Archive of Our Own

Late October, 2005

“There’s a gun,” Sam says, “A special gun, made by Samuel Colt back in the day. Rumor has it, it can kill anything. We need to find it.”

They’re at Humphrey’s Bar & Grill on the outskirts of Gillette, Wyoming, slowly making their way down to California, following the inaugural meeting of the Anti-Apocalypse Alliance (so named by Sam because he’s a nerd who likes alliteration and none of the other witches, vodouisants, special children or hunters had cared what the group was called. Personally, Dean’s calling them the Rebel Army, which is way cooler). Anyway, they all came away with their own jobs and focus areas and Bobby’s co-ordinating things from Singer Auto. Sam and Dean are recruiting Special Children and trying to find the Yellow-eyed demon; Azazel according to Kalfu.

Also? Dean’s been trying to get hold of their Dad since before the War Council (there’s only so many times he can say inaugural meeting before he starts feeling like a douche), but Dad’s not picking up and he’s not returning calls.

“Why are you just mentioning this gun now?” Dean asks.

“I’ve had dreams before, of a man, a cabin, a gun. Last night the dream had a little more information in it. I think it’s time now for us to go find the gun.”

“We need to find Dad,” Dean says once he’s finished swallowing a mouthful of the best damn burger he’s had in a long while.

Sam puts his fork down; he’s mostly just been pushing his salad around on his plate, but now he gives up any pretence that he’s actually eating and gives Dean a sympathetic look.

“Dean,” he says, in a soothing a freaked witness kind of tone, “Dad…doesn’t want to be found.”

“You could find him,” Dean says. “You found me. Maybe you could track Dad the same way?”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You think I haven’t tried?”

Dean purses his lips. Actually, yeah. Given the whole if you walk out that door, don’t you dare come back fight Sam and Dad had before Sam left for Stanford, Dean had figured Sam didn’t care much about finding Dad. Hell, this time of year the old man was probably working overtime on a Miller time shift or curled up somewhere with John, Jack or José.  Once upon a time, Sam would’ve pointed that out too, but this Sam? The Sam with powers and magic? He’s different.

Sam frowns. “I’ve tried Dean. The same blood magic tracking spell that I used to find you. I even tried a few things even less savory than that, which you definitely don’t wanna know about. Dad is completely off-grid.”

Icy fear rushes through Dean’s veins. “He’s not....do you think…is he dead?”

Sam shakes his head. “I’ve got people keeping an eye on the veil. He’s not there either.”

Dean swallows. It still kind of stings that Sam has people. That he left Stanford, not to hunt with his brother, but to learn how to be a witch and use his special powers.  And that he didn’t even tell Dean for nearly two years!

“Dean, listen,” Sam leans forward, eyes intent. “This gun, Dad’s been looking for it too. Maybe, if we look for it, we might find Dad too.”

Dean shakes his head. “He was checking out that pattern of disappearances in Jericho. I say we go there and look for him. It’s been three weeks now since I last heard from him and…Sam, with everything that’s going on…I’ve just got this gut feeling that he’s in trouble.”

Sam eats a little more of his salad, his brow furrowed. “If that’s true,” he says, “the best thing we can do for him is find and kill the Yellow-eyed Demon. And I know where the special gun is now. It’s actually not far from here. We should at least check it out first. We can go to Jericho afterwards.”

Sam’s logic is hard to fault and Dean, reluctantly, agrees.

--

As soon as they pull up to the cabin in Manning, Colorado, Sam knows they’re in the right place; he’s seen it in his dreams, recognises the wooden cabin, the trees, the woodpile covered by a tarpaulin. He recognises the man who opens the front door too. He has a weathered, craggy face and the same air of paranoid suspicion as just about every hunter Sam has ever met. Sam knows from his dreams that it’s justified in Elkins’s case. There’s salt on the floor near the door, a ring of it, not oops I spilled the popcorn salt, but Sam knows it’s not going to stop what’s coming for Daniel Elkins.  

Sam pastes on his kindest smile. “Mr Elkins, I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother Dean.”

Elkin’s scowls. “You ain’t related to John Winchester, are you?”

“He’s our father,” Dean says,

Elkin’s scowl deepens. “Well I ain’t givin’ you any different answer than I gave your Daddy, so you may as well get off my property. I ain’t got it.”

He tries to shut the door, but Sam pushes back with his telekinesis and Elkins’s eyes dart up to his, frightened.

“What are you?”

