Title: Now I Know My ABC's

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: A hurt/comfort romp through the alphabet, one letter at a time from A to Z. Each chapter is a stand-alone one shot. There is hurt, comfort, angst, humor, feels and all around fun.

Author's Note: Think we'll change it up and go with season 7 here. Been a while since I played with Sam's scrambled eggs. Lol This is set after 7x15 'Repo Man'.

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~

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G is for Guillotine -

Laurie Hughes rolled her eyes as she came in the house from work and found her husband's shoes sitting in the middle of the hall. "Dammit, George." She kicked them out of the way beside their son's shoes and took off her coat. "I expect that crap from Stevie, but at least he's five."

She hung up her coat and carefully slipped off her work heels, nudging them into the closet with her toes before she headed for the kitchen. "Stevie! George! I'm home!" Laurie called and frowned when she didn't get an answer. She checked her watch and wondered if maybe both her boys had opted for an early night.

"Don't suppose anyone left me dinner, huh?" Laurie said to herself and opened the fridge. "Of course not." She closed it and then stopped, hearing a strange sound from the living room. She moved into the doorway and listened, realizing that it was a sniffle. "Stevie, honey? Where are you?"

Laurie followed the sound of sniffling and found her son crouched behind the couch in the corner. "Stevie? Sweetie, what's wrong?" She reached down and pulled him gently out, sitting on the floor until she had him in her lap. She smoothed his blonde curls down and brushed her fingers over his wet cheeks. "Come on baby, talk to momma. Where's daddy?"

Stevie sniffed loudly and curled into his mother. He pointed one finger up to the ceiling.

"He's upstairs?" Laurie squeezed her son and rocked him gently. "Why isn't he down here with you?"

"Sore throat." Stevie sniffed again and turned wide eyes to his mom.

"Your dad has a sore throat?" Laurie asked, a little in disbelief and rolled her eyes. "Right. Typical man." She chuckled and stood, bringing Stevie with her until he was propped comfortably on her hip with his head resting on her shoulder. "Gets a splinter; thinks he's been stabbed. Come on, let's go find your daddy."

Laurie trudged up the stairs with Stevie, tired and hungry and ready to tease her husband mercilessly. "George! Where's daddy, sweetie?"

Stevie motioned toward their bedroom and then hid his face in her neck. "Daddy's in a baffroom." he sniffed and fresh tears started to fall, wetting his mother's skin. "He spilled stuff all over a... the floor, momma."

"Right. Ok, honey. Then we'll just make daddy clean it up, huh?" Laurie sighed and walked into the bedroom. She set Stevie on the bed, or tried to but he wouldn't let go of her. "Ok. Ok. Why are you so upset, baby?" She hitched him back up in her arms and went to the bathroom door. "George? You know our son's been crying in the living room for who knows how long? Way to parent, honey." She took the door knob, turned it and pushed the door open.

"George?" Laurie's eyes widened in horror while her mind tried to make sense of what she was seeing. She felt the air seize in her lungs and her arms tightened around her son. George's body sat propped atop the toilet, leaned back against the tank. Blood covered the tile floor around him and dripped with a soft splat-splat sound from the back of the tank. Her eyes were stuck on the floor near the bathtub; on her husband's head and glazed eyes in a paper-white, bloodless skin that seemed to stare up at her. "GEORGE!"

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Dean kicked in the motel room door, letting it thud into the wall behind it with a bang. "Sammy! Got food!" He went to the little table across from the beds and set the bag and six pack of beer down on it. Dean frowned and saw his brother was in the bathroom with the door closed. "Sam?"

"Yeah! Be there in a minute!"

"Hmmph," Dean shook his head and wondered what exactly his brother was doing so often in the bathroom these days. He started unpacking food, setting burgers out and smiled avariciously at a big, foil-wrapped bundle of chili fries he set on his side of the table. "Dude, shake it off and get out here and eat!" He looked up when the bathroom door opened and Sam appeared. He still looked like he hadn't slept in days, his hair was dripping around his face, probably from having water splashed on it, and he was clearing his throat. "You ok?"

Sam nodded and managed a smile as he went to the table. "Yeah. I'm fine." He looked over the food on the table and quirked a brow. "Did you get any real food?"

"Hey! This is real food," Dean protested. He pointed imperiously to the other chair. "Sit. Eat."

"Don't mother-hen me." Sam chuckled and dropped tiredly into the chair. He picked up one of the two foil bundles in front of him and his smile became real when he saw it was a chicken wrap, heavy on the lettuce. "Ok. This doesn't suck."

Dean snorted and dropped into his own chair. He opened the bundle of fries, resisting the urge to coo at them as chili sauce oozed over one of the sides and grabbed a fork. "I think I found us a job a few hours from here. It hit the local news just because it's so damn weird."

"Define weird." Sam took a bite of his wrap and tried not to look too closely at his brother's chili fries. The sauce had changed before his eyes the moment he looked at it. It was blood now, dripping out of the fries like they'd been stabbed. He stiffened with the sound of a low chuckle over his shoulder and did his best to ignore the devil.

