A/N: I want to thank everyone for all the reviews, and the PMs in support of this story. It's much appreciated! Chapter title taken from the song No Good Deed Goes Unpunished, from the Broadway play Wicked. Sam's conjuring chant is taken from the Lorem Ipsum. I modified it slightly to fit.
As always, all the prior warnings about this story still apply. I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.
Chapter 11 - no good deed goes unpunished
"Lee," Gabriel moaned. "Please…" the sound was rough and soft, hungry and pleading all at the same time.
"Gonna fuck you, boy," Lee whispered in Gabe's ear. "Gonna fuck you good…"
Gabriel looked up at him from underneath those long eyelashes, blinked those big dark green eyes, and the boy was just so pretty, Lee couldn't help it. He leaned in and pressed his lips hard against that mouth.
Lee pulled up Gabriel's white tee shirt up and over his head. Gabriel didn't move, not even when Lee pulled his belt out of his belt loops, turned him around and tied the younger man's hands behind his back.
Gabe tilted his head back as Lee turned him around again. Lee ran his tongue over that lightly freckled chest, licked his way up from Gabriel's left nipple to the long lean line of his throat. He kissed Gabriel on the mouth as he unzipped the boy's fly and pushed his hand in. Gabe tasted clean, and even on a bad day he looked and smelled a hell of a lot better than Missy ever did.
The dream fell apart then. All Lee could hear was Pa yelling something over and over again. The old man sounded excited, and Lee wondered if the jig was finally up, if those clueless damn Hibbert cops had finally put two and two together about all those folks that went missing all those years and decided to pay the family a visit.
Lee blinked once, then twice. Gabriel disappeared and aw hell, Lee remembered where he was, and who he was really in bed with.
"What the hell?" Jerry grumbled. He was uglier than Missy and Gabriel up close. Smelled worse than the two of them put together, too. "What the hell's Pa saying?"
"Gabriel," Lee mumbled, wide eyed. "He's saying 'Gabriel.'"
Lee gulped as his stomach flip flopped, slow and queasy. He already had the feeling that today just wasn't gonna be his day.
The Lord works in mysterious ways, John.
John put his hand on the butt of his gun, underneath his jacket. It was an automatic gesture, one born of all the years on the hunt.
"Now, Papa," Meg purred. "You don't wanna really do that, do ya?"
"John!" Bobby hissed.
John pulled his hand away.
Meg sighed. "I mean, you could shoot her. Makes no damn difference to me." Meg grinned a little. "She won't be much good after I leave her anyway."
"What the hell do you want, bitch?" Sam snarled.
"Now, Sammy." Meg's look of shock was almost convincing. "Is that any way to treat a fellow hitchhiker? We almost became fuck buddies on the road. We still could." She eyed Sam up and down and slowly ran her wet tongue over her bottom lip.
"Uh, why don't you come inside and we can sit and talk for a while?" Bobby said politely. He didn't mind appearing old stupid and clueless, not if he could lure Meg inside underneath that Devil's Trap on the ceiling.
Meg glared at Bobby. "Do I have STUPID tattooed across my forehead, old man? No thanks. I'm fine right here. Anyway," she hugged herself with both arms, "you're hurting my feelings with all this displaced anger. I come here with news about Dean, poor long lost Dean," she coyly fluttered her eyelashes at the three men on the porch, "and this is how you treat me?"
"You don't know anything about Dean," Sam said flatly.
"Hell I don't, big boy. He's not living the high life now, lemme tell ya."
"I did séances. You're not dead. You're alive."
Dean snorted, rolled his eyes as he glanced away. "Wouldn't call this living, dude."
Somehow, someway, Sam managed to keep his game face on, even though he could feel it slipping.
"Dean's in a mental hospital," Meg cooed.
Please, Sam thought to himself. Oh God…
"Sweetbriar State Hospital. He's a ward of the great state of Minnesota. He's got a padded cell, a warm and comfy straightjacket, two meals a day, and all the antipsychotic drugs he can handle."
"I don't believe you, bitch," John sounded bored. He felt frozen deep inside.