“In a few months from now a nest of vampires is going to catch your scent.”

“A nest of what?” Dean interjects, sounding sceptical, “There’s no such thing!”

Sam ignores his brother and continues, his eyes never leaving Elkins’s. “The nest belongs to a vamp called Luther. You killed his family back in the day. And his new mate Kate is going to kill you. I know this, because I get visions; usually of death; and my death visions always have some kind of link to the demon Azazel. You have the Colt, Mr Elkins, and my brother and I are going to use it to kill that son-of-a-bitch demon who killed our mother. And maybe we can help save your life in the process.”

Elkins stands and stares for a beat longer and then sighs and nods. “Guess you boys better come in then.”

--

Elkins brings out the good whisky, serves it with water, and Dean would bet his last dollar that it was holy water given the way Elkins watches them take their first sip closely and then relaxes somewhat.

“I’ll tell you the story of the Colt as my Daddy told it to me,” Elkins says, settling back in his chair. “Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo. They say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us, only on horseback. Story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. It surfaced again in 1861, in Sunrise, Wyoming, in some shootout involving a hunter and a Phoenix. Old man Colt, who was a friend of my great, great, something granddaddy, gave him the gun after the shootout. It’s been handed down father to son, ever since.”

Dean glances at Sam, sees his attention is riveted on Elkins.

“This gun,” Dean says, “rumor has it, it can kill anything.”

Elkins nods. “I ain’t never used it myself, but I saw my Daddy kill the vamp that killed my Ma and my sister with it. It’s the only time since the gun came to our family that we’ve used it. It needs special bullets, see, and the recipe on how to make ‘em, well, that died with old Samuel Colt. Nowadays, there’s only five bullets left.”

Elkins knocks back the rest of his whisky. “There’s a second part to the tale I ain’t told you about yet. You see, Old man Colt, he told us not to use the gun, said it wasn’t for us. He told my great granddaddy: one day, generations from now, a man named Winchester is gonna ask for the gun and you’re gonna give it to him. Well, your Daddy asked me for the gun and I told him no. Do you know why?”

Sam shakes his head.

“Because Old man Colt, he told my great granddady we were gonna give it to a Sam Winchester,” he eyes Sam speculatively. “Had some tale about blackberries that didn’t make a lick o’ sense. Anyway, I didn’t want to believe you were him. Reckon you don’t have enough mileage on you for a destiny like this, but,” he waves an arm toward Sam, “you got the visions and the what not, so what do I know? I’m just an old, worn hunter.”

Elkins gets to his feet and beckons for Sam to come with him. Dean trails along behind and Elkins doesn’t object, as they go into another room and over to a wall safe. Elkins very purposefully keeps the safe hidden from their view, but when he finally turns around he’s holding a beautiful revolver with an ornately carved wooden handle.

“All those years hearing the story,” he says, “All those generations of passing down responsibility for the Colt, I never thought I’d be the one to hand it over to Sam Winchester.”

Elkins holds the gun close for a moment and then, solemnly, passes it to Sam.

“Thank you for looking after it for us,” Sam says gravely.

“You’re really gonna kill a demon?” Elkins asks

Sam’s answering grin is wild and bright. “We’re gonna kill a demon and prevent the Apocalypse,” he says.

--

They stay a while longer so that Sam can tell Elkins everything he knows about the vamps who’re going to get his scent and they help him formulate a plan to make sure he gets the upper hand. Dean checks his phone as soon as they get back to the impala. He’d had it on silent, just in case they’d ended up having to break into Elkins’s house and he curses as he sees the missed call from his Dad.

“Sonofabitch! Dad called.”

Sam looks mildly interested. “Did he leave a message?”

Dean nods and dials up his voicemail, then puts his phone on speaker.

The message is staticky and the signal was clearly breaking up, but it’s their Dad’s voice and his tone is urgent:

“Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger.”

“You think he knows?” Dean says after a moment. “That there are demons and angels trying to kick start the apocalypse?”

Sam looks away. “Maybe. Dad has always played everything close to the vest,” he pauses. “There’s EVP on that recording.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. I picked that up too. We should slow it down, run it through a gold wave, take out the hiss. See if we can figure out what’s being said.  Maybe it’ll help us find Dad.”

Sam doesn’t disagree.

--

It’s almost 8.00pm, so they drive to Denver and get a room for the night.

The next morning, Dean tells Sam that he usually goes to a college with a recording studio and pretends to be an audio engineering student whenever he comes across something with EVP. 

