Inhuman Condition
They had a rough hunt, and Toby ended up with a badly twisted ankle. He tried to hide it, but Faith could see the pain in his eyes. It was strange, to see Toby looking weak – wrong, somehow.
Driving was out of the question, so she was the one to drive them to Bobby's house. Luckily, they were only in Colorado. Toby insisted he didn't need to go to Bobby's, but Faith vetoed his opinion, and with his ankle out of commission, he had no choice but to let her drive him back to what was swiftly becoming their home base.
Bobby was surprised to see them again so soon after Christmas. It was only halfway through February, but it felt to Faith like it had been longer. Going from one job to another made time blur, until sometimes she wasn't even certain which day of the week it was. But Bobby didn't mind them hanging around, even if it was a surprise. She got the feeling he enjoyed having a full house. He was sort of a mother-hen that way.
Toby was stuck on the couch by both her order and Bobby's. "The more you walk on it, the longer it'll take to heal," Bobby said sternly when Toby tried to stand to make some food. "Shut up and stay put."
Toby grumbled – he really hated feeling so vulnerable – but didn't argue, knowing there was no point. Between Bobby and Faith, there was more than enough stubbornness to go round.
Two days passed with Toby on forced bedrest, Faith helping Bobby with odd jobs around the house. Mostly it was just reinforcing the house against all manner of demons and other occult bastards. He had lots of work to do on cars, so he taught her a thing or two in an effort to pass the time. Otherwise, they chatted about recent hunts and everything they'd so far learned about the Cult and her ever-elusive sperm-donor.
"A Devil's Gate?" Bobby asked on the second night, the three of them sat in the study with Toby's bandaged ankle propped up on a cushion. "I've heard of them. Never seen one for myself, though."
"Well, let's hope it stays that way," murmured Faith darkly, trying not to think about all the maybes and potentially-s, and focused instead on steering the subject into safer waters.
The next day dawned. Faith was out in the salvage yard, throwing knives at a slab of old timber and rewarding herself with a sip of beer each time she got a bullseye. Her phone began to ring just as she let go of a knife. It fell wide, embedding itself in the body of a rusty car. Grimacing, Faith answered the call without looking at the ID.
"Hello?"
"Faith, hi," came Sam's voice.
"Oh, Sam. Hey," she said, losing her frosty tone. The sun was shining down on her, and despite the chill in the air, she felt warm. It wasn't a bad day. "What's up?"
"Not much," Sam said. "Hey, listen, are you anywhere near Bobby's?"
"I'm literally throwing knives at cars in the salvage yard as we speak. Why?"
"Dean's on one of his benders – he's holed up with a couple strippers and enough liquor to disinfect a hospital. I need some space. Thought we could meet up, since I'm a free agent for the next few days."
Faith grimaced. "Ugh, Dean's disgusting."
Sam laughed. "No arguments here. I'll be at Bobby's in an hour or two. We can go grab a beer. See you soon?"
Something in her grew lighter at the thought of getting to spend some one-on-one time with Sam. They hadn't had much time to hang out lately – their lives were both crazy, in very similar ways. And besides, every time she saw Dean, it just devolved into a game of who could get under the other's skin the fastest. She'd like to see Sam – for once without his brother's antagonistic comments in the background.
"Sounds good. Drive safe."
They hung up and Faith wandered back into the house to let the guys know Sam was stopping by.
"Why?" asked Toby, looking up from where he'd been blowing on his cup of tea.
"Dean's being a chauvinistic prick, and Sam wants some space," she shrugged. "I guess I'm good company. Better than Dean, at any rate."
Toby opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to change his mind, shaking his head with a smirk on his lips, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"What?" she demanded. He just shook his head. "Spit it out, invalid."
"I just think sometimes you try to hate Dean a little too much," he said with an innocent shrug.
Her temper flared, and she felt her cheeks warm. "He's an irritating asshole," she muttered. "I don't have to try to hate him, I just do."
"Lie."
Her brow shot upwards. "Excuse me?"
"I called you out on a lie."
She opened her mouth, intent on denying it, but he spoke over her.
"Oh, don't deny it. You don't hate Dean any more than you hate me. Personally, I think you two need to just shag already; get it out of your system."
Her cheeks were hot now, and she knew she must be pink. "That's disgusting," she snapped, glancing self-consciously over her shoulder to be sure Bobby wasn't hovering nearby. It was bad enough that Toby was thinking it, she didn't need him putting ideas in Bobby's head, too.
"Oh yeah? Then why are you blushing?"
She glowered at him hatefully. "You're a terrible person."
"Without question," he said calmly. "But I still think you two need to shag."
She turned on her heel and stomped back out into the chill of the day. She returned to her knife-throwing, this time with a renewed passion. Her anger (and maybe the slightest bit of embarrassment) worked to fuel her skill, and soon she was landing a blade into the wood with every throw she made.
The sun began its descent towards the horizon, and Faith was definitely not thinking about Dean.
It was true that she was physically attracted to Dean – who in their right mind wouldn't be? – but that didn't mean she wanted – nor needed – to shag him. Her annoyance and dislike was just that; annoyance and dislike. It wasn't masking anything deeper. Not at all. Toby was just the type to find layers in things that weren't actually that deep.
He was probably just hoping to live vicariously through Faith. She couldn't imagine he actually thought he was right. Her and Dean?
Their relationship was built on hostility and sarcasm. And, in truth, she wouldn't know who she was without that animosity. Some days it was the realest thing in her whole life. And she could always count on it. Because yeah, maybe it was annoying, but it was reliable. She could expect it. At some point, it had become just another part of her day. And maybe – weirdly – she looked forward to it.
Just as she heard the distant growl of a car entering the property, Faith's phone rang. This time she looked at the caller ID, cheeks flushing when she saw Dean's name. She answered the call before she could chicken out, silently promising to shank Toby with a toothbrush if he had anything to do with this call.
"What?" she asked, hostile from the get-go.
"I need to talk to you," Dean said, making no comment on her crankiness.
Faith's cheeks went even hotter, and she stomped across the dirt to grab the hilt of her knife, yanking it from the wooden board. "Look, if Toby called you, I hope you know that he's just a bitter old coot who seriously needs to get himself laid and stop living vicariously through me-"
"Where are you?" Dean demanded, cutting her off before she could really get going. There was a note of panic in his voice, and strangely enough, it made something inside of her calm. If there was a crisis of some kind, well, that she could handle.