"Guy got beheaded in his own bathroom." Dean grinned when Sam's head snapped up.

"Seriously?" Sam stared for a moment in surprise and then frowned. "Beheaded how?"

"That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question." Dean took another bite of his amazing fries and chewed happily for a minute. He swallowed and drew a finger across his neck. "No one can figure it out. Figure we'll drive up there after we eat and go have a look at the bodies."

"Wait. Bodies?"

Dean nodded and dug into his fries again. He noticed then that Sam was studiously avoiding look at them and saw the tightening around his little brother's eyes that said he was seeing shit that wasn't there again. Dean sighed, annoyed that Sam wasn't talking to him about it, but he let it go for now. As long as Sam wasn't holding a gun to his own head again, Dean would give him some slack. "The dude in his bathroom is the third. Other two died the same way - heads chopped off. One was at work in a storeroom and the other one in his own damn car."

"Wow." Sam sat back and set his wrap down, no longer hungry. "Could just be a serial killer. Not our thing."

Dean shook his head. "Don't think so. The guy who died in his car? All the doors were locked. And the dude in his bathroom was home with his kid. Had the house locked up tight before his wife came home and found him. There's definitely something screwy going on." He took another bite of his fries. "Our kind of screwy."

"Is the kid alright?" Sam asked. "God, he didn't see it, did he?"

"No idea." Dean shrugged. "Figure we'll talk to the wife and find out since she's the closest thing to a witness we've got, her or the kid."

Sam nodded and pushed his wrap away. "I'll start packing us up."

"Dude, finish eating first."

"I'm good." Sam smiled and turned away. He went into the bathroom and started packing up their toiletries. He flinched when Lucifer's hands shoved in front of his face, holding his severed head.

"Heya, bunk buddy! This sounds like it's gonna be fun!" Lucifer chuckled and tossed his head from hand to hand, watching Sam's eyes follow the motion in the mirror before jerking away. "Dismemberment is so much fun. You remember, don't you?" He frowned when Sam ignored him and put his head back on his shoulders, screwing it back in place theatrically before hopping up onto the counter and flicking his fingers at the end of Sam's nose. He snorted when Sam dug his right thumb into his left palm. "Think we've already established that that doesn't work anymore, haven't we? You let me in, Sammy. I'm back, baby!"

Sam groaned and dropped his head, leaning heavily on the counter. "Dammit," he whispered.

"Sammy?"

Sam jumped with his brother's voice in the door and he whirled. "Y-yeah?"

"You trippin' the devil again in here?" Dean asked bluntly. The guilty look on his brother's face was answer enough. "You tell me when it gets bad, Sammy, or I can't help you. We got a deal?"

Sam nodded quickly. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm good." He turned away before Dean could read anything in his face he didn't want him to see and finished cleaning up the counter. He went back out into the room, moving past his brother and pulled their duffels onto one of the beds. "So, where is this case?"

Dean watched Sam, studied the too-cautious movements and shook his head. Sam was snowing him, or trying to. "Two hours north of here in Lafeyette." He grabbed the weapons duffel from the top of the dresser and put it over his shoulder. "You sure you're up for this?"

Sam ducked his head in shame for a moment and then straightened. "I'm fine, Dean. I'm managing. I can handle this."

"Uh huh." Dean nodded and headed for the door. "Don't forget my dirty socks."

"Get your own dirty socks," Sam tossed back. He heard his brother's snort of a laugh and bent to find them anyway, tucked under the side of the bed.

"That's pretty much what he thinks you're good for these days, kiddo," Lucifer taunted and bounced on Dean's bed once before laying back and hooking his arms behind his head. "Picking up his socks and dripping crazy all over the walls."

"Shut up." Sam shoved the socks into Dean's bag and picked up his own. He pointedly didn't look at Lucifer as he left the room.

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Sam stood beside the gurney in the medical examiner's cold operating theater and watched while the man- a short, dumpy fellow with a thatch of black hair-carefully rolled the plastic sheet back from the body. There'd been a time when he would have cringed at the sight of the open neck wound and the severed head lying beside it, but that had been before a hundred and eighty years in a cage being pulled apart and put back together over and over. "These wounds look really clean," he observed calmly as he bent down to look more closely.

The M.E. nodded and swung over a magnifying glass on its bendable arm. He slid it in front of the man. "Here, Agent Reed. Have a closer look."

Sam moved the magnifier into place until it focused and narrowed his eyes as he studied the bone and tissue of the neck. "Not just clean, surgical almost."

"There's very little trauma." The M.E. chuckled at the look on Sam's face. "I mean aside from the whole lost his head thing. It was done cleanly and quickly, and the gentleman doesn't appear to have had time to even put up a struggle."

"He was in his bathroom," Sam straightened back up and shook his head. "How does he not see someone coming at him to cut off his head in the bathroom? Was he drugged?"

"Nope. Tox screens were clear. Poor guy had nothing stronger in his system than a beer with dinner." The M.E. shrugged. "So, the FBI have some brilliant insight here?"

Sam smiled. "Not yet." He pulled the sheet back up over the dead man. "Were the other victims just like him?"

