldn't be able to decipher enough for him to be ashamed of himself for swearing so profusely.
With a frustrated sigh, Becky reached up and jerked the cloth out. "What?"
Sam paused, licking his lips to give himself a moment to tastefully edit his previous comment. "If you want somebody to love you for you, maybe don't drug them." And tie them up. And strip them of their pants. All of these things will ensure that if somebody does love you for you, he's going to be one sick, masochistic, sonuva-
"But I want you," she insisted, almost tearfully. "And this is the only way!" Brow furrowed, eyes shining, she met his glare for a moment before whirling and digging into her pocket.
Sam felt a hole open in his stomach. "Becky?" He couldn't keep the apprehension out of his voice.
A soft squeak from the direction of the closet reassured him. Dean was standing by.
Turning back to face him, Becky fingered the small bottle she had pulled out.
The younger Winchester couldn't deny the twist in his gut at the sight of that little bottle. "Becky," he said firmly, trying to tamp down the near panic rising in his throat. "You're better than this."
"That's sweet," Becky said sadly, absently twisting her fingers around the top. "But I'm not so sure." Inside the bottle, a thick, blackish blue liquid sloshed against the glass. Becky stared at it as though she might read her future in the ink-like droplets.
Maybe she thought she would.
Maybe she thought he was her future.
Aaaaaaaaand now his skin was crawling away again.
"He made me a better deal," Becky said quietly, flipping the bottle in her hand.
Sam kept his eyes on the elixir, gaze wary. "Better? How-" the words failed for a moment as his eyes narrowed. He tried to pin her down, but her gaze skittered away from his knowing look. "I thought he was "giving" you the elixir."
"Apparently not."The words were almost whispered. "You were right. He's a demon. And he wants my soul."
"Guy?"
"Yes." The lid twisted open and shut. Open and shut.
Seeing the bottle open at all made Sam clamp his lips together tightly. They needed information. Dean was nearby. But the threat of ingesting more elixir made him want to sew his own mouth shut.
"Yes," Becky repeated. "Guy. The event planner you met." Open and shut. "I'm not supposed to talk about the details."
Guy wasn't too stupid, Sam recognized grudgingly. He remembered the event planner's stiffness when they had first met. The flash of terror he had seen in his eyes. Damn demon had to know that if Sam and Dean found out he were involved his ass was as good as ganked. So Guy offered Becky some "better" deal that would involve turning the younger brother into a friggin' vegetable, and probably planned to skip town.
"Becky," he hissed, trying to speak calmly. "Are you nuts?"
Actually, he already knew the answer to that, but hey. He could pretend for a few moments that he was dealing with a sane individual.
"He's going to kill you, Becky. He's killed everyone else who's made a deal."
"No," Becky shook her head, a small, sad smile on her face. "He's not going to kill me. He promised. I get the whole deal."
"For me. He wants to make a deal for me. And then in ten years, what happens? Hmm?" Sam took his eye off the little bottle for a moment and met her gaze. "You lose your soul? Go to hell?"
Again, that small, sad smile. "In ten years… nothing happens."
Sam frowned, eyebrows drawing together. "Are you still trying to convince yourself that he's doing this for free?"
"No. he wants my soul for sure." Becky replied calmly. "He's just offering longer."
Now, that was enough to freeze Sam's heart. Like ten years wouldn't be bad enough. This demon was proposing selling him in some kind of male harem slavery for… how long?!
"At the end of ten years… I'd get another fifteen." Becky's small fingers kept toying with the bottle's lid. Open, closed. Open, closed.
"Becky…"
Open.
"It's a pretty good deal for a demon, Sam."
Hazel eyes remained fixed on the little bottle, willing her to put the lid back on. She didn't.
"I mean it! He said I was special! Nobody gets a deal like this!"
She actually sounded kind of excited. Like she was getting her chance to live out a 'Sam and Dean' story. Except, she was going to write herself into a starring role.
Starting with erasing his free will.
Becky looked from him, to the open bottle in her hand. Back to him. Her jaw set in determination, much as it had moments before she'd gagged him.