Sam has a better idea. He has a laptop, which he had Phoebe bring to the meeting at Bobby’s, along with his clothes duffle and his magic supplies, and he figures the smarter move is to buy the Goldwave software themselves with Dean’s fake credit card and install it on his laptop.

Sam ends up buying a dongle that will get him wifi anywhere too. It’s expensive, but what the hell? Hector Aframian can afford it.

Back at the motel, Sam installs the software, before stepping into the parking lot to call Phoebe and Brittany, while Dean does his thing with the voicemail.

Phoebe, Brittany and the other Cunning Folk have become family and Sam hopes he won’t have to choose between them and Dean. Dean’s attitude to witches and magic has matured in the time they’ve been apart. He’s moved away from their Dad’s if it’s supernatural, kill it mindset and that gives Sam hope that he can bring Dean into the fold and keep him, because he’s missed his brother like a severed limb.

Phoebe gives him an overview of what they’ve been up to. Demon signs are still up, more new covens of borrower witches are forming, causing trouble, which isn’t surprising with so many demons topside, but it’s keeping the Cunning Folk busy. She’s rambling now and Sam knows what that means.

“Phoeb, just tell me.”

Phoebe sighs. “You know we’ve been keeping a close eye on Tyson Brady since we got that demon out of him?”

Sam’s stomach drops. “Please don’t tell me it’s back?”

“We’re not sure if it’s the same demon, but he’s definitely possessed again. I guess he must’ve taken off the charm we gave him.”

“Goddamn it,” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is he still at Stanford?”

Phoebe says that he is and then tells him that Aimee, the voudisant from New Orleans, wants to talk to him.

“Sam,” she says, her voice deep.

Sam pauses, frowns. “Who am I talking to?”

The voice on the other end of the phone chuckles. “Knew you be a smart one. It’s Erzulie Dantor. Aimee be letting me ride her for this conversation.”

Sam’s stomach clenches. What now? Isn’t the news of Brady bad enough?

“Ain’t nothin’ bad,” Erzulie Dantor somehow picks up on his sudden tension. “Not really. Me and Kalfu been speaking to Papa Legba. The Keeper of the Gates can look a lot o’ different ways and he says the angels and the demons had a plan to get you back into hunting, but you kicked that plan off the tracks when you left Stanford.  Now you ain’t there, ain’t no reason for a demon to be usin’ Brady to hang around Stanford. So why is it there?”

Sam frowns. “I take it you want me to go find out? Do another exorcism while I’m at it.”

Erzulie Dantor hums approvingly. “We’ll get Max and Alicia to meet you there.”

Sam hesitates a moment and then asks, “Do the Loa know if my Dad’s okay?”

“He alive,” Erzulie Dantor says, “he just takin’ a lotta care to hide hisself. Oh and Sam? Tell Dean that Ogou says Hey.”

Sam scowls. He wants the Loa of the Hunt nowhere near his brother.

--

The voicemail recording is easy enough to clean up. It’s a woman’s voice saying I can never go home. Sam’s conversation looks serious though, so Dean helps himself to a beer from his green cooler and watches as his brother’s shoulders get tighter, his posture more rigid.

When Sam finally comes inside he’s making a conscious effort to appear relaxed, but Dean isn’t buying it.

He gets up and fishes another beer out of the cooler, tosses it to Sam.

“Trouble?” he asks, keeping his tone casual.

Sam catches the beer and pops the top. He sits on the edge of his bed, facing Dean’s, his elbows resting on his knees and the beer dangling from his fingertips while he fills Dean in on the news from his witch friends and the Loa.

Dean hears him out in silence and then says, “So you wanna go to Palo Alto? What about Dad? I cleaned up the voicemail and listen...”

He goes across to Sam’s computer and hits play.

“I can never go home,” the voice is sad and female.

Dean straightens and fixes Sam with a mulish stare. “We need to go to Jericho.”

Sam nods, and for a moment Dean thinks his brother is agreeing with him, and then Sam lifts his head and his steely expression pins Dean in place.

“No,” Sam says. “From everything we know, the job Dad was working is a routine haunting and he bailed on it for ‘something big’, probably the same demon signs we’ve been monitoring. I doubt he’s still in Jericho. And we will go check it out, Dean, I promise. But Brady is possessed. Even if he wasn’t a friend, this has something to do with the demon who’s in charge of setting up the pieces for the Apocalypse.  Palo Alto is the priority here; it’s the smarter strategic move. So that’s where we’re going.”