"Identical."

"Damn. Alright. Thank you." Sam waved to the doctor and headed out of the morgue. He rubbed his hands together to try and get some warmth back in them and headed upstairs to find his brother. He nodded to each officer he passed and worked hard not to flinch each time phantom fingers tugged the back of his hair while the devil whistled in his ear. Sam staggered at the top of the stairs when Lucifer's foot snaked out to trip him. He banged into the railing with a gasp and caught himself.

"Whoa, buddy. You alright?"

Sam looked up at a man in uniform and nodded. He straightened and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Sorry. I, uh... tripped." He left the officer quickly and headed through the bullpen to where he'd left his brother. He reflexively slapped away the wet finger that pushed into his ear and hoped no one was witnessing his 'beautiful mind' moment. Sam pushed gratefully through the door to the office and closed it behind him. "Hey, Dean."

"Dude, they've got a whole lot of nothin'," Dean said and tossed the report he'd been reading up onto the table. "Six boxes of not evidence. No prints, no foreign DNA, and no idea what kind of weapon was used other than..." Dean grabbed the report again and looked down at it in disgust as he quoted. "... something really damn sharp." He snorted and tossed it away again. "That's Detective Simpson's expert opinion."

"Yeah, the M.E.'s stumped too." Sam helped his brother rebox all the reports scattered on the table. "The wounds are too clean. These people didn't even put up a fight against whoever attacked them. It's like they didn't see it coming or couldn't struggle. And no, they weren't drugged."

Dean slapped the lids onto the boxes and pulled his suit jacket back on. "Ok. Let's start from our side of the crazy tracks then. This is a dead end. Grab that one. That's all the personal info on the victims for the last two weeks of their lives. Might come in handy."

Sam picked up the box and followed his brother out. They climbed back into the Dodge Charger they were driving that week, and Sam missed the Impala as he tried to stretch in the too-small seat. "I'll have a look through this. There has to be something tying them together. Killings like these, it can't be random."

"Yeah, no way." Dean drove quickly through the city of Lafayette. It was a bigger city than he'd thought it would be, and he almost felt comfortable at the little, out-of-the-way motel he'd found for them. They'd paid cash, and, for once, Dean hadn't used a rock star's name for the check in. Frank Deveraux had given him an earful about being predictable. Dean smirked as he drove. Frank would no doubt raise hell with Dean and call him a moron for staying in a motel to begin with.

Sam let his eyes roam the buildings as they passed through the center of the city and ignored the off-key singing from the back seat. He watched the old, turn-of-the-century buildings as they passed, absently cataloging as he went - state house, court house, coffee house, library, newspaper, museum... Sam jerked his head around and turned in the seat to look back at the museum.

"Dude, what gives?" Dean asked in concern as his brother twisted in his seat to look behind them. "We being followed?"

Sam turned back around and looked over at his brother. "There's a museum back there."

"Ooo-kay. And that's worth whiplash? What the hell, Sam?"

Sam shook his head. "There's a museum and a big banner hanging down the front advertising their newest exhibit." He swallowed and tapped the box in his lap. "An exhibition of French Revolution era guillotines."

Dean's jaw dropped in surprise. He looked hurriedly back to the road at the sound of a horn honking and just barely kept from running a red light. "Son of a bitch."

"Coincidence?" Sam asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "No damn way."

"The wounds on the bodies, they could be consistent with beheading by guillotine. They're precise and clean, no signs of hesitation..."

"Yeah but how's someone get one of those things into a dude's bathroom?" Dean turned the corner toward their motel. "Hell, how do you get one in a car?"

"I don't know," Sam shook his head. "But if all our vics have a connection to the museum, I say we go have a look."

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The Hercheberg Museum was fairly empty as Dean and Sam walked through in the late afternoon. The followed the banners through to the back of the museum, and Dean kept a careful eye on the locations of the security offices and emergency exits. He nodded each time Sam tapped his shoulder and pointed to a camera placement.

"Gonna have to submarine the electronics in this place before we break in tonight," Dean observed after the fifth camera.

"Shouldn't be too hard." He looked around at all the little black domes in each hall and room. "You know, most of these might even be dummies. I'd need to get into the security office to be sure."

Dean looked up at a life size mannequin of some guy in a blue uniform atop a rearing horse and quirked a brow at the rifle the bearded figure was holding aloft. "Dude had taste." He tapped the barrel of the Winchester rifle.

Sam chuckled and then took Dean's arm, pulling him to the left. "There it is. Through there." He stepped through a set of wide, double doors and then stopped to just stare. "Whoa." The room was large with a tall ceiling. It had likely been some sort of conference hall before repurposed as an exhibition room. Glass cases on pedestals and tables of artifacts made the room into a sort of maze with the dark mahogany of the cases absorbing some of the light and making the room seem dimly lit. Spread at intervals through the room and rising above the other display cases like macabre sentinels were guillotines. There must have been at least a dozen, perhaps more, and Sam shook his head.

Dean went to the nearest guillotine and looked at it from behind the ropes cordoning it off. "Sam, I think these are real. Like actually, chopped-off-the-queen's-head real. Check this out."

