Strange Angels
This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. The Winchesters survived – John is off searching for more information on the demon, and the boys are playing knight errant.
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Alex Masters, Charlotte Webb
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.
Rating: M (Strong language, gun fu and adult situations. Not to mention, shirtless Dean and shirtless Sam.)
Summary: Succubus poison sucks rocks.
Feedback: Absolutely!
Miscellaneous: This chapter has been significantly revised from the original posting. Special thanks to JMM0001 for thwacking me with a stick and convincing me the story wasn't getting the love it deserved. Both she and Raven9 acted as betas for this section. As always, the good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.
Chapter Two: Hot-Blooded
Charlotte Webb didn't look like a crazy bitch when she smiled at him across the dance floor.
She'd caught Sam's eye the moment he saw her. Dean never pegged his little brother as having a thing for redheads but Sammy watched her eating nachos and reading a book when she wasn't looking. Occasionally, she would bob her head up and down, which Dean guessed was her reserved way of getting into the music.
Girls like Charlotte Webb didn't actually dance.
She reminded Dean of a fucking Catholic school girl. Not the bad girls who rolled their plaid skirts up at the waist to fool the nuns checking hem-length with rulers, or the ones you met who could do things with their mouths that most girls never learned. Charlotte Webb was one of the good girls. Dean bet she always got straight A's in all of her classes and never missed Mass. It was the glasses and the way she was always pulling her sweater around herself, like she was uncomfortable in her skin.
Sammy made him talk to her because every woman in the bar was a suspect, including the one too inconspicuous to consider. And she was. It was like a light turned on inside of Charlotte Webb when she smiled at him. She thought of everything. Even the funny little name was a nice touch – Charlotte looked like the kind of girl who spent most of her free time in a bookstore. It was cute when the she ordered another round of nachos instead of pretending she lived on water and rabbit food.
But it was the look on her face when she mentioned her father that made Charlotte Webb real to him.
It was the perfect disguise for a hustler.
Dean could pull a con without breaking a sweat; he did it every day. People didn't fool him like that. Ever. But one second he was convinced that she was a good girl and in the next he was going to crush her against the back of the booth just to see how far Charlotte Webb was willing to let him go. Good girls didn't do that to Dean Winchester and when Charlotte bucked against him like a wild animal, Dean knew that he'd found his girl.
She fooled him once, which was bad for her. Then she fooled him twice – no burns from the holy water, and she roared the name of God back at him like a challenge. Which was bad for him. The girl definitely had a secret – the average Catholic school girl wouldn't recognize a succubus if it bit her on the ass – but he was damned if he knew what it was because she didn't act like a hunter. Hell, Charlotte had tried to talk him down. And when that didn't work, the crazy bitch bull-rushed him.
Which was really bad for him.
Dean stared up at the rafters above the dance floor, laying flat on his ass like a ten-year-old loser in a playground fight. There were five oozing claw marks on his chest that were probably poisoned and a whimpering chick on top of him who smelled like the inside of the Impala after he'd dragged a girl into the back seat.
What the fuck?
Dean pushed the girl away and rolled onto his knees. She gave a small cry as her back hit the floor, her body twisting until she was on her stomach and her skirt was bunched above her calves. Charlotte Webb was wearing freaking combat boots underneath her schoolgirl get-up. And he felt like she had just kicked him in the balls. He stared down at her back, feeling the residual ache of the same claws in his chest.
The psycho had earned a little payback.
But he had better things to do than worry about the goddamn chick when Sam moaned.
He was kneeling before the succubus, something like a deep rattle bursting out of his little brother's chest. The demon had ripped off Sam's shirt, gliding one long-fingered hand across his shoulder; the touch triggered small shimmering patterns that Dean didn't recognize, each one washing Sam's skin with a soft blue light wherever one of the symbols appeared. Dean swallowed. Sam's hair was blowing in its own breeze.
Oh, shit.
The succubus smiled, its black lips a scar, and Dean grimaced. He rose to his feet, ignoring the blood dripping off his shirt and onto the dance floor because there was no way in Hell he was going to stop watching that thing's hand stroke Sam's neck. Not with one of those claws that close to Sam's jugular. Not knowing how those claws could burn through skin and bone.
And the bitch had ripped his favorite jacket.
A small gasp made him glance down at his feet. Charlotte's eyes were round as she watched the soft light coming off of his little brother, her mouth twitching like Sam Winchester getting his glow on was the greatest thing next to sliced bread. It was hard not staring himself, the way the symbols flickered deep, but the demon was doing the exact same thing – gaping at the sigils burning deep inside of Sam's skin.
Dad – his hardass father who didn't take crap from anyone – would have said God was smiling on them.
Dean didn't know the difference between God and good luck but the shot was perfect. He reached for his back holster, pulling out his Glock. The bullets weren't blessed but they'd do the job.
"Succubitch!" He poured everything he was into the scream and the demon's black eyes turned towards his voice, her chest square within the Glock's sight. "That's my brother," he said, smirking as he pulled the trigger. "Keep your freak hands off!"
The succubus screeched something in her high-pitched voice, the full force of her stench rushing past him. "Goddamn," Dean managed. The marks on Sam's chest and shoulders were getting brighter – and new images were appearing on his arms, more symbols that coiled around themselves.
Fuck...