She anchored her feet. "I'm at Bobby's."
"Dammit," he cursed with feeling.
Her stomach dipped. "What's wrong?"
"To be honest, I was kinda hoping you'd be somewhere far away. Southern Florida maybe, or Australia, if I was lucky."
Faith scowled. "So sorry to disappoint."
Dean huffed angrily on the other end of the phone and her irritation flared.
"Are you high or something? Sam told me you were on a bender. Are you calling me with a stripper in your lap-?"
"Faith, listen to me," interjected Dean, ignoring her again. She shifted where she stood, offended, though she said nothing because the panic in his voice set off alarm bells in her head. "Look – long story short – Sam's possessed by a demon, and the thing in him is on its way to Bobby's right now to kill you."
For a moment she was speechless. How was someone supposed to respond to that, anyway?
"But I just spoke to him," she finally blurted, like a moron. "He seemed…"
"Demons are the best actors in the world."
She wanted to believe it wasn't true, but she couldn't deny that the frenzy and concern in Dean's voice was real. He was worried – panicked, even – and she couldn't imagine him using this as some sort of a prank against her. Dean was plenty of things – far too many to list – but he wasn't cruel.
"Oh my God," she breathed.
"Stay calm," Dean ordered her.
"I am calm."
"Look, go warn the others. Bobby will know how to trap it. Just – please, don't hurt Sam."
Sam had said he was only a couple of hours out – and she'd just heard a car arrive… It could already be inside with Toby and Bobby. And they had no idea.
"How long until you get here?" she whispered, gripping the hilt of her knife and already beginning to speed-walk back in the direction of the house.
"I'm about an hour out."
Faith swallowed thickly. "Hurry."
"Faith-"
She hung up the phone, stuffing it into her pocket and holding the knife out in front of her, ready to use it. She couldn't kill Sam, obviously, but she'd learned enough over the last few months to know how to take someone down without killing them. If the demon possessing Sam came at her, she'd survive it. She had to.
She considered creeping slowly inside, but in the end her instinct to hurry won out – because at any moment, Toby and Bobby could be getting flayed alive by the demon inside of Sam. Faith burst through the back door hard enough that it banged against the wall, the sound echoing like a gunshot throughout the house.
"Toby?!" she shouted before both feet were even over the threshold. "Bobby?!"
"In here!" Toby shouted back, and she stumbled into the study to find that she was right – the demon in Sam had already arrived. But clearly, she'd underestimated her friends.
The thing inside Sam was collapsed on the floor, unconscious and still. Bobby was stood over him, cool as a cucumber, sipping at a beer and shaking his head. Toby was still propped up on the couch where she'd left him, and he looked none the worse for wear.
"You figured it out," she breathed, relief like a drug.
"I know Sam well enough to know when something's wrong," said Bobby, setting his beer down on the edge of his desk with a clink. "Help me get him tied up."
Together they managed to heave the hulking mass that was Sam's body into a chair, and Bobby climbed up onto another chair to touch up the devil's trap on the ceiling above them, making sure there were no breaks in the outer lines.
"He just came in here and you knew?" Faith asked as she tied the demon's wrists to the arms of the chair.
"Told you I was good," muttered Bobby. If Faith had it in her, she might have smiled.
"How'd you know?" Toby wondered, sipping calmly from a cup of tea on the sofa.
"Dean called to warn me," she explained. "I didn't get many details, but he's on his way. He's a little under an hour out." She paused, considering. "Actually, speaking of, I'd better call to let him know we've got it trapped."
Toby sent her what could only be described as a Look, but she ignored it, walking out onto the front porch even though she couldn't entirely explain why she needed the privacy to make the call.
Dean answered on the first ring. "You got him?"
"Thanks to Bobby's quick thinking," she replied. "He's okay. A little bruised, but he's fine."
"Got him in a devil's trap?"
"Yeah. Tied and unconscious. We'll keep him that way till you get here."
Dean breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you."
"This was all Bobby. I didn't do anything."
Dean hesitated; the pause so brief she thought she might have imagined it. "You called," he said roughly. "That's enough."
Faith cleared her throat and said, "Well, I'd better go cook up some holy water, just so we have enough for whatever's coming next. See you soon?"
"I'll be there in a half hour, even if I have to break a hundred traffic laws to do it."
"Promises, promises," she tutted. Dean's chuckle was like dark chocolate for the ears, and she hung up before she could let her thoughts stray.
Sam – or rather, the thing inside of him – was still out cold when she returned to the study. Bobby had finished touching up the devil's trap, and Faith grabbed her handgun from where she'd left it next to Toby's propped up foot, checking the clip automatically. She didn't want to have to use it, but if it came down to it, she would.
"Dean okay?" Bobby asked.
"Worried about Sam, but other than that he sounds fine," she said. "I'm gonna go bless some tap water."
As promised, Faith filled a bucket with tap water and blessed it, a rosary in one hand, a gun in the other. She returned to find Sam still out cold. There wasn't anything else to do but wait, so she began to pace a hole in the floor, fingers tapping anxiously against the grip of her gun.
They didn't make much conversation, watching Sam a hawks. He was slumped in his chair, chin touching his chest and his eyes utterly still. Faith glanced at the restraints and hoped she hadn't made them too tight. She didn't want to hurt him – only the thing using his body as a meat suit.
Finally, after a small eternity, Dean arrived. He took the time to knock, but probably only because he knew they were armed and on alert. Faith answered the door, and looking at Dean was another shot of reluctant relief to her veins.
"Hey," said Dean, voice like gravel.
"He's through here," she said in reply, waving him through to the study. He stepped onto the mat, taking a moment to wipe the dirt from his shoes.
"Are you okay?" he asked, eyes on his task.
She frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Dean's expression was inscrutable. "He was coming here to kill you, so I thought I'd check."
"Me?" she asked, bewildered to get singled out like that, but Dean said nothing and eventually she just sighed. "I'm fine. What about you?"
Dean's laugh was bitter. "Well, Jo's a little beaten up, but she'll live."
It wasn't an answer to the question she'd actually asked, but she allowed him to distract her. "Jo?" she asked, heart skipping a beat. "He went up to Duluth?"