Sam moved up beside him and saw where his brother was pointing. Dark stains that could only be from mass quantities of blood soaking into the wood covered the bottom half of the guillotine around the neck hole. "So, maybe it's a haunted object causing the deaths? Or a ghost. I mean, there's no telling how many pissed-off souls could be attached to one or more of these things."

"Has to be something more than that," Dean said as he moved around the exhibit, one death machine to another. "I mean, whatever it is, it's following people home. Are they all chipping off souvenir chunks of the things or what?"

Sam shook his head and moved away from Dean to start at the other end of the exhibit. He leaned in near one of the tallest guillotines and looked up at the dull, metal blade hanging high above, wondering if it was real. He moved closer, bracing a hand on the side for a better look. "Huh." Sam stepped back and brushed his hand off on his jeans.

"What?" Dean came over to look as well.

"The blade's bolted in up there."

"Same on the others." Dean shrugged. "Let's see if we can find one that's not bolted in. Or missing a blade. Maybe someone took that." He waved Sam on and went back to the other side of the room.

"We should come back tonight with the EMF and take some readings." Sam called. "That way we can find out which one of them is active."

"Active how?"

Sam spun and looked in surprise as an older man with slicked-back gray hair stepped into view from around one of the displays. "Oh, uh, just..."

"We were thinkin' about doin' this documentary thing for one of Sammy here's college classes." Dean appeared and clapped his brother on the back of the shoulder while grinned at the man.

"College class." The man said with disbelief written all over his face. "I'm the curator of this exhibit. Martin Selwen. You won't be doing any documentary of anything without my approval, and frankly..." he made a show of eying both men up and down from their work-worn boots to their flannels and scoffed. "... you're not going to get it. Look but don't touch, gentlemen, and then kindly stay away from my exhibition."

Dean watched Selwen leave and whistled softly. "Wow. How'd you suppose he got that stick so far up his ass?"

Sam chuckled and pointed up briefly. "Bet you ten he's going to the security office to watch us on those cameras and make sure we do leave without touching anything."

"Well, let's finish checking these things for bolts and blades and get outta here." Dean grinned shamelessly up at the camera and blew it a kiss before turning back to the guillotines. "And when we come back tonight, I'm gonna blow my nose on every display case in here just for him."

Sam couldn't stop the laugh and followed Dean as they checked the last few contraptions and then headed out having found all of the blades intact and bolted in place. He looked over his shoulder as they left and shuddered slightly, seeing Lucifer beside the tallest guillotine, holding the rope and drawing his finger across his throat with a grin as he looked at Sam.

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"Thank you for speaking with us, Mrs. Hughes," Sam said kindly as Laurie Hughes let them into her living room. "I know this must be very hard for you right now."

Dean nodded and sat on the overstuffed couch by the windows while he tucked his FBI badge away. "We just need to ask you a few questions about the night your husband died."

Laurie was pale and sat in a chair across from the men, her hands fidgeting aimlessly together in her lap. "It's been... Stevie's with my mom. He couldn't... he wasn't..." She stopped and scrubbed both hands over her face. "He saw... saw George. Saw him like... he won't go near the bathroom anymore."

"Mrs. Hughes." Sam smiled gently for her. "Did you or Stevie see what happened?"

"No." Laurie shook her head. "No, I just... I found him like that. Maybe Stevie... but he's not... he won't talk right now."

Sam felt for the woman and he handed her a tissue from the box of kleenex on the coffee table between them. She took it and began shredding it slowly without even realizing, as far as Sam could tell. "A few days ago, your husband went to the Lafayette Museum. Do you know if he saw anything strange while he was there? Maybe touched something?"

"What?" Laurie looked up confused. "I don't understand what that has to do with it. George, he always goes... went... to the museum on Wednesdays. He liked to eat lunch there, check out the new exhibits." She sniffed and smiled sadly. "I was always teasing him for being such a nerd."

Dean wasn't surprised when the woman dissolved into tears. He looked over at Sam and nodded at the shake of his brother's head. They weren't going to get anything useful out of her. "We'll see ourselves out, ma'am. Thank you for your time."

Sam stood and set the box of tissues beside Laurie in the chair before following his brother outside. "How does no one see anything when these guys died?" They had spoken to the other two victim's families as well and gotten the same-shock, grief, and nothing useful as far as information. The sun had set an hour ago and Sam shivered at the evening's chill.

"I dunno, man." Dean ran a hand through his hair as they reached the car. "We're just gonna have to figure it out for ourselves, and I know it's one of those death traps at the museum. I don't believe in coincidence."

"Museum closes in an hour." Sam pulled open his door and slid into the car, pulling his door closed at the same moment as his brother. "Give it another hour after that and we should be good to go in, once we kill the security system."

Dean chuckled as they pulled away from the curb. "One power outage coming up."

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The museum was eerily quiet as Sam cautiously pushed open the emergency door, waiting for an alarm to sound and smiled when it didn't. He looked over and rolled his eyes at the smug look on Dean's face.