Whatever the sex bitch was doing to Sam, she was going to pay for it. "Don't you freaks believe in personal hygiene?" Dean demanded.
The demon floated in the air. Waiting. Watching.
Darting pain arched through Dean's head, matching the sudden twist of Sam's body as the light coalesced. Sam tumbled backward, landing on the floor with the slap of bare skin against concrete. Dean squinted, keeping his eyes on the succubus. The smile reappeared and she reached towards Sam, her claws glistening wet in the blue glow.
"Oh, hell no." Dean fired twice in quick succession, aiming for the hand. The Glock left nothing but a stump. "I said hands off, bitch!"
His chest ached from the kickback and his head felt the same way it did after hooking up with that stripper back in Memphis. Dean heard a groan from the floor. Charlotte had brought herself to her knees, crawling towards Sam. His little brother cried out when the light pulsed, an inhuman thing pouring out of Sam's body, and the girl winced every time Sam did it. But when her shaking hand touched his brother on the arm, Dean's headache disappeared – at least to the point where he could see straight enough to fire the gun without hitting some emo college kid in the crossfire.
Sam's eyes opened when Charlotte Webb pitched forward, slumping to the floor, and the symbols on his arms disappeared.
"Hey there, Succubitch!" Dean didn't waste any time, watching Sam stand up slowly. The demon glared at him but didn't move. "Think you can take two Winchesters?"
"She can try," his little brother retorted. Sammy sounded exhausted, his voice hoarse over the sound of the music and people screaming and hopefully getting the Hell out of Dodge, but Dean could hear Sam's grin all the same.
"Your taste in women sucks, Sammy."
"Screw you, Dean." And he looked more like Sam when he said it, the sigils fading on his chest and shoulders.
Dean grinned. "Time to take out the trash."
"Hephzibah!" A man's voice roared over everything. That goddamn prick with the hots for Sam was strutting across the dance floor, pointing a tranquilizer gun at Charlotte Webb. It was one of those new, state-of-the-art models with multiples rounds and it looked like a military prototype. Even Dad would have had trouble getting his hands on something like that. "Kill everyone but the boy," the man commanded.
"Alex, no! You can't do this." Charlotte's voice was soft but Dean recognized the look on her face, the one she'd flashed at Dean right before slamming her forehead into his jaw. She rose shakily to her feet, gray eyes not leaving the gun. "You were chosen to serve," she said.
Alex smiled. "I serve the council." Dean wouldn't have been more chilled if that grin suddenly revealed razor-sharp teeth and whatever the Hell "the council" was, they probably weren't people to mess around with. Not if the prick was anything to judge by. There was a sword strapped onto Alex's back and he moved like he was trained to use it, never crossed his feet as he walked forward. The blonde man sneered. "I don't answer to you."
"You can't just kill these people." She gestured a hand towards what was left of the stunned patrons. "No one is expendable, regardless of what the council said." Charlotte glanced at Dean, her face darkening. "And you know exactly who you answer to, Alex Masters," she hissed.
Sucks to be you, asshole.
"You were always the weak one." Alex Masters chuckled and it was a dangerous sound. He stopped to stare at a table where three young girls were huddled together. Two of them had been out on the dance floor, shaking their cute little behinds as they tried to get Sam's attention. "We owe no allegiance to these things," Alex added, smirking right at Dean. "And he's not going to be able to stop me."
"Last time I checked, Poindexter, you weren't the only pretty boy here with a gun." Dean clicked another round into the chamber.
"You really are an amateur," the asshole retorted. He shook his head. "Don't make me repeat myself, Hephzibah."
The succubus screamed and nodded, black eyes focusing on the same table full of girls. The two who were dancing together had thrown their arms around each other and one of them was screaming. The third girl could only stare – and the horror rolling off of her was a breathing thing.
Charlotte was watching them too, standing as still as one of those statues in the cemetery three blocks from campus. Her eyes flickered towards Dean. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, gun in position. There was no way the sex bitch could make her move without Dean getting off a shot.
"This ends now," Sam said softly. When he stepped forward, his eyes were glowing the same color as the symbols on his cheeks. He walked directly towards the girls, as calm as if he was sitting back in the hotel room doing research on his laptop, and they looked at Sam like he was a knight in shining armor.
They got the shining part right.
"I need you to get everyone else out of here," Sam continued. One of the girls nodded when Sam smiled. "As for you," he said, turning on his heel and frowning at Alex Masters. "Take your girl and go home."
The light throbbed once, twice. Dean braced himself, keeping his gun trained on the succubus, and hoped like hell he could still see straight with the way Sam's body stiffened with each pulse because the back of Dean's skull was starting to itch.
But there was no pain.
Between one pulse and the next, Charlotte had fallen to her knees. She bit her lip, her eyes never leaving Sam, and her body tensed with each beat. Not that Sam noticed. He was staring down the succubitch like she was a witness on the stand, and all she was doing was blinking her black eyes right back at him – each blink synchronized with the light's rhythm. But that goddamn asshole's eyes narrowed as sweat beaded across Charlotte's forehead.
"Bitch," Alex spat, kicking Charlotte in the side.
She doubled over from the force of the blow. Alex Masters grabbed Charlotte's hair with his free hand, pulling her back up into a kneeling position, and held the point of the gun against the base of her neck. "If you hadn't interfered with the brother, this would be over by now," he hissed. "Every death in this room will be on your hands, Charlotte." Alex grinned. "And when I'm done, I'll punish you," he added, biting out the syllables as a wave of pleasure poured out of him.