"Is that a fact? You can't fool me, Johnny boy. Didn't you think that Dean was gonna end up in the nuthouse sooner or later, especially after dealing with you two idiots all his life? Let's see now, there's you, Sam, the younger brother. You think Dean's nothing but an ignorant jerk. You told me that yourself. You have a habit of ditching big bro every chance you get."
"Go back to school," Dean whispered in Sam's memory. "Go on with your life."
"And there's you, Papa. You drop him like a bad habit all the time. Everybody who loves him, leaves him. Isn't that the way it goes? Nothing Dean does is ever good enough for you, but that doesn't stop him from trying. Oh. Wait." Meg smirked. "He stopped trying. My bad."
"Why the hell should we believe anything you'd have to say about Dean anyway?"
"Why? Well. I don't have anything to gain from telling you, Sammy boy. All I want is to see poor damaged Dean returned to the bosom of his loving family." Meg clasped both hands over her chest.
"What's that twanging sound in the air?" She cocked her head to one side. "It's the sound of the Winchesters falling apart. I can feel your pain, boys. You're vibrating with it. Hmmm," she inhaled deeply and smiled. "I love the smell of Winchester angst in the morning. Sweet."
John leaned forward, put both hands on the porch railing. "Demons lie, princess. How fucking stupid do you think we are?"
"Oooh, oooh, I know the answer to that one!" Meg waved one hand in the air like she was in grade school. She lowered her hand and quirked an eyebrow at John. "Short answer? Very stupid. We all have our Daddy issues. Speaking of Daddy, do you really think Azazel would want me to tell you where Dean is?"
"We're going to find Dean on our own," John drawled. "And when we do, sweetheart, you're gonna be the first one we hunt down. Count on it."
Meg rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, Papa. Dean's a lost cause. He's really really fucked up. After all this time, with all the drugs they've pumped into him?" Meg smiled brightly. "And you know what? It gets better. Nathan Beck's one of the head honchos there. Beck's been fucking Dean. Every chance he gets. Imagine that." Her bright black eyes swept over John and Sam's face, eagerly searching for some kind of reaction to that.
There wasn't any, but that didn't bother Meg. "Hmph. Tough crowd. Anyway, I just knew you wanted to know all this. Macho ladies man Dean Winchester, and Beck's made him his little bitch. Guess Dean's gotten in touch with his inner girl, huh? I've heard that he's developed a real taste for those red pills Beck has, and all Deano's gotta do to get some is lay down and spread. Can't you hear him moaning, Papa? Begging Beck to take him over and over again?"
John's hands on the porch railing tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"Yahtzee." Meg smiled. "Well, kids, it's been fun, but I gotta run. Places to go, people to see."
"Next time I see you, Meg," Sam said calmly. "I'm going to kill you."
"Promises, promises, kiddo," Meg winked at him. "Now, do I have to write any of this down for you dummies? Sweetbriar State Hospital. Your boy's known as John Doe 317. He's in Ward A. They don't call it the pit for nothing. If you wanted to leave him there, I really wouldn't blame you, what with the price of healthcare these days."
Sam moved.
The silver flask appeared in his right hand like a magic trick. He flung out his arm in Meg's direction. Water splashed against her face and upper body, rose up in a thick fog of steam and sulfur stench. The woman's mouth opened wide and Meg boiled out and upwards into the bright morning sky, just as the woman's knees buckled and she slid bonelessly against the side of the Impala.
Sam got to her first. He checked her vitals as he sat her up against the side of the car. When he turned to face Bobby and John Sam shook his head no. "She's been dead for a while."
"Son of a bitch," John muttered.
Missy smiled. "This is gonna hurt."
Lena McCandless sat tied up in that big wooden chair in the living room. The big woman cried and yelled out as Missy worked. She knew just where to slip the blade in under the skin, knew all the places where it would hurt like hell and bleed just a little. After fifteen minutes or so, Pa stepped forward and put his hand on Missy's shoulder.