Becky's hand moved forward.
Sam clamped his jaws together so hard he was pretty sure he'd chipped enamel off his molars. If she wanted that stuff in him, she'd have to pry his lips open. Not that he doubted for one second that she would be willing to do so…
She never got that far.
There was a creak, a step, and before she could move the bottle more than an inch, Dean's large hand closed around hers in a crushing grip. Becky jerked in surprise, her mouth falling open. "Hey! What-?"
Something in Dean's face froze her when she met his eyes. Sam saw her wilt on the spot, crumbling as the older Winchester kept a firm grip on her wrist with one hand, and plucked the elixir from her with the other.
Dean glanced at the little bottle, then turned his eyes back to Becky as he dropped it on the floor and crushed it deliberately under his boot. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, god, this day had taken years off of his life.
Becky cowered even further under Dean's icy glare, and Sam couldn't blame her. Few things were as intimidating as Dean when he wanted to be.
"Garth?" Dean called, eyes never leaving Becky.
The wiry hunter poked his head around the french doors. "Present."
Firmly, Dean tugged Becky to a standing position. "Go sit on the couch." Eyes broke away from her for a moment to focus on Garth. "Watch her."
Garth saluted, and stepping forward, took hold of Becky's arm to lead her away.
She actually went without a fuss, which surprised Sam to no end. As she moved around the corner, he breathed a sigh of relief that seemed to come from the tips of his toes. He let his head fall back against the ugly-ass fish print pillow and tugged at the ropes binding his wrists. "You mind?"
Dean turned his gaze towards him, and the fierceness melted away to be replaced by that smirk. "Course not, Sammy."
"Just untie me."
0-0-0-0
Dean pulled his switchblade out and quickly sliced through the ropes around Sam's wrists. "Geez. How's it feel to be a hot commodity? I've never heard of anybody getting a twenty-five year deal."
Sam sat up, pulling pieces of rope from around his wrists. "Commodity is right. I was just bartered by a demon, Dean." The muscles in Sam's shoulders jerked in an involuntary spasm. "I feel dirty."
"You're not the only one. Here." Dean folded the blade and dropped it into Sam's lap, swiftly holding up a hand to forestall his brother getting up. "Stop. I have already met my quota of seeing my brother in compromising positions for one day."
Sam's face screwed up in confusion for a split second… then reddened abruptly as he recalled that he was still without pants.
"I'm gonna go wait in the living room with your biggest fan." Dean's eyes raked the room quickly, falling on a duffel on the floor. The elder brother dug into it and was rewarded. "Here." Dean tossed a pair of Sam's pants onto the bed, and bit back a chuckle as Sam snatched them and held them protectively close to his chest.
"Dean…"
Dean held up a hand again, stopping Sam's words. "I refuse to have any kind of serious conversation with a grown man who's not wearing pants, Sam."
The younger brother paused, mouth open, then closed it and nodded. "Fair enough." Hazel eyes darted to the french doors. "I'll be out in a second."
Dean smiled, but it died on his lips as he rounded the corner and saw Garth and the psychotic bitch. Becky was sitting docily, her head bowed, Garth's hand holding her elbow firmly.
He could feel his face hardening into a look he normally turned on monsters.
She wasn't a monster in a traditional sense. Once, he had found her crazy in a harmless kind of way. But now…
Dean was angry. He tamped it down. Exploding was not going to help anything at the moment. Oh, but he really, really wanted to.
Becky glanced up and caught his eye. She flinched as though she had been struck and quickly turned her gaze back down to her hands.
"Where's Guy?" Dean asked quietly, voice cold. "And when does he expect an answer from you on this deal?"
"He's at my reunion," Becky whispered. "And tonight. He gave me the potion as another 'freebie', but he said that it would wear off by tomorrow. If I want things to be permanent, I need to take the deal by the end of the party tonight."
"And by things, you mean my brother's state of love-doped crazy."
A tiny nod.
Dean's jaw flexed as his eyes narrowed. This woman had essentially tried to enslave Sam. Only worse. She would have taken his body and mind. For years.