What the fuck?
The freak was actually getting off on it.
Charlotte Webb said nothing and she didn't take her eyes off of Sam, her shoulders relaxing along with her tiny smile. His little brother was closing the distance between himself and the hovering demon, more sigils appearing on his back, but he spared a glance in the girl's direction. Only an idiot couldn't figure out that the jackass was going to kill her unless someone did something first, her fate written in the lines of Alex Master's face. Dean had seen enough stone cold killers to recognize one when he was standing three feet away.
Dean didn't lower his gun, even when the back of his head started itching again, but he couldn't move. Stark terror filled him when Dean heard the click of the safety going off on the tranquilizer gun, along with a smoldering wrath that matched the curl of Alex's mouth.
It was too much too soon – and none of it was coming from him.
Sam's glowing eyes focused on him, the calm before the storm.
Dean pushed the panic inside himself and waited. Sam's smile was enough. The whole thing was screwed sideways but they were in too deep to crawl out. And there wasn't a lot that Sam could hide from him, even when he was shining like a neon light. Even when he was holding his hand right in front of him, palm open and facing the ceiling. All it took was one glance in Charlotte's direction and Dean started shifting onto the balls of his feet.
The glow throbbed and Sam closed his fist.
He didn't need to be told twice, tossing the gun and diving for Charlotte – knocking her to the floor as the succubus exploded. Alex soared backwards from the force of the explosion, crashing into the wall with a hard crack. Demon flesh and black blood rained on them, the room smelling worse than it had when the succubus was all in one piece, and Dean stretched out on top of the girl to shield her from the worst of it. His back spasmed when he moved, twin to the tenderness in his chest, and Charlotte's face twisted as he shifted his body.
It was his own goddamn fault, him and that goddamn soft spot for Catholic girls.
Someone had left the DJ booth with the turntable running.
I'm hot blooded, check it and see -
I got a fever of a hundred and three.
Come on, baby, do you do more than dance?
"We have to stop meeting like this, Dean Winchester," Charlotte managed, her hand shaking as it brushed his cheek. She smelled like fucking strawberries, sweet and ripe and begging to be sucked. The warning siren in his head wanted to ask how Charlotte Webb knew his real name but it was quickly over-ruled when her hands started tugging his shirt out of his jeans.
He was going to screw her. He was going to feel her body writhe against his as she bit his shoulder hard enough to break skin.
Fuck me with a stick.
"You're not my type. "
It was the succubus poison, burning its way through both of them. Knowing that didn't keep his lips from brushing against her ear or his hands from moving on their own, slow strokes up her sides that had her shivering. Dean felt another sharp twist in his back as Charlotte arched into him, her cheeks flushing when their eyes met. The way she blushed, there was nothing in the world that was going to keep him from finding out whether her tits tasted like strawberries.
"I'm a girl with two legs and a pulse," she retorted, her lips so close to his that he felt her breath. "Are two legs even required?" Charlotte's hands snuck up underneath his shirt. "We can't do this."
"Why not?" He started nuzzling her neck, short nips with teeth that made her quiver. She scratched slow circles on his back, curling up into him when he licked the length of her collar bone. "Do you want me to stop, Charlotte Webb?"
"God, no," she whispered. Charlotte sucked in a breath and jerked underneath him, her hands moving to his waist. "But your brother..." That was the only warning she gave before jabbing him in the chest roughly with her fingers, digging into one of the gashes left behind by the demon's claw.
"Son of a bitch!"
It hurt like fuck, radiating through his chest hard enough for his eyes to tear up, but it was enough of a shock for him to regain control of his body. Dean shoved himself off of Charlotte Webb, watching her scuttle out from underneath him, heedless of the gore she was crab-walking through just to get the hell away from him.
"You have to find Sam!" Charlotte's face was pinched and she frowned at him like it was his fault they were on the floor to begin with. "He's..."
Dean rolled his eyes. Leave it to him to rescue the one goddamn girl in the whole freaking bar who returned the favor by giving orders when she wasn't trying to bang him on a demon-covered dance floor. And there was no way she was getting anywhere near Sam. Dean shot her a grin. "I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but Sammy doesn't go for girls who are all frumpy and articulate." He snorted. "You dress like a grandmother."
The look Charlotte gave him would have withered a lesser man's dick but it just made him want to throw her against a wall and hike up her skirt, feeling the rough edges of her boots dig into his thighs. "You have five minutes. Maybe ten if your brother can control it. After that, Alex will have him in the van and ready for transport. You're looking for a blue Dodge Caravan in the parking lot with a Connecticut license plate." She pulled her blood-splattered sweater more tightly around her. "And I do not dress like a grandmother!"
"You're wearing a cardigan sweater," Dean shot back. He stood up shakily, keeping as much distance between him as he could because the closer he got to her, the better she smelled. Succubus poison sucked rocks. Even his teeth felt fuzzy, his ears ringing with the echo of her 'God, no' when she bit her lip. He spotted the Glock and picked it up. "But why not just kill him?" he asked.
"Because the council wants your brother alive. He's important to them."
If you hadn't interfered with the brother, this would be over by now.
"And me?"