"Said he was planning to come find you, but you didn't answer his call," Dean told her.
"What? When?"
"About two weeks ago?"
She remembered then. Two weeks ago, she and Toby had been on a job in Indiana, and she'd been in the shower. She'd meant to call Sam back, but things had gotten crazy, and she'd forgotten. She had to confess that she was suddenly rather grateful for the distraction of her day job.
"Why me?" she asked as she led the way into the study.
Dean's brow pinched, and he looked discomforted. "I'm not sure," he said woodenly. Faith couldn't help but think that wasn't entirely true, but he'd been through a lot, so she didn't push it.
He greeted Bobby and Toby, but his eyes were focused on Sam. "Wanna tell us what the hell's going on?" Bobby asked.
Dean sighed tiredly but did as he was asked. He leant against the wall and gave them a quick rundown of the situation – how Sam had gone missing roughly two weeks ago, and since then it had been one disaster after another. Faith scowled at Sam, the demon in him still sleeping, knocked out by Bobby's killer right-hook.
"Well, shit, Dean," said Bobby with a shake of his head.
"I know," Dean sighed, suddenly looking so much older than he was.
"Wasn't he wearing his anti-possession charm?" Faith asked.
Dean looked up, abruptly annoyed. "His what?"
She brushed back her hair to reveal the charm hanging from the piercing in her helix. It was sterling silver, so she wore it everywhere – even in the shower. She'd sooner die than become a prison in her own body. She wouldn't accept anything invading her mind, least of all a demon.
Dean was momentarily surprised, but then he frowned like her ingenuity irritated him. "Well, we can't all pierce our ears, Princess."
Every part of her wanted to snap back something scathing, but she swallowed the urge. Dean was stressed about Sam – if it were Toby, she'd feel the same. Hell, it was Sam, so she felt worried and stressed enough as it was.
"We'd better wake it up," said Toby firmly. "The sooner we get it out of Sam's body, the better."
Dean agreed, and Faith went to fetch her pail of holy water, setting it down at Dean's feet without so much as a word. He didn't thank her – he barely even looked at her – but she was getting to be very familiar with Dean's hot-and-cold nature.
She watched as Bobby collected the book with the Latin for an exorcism ritual that would send the thing back down into the pits of Hell, where it belonged. Faith stood beside Bobby, gun tucked into the waistband of her jeans, arms crossed over her chest, watching as Dean reached out to slap the demon clean across the face.
It awoke with a start, its stolen eyes rolling around in Sam's head before it finally found its bearings and realised the situation it was in. Faith met its eyes with a glare, and it smiled hungrily, like it knew exactly who she was, and what she meant to others of its kind. A chill rattled down her spine.
"Hey," barked Dean, stepping in the demon's line of sight, tearing its stare away from her.
Dean glanced up at the ceiling, and the demon copied the action, letting out a sharp huff when it realised it was stuck in a devil's trap. It would only get free when they said it could – which meant, quite plainly, that it was never getting free.
"Dean. Back from the dead," drawled the demon. It sounded all wrong in Sam's mouth, like somebody trying to mask an accent they'd been born with. "Getting to be a regular thing for you, isn't it? Like a cockroach."
"How about I smack that smart-ass right out of your mouth?" snapped Dean.
The demon remained unbothered. "Oh, careful, now. Wouldn't want to bruise this fine packaging."
"Oh, don't worry, this isn't gonna hurt Sam much," said Dean, bending down to pick up the bucket of holy water. "You, on the other hand…"
He threw the water over Sam's body and instantly the demon roared with beastly rage. Sam's skin sizzled and burned, and smoke began to fill the air as the holy water did its job.
"Feel like talking now?" asked Dean.
Although pained, the demon didn't look afraid. "Sam's still my meat puppet," it reminded them smugly. "I'll make him bite off his tongue."
"No, you won't be in him long enough," said Dean, utterly confident. "Bobby?"
Bobby cracked open his book and began to read out the exorcism in perfectly accented Latin.
As Bobby chanted, Dean began to speak. "See, whatever bitch-boy master plan you demons are cooking up? You're not getting Sam. You understand me? Because I'm gonna kill every last one of you first."
More smoke rose from his body, and Sam began to twist and turn in the chair, trying to escape. But Faith's knots were too tight, and he was stuck in the devil's trap. There was no possible way for it to get free. Right?
All of a sudden, the demon within Sam started to laugh. It was a wild, manic sort of a sound, and Faith's breath caught. Her fingers twitched towards the gun at her waist, but she tried to avoid it – that was only a last resort. Bobby stopped reading the exorcism and looked up at the two of them in bewilderment.
"You really think that's what this is about?" the demon in Sam cackled. "The master plan? I don't give a rat's ass about the master plan."
Bobby ducked his head and began reading from the book again.
"Oops," not-Sam sang, stopping Bobby in his tracks. "Doesn't seem to be working. See, I learned a few new tricks."
Without warning he threw down his head, bowing it close to his chest, and spoke in flawless, lilting Latin. The entire room began to tremble, the very floor beneath Faith's feet rattling and dipping, like it was resting on the surface of the sea.
Faith yelped, widening her stance. She threw out an arm, grabbing onto Dean in an attempt to keep them both upright. The fire behind not-Sam flared with heat, the flames spitting out at them like it were the mouth of a great, angry dragon.
"This isn't going like I pictured!" Dean shouted over the roar of the fire and the groaning, moaning sound of the house. "What's going on, Bobby?"
Bobby grabbed the demon's hand, shoving back his sleeves to reveal some sort of symbol branded onto Sam's skin. It wasn't one Faith was familiar with – and by now, she was familiar with most of them.
"What the hell is that?!" Faith asked over the sound of glasses in the kitchen sliding free of their cupboard and smashing to pieces on the linoleum floor.
"It's a binding link! It's like a lock! He's locked himself inside Sam's body!"
Dean's eyes were round and panicked. "What the hell do we do?"
But Bobby was just as helpless. "I don't know!"
All of a sudden, not-Sam threw back his head and roared even louder than the fire. There was a great cracking noise, and Faith watched in horror as the room seemed to split itself in two, the ceiling cracking just enough to disrupt the devil's trap, giving the demon back its freedom – and its powers.
"There," the demon said, sadistic smirk foreign and ugly on Sam's familiar face. "That's better."