Dean licks at his lips and rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Ooh Sammy,” he teases, “I get all tingly when you take control like that.”

He’s not expecting Sam’s knowing smirk and raised eyebrow and it throws him off kilter. He was trying to make his little brother blush and instead he can feel his own cheeks darkening.

“How about we drive to Salt Lake City this afternoon,” Sam suggests, sounding way too amused for Dean’s liking, “and get a room for the night. We’ll head out to Palo Alto first thing in the morning.” 

--

Dean dreams that night that he’s standing on a battlefield, strewn with blood and dismembered bodies. Lightning crackles across the sky and ash and small grass fires litter the landscape.  A black man walks out of the smoky darkness; broad, muscular, dressed in red and reeking of rum. He’s holding a machete and his smile is bitingly sharp. 

“Soon Cheval,” he says. “We gonna hunt together.”

“Who are you?” Dean demands, and he’s suddenly aware of the cold press of metal, heavy in his right hand. He glances down and sees that he’s holding a machete, just like the man in front of him.

The man’s smile widens. “You know who I am, boy. I be ready whenever you are. Just you take off that protective charm and I’ll come.”

Bright lightning splits the sky and Dean wakes up, hand sliding under his pillow for the knife he always keeps there.

Sam’s asleep on the bed beside his and Dean takes a deep breath and wonders whether he just had a dream or some kind of magical visitation.  Sam would know, maybe. But if the man in the dream was who Dean thinks he was, Sam might be pissed. He really hadn’t liked the idea of Dean being ridden by Ogou. Dean settles back to sleep and this time, it’s dreamless.

--

Max texts Sam the address of the motel where he and Alicia are staying and says he’s got Sam and Dean an adjoining room.  Sam gives Dean directions and Dean doesn’t ask where they’re going even though Sam can tell he really wants to.

Something’s shifted between them in the last twenty-four hours. The dynamic between them has been changing for some time, as Dean has slowly realized that the kid brother he knew has been replaced by a man with power and knowledge. Dean is smart and he’s an excellent hunter. He’s also pragmatic. He’ll happily take charge of a situation if he assesses that he’s the best person to be in charge, but he’ll just as happily give the reins to someone else if he feels they’re better-placed to lead. That’s what’s happened yesterday, Sam thinks. Dean made the decision, whether consciously or not, to defer to Sam about their priorities, the same way he usually defers to their father.

Sam’s not entirely sure how he feels about that.

They pull up at the Red Lion Motel and Dean keeps the engine idling while Sam goes into the Reception and picks up their room key.

They’re putting down their duffels and Dean is asking Sam whether he wants to get supper from a diner or just get some takeout when there’s a brief knock on the door between their room and Max and Alicia’s. Max comes barging through without waiting for a response.

“Sam!” he cries, spreading his arms wide and then pulling Sam in for a heartfelt hug.

Alicia comes and hugs Sam from the other side and Sam can see Dean frowning.

Dean had made quips at Bobby’s about how touchy-feely Sam was with Max and Alicia. Dean has always been loudly straight and Sam was too concerned about having Dean accept his powers and his practice of witchcraft to want to introduce the notion that he may, on occasion, like to bat for the other team too. Given how snarkily ‘get your hands off my brother’ Dean is looking at Max right now, Sam suspects the subject may need to come up.

Max says that he and Alicia will go and get them all some takeout, that it’s better if their ‘big guns’ aren’t seen around Palo Alto until they’re ready to make their move.

“I’ve said it before,” Dean says, once the twins have gone. “And I’ll say it again. You and Max and Alicia seem very comfortable with each other.”

Sam nods. “We’ve worked together a few times.”

“You’ve said, yeah.”

“And we’ve done some rituals together.”

Dean inclines his head. “Rituals?”

“You want a beer?” Sam heads for the cooler, gets one for himself and passes one to Dean, before continuing. “A lot of the rituals to raise energy and create magical power are done skyclad.”

“Skyclad?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Naked,” Sam clarifies.

“So…you’ve all seen each other naked?”

Sam nods. Waits until Dean raises the bottle to his lips to add, “Also, we’ve all fucked.”

Dean’s beer spit is hilarious.

--

Dean hasn’t finished processing Sam’s proclamation when the twins return with the Chinese.