The expression on her face softened and Charlotte shook her head as she pushed herself to her feet. It was awkward – she was definitely favoring her left leg and just as determined not to show him that she was. Not that it should have mattered to him, the way Charlotte Webb had played him just so that asshole had enough time to let that succubus loose in the bar. She turned her back on him and started walking away, the edges of the cuts on her back shining from the blood. The same angry tracks on her back that a demon had left on his chest.
If you hadn't interfered with the brother...
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he demanded.
"As far away from this as possible," she answered. Charlotte headed back towards the booth, shuffling across the floor as she limped away from him. He watched her rummage behind the heavy curtain near the booth, pulling out a yellow duffel bag and a small wooden case that looked like it was for a musical instrument or something. Charlotte's eyes widened when she turned around and he was still staring at her. "Why are you still here?"
"Because you're taking me to the car, Psycho Girl." Dean pointed the Glock at her.
Charlotte's body relaxed, a deliberate unfurling of tension, and she flung her duffel bag over her uninjured shoulder. Dean could feel the soreness shooting through her when the duffel bag brushed the wounds on her back, which would have surprised the shit out of him on any night when Sam wasn't covered with freaking blue sigils, and the color drained from her face. But she pulled a smile up out of someplace, the same one she flashed when he waved at her across the dance floor. It reminded him of that damn song Sam used to sing all the time about the blue bird and the goddamn light switch.
"Dean, you don't need me. There's only one Caravan in the parking lot."
"This isn't a request." He narrowed his eyes, gesturing at her with the gun.
"Fine," she spat out, her mouth flattened into a thin, sharp line. "Just don't touch me."
Charlotte turned on her heel and started picking her way across the gore-covered dance floor, her boots stomping towards the front door. Dean smelled a whisper of storm-fresh air when her hair whirled behind her but the gashes on her back glistened back at him, a clotted crimson that reminded him why he wanted to screw her in the first place. Charlotte's weight shifted onto the balls of her feet, like she was getting ready to run.
Nice try.
Dean grabbed her roughly by the arm. "Granny sweaters don't turn me on," he snapped. And there was a phantom ache on his arm that matched his grip on hers, phantom fingers digging into him at the same time he clamped his hand around the sleeve of her light green sweater. Fuck me... He grit his teeth, pushing the gun underneath the duffel before positioning it at the small of her back. The curve of her neck was close enough to suck, small wisps of red hair brushing against her flushed skin right where her neck met her shoulder.
"Bea Arthur has a pulse."
Jesus Christ!
Dean sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. An image of his brother laying unconscious on the floor of a minivan moved Dean forward. Sam was gagged, blind-folded and hog-tied; not exactly the optimum escape scenario. Hell, whoever 'the council' was, they had access to prototype weapons – and only Alex Masters knew what cocktail was actually in the gun.
"This is not my best day ever," Charlotte muttered. Dean didn't know if she was speaking to herself or expecting an answer from him. On one of his better days, he'd have had Charlotte Webb on her knees, his hands leaving bruises on her hips while she rocked against him – purple marks against soft skin that marked the tempo of his pleasure. Wouldn't even need the succubus poison to convince her, just a smile and a promise that only lasted one night.
Charlotte's breath came out in a huff and she limped resolutely forward, fists clenched at her sides.
When she reached the door, Charlotte twisted to look at him. He dropped her arm, watching as the duffel slammed into her back and she bit her lip. A short, sharp sound filled the air between them when the bag made contact with the lacerations on her back; the same short, sharp sound she was going to make when Dean was inside of her.
"Do you know what will happen if they get your brother, Dean Winchester?" she asked suddenly.
Visions of slamming Charlotte Webb against a mattress with the force of his thrusts, her mouth raw on his neck as she sucked, were replaced with his little brother's shattered body – a broken shell laying before a white altar, played out in his dreams since the night Meg Masters had died. Sammy. Shattered. Dean had memorized that face every night before the confronted the yellow-eyed demon and lost. Hell, he walked around that altar when he was in the coma; memorized every detail down to the pattern of the entrails splattered on the white stone. Down to the look on Meg Masters' face when she kissed Sam's blood-soaked forehead.
I'm doing this for the same reasons you do what you do. Loyalty. Love.
Probably wasn't a coincidence that goddamn Meg and the asshole planning on dragging Sam away for 'the council' had the same last name. And he was the world's biggest idiot, following a girl who was probably setting him up for an ambush the second they left the bar. It was his own damn fault for walking into it.
"Let's go," Dean snapped, clicking the safety off the gun.
Charlotte's eyes widened at the sound but she opened the door and stepped outside. The rain was coming down harder than it had when he and Sam had hit Alfie's for dinner, before most of the college crowd had shown up. Dean spotted a blue mini-van parked underneath the lone light in the lot, two figures facing in other in the space behind the van. Alex Masters had pulled the sword out of the back sheathe and it glowed with the same blue light as the sigils the demon had raised on Sam's body.
Sam had the tranquilizer gun. And he was still standing.
Barely.
But there was no way he was leaving Charlotte Webb behind to call in the cavalry. Dean grabbed her hand and dragged her behind him as he sprinted across the parking lot, her body listing to the right as she ran. A strangled noise came out of her throat every other step, probably when the duffel bag was hitting her back, but the fact that she was hurt meant nothing compared to the fact that she was one of the reasons Sam would be if Dean didn't get off of his ass and do something besides try and bang the chick in cahoots with the guy who controlled a succubus.