Now, he wasn't above finding humor in Sam's trussed up pose, (actually, even thinking about that still made him chuckle a little in the darkest part of his soul) but the deeper ramifications of Becky's actions made him feel like his skin was actively trying to crawl off his body and across the floor.
"I wasn't going to take it," Becky's voice sounded tiny and somewhat unconvincing.
Dean's eyebrows rose, almost hitting his hairline. "W-... what?" the elder Winchester shook his head in disbelief. "I'm pretty sure that I'm the one who just stopped you from…" Dean's eyes flicked from side to side, suddenly. "Is it the cabin? Does the cabin cause the crazy? Should we be here right now?" He was reasonably sure that it wasn't actually the cabin that caused her level of insanity, but given his line of work, maybe it wasn't wise to take chances.
"Sam! Get your pants on, we need to get out here! I think the cabin actually makes people crazy."
"I mean it!" Becky insisted tearfully.
"Lady," Dean growled. "You were going for the dose. I pulled the bottle out of your hand, remember? I remember. It's very clear. Course that could be 'cause it happened all of three minutes ago."
"I didn't say I wasn't going to use the potion," Becky met his eyes and held his gaze for a moment. " I said I wasn't going to take the deal."
"Semantics, Becky," Sam's voice was taut, curt. The younger brother came up beside Dean buckling his belt into place with swift, jerky movements.
"You want a padlock for those?" Dean asked under his breath, glancing at his brother out of the corner of his eye.
"Shut up," Sam hissed, discreetly (but painfully) trodding on Dean's toes as he moved into the living room.
Sam stood in front of the couch, glaring down at Becky and Garth. Arms folded tightly over his chest, Dean could read the fury in his brother's stance like it was painted in big, friggin, neon letters across his billboard sized back.
Becky looked up at the younger Winchester, and Dean saw her flinch.
Sam must've had a hell of an evil glare going to pierce the veil of sheer concentrated crazy.
"I wasn't, really," she repeated. "I just wanted a little more time with you before…"
Her voice trailed away as she looked up at his younger brother, and Dean shook his head in disbelief. People, man. Demons he understood. People were crazy.
Silence stretched uncomfortably between the Winchesters and the tiny woman.
"Guy's still making deals," Dean said flatly. "I don't suppose he's talked to you about how many he's got going on?"
She shook her head, avoiding eyes again. "I only found out today that he was a demon. He didn't really talk about anybody else. Just Sam."
Dean did not like the way her voice lingered on his little brother's name. It told him that despite everything, Superfan99 was still holding on to her flame.
"Look, Becky," Sam sounded like he was trying for his "pansy crap" tone. That tone of voice that spoke to people in a way Dean could never manage. Probably because he would honestly rather shoot, punch, or stab people in the face. Sam had a way of getting them to see his side of things, spill their guts. Tell him anything. One of the first things that had tipped him off when Sam was soulless, actually. The 'tone' was gone, and he was a 6'4 dick.
At this precise moment, Sam sounded a lot more like Soulless trying for the tone.
"We need to know who he's got deals with, and for that, we need to talk to him. Are you willing to help with that?"
"Sam?" Dean's eyebrow quirked upwards. "Did I just stroke off there for a second? I thought I heard you ask Crazycakes for help."
Sam shot him a quelling look over his shoulder, but Dean was very practiced at ignoring it.
"You want…me to help you?" The fanatical light that lit up Becky's whole face was setting off alarm bells in Dean's head. Big alarm bells. Loud alarm bells. Friggin' "nuclear reactor's gonna blow, everybody out" kind of alarm bells.
"I would do anything to help you, Sam!" Becky actually leapt to her feet, pulling her elbow free of Garth's grasp and clapped her hands together.
Dean glared at the slight hunter, who mouthed 'sorry' behind her back.
Sam stepped back reflexively, reminding his older brother vividly of the one time he had watched a kitten corner a Great Dane. Oh, God, he had laughed his ass off at that one. Tiny kitten all sweetness and fluff, the Great Dane whimpering as it scooted lanky legs tighter and tighter beneath it trying to avoid roughly a quarter pound of cat.