It jerked its head and Bobby flew backwards like he weighed nothing. He landed against the nearest wall, sliding to the floor with a groan. Working on autopilot, Faith reached for her handgun. She had it out and cocked, but before she had a chance to fire, not-Sam jerked his stolen head again and she felt herself thrown back by some powerful, unforeseen force.
For a brief moment that felt longer than it was, Faith was weightless. It was almost peaceful, the ringing in her ears making it hard to focus on anything but the feeling of flying. But all good things must end, and pain made itself known as she felt herself crash into Bobby's desk.
Luckily the wood didn't give under her weight – insignificant as she was compared to someone bigger, like Dean or Toby – but it was enough to knock everything off its surface. She slid across its surface and toppled off the end, landing on the floor near the fire, the right side of her body on fire. She knew that, come morning, she'd be a kaleidoscope of bruises.
She took a moment to breathe, wiggling her fingers and toes, searching for broken bones. She found none, although her head felt like it was burning. Slowly, she lifted her hand to prod at the source of the pain, and when she did, her fingers came away coated in blood.
"Fuckin' hell," she muttered, pressing her palm against the new wound and ignoring how it made the pain flare.
She could vaguely hear somebody talking, the voice familiar in cadence, though she struggled to hear the words over the ringing in her ears and the pain in her skull.
"You know when people want to describe the worst possible thing? They say it's like Hell. You know, there's a reason for that. Hell is like … well, it's like Hell. Even for demons. It's a prison, made of bone and flesh and blood and fear. And you sent me back there."
"Meg," snarled a deeper voice, layered with fury.
Dean, she thought, hand drifting down to her waistband. Only, her gun was missing – it must have come free when the demon had thrown her aside.
"No. Not anymore," snarled not-Sam – or, apparently, Meg. "Now, I'm Sam."
"Dean!" Faith tried to shout, but it came out garbled and choked.
"Aw, listen to that," said Meg, a pout in Sam's stolen voice. "Your girlfriend's worried about you. Don't worry, Faith-y, you can still have what's left of him when I'm done!"
"Bitch," Faith choked out. It hurt to breathe, and she thought she might have broken a few ribs in the fall.
"By the way," Meg continued as if Faith had never even spoken. "I saw your dad down there – he says 'howdy'."
Dean groaned in pain, and Faith knew she needed to do something. Where was Bobby? And Toby? Was he okay? Was he still alive? She reached blindly for the lip of Bobby's desk. It took her a moment to find it, and even longer to pull herself slowly upright. While she worked, Meg monologued.
"All that I had to hold onto, was that I would climb out one day, and that I was going to torture you. Nice and slow. Like pulling the wings off an insect. But whatever I do to you, it's nothing compared to what you do to yourself, is it? I can see it in your eyes, Dean. You're worthless. You couldn't save your dad, and deep down … you know that you can't save your brother. They'd have been better off without you-"
Faith managed to get herself upright just in time to watch Bobby grab Sam's arm and press a hot poker to the brand there, effectively breaking its power, just like with the devil's trap. Meg began to scream, then just as suddenly poured from Sam like water from a broken dam.
Black smoke spilled into the room, shooting towards the fireplace and disappearing up the chimney before any of them could come up with any idea to stop it.
Sam – and this time Sam only – collapsed back against the nearest filing cabinet, clutching his burnt arm and breathing hard. Faith caught sight of Dean, bloody but alive, then her eyes shot to Toby. He was laid on the couch, still as the dead. There was a bruise already blooming to life on his temple, but other than that, he seemed unharmed. But Faith wasn't taking any chances.
She tried to walk towards him, but the floor dipped again, and she toppled sideways. Bobby was there in an instant, keeping her from face-planting into the floor. "Faith, you need to sit down."
"No," she slurred. "Toby."
Bobby sighed but didn't argue, leading her slowly over to the couch, where she sank to her knees beside Toby. Holding her breath despite the way her head spun, Faith pressed her fingertips to Toby's pulse point. It took a moment to find, but there it was – a strong pulse. He was alive.
"Oh, thank fuck," she breathed, reaching out to shake him gently. "Toby, can you wake up?"
"That bruise looks pretty bad," said Bobby where he hovered over them both, looking concerned. "He's probably gonna be out of it for a while. Which might be for the best, anyway."
Faith nodded, only to groan when the room swam, and her vision grew watery.
"Here, I'll patch you up," offered Bobby, bringing her gently to her feet.
"I got it, Bobby," said Dean, most unexpectedly. He was standing now, Sam on his feet behind him, examining his burn mark on his arm with a wince. Dean came closer, wrapping an arm around Faith without hesitation, beginning to lead her back through the house, towards the downstairs bathroom.
He took her weight – which wasn't strictly necessary, as it was only balance that she was struggling with, not the walking itself – and led her into the bathroom. It was decently-sized, with a shower, a toilet, and a sink with space to sit on the bench.
Bobby followed them to the doorway, handing Dean a small green medical kit. "I'll go look after your brother," he said. Dean nodded his thanks. "And don't take too long. You've gotta ice that eye before it swells."
"Yes sir," said Dean robotically.
Bobby nodded once and left them be. Then, to her boundless surprise, Dean shut the door behind him and sealed them both in the bathroom, alone.
His expression was blank as his large hands wrapped around her waist and hefted her up onto the counter. She sat, legs splayed open, but there was nothing at all sexual about the position. She was half dead on her feet, and Dean was barely doing any better. He winced as he moved his arm, and despite her swimming vision she still caught it, her eyes narrow.
Then, to fuel her surprise further, he stepped away from her and collapsed back against the closest wall. He took a moment to simply breathe, head tipping until it tapped back against the wall. His mouth and cheek were still covered in blood that hadn't yet dried.
It had been a borderline disaster, and she felt entirely out of control. But there was one thing she could do, and that was help someone. Help Dean.
Faith grabbed one of Bobby's face towels, wet it with warm water from the sink, and reached for Dean. To even more surprise, he did as she silently asked, stepping back into her space and letting her wipe at the sticky mess of blood on his face. He kept his eyes shut, perhaps from exhaustion or maybe just to stave off any awkwardness. Either way, she was grateful.
When she was done, she put the cloth down and he opened his green eyes.