One flash of lightning blazed across the sky.
Sam braced himself on the back door of the van as he aimed the tranquilizer gun at Alex Masters. The asshole didn't move, keeping his sword above his shoulder in the stonecutter stance.
"We're on the same side, Sam Winchester," Alex said. Dean snorted. How the hell did a bunch of idiots playing around with demons manage to sound so goddamn sincere when they were making vast pronouncements. "The circle wants to help you. We can teach you how to use your gift."
The fact that there was a 'circle' to go along with 'the council' was only making things worse. It was like a fucking disease.
"Let me get this straight." Sam's voice had that same cocky lilt he used whenever some brain trust thought he could pull something over on College Boy. "You want me to ignore all those innocent people you were going to kill just to get my attention," he asked slowly. "That was supposed to convince me to join you?"
"A storm is coming," Alex Masters replied. How many people know about this freaking storm anyway? "Some deaths are required." That brought Charlotte Webb to a halt. Dean jerked her forward, both of them shuddering from the ache of the duffel bag colliding with her back. The asshole kept talking like there wasn't even an audience. "You need to trust me," he said, smiling at Sam.
"And you need to bite me," Sam retorted, backing it up with a lopsided smirk.
Alex Masters charged at him with a bad martial arts yell – but Sam was faster. Alex's body froze in mid-stride before it hit the pavement, the sword clattering onto the pavement beside him.
"Neat trick," Dean said, nudging the sword with the toe of his boot. Sam looked like someone had stretched his skin too tight across his chest but whatever the demon had done to him was gone. Dean put his Glock back into the holster.
"It's a tranquilizer gun, Dean. They're designed to do that."
"I meant back in the bar, Haley Joel." Dean closed his free hand into a fist and chuckled. "Succubitch go boom."
"I don't know what that was." Sam's eyes darkened and he lowered his head. He touched a small scar on his chest, slick from the rain, and shivered. "It's like something else was inside of me, showing me how to do things."
Shit.
Dean let go of Charlotte's hand and stripped out of his long-sleeved shirt and jacket. They were as soaked as Sam, tattered from Dean's run-in with the succubitch, but there was the hope that they would keep Sam warm. As much as anything could, with all them standing there in the pouring rain staring at each other over an unconscious body.
It's like something else was inside of me, showing me how to do things.
Dean closed his eyes, an image of Charlotte underneath him flittering across the back of his eyelids.
Maybe we're all fucking possessed.
He had to know.
Dean slid a hand into his pocket, fingers curling around the crucifix. Its edges cut into his palm. "Christo," he said softly.
Nothing happened – except goddamn Charlotte Webb snorted and Sam frowned at him, one arm stuck in the left sleeve of the jacket. It's not like either of them could blame him for being cautious, what with the way Sam was still shaking and Charlotte was staring down at Alex Masters' body, the toe of her boot pushing aside a limp hand while she bit her lip. She looked up, her eyes meeting his. Charlotte shot Dean a smile that made Mr. Happy stand up and pay attention, right before she knelt next to Alex Masters and started rolling the body like she'd found the asshole alone in some alley.
He leaned in closer when Charlotte bent over, her hands sliding inside Alex's jacket. There was a scrap of lace hiding the pale curve of skin underneath when Charlotte's body twisted and maybe he should have been doing something more than watch the way her breasts moved underneath her shirt. Sam coughed, shaking his head sharply when Dean chuckled. Sam had no idea the things that Dean was going to do to her when it was all over. Hell, Sam hadn't even seen that little 'come and get me' smile she had flashed at Dean before getting down to business in Alex Master's clothes.
The girl was trouble.
"Found it," she cried triumphantly, pulling out a key ring. She jingled the keys at Sam. "Take them. You don't have much time." It seemed like the only thing she loved more than teasing a Winchester was bossing one around. Charlotte made a face before picking up the sword. Even the hilt started to shine when she touched it, the same shade of blue peeking through her fingers as the sigils that had flickered down Sam's cheekbones. Sam stared down at her like that banjo-playing kid until Charlotte Webb barked out another one of her orders. "Don't just stand there, Sam Winchester. Open the van!"
Sam was already in the van when she rose shakily to her feet. And the first thing Dean should have done was disarm her but he could only watch her hand trail down her thigh as Charlotte smoothed out her skirt. The girl might have been trouble but she held a sword the same way Sammy did when he was eight and Dad had given him a stupid little plastic sword, even swinging it clumsily to one side with a tiny grin on her face.
Sam acted like he was Luke Skywalker for a week.
"Jesus," Dean snapped. He reached over and grabbed the hilt from her hand. "You're going to hurt someone with that."
God, but he wanted to fuck her.
Even when she was staring at him open-mouthed, the gleam from the sword reflected in her eyes. The only thing keeping Dean from dropping it and crashing with her against the side of the Caravan was the voice in the back of his brain screaming because the goddamn sword was still glowing, from the pommel to the tip of the blade. He should have dropped it but the sword felt like it belonged in his hand. Dean twisted his wrist experimentally, sucking in a breath even when Dad's voice started telling him he should just drop the damn thing, and made a turning motion.
"The ziv zakai," Charlotte breathed. She looked just the way Sam did when he figured out something no one was supposed to know.