He actually snorted before he could stop himself.
Sam shot him another glance, murderous this time.
That one he paid a little more attention to, as it sometimes came attached to an ass-kicking. And well, he had a reason to be wary of this particular quarter pounder.
"We need the demon to meet with you," Sam said quietly. "He won't come if we call."
He had a point there.
"When he arrives, we can trap him. Get him to tell us how many other deals he's got going."
Sounds okay so far. Not overly complicated.
Becky nodded, eyes shining. "I can do that! Just like Michael in "Something Wicked"!"
Dean and Sam exchanged a confused look.
Becky rolled her eyes. "Michael…? The boy you used as bait when you were fighting the Shtriga?"
"You guys went after a Shrtiga?" Garth chirped from the couch. "Man, that's awesome! Those things are hard-core."
"Yes," Sam said quickly, cutting off any further reminiscing. "Just like that. We'll set a devil's trap, and you lure the demon in."
Wait...
"Oh, you mean, pretend to take the deal and get him to come in for a kiss?" Becky's eyes lit up. "I can totally do that, Sam."
Oh hell no. "Sam, this isn't a good idea. How do we know she won't go for the deal if she gets that close?"
Sam's mouth twisted, a little like he was going to be sick at the idea.
Becky actually had the nerve to look hurt. "I told you. I wasn't going to take the deal. You can trust me."
The look both brothers turned on her was a mixture of disbelief, horror and revulsion.
Garth, looking back and forth between them, smiled. "Okay, now I see the resemblance."
"Focus, Garth." Dean stepped up to his brother. "This is a bad idea. You know how I know it's a bad idea? Because using a psychotic, human trafficking fangirl is one of the main components."
"I know, Dean." Sam shrugged. "But what I don't know is another way to get the demon to come to us."
The elder Winchester remained silent, jaw flexing, trying to think of something, anything, that did not involve putting Becky within spitting distance of buying his brother for the next twenty-five years. "Fine." He glared at Becky before pointing a stern finger at her. "But you're taking your own car."
0-0-0-0
Garth straightened up from the devil's trap, scrutinizing it carefully. "I think that should work."
"All right. You know what to do, Becky?" Sam glanced at her quickly.
Becky was glowing, thrilled to be a part of her favorite series. "I totally have it, Sam. you don't need to worry at all."
She actually tried to touch his arm reassuringly.
Before her hand made contact, Dean pulled his brother back, out of reach. "Let's go over it once more. Just so we're sure."
"As soon as the reunion seems to be wrapping up, I send a text to Guy telling him where I am. He comes in, I tell him I'm taking the deal, and I make sure he's standing on the black mark before I drop the lighter." She motioned to the small hashmark Garth had scored into the carpet, marking the center of the devil's trap.
"Great."Garth said brightly, tossing the bottle of blueberry vodka from hand to hand. "And I think we should probably take cover." He nodded to the dance floor visible through the arched doorway. "Looks like it's almost showtime."
Sam nodded and moved off, relief almost radiating from his big frame as he moved out of touching range.
Dean waited for a moment, watching Sam and Garth leave the room.
Becky took a seat at a table, her back towards the arched doorway. A big smile on her face.
Sam and Garth disappeared around the corner.
Dean placed a hand on Becky's shoulder, feeling her jump at the unexpected contact. She looked up at him, surprised. He could feel her tense at the look on his face, and he couldn't blame her. He knew what expression he was wearing.
The elder Winchester leaned down slowly, looming over the petite woman. She would've retreated if she could've, but his fingers were tight on her shoulder, holding her firmly in place.
"You're thinking of crossing us," he said quietly, his voice growling. "You're thinking of taking that deal and twenty-five years of Sam being your toy. Your extra special, mint condition, collectable."
Her eyes slid from his. "I...I…"
"But here's the catch. You know there always is one with a demon deal." Dean's gaze burned. "You won't get twenty-five years."
Becky looked up, hurt. "Guy said…"
"You take this deal; you take Sam, and I will end you myself." Dean met her eyes as they fastened back on his; shocked. "Tonight."