"Told ya'," Dean said happily. He brushed the rest of the dust from his hands and took out his flashlight. "If anyone notices, it should just look like a general power outage. They should really bury power lines deeper. You never know what kind of reprobate's gonna decide to dig 'em up and cut 'em."

Sam chuckled and followed him inside. It was dimly lit with only the illumination from the emergency lights, and also thankfully quiet. "Security guards?" he whispered.

Dean shrugged. "Little museum like this? Maybe one, and he's probably sleeping."

"Not everyone's as lazy as you, Dean."

"Hey! I'm not lazy!" Dean protested and stuck his head out into a new hall as they reached a corner. "I'm selectively energetic."

"Selectively... where do you get this stuff?" Sam asked with a soft huff of laughter. "You've been watching Dr. Phil again, haven't you?"

"What? No." Dean ducked his head away to hide the blush of shame before Sam could see it. "Can we please do our job?"

"Uh huh." Sam didn't buy it for a second. He took the other side of the hall as they moved toward the back of the museum and stopped when Dean did.

"Check it out." Dean's voice was the barest whisper, and he lightly tapped a plate on a door marked 'security'. With a smirk for the sudden apprehension on his little brother's face, Dean turned the knob and eased the door open silently. A security light in the room provided just enough illumination to show a lone security guard sound asleep, snoring and leaned back so far in his chair it was a wonder he didn't go over backwards. Dean pulled the door closed again and chuckled. "Told you."

Sam shook his head and they moved more quickly through the museum now that they knew they were alone. He shone his flashlight into each exhibit room as they passed, but the contents were just dark, backlit shadows in the emergency lights. And ever so often, Lucifer's head would pop out in the beam of Sam's light with that grin that still made him cringe.

"Sammy. Catch up," Dean said as loudly as he dared and frowned as his brother's eyes jerked to his. There'd been fear in them for a moment, but it smoothed away while Dean watched and Sam quickly moved up beside him. "Here." He handed his brother the spare EMF detector.

Sam flicked it on and listened to the low whine. "Huh. It's registering something."

"Not a ghost," Dean said as he leaned over for a look at the reading. "Low level, like background noise. Hell, could be picking up on the damn outlets or something. Come on."

Sam flicked his eyes to the devil and looked quickly away again.

"Come on, Sam!" Lucifer wheedled. He walked backwards in front of him as they followed Dean and reached out to grab Sam's throat lightly.

Sam coughed with the feeling of icy fingers along his skin. He rubbed his hand over his throat and ducked his head, following his brother quickly before Dean noticed Sam was cracking up yet again. He stopped beside his brother at the doors to the guillotine exhibit and went down to his knees to pick the lock. "Just give me a..." Sam trailed off as his hand touched the handle and it turned, clicking the door quietly open. "Huh. Wasn't locked."

Dean scowled. "As protective as that curator guy was and the door's not locked?"

Sam looked at the latch and stood. "The lock might have been magnetic and when we killed the power, it released."

"Yeah, maybe." Dean took out his own EMF meter and flicked it on. "You go right. I'll go left. Keep your eyes open. My spidey senses are tingling."

Sam smirked and moved away from Dean. He held his EMF out to the first guillotine, but the reading didn't change from the low level it was already registering. "Dean. Is yours picking up the same low charge mine is?"

Dean looked down at the needle and frowned. "No. Mine's not picking up on anything."

"Weird." Sam moved on to the next guillotine and worked to ignore the chuckling, humming devil over his shoulder while barely resisting the urge to scratch at the cold fingers scratching at his neck again.

Dean watched the dial on his meter as it twitched beside one of the guillotines but otherwise, made no response, and he sighed. He moved around a display case of macabre, blood-stained baskets that had once held severed heads. He rolled his eyes, seeing that the museum had placed a plastic mannequin head in the bottom of each for effect. "Lame." Dean held out his meter to the next guillotine, and the needle began to twitch. He moved closer. The needle inched further up the dial and then he froze. He could hear the sound of short, ragged breaths coming from behind the thing.

"Shit," Dean whispered. He looked across the room and waved an arm until he caught Sam's eyes. Dean turned back and moved cautiously around the guillotine with his right hand on his gun at his back. His eyes widened in surprise when he found the curator, Martin Selwen, sitting on the floor against the back of the thing. "Uh, Marty. I can exp..." Dean stopped as he got a better look at Martin and swallowed hard. The man had both hands around his throat and blood was slowly seeping out from beneath them, staining the man's white shirt a horrid red. "Holy shit."

Dean dropped to his knees beside Martin and took his flashlight back out. "Hey. Hey. What's goin' on?" He aimed the light at Martin's neck and met his wide, terrified eyes. "Talk to me."

Sam jogged across the exhibition space and slid to a stop in surprise. He tucked his gun away again when he saw what was happening and added his flashlight to give a little more illumination. "Dean? What happened to him?"

"Dunno. Marty. Dude, move your hands and talk to us." Dean tugged on Martin's hands and the man's panicked breathing became a panicked gurgle with bubbles of blood emerging from his mouth.