Moving sluggishly, Dean picked up the cloth. Again, he winced when he moved his arm, but it was almost imperceptible. She knew he didn't want her to bring it up, so she bit her tongue and let him use the clean side of the cloth to wipe at the blood on her forehead.
This time it was her who closed her eyes, and she felt almost lulled by the feeling of the pads of his fingers gently holding her head in place, and the soft drag of the warm cloth across her head. "You'll wanna wash the blood out of your hair before it dries too much," he said quietly, his cool breath passing over her face. She had the insane urge to sway towards its pull. She stopped herself only at the last moment, blaming her injury for making her thoughts blurry.
"When I can stand without falling over, I'll get right on that," she murmured back without opening her eyes.
After a while, Dean put down the cloth and began to rustle around in the first aid kit. Faith tipped her head back against the mirror and breathed. Dean smelled like sweat and blood, but underneath that was the scent of leather, and motor oil, and something that smelled faintly like sunshine itself. It was heady, and Faith hummed in quiet contentment.
"Don't pass out on me now, Bueller," said Dean, a hint of a smirk in the words.
"Shut up," Faith whispered without heat, and was rewarded with a throaty chuckle.
A minute passed, then Dean warned, "This'll hurt," just moments before he ran the rubbing alcohol over the cut at her hairline.
Faith sucked in a sharp breath of air through gritted teeth as fire flared at her head and down the length of her bruised spine. Her eyes scrunched tight, and her jaw ached from the strain. But she took it without complaint. There had been worse injuries than this in her past, and there would be countless more in her future.
"Well, I don't think you need stitches," Dean said, voice so quiet she nearly missed it. "A butterfly bandage should do the job."
"Good," she breathed distantly.
Now that the sharpness of the pain was fading, Faith was left with a terrible awareness of the way Dean was stood between her open thighs, the warmth of him radiating like a furnace. The heat of him stained her, and when his hips shifted dangerously close to the apex of her thighs, Faith had to bite back a shiver.
She banished the unwelcome thoughts – not really because it was Dean, but rather because this wasn't the time. Sam had just spent several weeks as a demon meat-suit, and Toby was unconscious from a blow to the head, and Faith herself could barely see straight, let alone walk in a straight line. This wasn't the time for lust, or anything that came close to it.
With her eyes squeezed shut, it was easy enough to convince herself that Dean didn't feel it too: the electricity.
Eventually he stepped back and she knew it was safe to open her eyes. Whatever he might have felt, it was gone now from his face now, expression set like stone. He moved to wash his hands, only to wince as it pulled at an injury in his arm.
"Okay, what's wrong with your arm?" she demanded.
Dean looked up like she'd smacked him. "What?"
"Your arm," she said again. "You wince every time you move it."
Dean shook his head dismissively. "It's nothing."
Exhaling in frustration, Faith grabbed the lapels of his jacket and tugged him towards her. He fell into the vee of her legs once more, and she tried to ignore the pulse she felt in response. She forced the jacket down off his shoulder, then grabbed the sleeve of the tee-shirt he wore underneath and yanked it up to reveal his shoulder and the wound he was trying to hide.
Dean grumbled irritably, but Faith ignored him. Whatever had happened, he'd had it patched up by someone who'd known what they were doing. Only the fight they'd just survived had opened the wound up again, and blood stained the white gauze wrapped around it.
"These need changing," she murmured.
He was shaking his head before she'd even finished speaking. "It's fine—"
"Would you shut up and let me help you?"
Dean fell silent and she took that as her permission to continue. Slowly, making sure to be gentle, Faith peeled off the blood-soaked gauze from his shoulder, glimpsing the wound beneath.
"Jesus Christ," she said, getting a good look at the bullet wound in his shoulder. "Who the fuck shot you?"
Dean's laugh was husky and tired. "Sam. Well, no – Meg, I guess." His laughter turned bitter. "Damn, I have a crazy life."
"Preaching to the choir," she mumbled, picking up the rubbing alcohol and doing for him exactly what he had for her. Dean winced when the alcohol touched the open bullet wound, but otherwise gave no indication he was in any pain. She wiped the spilled blood up with the damp cloth, then patted the area dry.
As she worked, Dean stared. She could feel his forest green eyes tracing over the planes of her face with single-minded intensity. Her pulse fluttered, though she gave no outward indication that he had any effect on her. She'd always had a good poker face – growing up, it was how she'd escaped trouble so many times.
And also how she'd gotten into so much of it in the first place.
At one point, while she was still fixing the bandage onto his warm, freckled skin, Faith scrounged the courage to look up at him from under her lashes. Her hazel eyes met his green ones, and she knew looking up had been a mistake. Her breath hitched and Dean's eyes fell automatically to her lips.
This couldn't happen. It just couldn't. Not only was it terrible timing, but they were just filled with adrenaline. That was all it was – the adrenaline still running through their systems. It was easier to blame something she had no control over. Everything about Dean made her feel out of control.
"Take a picture or something, Winchester, jeez," she grumbled in an effort to diffuse the climbing tension, ducking her face away from his and focusing intently on his bandage.
Dean swallowed and the sound caught in her ears, playing on a loop. "Sorry Sam hurt you," he said quietly.
When she looked into his eyes this time, the heat was gone, replaced by regret. "First of all," she began tightly, "Sam didn't hurt me. It was Meg – you know that. And second of all, if he had hurt me, you aren't the one who would need to apologise."
"He's my brother," said Dean, as though she wasn't aware.
"Yeah, your brother, not your property," she snapped, because it was so much easier to feel angry with him than the alternative – the only other alternative. Words she could never think, let alone say.
Frustration flashed in his eyes, turning soft forest green into flame, and she knew she'd succeeded in ruining the moment. "You don't understand," he grunted. She finished fixing his bandage into place and leaned backwards.
Like a switch was flicked, Dean stepped back out of her space. Faith took the opportunity to slide off the sink, her feet slapping against the floor. She didn't look up at him as she turned to hastily wash her hands in the sink. "Maybe not," she said coolly. "Thanks for patching me up, Winchester."
Dean was quiet long enough for her to think he wasn't going to say anything at all, then just before she could turn to leave the bathroom he said, with an unaffected smirk in place, "Any time, sweetheart."
As always, the word gave her a polarising reaction. Half of her went warm and fuzzy, the other half flushed with fury and wanted to smack him for it. She settled for glaring hotly before shutting the first aid kit with a snap and pushing her way out of the too-small bathroom.