"You wouldn't do that," Becky whispered, but she didn't sound convinced.
"You look in my eyes," Dean said coldly. "Am I lyin'?"
Her mouth dropped open slightly, into a round, frightened O. Three tense seconds passed.
Becky looked back down at the tabletop. "No," she whispered.
Removing his hand from her shoulder, Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his lighter. The elder Winchester dropped it on the table in front of her, slightly satisfied when she jumped. "Just like we talked about."
Becky slowly reached out, and curling her small fingers around the lighter, she tucked it into her pocket, her face drooping in misery.
Dean nodded to himself. Now that's the face of someone about to sell their soul.
Sam's head appeared around the corner of the archway. "Dean? What's the hold up?"
"Nothing." Dean smiled, and patted Becky on the shoulder, again, meanly pleased to feel her flinch. "Just clearing up a little detail." His hazel eyes hardened as he checked to make sure his knife was tucked securely into his jacket pocket. "Let's get this show on the road."
0-0-0-0
Ambushing a demon always seemed like such a horrible idea in retrospect. It never went the way it was supposed to. Of course, how were they to know that Guy had, as he called it, an intern?
Crowley showing up was definitely a surprise. His unexpected assistance, even more of one.
Who knew Hell had such stringent quality control standards?
Fresh bruising aside, Dean supposed that everything could have gone much, much worse. Even Becky had managed to redeem herself slightly.
He was still going to be more than happy to put her behind them forever. At least she had agreed to the annulment with a minimum of protest. Him meeting her eyes with a glare from behind Sam may have speeded up her capitulation.
All in all… not too bad. Not too bad.
0-0-0-0
In the alley beside the apartment building, Dean and Sam leaned against the semi-corroded, bright blue car that was unfortunately their ride, watching Garth prepare to depart.
Closing the passenger door of his Buick, the wiry hunter approached the brothers, hands tucked into his heavy canvas jacket.
"Well, buddy," Dean said seriously. "I got to say, man, you uh… you don't suck." He topped off his high praise with a comradely slap to the other man's shoulder. Geez. he was getting soft. Practically yelling "I love you."
Garth grinned appreciatively. "Thank you. That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
The honesty of the statement made Dean wish briefly that he had been slightly more effusive.
That feeling was brutally quelled as the typical routine of hunters' parting with a gruff handshake or threat, depending on how the job had played out, went unexpectedly sideways as Garth decided they'd reach the hugging stage of their relationship. Dean recoiled slightly, hideously uncomfortable, while Garth's spindly arms wrapped tightly around him.
Oh for the love… he's actually laying his head on my shoulder. Son of a… "Oh... yeah." he muttered awkwardly, gingerly patting Garth's back as he shot a look at his brother's suppressed smirk. "All right. That's… thank you."
Garth finally broke free after what felt like several eternities, in which Dean made special effort not to stab him. It would have seemed mildly ungrateful after the slight hunter's help. Instead, he managed to paste a smile across his features and give Garth a thumbs up. "Take care." As Garth climbed into his car, Dean shook his head in bewilderment. What about any of my blatant hostility rated that? "Wow."
Sam leaned over slightly, eyes twinkling. "Aw, you made a fwiend-"
"Nuh, uh." Dean interrupted quickly, ignoring the way Sam grinned widely. Jerk. Oh hell, that makes me the bitch.
The two brothers watched Garth pull away, and the silence that lay between them thickened every so slightly.
Sam broke it first. As usual. "Look, man. Uh... When I was all dosed up, I-I said some crap."
"Oh," Dean said in apparent confusion, relishing the moment to bring the conversation back under his control. "You mean she… she wasn't your soul mate?"
"Shut up," the younger Winchester snapped, making Dean grin inwardly. "I mean, I do need you watching my back." A small shudder shook his big frame. "Obviously"
"Yeah," Dean grinned. "When crazy groupies attack." He kept his tone light, his smirk firmly in place. Thinking back on the crap Sam gave him for being sidelined by the creepy Bender tween, he knew he wasn't going to let his little brother forget this anytime soon.