"The ziv za-what?"
Saying it out loud himself didn't make it sound any better.
A trembling hand brushed against his as Charlotte touched the hilt. "You called the ziv zakai," she answered. The girl had a hole in her head the size of Texas if she thought Dean Winchester had called anything he couldn't pronounce, especially when it had to do with some freaky ass neon blue sword. "The sword recognized you, just like it would recognize..." Charlotte's voice trailed off when she dropped her hand. "The touch of one whose life is pure," she added softly.
"Your sword picked the wrong damn Winchester."
He might have said more but a sharp stab of agitation made its way through Dean's gut before Sam poked his head out of the van, so sharp that the only thing keeping him from doubling over was the side of the van. It was bad enough just watching Sam's mouth purse before he turned bitch pissy, the last thing anyone should have to suffer was feeling it, too. Dean swallowed.
"He's moving." Sam pointed at Alex's twitching body before he disappeared back into the van.
"Shit!"
Dean dropped, slamming his knee into the small of Alex's back before smashing the pommel down on the base of Alex's skull. It was hard enough to knock him back out and then some, his head bouncing against the asphalt. Bullseye. The asshole was going to wake up in about eight hours with one hell of a headache. He stood up, flashing his own grin at Charlotte Webb. "What were you tranquilizing with that gun? Gerbils?"
The inevitable reply was interrupted by his little brother, his voice muffled in the interior of the van. "I appreciate witty banter as much as anyone, Dean, but I need to know what I'm looking for in here."
"The book bag behind the passenger seat," Charlotte said. There was a drawl in her voice that made his cock ache and she bit her lip when her eyes glanced down at his crotch. The combination of her blush weakened by her hungry eyes required every ounce of self-control Dean Winchester possessed not to screw her right there. In the rain. In the parking lot. In front of Sam. Charlotte coughed suddenly, pushing one lock of hair behind her ear. "And..." She shook her head sharply and looked down at her shoes. "And if there's a file box, take that."
Sam emerged from the van, a large book bag flung over his shoulder and the file box in his hands, the kind that a normal person would have used for their taxes or to organize their bills. Dean was betting that Alex Masters kept something else in a box like that. Sam hopped down to the ground, the skin pulled too tight around his eyes when Sam realized that the sword was still glowing.
In his older brother's hand.
"Hey," Dean said. "I can't help it if I've got the touch of one who is pure."
"The touch of one whose life is pure," Charlotte interrupted. She clutched the instrument case to her chest, staring hard at him. "It's about your bloodline." She turned to Sam. "You've got the sword and my notes, Sam Winchester. The rest is up to you."
"What's going to happen to you," Sam demanded.
Leave it to Sam to ask the obvious question. He looked at Dean, his mouth stretching into a thin line, and only a moron couldn't figure out what Sam was going to do about the whole damn thing. And Dean could hear Sam's argument after Dean muttered the 'no' that was dancing between them.
But she looks so innocent in that granny sweater, Dean. She couldn't possibly be trouble. We're Winchesters. We save people. It's the family business.
Except the family business wasn't about saving the girl who had spent all night drinking beer with the bastard who controlled the succubus. There were questions that Dean was going to make her answer, about the 'circle' and 'the council' and why Charlotte knew their last name. There was a list of questions he was going to make her answer as soon as he figured out what she tasted like, whether she tasted like strawberries or the sky after a storm.
Sam smiled at her.
"I'll disappear." Charlotte returned Sam's smile with one of her own, hiking the duffel bag firmly onto her shoulder. "I'm good at not being seen." Dean felt the rush of satisfaction when her smile turned towards him. "Protect your brother," she said. "He's going to need it." Charlotte shivered and the mask suddenly dropped, her smile replaced by the wicked grin of the girl who called herself Charlotte Webb. "I'll miss your thrilling heroics, Dean Winchester. I didn't even get to see the dashing swordplay."
She was trouble.
"You're fucking around with my brother," Dean managed. "And if you think – " He was interrupted by a moan. Alex Masters was pulling himself up onto his elbows. He slammed the pommel into the same spot he had before. Whatever the hell Alex Masters was, he regenerated faster than a vampire.
"Just shoot him with the gun," Charlotte said, "and then run like hell." She started to limp towards the van, slowing down when she realized that Sam still had the keys. Dean could read it in the way her shoulders slumped.
"We're going." Sam pointed the gun at Alex's leg and pulled the trigger. "Now," he added. Sam grabbed Charlotte Webb by the arm and started dragging her behind him towards the Impala. Her eyes narrowed and Sam was lucky that she wasn't in a position to head butt him.
Fuck, they were both lucky that she was keeping her mouth shut.
And he was lucky that Sam was the one touching her. Being close enough to smell her turned the poison from a small itch into a slow burn.
When they reached the Impala, Sam didn't even pull out the keys. He just placed his hand on the back door and waited for the click before he whipped the door open and shoved Charlotte inside, duffel bag and all. She landed with a sickening crunch on the instrument case, crying out as her back made contact with the seat. Dean winced right along with her and watched Sam pull the same trick on the passenger door before he slowed down long enough to focus on Dean. Sam frowned when his eyes focused on Dean's chest.
"What the hell happened back there?"
"Just some quality time in the place where everybody knows your name." He swallowed. "When did you become Psychic Car Thief Boy," Dean asked slowly.