Dean grimaced and pulled harder. "You gotta let me see so I can help, man. Come on." He pulled a little more firmly and Martin's hands slowly inched away. His skin was pale, nearly white, beneath the blood and Dean's eyes went wide as he saw what Martin's hands had been covering. A thin cut ringed Martin's neck. Blood seeped and ran from as it Dean watched. Martin's head fell back against the guillotine he was sitting beside and the cut gaped obscenely.

"Oh, my God," Sam gasped. He dropped to his knees and stared in horror. Martin's gurgling breaths became even more frantic. He scrabbled his hands, trying to reach his throat and Sam grabbed one while his brother took hold of the other. "Call an ambulance, Dean."

"Yeah. Just hang on. We're gonna get you help," Dean assured him and set the flashlight and EMF down to pull out his phone.

Martin's mouth fell open. His eyes glazed over, and, as they watched, there was a sudden, soft crack from somewhere inside the man's neck and his head tilted unnaturally and then rolled off. It hit the floor with a wet thump and left both men staring in horror.

Sam startled when Martin's cold hand jerked in his grip and he let it drop. "Dean? That... Did that..."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean lowered his phone and stared while blood pooled on the floor and began to spread out toward him. He got to his feet and scrubbed a hand over his face. "What the hell just happened?"

Sam shook his head slowly and couldn't tear his eyes away from the stump of Martin's neck. "It's... it's just like the others," he whispered. "This is how they died."

"A friggin' ghost guillotine? Are you shitting me?" Dean spun away and turned back. "Hey. Get up." He grabbed Sam's arm and pulled his brother up and away from the body just before the blood reached Sam's knees.

"Is it a ghost?" Sam's eyes refused to leave Martin's body, flicking between his severed head and neck. "No," he shook his head, answering himself. "The EMF would have been screaming." He took his back out of his pocket and saw it was still registering a low level of... something. "I don't get it."

"Gotta be one of these things." Dean looked up at the guillotine above the dead man with a scowl. "We gotta figure this shit out." He took his own EMF back out with a last look at Martin. "We'll put in an anonymous call after we deal with this. Poor sucker. He was kind of an asshole, but he didn't deserve this. Keep looking." He watched his meter as he walked away from Martin and the needle dropped, registering nothing. It jumped up again as Sam moved past him and then dropped again. Dean jerked his head around to watch his brother walk away and a sickening feeling fell into his stomach.

"Sammy," Dean called. He walked toward Sam, watching the needle and swallowed hard as it began to rise again the closer he came to his brother. "Shit. Shit!"

"What?" Sam was confused by the almost fearful look on his brother's face.

Dean's eyes rose up to meet his brother's and stopped at his throat, going wide. "What the hell is that? You didn't feel this?"

"Feel what?" Sam asked while Dean reached a hand up to his throat. "Dude, what?"

"Sam, your neck." Dean brushed his fingers over a deepening red line that ringed Sam's throat and as he watched, a few spots began to seep spots of blood.

Sam frowned and felt his throat. He could still feel Lucifer's cold fingers wrapped around his neck and indeed, the devil was just behind him, snickering in his ear. "There's nothing, Dean. It's nothing."

"Dammit, Sam! This is not nothing!" Dean grabbed his arm and dragged him over to a long, eight foor mirror adorning one of the pillars. "Look!"

Sam looked in the mirror, but all he saw as himself, his brother, and Lucifer grinning over his shoulder with his hands irritatingly around his neck. He swallowed. "I'm fine, Dean. There's nothing..."

"Sam!" Dean gave him a shake and suddenly realized why his brother wasn't seeing anything. "He's here, isn't he? You're tripping the devil right now. You have been long enough not to notice this. Jesus." He grabbed his brother's left hand and dug his thumb nail into Sam's palm and the scar there hard enough to draw blood until Sam gasped and jerked his hand away. "Sam, look now!"

Sam shook his hand out and then looked in the mirror again. Lucifer actually flickered behind him and then faded. Sam's brows drew together and he leaned in. He still felt an icy touch on his throat, and then his eyes caught on the red ring around his neck, the spots of blood that began to appear as the ring slowly became an open wound and he felt dizzy with terror. "Oh, God."

"Yeah." Dean blew out a breath and pulled Sam around for a better look. "Whatever the hell's going on, it's latched on to you. So what have you done that I haven't? What did you touch?"

"Nothing!" Sam protested. He turned back to the mirror and hissed out a breath as he finally felt actual pain from it. He looked at the guillotines in the reflection and caught sight of Lucifer beyond them, stroking the side of the tallest guillotine. Sam stared. "Oh, no. I touched it."

"Touched what?"

"The... that one." Sam turned back and pointed, trying to ignore the devil who was now licking the side of the guillotine. "Earlier when we were here. I put my hand on it."

"Dammit. Ok, come on." Dean strode over to the guillotine with a healthy new respect for the thing and looked up at the blade bolted in place high above. He put his EMF meter next to it and the needle buried into the red as the high-pitched whine filled the room. He clicked it off and shoved it into his pocket. "They must have all touched it."

"Cursed object?" Sam coughed lightly as the pain grew in his neck and cold seemed to spread into his chest and up into his head. He'd thought it was Lucifer screwing with him, but all along, it had been the guillotine working on him.