It was enough. Pa liked what she'd done, all the blood, the slash marks on the woman's face and cheek. Missy briefly thought about carving away some more muscle, but instead she nodded and stepped back. She grinned at Lee and Jerry, showed all her teeth to them, wide and feral. She hadn't smiled like that in at least six months. She felt like singing.
Gabriel was coming back to her. He was alive and he was coming home to her, just like God promised that he would.
Pa glared at the woman as he took her cell phone, flipped it open. He held the phone up to her nose. "Listen here, bitch."
"Oh G-God, p-please, pl-please d-don't-t…" That must have pissed Pa off, because his mouth twitched into a thin hard line and he backhanded her so hard her head snapped back and forth.
She started blubbering and he whacked her again. He held the phone up again where she could see it. She sniffed noisily and stared at the picture on the small screen.
"This boy. He's my kin. My brother." Abraham nodded at Missy. "He's her man. Disappeared about six months ago. Where is he?"
"S-Sweet…Sweetbriar…" She barely got the words out before he backhanded her again.
"Sweetbriar State Hospital!"
Pa nodded quietly. "The crazy place?"
"They…they b-brought him in about six months ago. He's -- he's Beck's pet."
Pa snapped the phone shut. His eyes glittered, and that slight smile on his face made McCandless uneasy, but at least he wasn't hitting her anymore. "You're gonna tell us all about this place, how we can get in and get him out. You do that, and we'll let you go."
McCandless nodded. Blood and snot ran down her nose, dripped down her chin.
Missy giggled. She knew Pa was lying, of course. But the big woman didn't know.
"Fucking boy came back," Lee snarled later. They were in the woods back behind the house, burying the woman's suitcase and purse. Lee hit the ground with the shovel.
"He's like a bad penny." Jerry shrugged as he threw the purse into the hole and then shoveled dirt on top of it.
It was okay to talk. Pa was back at the house, talking to that woman. Missy was skipping around the house, and damned if she hadn't taken a bath and prettied herself up, with lotion and powder. She even combed her hair out, just like before.
Lee shook his head. His leg hurt just as bad as it did the day that Gabriel freak broke it. "Gonna have to think about losing him again. This time for good." He scowled at Jerry. "You know that, don't ya?"
"Well…maybe not." Jerry looked thoughtful, and that was a scary sight on that broad, dirty face.
"What?"
"You heard what that bitch said. They've been druggin' him for the past six months. Probably gave him that shock treatment too. Betcha anything ol' Gabe's not right in the head anymore."
"What are you sayin', Jerry?"
"I'm sayin' maybe we better leave well enough alone. Pa's happy. Missy is too."
"Gabriel's gonna remember," Lee said loudly, and Jerry looked around nervously and shushed him. "He's gonna remember that we ditched him that night," Lee hissed as he lowered his voice. "He's gonna tell Missy and Pa. What'll we do then, smart guy?"
"Maybe he will. Maybe not." Jerry eyed his brother warily. "You don't know that for sure."
"You're not with me on this?" Lee tossed the suitcase in next. He kicked the clothes that fell out into the hole too.
"I'm just sayin'. Just have to wait and see."
"Fuck that," Lee said roughly. He took up a shovelful of dirt and threw it into the hole. "You're either with me or against me."
Jerry laughed. "Now you're talkin' crazy."
"Ah ethrem dolor..."
Hear me now...
Sam tossed his blood and the chant into the wind.
"Porro quisquam est qui dolorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit..."
There is one who loves pain itself, who seeks after it and wants to have it, simply because it is pain...
Sam ignored the heavy ache between his eyes. The cuts on his arms seemed to stop bleeding almost immediately. Sam really couldn't remember whether that was something his body had always done. He carefully slid his jacket back on, leaned back against the Impala's bumper and waited.
You're doing dark magic now. Because of me. Did I get that right? Is there anything else you wanna tell me, bro'?
No, Dean, Sam thought to himself. Didn't tell Bobby and Dad either.
They hadn't been too happy when he drove off. It was a lead pipe cinch that they wouldn't have understood, either, if he'd told them what he was going to do.
What he had to do.
He'd thought about it, of course, since the time he'd seen Dean the night he took the ayahuasca.