Sam's mouth twisted. "Missouri told me to practice on something small. And I thought it would be useful." That was a goddamn understatement. Dean was already imagining the things they could pull off in their spare time when Sam said, "I'll drive."
"No way, dude."
"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" There was no arguing with Sam when he went from bitch pissy to stubborn. "I said I'll drive," he snapped, grabbing the sword from Dean's hand. The glow brightened until Sam set it on the passenger side of the front seat, sliding the file box in front of it. Sam slipped the book bag off of his shoulder and set it on the floor, glancing into the back seat. Psycho Girl was staring behind them towards the minivan where they had left Alex Masters, her body twitching like she was a bear in a trap. "That guy was going to hurt her," Sam explained. "Bad. Said she betrayed the circle."
"Whatever that means. Look, Sam..." Dean's mouth snapped shut when Sam rolled his eyes. Anyone could see that the girl was trouble but his little brother was too caught up in the rush of being Sammy Potter to see it. And that mojo she could pull around herself like some kind of faerie glamour gave off one hell of a damsel in distress vibe. Dean sighed. "I just have a really bad feeling about this," he said.
It was going to get worse when she was in the car, filling the whole goddamn thing with the musky aroma of desire until all he wanted was to burn with her.
But he sure as hell wasn't telling Sam that.
Dean started pulling out the book bag and bumped into Sam.
"What are you doing, Dean?"
"Putting her junk in the trunk, Sam." That only made Sam frown and yank the book bag out of Dean's hand, deliberately placing it on the passenger seat next to the sword and the file box. "What the fuck," Dean managed.
"In case you haven't noticed, that girl is wound up tighter than a corkscrew." Sam jerked his head towards the car. Charlotte's face crumpled when her fingers curled around one of the broken pieces of the instrument case, watching it tumble to her lap when she let it go. "I'm worried about her."
"Either I drive or we put her crap in the trunk because there's no way I'm sitting with her in the backseat of my own frigging car."
"You're a little old for cooties," Sam retorted. "Does she smell or something?"
"What?" Dean did a double-take. Like strawberries. He found his voice. "No!"
Sam leaned in close, his voice a hard whisper. "Look. She's a liability but she's Dead Girl Walking when that asshole wakes up and we both know it." Sam's eyes were as hard as Dad's, the truth impossible to deny. "And she's sitting there thinking about opening the door and rolling out before we even leave the parking lot."
"And I'm failing to see the problem with that." Her solution solved more problems than it caused, except for the fact that Sam was right. Alex Masters would enjoy killing her, would probably take it slow and steady. If you hadn't interfered with the brother, this would be over by now. Dean frowned. Damn it. He grinned at Sam. "You can read minds now?"
"No, idiot. She's casing the door."
"Huh." Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Not very subtle, is she?" Dean pitched his voice loud enough for her to hear, chuckling when Charlotte's head snapped in his direction.
"Just get in the damn back seat," Sam growled. He set the tranquilizer gun behind the file box, glaring at Dean.
It was the start of the same old pissing match they'd get into that could only be settled with 'rock, paper, scissors' but Winchesters always paid their debts. He owed her. Dean sighed and slid into the back seat, slamming the door behind him. All he had to do was keep himself from touching her until they got to a place safe enough for her to answer his questions. All he had to do was ignore the sweet scent of strawberries coming off of her, ignore the way she bit her lip and blushed when their eyes met.
Sam pulled the car out of the parking lot, barreling down a side street past the old cemetery and rolling onto the sidewalk just when a group of students were coming out of the gate. One of them flipped off the Impala as it zoomed past.
"Dude, don't crash my car!" Dean's hand brushed against Charlotte's leg. "So, uh, Sammy. Got a hypothetical for you."
"Don't you think there's something you could be asking that isn't a hypothetical question," Sam retorted. His eyes flickered up to the rear-view mirror. "Like what the hell was that guy and what does he want with us?"
"He wants you, Sam Winchester." Charlotte's voice interrupted the burn of tires on the road. She was leaning against the window, staring at the trees outside while the Impala flew down the highway, cradling the instrument on her lap. Pieces of its case fell to the floor when her body shifted – and one stray glance was enough to make Dean wonder if Charlotte would look at him again with those hungry eyes of hers when his fingers were inside of her. She sucked in a breath. "Not your brother. And not me. Just you."
"Why?"
"Twelve of the Grigori will rise in bodies bred for them to stand by Shemhezai, and he will bring Armageddon," she answered. Dean dropped his hand to her thigh, her cheeks flushing as she tucked one wet strand of hair behind her ear and stared at his hand. "And you're the key," Charlotte said.
"Jesus! You're talking about the Book of Enoch, right?" Sam didn't even wait for Charlotte to respond. "I don't remember that in the text, and I've read both the Greek and Aramaic translations."
"There's enough variance in languages – even the ancient ones – that the meaning would depend on the skill of your translator." Charlotte swallowed, pursing her lips. Even though it was all an act, that schoolgirl thing she had going just made him want to fuck her harder. Especially when she lowered her head, eyes widening as she saw the bulge in Dean's pants. "I've always..." Her voice cracked. "I've found that it's easier to translate different versions of the same text if you create a contextual translation."