It was so much easier to breathe out in the open, where Dean's scent couldn't invade her every atom and make her thoughts hazy. She marched directly into the kitchen, relieved to find that her balance had mostly returned to normal.
Sam was sat at the kitchen table, half-heartedly holding an ice pack to his burn. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
Sam looked startled – the look on his face such a far cry from that of the demon he'd had in him not twenty minutes ago. It was a quiet reassurance. "What? Um? Icing my arm?"
"It's a burn, you beautiful moron." She set the kit down on the table and reached for his hand. "You're not meant to ice it. You've gotta run it under cold water."
Sam was helpless but to let her drag him over to the sink and thrust his arm under the spray of the sink.
"Honestly," she tutted. "How do you even survive?"
She looked over her shoulder at Bobby, who was icing his wrist. She figured he must have hurt it when Meg blasted him back.
"How's Toby?" she asked, craning her neck to try and see through to the couch in the study.
"Still unconscious," said Bobby.
She frowned, and Sam gently extracted his arm from her hold. "Faith, I've got this. Go check on him," he said, kind but so very tired.
She hesitated, but in the end agreed, leaving him to cool his own wound while she went to look after Toby.
"And Faith?" called Sam before she could leave the kitchen. "Sorry about…well, everything."
She just barely kept from rolling her eyes. Those two really were brothers, weren't they? "It wasn't you, Sam," she reminded him. "You have nothing to apologise for."
He looked uncomfortable. "Still…"
She smiled and nodded once, then turned to walk past Dean, who had finally left the bathroom, standing beside Bobby with ice pressed to his swollen cheek. She met his eyes for one moment, then she looked sharply away, passing into the study and crouching down beside her partner.
"Hey, Toby," she murmured, poking him gently on his shoulder. "Can you wake up for me? Come on, man," she added playfully. "Don't make me slap you. Because I totally will."
Toby groaned, turning his head to reveal the egg atop his head. "You're a terrible person," he muttered groggily.
Faith was aching six ways from Sunday, her entire side one giant bruise and her head throbbing in time with her heartbeat, and yet she still couldn't help but grin at the sound of his voice. "Welcome back. You had me worried for a minute there."
"Bloody demon hit me in the head with a flying paperweight," he grumbled. Faith chuckled, reaching up to run her fingertips over the bump on his head. "Ouch," he winced, pulling back.
"Baby," she teased, standing to her feet again and walking back into the kitchen to grab Sam's abandoned ice pack. She was terribly aware of Dean's eyes on her, they itched and prickled her skin, but she pretended to ignore him, moving back into the study to press the pack onto Toby's sore head. "Want some tea?" she offered.
"Only if you're having some," Toby muttered back, reaching up to hold the ice pack himself.
"Sure am," she said, despite not having been planning on it. Toby didn't open his eyes, so she simply moved into the kitchen and began to prepare them some tea. "You guys want a cuppa?" she asked Sam and Dean, who had taken up seats at the table.
"Cuppa?" echoed Dean mockingly, back to his usual combative self.
"Hang around an Englishman long enough, it starts to rub off on you," she said over her shoulder.
"Something's rubbing off on you, all right," muttered Dean, just loud enough that she could hear. There was a thump as Sam whacked him, but no apology followed.
While the water was boiling, Faith grabbed two beers from the fridge, handing Sam his gently before thrusting Dean's at him, nearly sending it to the floor. "I figure you're not tea people," she said, sparing a smile for Sam and ignoring Dean entirely as she went back to her and Toby's tea.
They said nothing as they cracked open their beers and began to drink.
"How do you feel, Sam?" she asked as she prepared the cups. "Do you remember everything that happened?"
"Only bits and pieces," he said quietly. "Sometimes I was completely awake, but other times it was like I was sleeping."
"Well, at least you weren't awake the whole time, I guess."
Sam sighed. "Yeah."
"Where'd Bobby go?"
"Phone call," said the man himself, walking back into the room, looking a little tired and sore, but otherwise none the worse for wear. Just the way he said it told Faith it wasn't the good sort of phone call.
"Everything okay?" she asked carefully.
Bobby took a deep breath, a sort of seriousness to his expression that made all three of them stop what they were doing and look at him warily. "You boys ever hear of a hunter named Steve Wandell?"
There was a solid three seconds of silence from the brothers, and immediately Faith knew the answer.
"Why do you ask?" Dean asked carefully. A safe answer: too safe.
"Just heard from a friend. Wandell's dead. Murdered in his own house," Bobby said grimly. Sam inhaled, just soft enough that it was easily overlooked. He averted his eyes to the floor, and if Faith had ever seen a guilty man, it was the one before her now. "You wouldn't know anything about that," said Bobby, but it wasn't quite a question.
Dean opened his mouth and lied point-blink. "No sir, never heard of the guy."
Sam looked up, guilt glowing in his eyes. "Dean-"
"Good," interjected Bobby, stern and nonchalant in the same instant. "Keep it that way. Wandell's buddies are looking for someone or something to string up, and they're not going to slow down to listen to reason. You understand what I'm saying?"
Dean met Bobby's eyes, taking in his sincerity, then nodded once. A confirmation without saying the words. "We better hit the road," he said instead. "If, uh, you can remember where we parked the car," he added to Sam, just a little bit scathing.
He didn't look in Faith's direction once.
"Here," said Bobby before he could leave. "Take these."
Warily they each held out a hand, and into them Bobby dropped tiny anti-possession charms, just like the one Faith had hanging from the helix in her ear, only a little bigger.
Sam held his up to the light, examining it curiously. "What are they?"
"Charms. They'll fend off possession," he explained. "Faith's been wearing one for months. Considering what a target she is for demons, I figured she needed it most. Clearly, that was an oversight. You two're in danger, too. That demon's still out there, and this'll stop it from getting back up in ya."
Dean paused. "That sounds vaguely dirty, but … thanks."
"You're welcome," Bobby smiled wanly. "You boys be careful now."
Sam moved across the kitchen to Faith, who let him hug her and did her best to hide the pain that flashed across her face as he squeezed her bruised and broken ribs. She didn't want him to feel bad for it, because he would, even though it wasn't his fault.
"You heading out, too?" he asked, pulling back to smile tentatively.
"Nah, Toby and I will hang around here another day or two. Make sure he isn't gonna keel over on me."