Dean nodded. "There's no way we get this into a curse box. Gonna have to torch it." He looked back at his brother when Sam coughed and his gaze darkened. "Fast." An open, shallow cut completely circled his brother's throat now, and Dean swore he could see it getting deeper.

"How are we gonna get it out of here?" Sam looked up at the thing and back to his brother.

"We'll knock it over and drag it out." Dean eyed the thing and reached out for it, only to have his hands slapped away.

"Don't touch it!" Sam stepped between the guillotine and his brother protectively. "Dean, you can't touch it or this will just happen to you. I'll do it."

"No. No way." Dean grabbed a fistful of Sam's jacket and dragged him away from the thing. "You're not touchin' it again. What if that just makes this happen faster, huh? We're not taking that chance. You stay the hell away from it."

"Well, you're not touching it." Sam gave Dean a look to make it clear he'd wrestle his brother to the floor and knock him out to protect him if he had to.

"Then we're gonna roast it right here, dude." Dean nodded to himself. "I'm gonna run out grab the salt and lighter fluid. You're gonna stay here and not touch that damn thing, you got me?" Sam nodded and Dean glared at him. "I mean it, Sammy! Do not go near that damn thing."

"I won't. Trust me." Sam put a hand up to his throat, grimacing as his fingers slid through his own blood. "I do not want to remember what this feels like." He closed his mouth suddenly, realizing what he'd said and shook his head. "Shit."

Dean didn't say anything. It didn't surprise him in the least that his brother knew what it felt like to be dismembered. His own nightmares still haunted him at times. He had no doubt Lucifer had done far worse to Sam in the Cage. "Don't worry about it. Just stay clear. Back in two minutes." He headed for the door and turned back. "And if Sleepy the security guard actually shows up, just tell him you got jumped by the same sicko who killed the curator. You look like it."

"Yeah." Sam waved his brother off and went back to the mirror to look at his throat again. The neck of his shirts had been turned red with his blood. Sam could almost feel something slicing into his flesh in an agonizingly slow, cold slide. "Crap."

"Almost had ya', Sammy-boy." Lucifer tsked and shook his head as he patted the side of the guillotine and smirked. "Ten, twenty more minutes and you could have been free of me forever. Of course, you still could." He straddled the bench and slid his hand along the neck brace with a grin. "You just come over here and touch this little beauty again, I bet we can kick off this mortal coil before Dean the Righteous comes back. What do ya' say?"

"Shut up," Sam said angrily. He coughed and felt a burning sensation as the wound deepened. "I'm not gonna do that."

"You know, you can't go on forever like this, kiddo." Lucifer looked at him sadly. "Sooner or later, I'm gonna crack that melon of yours for good and the only question is if that brother you love so much will be caught in the fallout." He waggled a finger at the guilty look on Sam's face. "That what you want?"

"No."

"Because that's gonna happen. I mean, take this!" Lucifer knocked his knuckles on the old wood. "You had no idea this was actually happening. I had you completely snowed. What if something had attacked, huh? What if Dean had touched it? Would'a been your fault, bunk buddy."

"That's never going to..."

"Dean bloody and dead on the floor." Lucifer grinned and held a hand over his heart while he sniffed theatrically. "God, it's a happy thought. But not so much for you."

"Stop!"

"Sam!"

Sam jerked in surprise and looked over as his arm was taken and he was forcibly knocked off balance. He met his brother's frightened green eyes and swallowed hard. "Dean?"

"Yeah, buddy." Dean gentled his grip on his brother. It had scared the hell out of him when he'd come back in and found Sam yelling at the guillotine like he was talking to someone, but then, Dean figured he had been. "Just you and me, Sammy. That bastard's not here now. Button this up so we can take care of this before you're a head shorter." He tugged his brother's shirts away to get a look at his neck and the fear nearly choked him. "Shit. Ok. Here." Dean handed him a towel he'd grabbed from the car. "Try and... put pressure on that or somethin'. And stay over here."

Sam nodded and took the towel. He moved back to the mirrored pillar and leaned back against it. He slid down until he was sitting as his head began to swim uncomfortably, and he knew it was blood loss. "Sorry, Dean."

"Nothin' to be sorry for, Sam," Dean assured him gruffly and set his bag on the floor. He pulled out a big container of salt and went to the guillotine. He pulled the top open and began shaking it in a shower of white; even throwing some up high to scatter against the blade. Sam coughed behind him, and Dean turned to look. It frightened him to see Sam on the floor in the same position the curator had been in. He had the towel wrapped around his neck and was holding it as tightly as he dared to try and slow the flow of blood, but Dean knew it was hopeless until he fixed this.

"Just hold on, Sammy." Dean emptied the salt container over the guillotine until the bench and the floor around it were white. He grabbed the lighter fluid and took great care to make sure he coated every centimeter of the dark wood he could reach. "Almost done."