"I know enough Latin to get by," Sam replied, "But the rest is all Greek to me." He chuckled as the Impala picked up speed. Charlotte Webb, Catholic schoolgirl, was a geek boy's wet dream; Dean would rather have her mouth wrapped around his cock than listen to her go on about contextual translations but Sam got off on the intellectual crap. Dean shook his head sharply. "But what do you mean?" Sam added. "I'm the key to what?"
"Jesus." Dean grinned. "Keep your pants on."
I won't be.
"I know. It hasn't been a red-letter night for any of us." College Boy stopped looking in the rear-view mirror but he never slowed down the car. "I think we lost him."
"You better keep that tranquilizer gun handy, Sam Winchester."
Charlotte might have been talking to Sam but she was staring at Dean like she wanted to eat him, leaving nothing but bones. She suddenly rested her hand on top of his with a wild look in her eyes, like she was a bird trying to fly in spite of her broken wing.
Goddamn Sam was oblivious.
I'd ask for a refund at the Psychic Friends Network, dude.
"Don't worry." Sam pulled out his 'priest voice," pitching his voice low and pushing a cassette tape into the deck. Dean grit his teeth when he realized it was freaking Sweeney Todd until he realized that Charlotte Webb was splaying open the fingers on his hand with her own. "But I have to know one thing," Sam asked.
"Are you sure?" Charlotte's voice turned husky. And any other time, Dean might have been impressed; the way she answered a question and made it a warning, even if he couldn't figure out who was being warned and who was getting the answer. Dean tightened his fingers around hers, grinning all over again when she whipped her head around to look at the back of Sam's head. "The answers aren't always what we expect," she said softly.
"He's not entirely human, is he?"
"No, he's not."
"And my powers? I'm not entirely human either."
Charlotte closed her eyes, a decision playing across her face as her mouth twisted and she lowered her head.
"You're one of the Beata," she said simply. "And so is your brother." Charlotte shivered – and Dean could see the look on her face when she saw the sword in Dean's hand, the Ziv Whatever reacting to him with the same blue glow that came off of the damn thing when Alex Masters was holding it.
It's about your bloodline.
Except the whole thing was a load of crap. Their father had made his sons study the Apocrypha for clues and there was nothing in the Book of Enoch that backed up her story, no matter how serious she looked when Charlotte dragged Dean's hand onto his thigh.
"What the fuck does that mean?" Dean asked.
"You're descendants of the Nephilim," she answered.
The touch of one whose life is pure.
"Right!" Sam burst out laughing and Dean felt bad joining in when he saw the expression on Charlotte's face, especially when Sam snorted. "So you're saying we're descended from the kids of fallen angels?" Charlotte winced when Sam asked the question but that didn't keep her from sighing when Dean started pulling her shirt out of the waistband of her skirt. There wasn't time to be arguing about who was descended from what when he could touch the skin underneath the wet fabric. Sam shook his head. "You are so screwed, Dean."
He didn't miss a beat.
"God, I hope so."
"Can angels even have one-night stands?"
"It's a fair assumption." Charlotte coughed, her hand trembling on his. Damn girl was actually trying to answer Sam's question. "The Nephilim were half-human and man, by nature, is inherently flawed." There was no way he was going to get to screw her if she kept trying to ignore him. And there was no way he should be screwing her in the backseat of his car while Sam was behind the wheel just because some succubus decided they should get their freak on together. "But some scholars say..."
"Some scholars say what?"
Charlotte's shirt had fallen open, and it clung to her the same way her skirt clung to her thighs – both heavy with water. Dean watched a lone drop slide down a strand of hair, dipping between her breasts as another rush of strawberry-scented air danced between them. She closed her eyes, breathing in time to Mrs. Lovett going on about meat pies.
The whole damn thing was fucked.
"Sam," Dean managed.
"It's too bad you're not a porn star, Dean, because we could make a bundle. Forget credit card fraud. Winchester Productions proudly presents..." Sam grunted, that same goddamn laugh that erupted from him after Sam had super-glued a bottle to Dean's hand back in Texas. "Fucked by an Angel!"
"Screw you, Sam!" But there were more important things than listening to his little brother chuckle his way right down the road to an ass-kicking when another tiny sigh escaped from Charlotte Webb. The instrument tumbled out of her lap, settling on the floor behind the driver's seat, and she trembled. Waiting for him. Steeling herself for the moment she stopped fighting to control what started the second they collided into each other on a dance floor. "It's about to get really ugly back here."
"Just let it go."
"Fuck it," Dean growled, launching himself onto her.
She bit his lip when he kissed her, drawing blood that she licked off with one slow pass of her tongue, and she laughed when Dean ripped open her shirt. Buttons sprayed around them as Dean pushed her backwards, his smile the only warning he gave before he hiked up her skirt. Charlotte pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion, smiling back at him when she finally started unzipping his jeans and the metal scrape of the zipper was the only thing standing in the way.
Being inside of her was all that mattered.
The world shrunk to fill the backseat of the car, Dean's fingers hooking into the waistband of her underwear. All that was left was the rough scrape of lace against his chest until he ripped it away, her searching hands and her nails scratching into his back as Charlotte arched into him. Dean Winchester was going to touch every part of her, drink in every smell. Eat every drop.
Dean Winchester was the thing that was going to blaze inside of her.
"Holy shit!" A voice shouted, muffled by the pulse pounding in his ears.
A sharp pain pierced his thigh, and the world disappeared.