"I heard that!" called Toby from the other room.
She smirked but otherwise didn't react. "After that, who knows? With any luck, we'll catch wind of a job."
"Well, keep in contact," said Sam with a wan smile.
She had to marvel again at the difference between this Sam and the one he'd been with Meg possessing him. Everything about him was different, right down to how tall he stood and the ease of his tired smile. She smiled tiredly back. "See you later, Sam."
He turned to go, and Faith found herself glancing at Dean, who hesitated halfway to the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable.
"Bye," she blurted, for lack of anything better to say. Dean's brow furrowed in something like frustration, but in the end, it smoothed away as if it had never been there in the first place, and he nodded once before turning to leave. Bobby snorted exasperatedly from the entrance to the study, but Faith ignored him, turning back to their tea as the front door opened and shut, the sound echoing across the house.
She and Toby had their tea. Faith spent the rest of the evening on the couch beside her partner, making sure he didn't fall asleep – just to be safe – and plying him with tea. It was nearing eleven when she finally decided to head up to bed, confident that Toby wasn't going to die the moment she left the room.
She'd just climbed to her feet when her phone began to buzz in her pocket. A glance at the caller ID told her it was Ash and her heart nearly leapt from her chest.
Plugging her other ear against the sound of some old black-and-white movie Toby was watching on TV, Faith moved into the next room to answer the call. "Ash?"
"Hey, Smoke-show," came Ash's cheerful voice. "Listen, I've got that info you were looking for."
"A month and a half later?" she asked sceptically. "I half thought you'd died."
"And you didn't come check up on me?"
She didn't bother answering that. "What did you find?"
"I've gotta tell you in person. It's hard to explain, and I made up a whole file for you to look through – at your leisure, of course."
"Can't you just tell me now?"
"No can do," he said stubbornly. She got the sense that it was less of a necessity and more of a ruse to get her within flirting distance again, but she needed that information, and Ash was harmless, really.
"Okay, fine. We're not too far out. Toby and I will be there by tomorrow afternoon."
When Ash spoke next, it had a self-satisfied note to it. "Sounds good, good-lookin'."
Faith rolled her eyes and ended the call. She wandered back into the study to tell Toby their new plans. He listened drowsily, agreeing with a sagging head, and once she was done, Faith helped him turn sideways on the couch so he could get some sleep.
As arranged, the next morning they woke up, had breakfast, then got in the car and made the trip south-west to the Roadhouse in central Nebraska. Faith drove, being that Toby's ankle was still a little tender, and the egg on his head still looked rather large – she'd rather him not drive them into a pole because he'd passed out behind the wheel.
They got an early start and managed to arrive at the Roadhouse only a little after lunch. Faith went around to help Toby out of the car, but he batted her away and walked by himself towards the entrance to the bar, only the slightest limp giving away that he was injured at all.
Ellen looked up from the bar when they walked in, a small smile gracing her face. As they grew closer, she put down the large bag of peanuts she was pouring into smaller bowls and came around the bar to give Faith a brief but warm hug.
"Y'know, a phone call now and again wouldn't be such a bad thing," Ellen scolded her in greeting. Faith pulled back and smiled apologetically.
"Things have been crazy," she explained, though it was really no excuse.
"You're tellin' me," Ellen said, bringing Toby into a quick embrace next. "You're starting to get a bit of a reputation round these parts, y'know?"
Faith's gut swooped and dipped. She didn't want a reputation – she just wanted to do her job and do it well. Spend time with the people who mattered, when she could. "What kind of a reputation?"
"The workaholic kind," Ellen said, moving back behind the bar. "Word is you two have been taking jobs left, right, and centre. Ol' Terry Wade was just sayin' the other day that you two were chomping at the bit for jobs. Said you were the people to call if they wanted a job done fast."
Faith batted away the words as Toby grinned roguishly, reaching up to run a hand over his beard, which had gotten significantly longer over the last few weeks. He claimed they'd been too busy for him to find time to shave – but that was okay. They both enjoyed the work, and Toby looked good with a beard, and he knew it.
"We are but humble civil servants," said Toby, taking the beer Ellen hand him with a smile.
Ellen snorted and didn't comment as she handed another bottle to Faith, who took it with a grateful nod.
The Roadhouse was mostly empty – it wasn't exactly the sort of establishment you came to when the sun was still high in the sky – but there were a few people around, mostly at the booths in the back. They looked rugged and worn enough to be hunters, but Faith didn't recognise them. Unsurprising – there were still plenty of hunters she didn't know. Like Ellen said, she and Toby were elbow-deep in work. Outside of Bobby, Sam, and Dean, the job didn't leave much time for socialisation.
"You here to see Ash?" Ellen asked. Faith's brows crept up her forehead, and Ellen's smile was amused. "Nothin' goes on in this bar that I don't know about."
Faith managed a chuckle. "He around?"
"Out back," Ellen said. "I'll go get him – I need more peanuts anyway."
She disappeared through the door leading to the back of the Roadhouse. Faith turned on her barstool and let her eyes scan over the bar. It was steadily becoming a place as familiar as Bobby's house; a place where Faith knew she could come to feel safe and protected.
As someone who had grown up without even one such place to speak of, she didn't have the words to articulate just how grateful she was for it.
"You hungry?" Toby asked. "I think Neal's working the grill. He makes a mean toastie."
She agreed and when Ellen reappeared, he dug some cash out of his pocket to order some. Ellen took the cash and called the order through to the back, where an older, retired hunter named Neal – just Neal – manned the grill.
"Ash'll be right out," Ellen told them as she got back to work.
"Thanks, Ellen."
Not a full minute later, Ash stumbled through the back door. His horrendous hair was even more of a mess than usual, and he was wearing only a pair of jeans and a white tank top with a suspicious yellow stain down its front. He had a creased manilla folder stuffed under one arm.
"Well, well, well," Ash purred as he made his way towards them, unabashedly checking Faith out. "Don't you just get prettier every time I see you?"
Faith rolled her eyes but still smiled. She was getting very used to Ash's particular brand of charm. "What've you got for me, Ash?"
His face fell. "What, no small-talk? Way to make a guy feel used, Faith-y."
She rolled her eyes again, then said with exaggerated emphasis, "Hello Ash. How are you? Been keeping well? You look like you had a wild night last night."
