Part Three.

It could almost have been any other case. If it weren't for the knowledge of who was going to be there at end of the road, it would have felt just like any other long drive to their next job.

But neither of them could forget that Ashodeus was going to be waiting for them when they got there, and so it wasn't just like any other case. The awkward silence stretched out between them, filled with Dean's music, turned up louder than usual, as if it could drown out all the questions that Sam wanted to ask and Dean didn't want to answer.

Dean spent a lot of time staring straight ahead at the road. Sam spent a lot of time pretending to read the map.

Inside, though, he was burning with questions. Why had Dean done it? Their dad had taught them that there were some battles that you just couldn't win, and if it looked like you were going to lose, then get the hell out. If possible, come back with reinforcements, but if not, then forget about it and move on, because there was no point in tilting at windmills.

But Dean had spent over half a year locked in a battle with a demon. And not just any demon, from his description, but one of the Olde Ones. Sam's demonology might be a little rusty, but even he thought that that sounded a little ominous, and he wanted to know why Dean hadn't followed their Dad's advice, and gotten the hell out.

And then there was this freaking deal he had going on. Sam had read plenty of accounts of deals people had made with demons, and he'd never heard of one like this. Sexual favors in trade for a no-kill promise? It was so unlike Dean that Sam couldn't even wrap his mind around it. It was true that a demon was bound by his word, but all Ashodeus had to do was get one of his kind to kill Dean, and he was free of his promise.

In all the stories he'd ever heard, not one had ended well. All the demons had found a loophole, had found a way out of their deal, and all of the humans had ended up dead. And yet, it had been over a year, and Ashodeus hadn't yet found a way to do the same to Dean. He didn't even seem to want to try.

In fact, he wanted to help Dean with a case. That was just so wrong on so many levels that Sam wasn't quite sure what to do with it. He didn't understand it, any of it, not Ashodeus' motivations, and certainly not Dean's.

Dean didn't look like he was going to clear things up any time soon, so it was up to Sam to figure things out. And he would. One way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of this.

His brother's life could depend on it.

Dean made sure that he was the first one through their motel room door. If Ash was waiting on the other side, he didn't want to just hand him an opportunity for mischief on a silver platter by having Sam walk in first.

Thankfully, the room was empty. Either Ash hadn't found them yet or he was just biding his time; Dean didn't care. He wasn't here now, is what mattered, so Dean heaved a sigh of relief and yelled at a sulky Sam to bring the damn bags in, already.

Then minutes later, he was washing road grit off his skin in the blissfully hot shower and humming to himself. He hadn't forgotten Ash, not by a long shot, but he was starting to… relax. Just a little bit.

His relaxation came to an abrupt end when he looked up to see Ash grinning at him from the other side of the transparent shower curtain.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled, jumping about a foot in the air and almost knocking his brains out thanks to the slippery plastic of the tub. Immediately he heard Sam's footsteps approaching the door and his worried voice calling, "Dean? Everything okay?"

"Everything's peachy!" he yelled back, not even trying to tone down the sarcasm in his voice. Ash, in his own elegant way, was laughing at him.

"What happened?"

"It was just a cockroach," he called, glaring straight at Ash. "A big, blond one."

There was a pause. "Oh."

"Exactly." He glared harder. Ash smirked.

"I'll just… go and get a cup of coffee."

"You do that," Dean said, and waited till he heard Sam's footsteps retreat and the door slam before he reached down and shut off the water.

"Don't stop on my account," Ash said pleasantly, but he passed Dean the towel when Dean held out a demanding hand.

"Oh, I will," Dean said, toweling off roughly and stepping out of the shower. "What are you doing here?"

Ash arched one sleek blonde eyebrow. "I thought it was understood that I was in this charming little backwater because I wish to keep you from harm."

"I didn't mean, why are you here in Glenn Springs, Maryland. I meant, why are you here, in my bathroom?"

"Didn't I mention? I'm in the room next door."

"No," Dean said, through gritted teeth. "You didn't."

Ash smiled brightly. "Well, I am."

"Of course you are," Dean said with a sigh. He wrapped the towel around his neck and went back into their room, Ash following right on his heels with a thoughtful sort of leer on his face. "How did you get in, anyway? You just walked through the wall?" Ash nodded. "You're kidding. You walked through the wall?"

"You don't know everything about me," Ash pointed out.

"I never thought I did," Dean said. He started pawing through their bags, looking for a pair of clean jeans. "Though I gotta admit, this one surprised me. If you can walk through walls, why didn't you ever do it back then?"