"Four years, Sam. I've been gone four frigging years. I'm not the person I was before. If I could've come back, I would have done it before now. I'm gone for good. You gotta deal with it."
I am dealing with it.
"He's got a padded cell, a warm and comfy straightjacket, two meals a day, and all the antipsychotic drugs he can handle."
The wind picked up, lifted the edges of Dean's photo in Sam's right hand. It was the only photo of Dean he had left, and he hadn't thought about making a copy of it before now.
"Dean's a lost cause. He's really really fucked up. After all this time, with all the drugs they've pumped into him?"
The sigil on the photo was dark red. The design was surprisingly precise considering that Sam had drawn it with his fingertip and his own blood. The center of the sigil was placed directly over Dean's face.
The wind picked up again. Sam smelled lavender, but he wasn't fooled.
It was a lie that dark things only stayed out of direct sunlight.
"Hell of a day, isn't it?" this deep voice rumbled.
Sam nodded. He wouldn't look directly at the creature. He wouldn't be able to see it if he did.
Something crouched down in the tall grass over on the right, just inside the corner of his eye. The arms and legs were too long and the joints were bent in the wrong direction. The skin rippled, turned from pearl grey to dull black and back again.
It didn't have any eyelids. Sam was sure of that. Its eyes covered nearly half its face. They were bright silver, speckled with black dots. Something long, greyish brown and vinelike sprouted from its head, down that thick long neck. The tendrils moved in the opposite direction of the wind, and Sam could swear that there were tiny black mouths at the ends that opened and closed.
Sam stared down at Dean's photo, looked at the bright relaxed smile on his brother's face. Dude, I hope you can forgive me. Please. I'll take your pain and make it mine. I can do that much for you, at least.
"My name is Sam Winchester."
The thing nodded. "You may call me Lim, Sam Winchester. Is that your brother?"
"Yes."
"Such a pretty, broken child. What do you require?"
"I need…a favor from you."
"Now?"
Sam shook his head. "When I find my brother."
"Ah. My favors are all twisted." It shook its head, and the hair on its head flew wildly in all directions. "Do you know the price?"
"I've heard that Dean's developed a real taste for those red pills Beck has, and all Deano's gotta do to get some is lay down and spread."
Sam nodded.
"Pain," Sam heard himself murmur. "I give it gladly, now and later."
The lower half of the thing's face actually split open in a smile, deep and cavernous. "So be it."
Sam promised himself that he wouldn't scream when Lim touched him.
He kept that promise.
There was a definite advantage to not having any neighbors for miles around. That back lot directly behind Bobby's place was fenced in, isolated, but it wouldn't do to have some passerby or a regular customer drop by just as he and John salted and burned Meg's vessel. He hadn't had this kind of thing in mind when he bought the place, but he had to admit being off the beaten path like that worked a little too well. She lay covered up in the back shed for now.
Bobby said a silent prayer for the woman, then glanced at John as he closed the door and padlocked it. "We can take care of her later on tonight."
"Don't know what's gotten into that boy," John growled. Bobby glanced down at John's right hand. It was curled up into a fist. Typical.
"Sam hasn't been right since Dean vanished, you damn fool." Bobby shook his head. "If you'd hung around him long enough you would have realized that."
"Don't start with me, Singer." John's eyes flashed with a dangerous, dark glint.
"Don't start? Well, why the hell not, John?" Bobby's voice dripped sarcasm as they turned and walked back to the house. "Your feelings don't matter. Your boys are hurting, John Winchester. Both of them are. You don't have the damn right to feel sorry for yourself."
Bobby cocked his head to one side as he heard a familar rumble. John grunted.
The Impala sat in the driveway. Sam straightened up and as he did he flinched a little, as though he was favoring his left side. He looked paler than he had before, but he seemed fine otherwise.
Bobby stared hard at Sam's face. What the hell are you up to, Sam? A sideways glance at John didn't reveal a thing. Stubborn bastard had his game face on, tight and steady as usual.
"We got work to do, princess," Bobby drawled.
Sam nodded. He looked at Bobby first, and then John. "We're bringing Dean home."
Next post Monday