Ash's smile was smug as a cat that got the cream. "Well, as a matter of fact…" he began just as the door swung open and a tall, leggy blonde walked out, dressed in a glittery minidress with last night's makeup smudged. She ran a hand across Ash's shoulders, sending him a flirty smirk, before clicking her way out of the Roadhouse.
Toby shook his head and snorted with amusement, while Faith just looked stricken. "How?" she asked Toby, genuinely confused. Her friend just grinned and threw back some more beer.
"It's the guns," said Ash, flexing his matchstick arms, clearly for some reason very proud of them. "Keeps the ladies comin' back for more."
Faith couldn't help but be thrown back to the night before – her sat on the bathroom counter with Dean in the vee of her thighs, her small hands pressed to his shoulder. She remembered now what she'd been too tired then to notice: the large curve of his arm muscles and the smooth warmth of his freckled skin.
Ellen appeared then, plopping a plate down in front of both her and Toby, a grilled cheese on each.
"Thanks Ellen," said Faith, pulling herself from her stupor with a shake of her head. Ellen waved away her thanks and disappeared into the back of the bar. Faith and Toby began to eat, and Faith had to hold back a moan at the taste of the grilled cheese on her tongue.
"You even get her name?" Toby was asking around greedy mouthfuls.
"Delilah," said Ash with a dreamy sigh, only to just as quickly frown. "Or maybe it was Dorothy. Denise? I actually don't remember. I know it started with a 'D', though. I remember because I made a joke about-"
"Care to share what you found with the class?" Faith interjected, because hearing the rest of that sentence was the last thing she wanted.
Ash took up the seat on Faith's right without any more rambling. He laid the file on the bar, and she noted that it was thicker than she'd expected. Thick enough to make her feel paranoid. Had he really found so much on a man who had clearly not wanted to be found?
Faith voiced her thoughts aloud.
"Well, that's kinda why it took so long to get back to you," Ash explained. "The algorithm I ran was pinging like crazy. Even kept me awake until I thought to shut off the sound."
Faith wasn't exactly what she would call 'computer savvy', but even she knew what that meant. "You got lots of hits?"
"A literal shit-tonne," said Ash. "The damn thing wouldn't stop. I'm not even sure it's finished now. I just figured I had enough to bring to you and let it be."
Faith felt unsteady at the news, and when she reached for the file, she was relieved that her hands didn't tremble. Flipping open to the first page, she found a photograph of her father, only in it, he had a beard and wore a dark hat. She turned to the next one, finding a similar image, then another and another.
"This doesn't seem all that strange," she said aloud.
Ash stole her beer and threw back a mouthful. She decided to let it slide and just get herself a new one. He had done this favour for her free of charge, after all. "Oh yeah?" he asked once he'd put down the bottle. "Keep looking."
She kept flipping through the pictures, and as she did, some part of her clicked onto the fact that something wasn't quite right about them. But it took a few moments before she realised what that something was.
As she flipped backwards, the date seemed to go backwards too, until she was staring at images of a man who looked exactly like her father, only he was wearing printed shirts and coloured glasses. She dug deeper into the pile and felt the air catch in her lungs as she came across the first black-and-white picture.
It only got stranger after that.
"How far back do these go?" she asked, her voice coming out strangled.
"The earliest photograph I've found so far is from 1890," said Ash.
"Well, hardly surprising, considering the camera was invented in 1888," Toby said, finishing off the last of his sandwich and leaning in to look at the photos over Faith's shoulder.
"Ah, but you're forgetting something, my man."
Toby looked up with a frown. "What?"
Ash's smirk was entirely too conniving. "I'm a genius."
Faith grabbed a few inches of photos and set them aside, wanting to hurry up and get to the truly shocking thing that she was sure he had hidden at the bottom. What she found made her mouth turn dry.
It was another image, this time not a photograph but rather a high-resolution scan of a painting.
She looked up, brow scrunched in confusion. "What-?"
"I thought it was weird, so I expanded the search to include art pieces as well as just photographs," Ash explained. "I got a surprising amount of hits."
He was right – she flipped through the scans one after another, and they were all of the same man. She knew that art, of course, was up to interpretation. There was every chance that this was just a coincidence, and that her father just so happened to look like a guy wearing a robe and helmet from sometime during the Dark Ages.
But this was her they were talking about, and no explanation could ever be so simple.
"So, basically," said Ash, leaning back on his barstool, pleased with himself, "your father's immortal."
Her eyes snapped up to meet his. "We don't know that."
Ash cocked his head. "What other explanation is there?"
She floundered. "…Time travel?"
Toby was exasperated. "Oh yes, time travel seems much more likely than immortality – a condition we face every other day in our line of work and know without a shadow of a doubt is possible."
"Your sarcasm is neither clever nor appreciated," she sneered, feeling weightless and ill from the evidence in front of her. Like she were floating loose and untethered in a dark void. The darkness threatened to swallow her whole.
She turned to Ash who remained utterly unbothered. He was tossing peanuts into the air, catching them in his mouth and washing them back with a sip of her beer.
"Is there any chance this is just one huge coincidence?" she asked hopelessly. "That maybe my father just has a really common face?"
Ash's smile was surprisingly gentle. "No such thing, Faith-y. Faces are as unique as thumbprints. No two are the same. Not even identical twins."
Faith's insides felt hollow, and it must have shown on her face, because Ash reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder.
"It's not so bad," he said cheerfully. "Maybe you'll be immortal, too."
Her eyes went wide – she hadn't even considered that. "I don't want to be immortal."
Ash seemed surprised. "Really? Why not?"
Faith didn't bother answering that, turning to Toby and finding him holding up one of the black-and-white photos of her father. In it, he was the only in-focus person in a bustling crowd. He was looking directly at the camera, a mean smirk halfway bloomed on his face. It was a haunting image, and Faith felt the grilled cheese in her stomach turn to sludge.
"What do you think?" Toby asked quietly.
"I don't know what to think," she replied numbly. "Well, except for one thing I'm starting to get pretty sure of."
"Which is?"
She took a deep breath. "My father wasn't human."
A/N: I hope you guys are enjoying this so far! I really appreciate any feedback or messages, it means a lot.
Next time: The boys experience the Folsom Prison Blues, and ask Faith to step in and play lawyer. Hijinks ensue.