Ash immediately knew what he was talking about. "When we hunted each other, you mean? Ah, well, there's a bit of a hitch there. Even the oldest of us cannot enter freely where we are unwelcome. We can break the door down, if we must, but it is easier to attack in the open."

Dean considered that. It made a lot of sense. "What if it had been Sam in the shower?"

"Then I wouldn't have been welcome," Ash said with a glint in his eye.

"Right." Dean gave up on the search for clean jeans and just pulled on the pair he'd had on before, then sat down on the edge of his bed bothering to try and find a shirt. Ash sat down next to him, pressed close against his side, and without thinking Dean leaned gratefully into that inhuman warmth.

"I have no clue what I'm supposed to do with you," Dean admitted, and Ash's arm came up around his shoulders and tightened in what probably counted as a hug.

"You do not have to 'do' anything with me, my Eden," Ash said. "I am here merely for your safety."

"See, that's where you're wrong," Dean told him. "Because you being here, on a job? That's pretty much a bad thing."

"How so?"

"Aside from the fact that I must be in some pretty extreme danger if you're feeling the urge to play babysitter? Don't even try and deny it," he said when Ash opened his mouth. "I'm not stupid.

"No, you are far from it," Ash said, and added ruefully, "and I would not be half so interested if you were."

"Yay for me. So, what's going on? And don't do the secretive thing, you know it just drives me fucking nuts."

"Would I do that to you?"

"You would," Dean said fervently. "You so would."

"True, I would, but in this case I am not. I don't have anything to keep hidden, much less the inclination."

"If you don't know anything, why are you so worried?"

"In truth? I do not know. There are whispers, always whispers, but often they mean naught." He paused, tilted his head as if thinking about it. "I suppose you could say that I simply have a bad feeling about this."

"You're probably right," Dean admitted. He leaned his head sideways, till it was resting in the curve of Ash's neck. "I didn't tell you what the case was, did I?"

"No, my Eden, you did not."

"Burnings," Dean said. "Several of them, just in this one town. All of them mothers."

"Ahhh," Ash said, on a hiss of outrushing breath. "You think it is the one that killed your mother?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "That's the point. But if it is…"

"Then you are in danger." They sat there in silence for a moment. Then- "You never asked."

"What?" Dean said.

"The identity of the demon. You never asked."

Dean didn't look at him. "I figured that if you knew, you wouldn't tell me. And if you did know, what's the point?"

"I know he is one of us," Ash said.

"That's what I was afraid of."

"I do not know who he is, for he hides even from his own kind. But you must be careful, my Eden. You must be very, very careful. Whoever he is, he is out for blood. I would be very upset if he spilled yours."

"I don't need to be careful," Dean said, and pressed a kiss to the side of Ash's neck. "I've got you."

"Yes," Ash said, ducking his head so that he could look straight in Dean's eyes. "You do."

And Dean knew, beyond doubt, that it was the truth.

Ashodeus wasn't there when Sam got back, and he found himself both bothered and relieved. On one hand, he couldn't keep an eye on him when he wasn't there. On the other, he wasn't there. Which meant that he wasn't with Dean.

And that was the important part.

"Hey," he said, and held up the extra cup of coffee. "I got you one."

"Oh, thank god," Dean said, and stretched his hand out pleadingly. "I need a fucking coffee."

Sam handed it to him, smiling a little at the blissful expression on Dean's face as he took an enthusiastic gulp, heedless of the hot liquid he was swallowing. But then he thought about why his brother was having coffee cravings, and his good mood swung right back down again.

"He's gone?" Sam asked. For a brief while, he'd tried to think of the demon as "it," but even in his memory Ashodeus had such an unabashed sexuality that thinking of him in the gender neutral seemed almost criminal.

"Wha? Oh, Ash," Dean said. "Yeah, he's gone."

Sam wanted to know how Dean could just forget about a six-foot-something gorgeous demon that he was sleeping with that had somehow appeared in their bathroom. Which, actually, reminded him.

"How did he get in there?" he asked. "Did he do the teleportation trick again?"

"No," Dean said, his eyes rueful over the rim of the cup. "No, the bastard walked through the fucking wall."

Sam blinked. "Did you know he could do that?" He really needed to figure out the extent of the bastard's powers, stat.

"Notsomuch, no," Dean said. He took another sip of hot coffee. Sam figured that his tense expression could be the situation. Or it could be something else.