Sam sighed softly, not diverted from attempting to communicate with his brother. "You know what I mean."
He did. He did know what Sam meant. Sam meant thank you.
Dean steadfastly refused to make eye contact. He didn't do, as he continued to refer to them, chick flick moments. However, he needed to let his brother know… and since Sam never had gotten around to developing mind reading as one of his abilities, talking seemed to be the only way they could get things across. Damn communication.
"You know," Dean said quietly, "I got to say, man, for a whack job, you really pulled it together." Just because he needed to communicate didn't mean he had to sugar coat things.
Sam looked his older brother in the eye, face completely deadpan. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Both brothers chuckled at that.
"Look," Sam continued seriously. "Don't be too impressed, man. It's still a Denver scramble up here, I just know my way around the plate now."
Dean winced inwardly. He could barely imagine what his brother was dealing with. True, he too had been to hell, but Sam's soul had been trapped there for a year. When Cass had broken the wall separating Sam from his memories, Dean had almost despaired. He knew that those memories could have left his brother permanently catatonic. Or dead.
So he had done what he had always done. He looked out for his brother. To the point where the younger Winchester had nearly lost his temper entirely and told him that if he needed a nanny, he sure as hell was getting one that would look better in a uniform with a short skirt. Then disappeared into the desert to be alone.
Not that that had turned out real great, but still.
"I'm just saying, it's stupid to think you need me around all the time," Dean continued. "You're a grown up." He was. Sam was an adult. And not just any adult. He was an adult that could field strip ten different kinds of firearms, rig make-shift flame throwers with a minimum amount of equipment, and beat off just about anybody who cared to take him on. Not that many people offered.
"Right." Sam said quietly. Something in his tone sounded… lost. Defeated.
Dean squirmed. And now he was officially uncomfortable. Time to fall back on his trademark sarcasm to lighten the moment. "You're a hike in the desert, hippy douche grown-up…"
As he had hoped, Sam rolled his eyes heavenward, his mouth curling in a rueful grin. "Dude, I was camping. You camp."
Only in the sense of 'I'm trapped in the desert and about to drop, I guess I'll go to sleep now.' "Yeah, whatever," Dean growled as he pushed himself away from the trunk of the car. "Hippie." The elder Winchester strode towards the driver's seat, sighing softly. I miss my baby. Stupid Leviathons.
"You know what though?" Sam said earnestly as he moved to the passenger side. "Seriously? It might be nice."
I missed something. "What?"
Sam caught his eye over the bright blue monstrosity. "I mean, you've basically been looking out for me your whole life. Now you finally get to... take care of yourself." Sam smiled slightly and tapped the roof of the car. "About time."
Dean nodded appreciatively, a slight grin twisting his lips. A grin that slid from his face as his younger brother slid his large bulk into the car. "Yeah. Right."
Not take care of Sam? Not be looking out for Sam?
He had no idea what that life would be.
All his life he had watched out for his younger brother.
Dean lowered himself into the driver's seat and started the car. How did one simply erase almost 30 years of learned behaviour?
Maybe, as Sam said, it was time to start trying.
Then again, Sam had Lucifer popping up regularly on the Crazy-Vision station.
And, he had just been taken out by a five-foot-nothing woman who probably weighed about a buck soaking wet.
"What?" Sam asked suspiciously, seeing Dean's smirk struggle to spread across his face.
"What?" the elder brother quickly composed himself, wiping his face blank as he put the car in drive. "Nothing. Facial tic."
Sam's eyes narrowed.
"Oh, by the way," Dean dug into his jacket pocket with his left hand, keeping his right on the wheel, and his eyes conscientiously on the road. "I picked you up something."
Dean tossed the object over to his brother, hearing the younger Winchester catch it, but not trusting himself to actually look.
Dead silence filled the car for the next full minute as they drove down the road.
Not able to stand it any longer, Dean glanced to his right.
Sam scowled at him with flattened eyes as he held up the item.
It was a padlock.
"Not funny."
"It's a little funny."
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
And there you have it! Hope you all enjoyed the story. Reviews are always welcome. :)