Sam nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but the pain in his throat stole his breath. He pulled the towel more tightly, less concerned with breathing than keeping his blood on the inside. The room was rocking and tilting around him, black spots beginning to crawl across his vision and when he coughed again, blood flecked out on his hand. The pain at the back of his neck was a nightmare of pressure; like something was pressing harder and harder against his spine and trying to slowly crack through it. He didn't think Dean was going to make it in time. "De..." Sam coughed and choked a little, tasting more blood. "Dean... sor... sorry."

"No!" Dean yelled. He tossed the lighter fluid aside and took out his Zippo as he turned to glare at his brother's sheet-white face. "You don't check out on me, Sammy. You hear me?" He flicked the wheel, and when the flame lit, he tossed it at the base of the guillotine. The lighter fluid burst into flames that crackled and spread quickly up the wood until the whole structure was wreathed in fire. Dean backed away and grabbed his bag, tossing it over his shoulder before he went to his brother and knelt beside him.

"Ok. It's toast. You're gonna be fine in a minute. You're gonna be fine. Come on." Dean slid his hands under Sam's shoulder and muscled his over-tall little brother to his feet where Sam swayed dangerously until Dean steadied him. "Come on, we gotta get outta here."

"S... sprinklers?" Sam wheezed as they moved away toward the doors.

Dean shook his head. "Hit the shut-off valve for this room in the hall before I came back in. Rest of the museum's gonna get wet, but not here, alright?" He pulled Sam into a faster walk and reached the hall just as the fire alarms sounded and water began to rain down. Dean looked back and smiled grimly, seeing that the sprinklers in the guillotine exhibit weren't doing anymore than dripping uselessly. "We're good. Here we go."

"De..."

"Don't try to talk, Sam. Jesus." Dean put his left hand up around the front of the towel at his brother's throat as they moved. Sam's arm was heavy over his shoulders and Dean was sure it was only sheer force of will keeping his brother on his feet at that point. "Shit," he cussed when he heard the slap of rubber soles on wet tile coming toward them. "Sleepy woke up. Hang on." He pushed Sam into an alcove between two statues and propped him against the wall.

A moment later, the security guard ran past them, heading toward the guillotine exhibit. Dean waited until he was out of sight and pulled Sam back out and nudged him back into motion. "Couple more minutes, buddy. You got this."

Sam's head was filled with confusion. Water poured down his face, adding to the sensation that he was drowning as they moved. He was only vaguely aware of Dean speaking to him over the sound of the fire alarms droning in his ears. The pain at the back of his neck reached a crescendo as they neared the back exit of the museum and a cry tore from Sam's throat as his legs went out from under him.

"Sammy!" Dean went to his knees in the false rain with his brother and caught Sam as he toppled into him. "No. No. No! Don't you do this!" He pulled Sam's head up, shoving sopping hair out of his face and jerked the towel away from Sam's throat. "Sam?" Dean went weak with relief when his brother's back arched suddenly on a painful sounding gasp for air. "Holy crap." He pulled Sam in against his chest and leaned over him. "Dude, are you ok?"

Sam panted for air and blinked water out of his eyes as he looked up at Dean's frightened face. He brought a hand up to his neck and nodded. "Think... think so." Speaking set him coughing again, but the pain that had been ruthlessly pressing down on his throat was gone. "Worked."

"Damn right it did." Dean blew out a breath in relief and got one leg under him. "We gotta boogie before someone else shows up. Let's get you up."

Sam was weak with his own relief and a little giddy at being able to keep his head, though some of that giddy feeling might have been blood loss. He caught himself smiling as they splashed down the hall to the security door and stepped outside. It didn't even bother him when they reached the car and Lucifer was waiting in the back seat with his arms crossed over his chest like a petulant child denied his favorite toy.

"Here we go." Dean pulled open the passenger door and eased Sam down into the seat. "Hey. Let me look at the damage."

Sam wearily let his head drop back to the seat, exposing his throat for his brother. "Might... might throw up on you."

Dean snorted and leaned in to get a look. He pushed careful fingers along the cut ringing Sam's throat and blinked. "Huh. I think it's actually closing on its own." The bleeding had stopped from what Dean could tell, and that gave him hope. Sam's skin was still far too pale from blood loss and his little brother was definitely exhibiting signs of having lost too much, given the dopey smile that was still on his face.

"We'll keep an eye on it," Dean decided and shoved Sam's legs into the car. "Might not have to rush you to a hospital after all. That would have been a hell of a story to try and come up with."

Sam chuckled and then coughed, unsurprised when more blood splattered onto his sleeve; he'd swallowed quite a bit of it before the guillotine had burned. He listened to Dean close his door and then get behind the wheel a moment later. "Hey, Dean?"

Dean winced at the hoarse sound of Sam's voice and looked over as he started the car. "Yeah?"

Sam rolled his head over to smile at his brother. "Thanks."

Dean rolled his eyes and reached over to run his fingers over the wound again. He smiled widely as he found whole, unbroken skin that time and leaned back. "Whatever bitch. No more touching sharp objects in museums."

Sam nodded and closed his eyes, ignoring the disgusted gagging coming from the back seat and just enjoyed being alive.

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The End.

Next Chapter: H is for Hobbits, Hiccups, and Hurricanes