"He say anything interesting?" If Dean replied with "Notsomuch, no," again, he was going to kill something. If Dean and Ashodeus hadn't been talking, then they'd been doing something else. And he didn't want to think about that "something else," thanks so very much. He didn't want to think about it at all.

"Yeah," Dean said, to Sam's relief. Then he looked away, fiddled with his coffee cup. He couldn't meet Sam's eyes, and that made Sam more than just a little uneasy. Because Dean- Dean was one of the best liars he'd ever met; Dean could bullshit his way through any situation on sheer balls alone, and Dean not being able to meet his eyes meant that something was up, and it was either deeply personal or deeply fucked-up. Or both.

"And?"

Dean glanced up at him, fast, and then looked away again. "He told me a couple things."

Sam held onto both his impatience and his growing fear. Barely. "Like what?"

"Just a couple things about our case, the demon we're after. You know."

No, Sam didn't know. But he was starting to get a clue.

"Our case," he said. "The demon. Dean, what exactly is our case here? Since, you know, you kinda forgot to mention it to me beforehand."

Dean didn't say anything.

"It has to do with the thing that killed mom and Jess," he said disbelievingly. "It's connected to the demon we're after, and you didn't even bother to tell me? What the fuck, Dean!"

Now, Dean met his gaze. He was like a little kid sometimes- he avoided conflict like the plague, but once it was all over but the shouting, everything was a-okay again. Dean dearly loved a good shouting fight. He once told Sam that it cleared the air like a good rainstorm on a hot day. Which was why Sam tried never, ever to let himself shout at Dean, because Dean always won these arguments- but sometimes, well, sometimes he just couldn't help himself.

"Four women, all of them with young children, have been burned to death," Dean said, his voice once again filled with its usual leashed energy. The problem with Dean, Sam knew, is that you never knew what kind of energy it was until too late.

"On the ceiling?" Sam asked. His voice absolutely did not waver.

"No," Dean said. "In their beds. With their husbands lying next to them. The sheets didn't even get scorched. The police are all puzzled; the crackpots are claiming spontaneous combustion. Of course, they're right, but no one ever listens to them."

"It doesn't sound like the same thing at all," Sam said, puzzled now. "I mean, there's a million other things that cause fire deaths. "How do you know it's related?"

"Because they're all mothers," Dean said. "And all of them died at the exact same time- the same time Mom and Jess were killed."

"Oh," Sam said. "So it is related."

"Has to be, yeah."

Sam thought about it for a second, and found himself getting angry all over again. "It's entirely possible that the demon is here, in this very town," he said. "And instead of calling Dad, you let a demon that you're fucking tag along on a case!"

"It's more complicated than that, Sammy," Dean said. He sounded tired. The use of the nickname just boiled Sam's blood even more.

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit. What the fuck are you doing, Dean? How can you possibly trust him?"

"I don't," Dean said. He sounded a little surprised. "He's a demon. It's not in his nature to be trustworthy."

"Then why?" Sam demanded. "Why let him come along at all? This could be it, Dean! This could be the day we've been waiting for all our lives, and you're going to risk it by letting him in?"

Dean looked at him, serious. "It's bigger than you think," he quoted softly. "That's what Dad told us. Remember? And I trust Dad to the ends of the world, but when it comes down to it, if I'm fighting one of the Olde Ones, I know who's stronger, and it's not Dad."

Sometimes, Dean's pragmatism fucking terrified Sam. "You do," he breathed. "Trust him, I mean. You trust him to save your life against this thing."

"I have to, Sammy," Dean said. "When you love someone-" He stopped abruptly.

Sam felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. For a second, he couldn't breathe. "You what?" he gasped.

Dean wouldn't look at him. "Figure of speech, Sammy."

Sam shook his head frantically. "No, it isn't, I heard you-"

Dean's head snapped around. "You hear what you want to hear, Sam. You always have." He turned away, set his cheap cup of coffee on the table with the kind of deliberate care that meant the was trying not to slam it down. "I'm going out."

"Dean, wait-" Sam says. Because he knows what Dean means. He's not going out. He's going to him.

Dean shakes his head, grabs his jacket. His hand hesitates over the cell phone for the first time since he's owned one, but eventually he picks it up too and puts in his pocket. "No, Sam," he says, his voice all low and rough and somehow, sad. As if he has any fucking right. "I'm going out."

The door doesn't slam behind him. It probably would have hurt less if it did.