Dean can’t meet either of their eyes. He passes beers around, helps himself to a serving of sweet and sour chicken and flicks quick glances at them both, wondering about the logistics of the whole thing. Dean had a threesome with twins once; beautiful leggy, blonde chicks who were all over him and didn’t touch each other. Did Sam have a threesome with the Banes twins or did he sleep with them separately? And why is he thinking so much about his brother’s sex life? Probably because Sam has never really seemed all that adventurous. Screwing around with another guy? A threesome? Dean’s having a hard time reconciling those things with his I love everything normal little brother.

“So,” Sam says. “I told Dean about us.”

Dean glares at Sam and then turns to the twins with a smile that even he can feel is fake.

“I’m impressed,” Dean says, “a threesome with twins? You sly dog Sammy, I didn’t think you had it in you!”

Alicia laughs. “That was only one time for a ritual. Mostly, it’s just Max and Sam.”

Dean swallows a suddenly tasteless lump of sweet and sour chicken. He doesn’t like the thought that Max might be someone special to Sam, but he’s aware it’s churlish of him.  He eyes Max speculatively. “So you and my brother…?”

“Fool around occasionally, yes,” Max says coolly.

Dean nods. “Well, good for you. So…what’s the plan for getting that demon out of Brady?”

--

When Brady had come back from Thanksgiving Break, sophomore year, all messed up, Sam had put it down to drugs. Brady had dropped out of pre-med and he’d started screwing around and Sam had spent weeks trying to get him back on track, before learning that he’d actually been possessed. After the exorcism, Brady had struggled, but he’d worn the protection charm the Cunning Folk had given him, he’d picked up his studies again and, eventually, he’d started doing okay again.

Sam leaves it until the following day to call Brady, and as soon as he hears his friend’s voice over the phone, he can tell he’s talking to a demon. The real Brady could have never sounded so lecherous and oily.  The demon says he’s delighted to hear from Sam and would love to meet him for a drink that evening. He names a quiet little bar in Redwood City that Sam’s been to with him before. The Red Oak is opposite a shopping plaza and just a little bit down the road from the Menlo Country Club, where Brady has a membership. It’s definitely not a college hangout and nor is it the type of place that you’d go if you wanted to hustle. It’s a quiet neighbourhood bar with a handful of regulars who mind their own business and the occasional visitor who’s just passing through.

Alicia and Max go in first, an hour before the designated meeting time, and Sam and Dean get there ten minutes before the agreed time to find Brady sitting at a table in the middle of the room, with an elfin-faced blonde girl with a pixie haircut. Sam lowers his head, lets his bangs fall over his face and let’s his eyes flash gold, just for a moment. It’s enough to let him see the smoky blackness tarnishing both Brady and the girl’s souls.

Sam grimaces inwardly. Naïve of them, probably, but they were only expecting one demon. Two isn’t great. This first meeting was only supposed to be reconnaissance; he hopes they’re not going to have to fight.

Brady stands to greet him. “Sammy! It’s great to see you.”

Brady holds out a hand and Sam shakes; makes eye contact; smiles; manages not to cringe when Brady pulls him in for a hug that includes a surreptitious butt grope. He makes some vague noise that could probably be taken as polite reciprocation of Brady’s greeting, but mostly he’s wondering how the demon manages to get Brady’s face to look so smarmy, lecherous and arrogant.

“This is my girlfriend, Meg,” Brady gestures to the blonde. He raises an eyebrow, “I know, I know. Back to girls,” he winks and then looks at Dean. “Boyfriend?”

Dean is frowning and looking between Sam and Brady with an expression of dawning realization.

“Seriously?” he says to Sam. “Him too? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sam shrugs. “Never came up.”

Dean snorts. “Oh it’s seems to come up a lot.”

Meg giggles. “Trouble in paradise?”

“This is my brother, Dean,” Sam says, taking a seat, encouraging Dean and Brady to do the same.

“Drink?” Brady gestures.

There’s a bottle of whisky and four glasses on the table, two empty.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Dean pours both himself and Sam a generous serving and then chugs his fast.

Brady asks Sam what he’s been up to and Sam tells him he’s been on a road trip with his brother. “You know, after everything that went down at Brittany’s birthday I just…needed to get away for a while, be with my family. How about you? Still planning on going into medicine next year? Becoming a doctor?”

“No,” Brady shakes his head. “I’m joining the family business. You know how that goes, right Sam? No matter how much you want to get away, do your own thing, they just pull you back in.”

Not wanting to be part of the family business was something they’d bonded over, back when they’d first met. Sam hadn’t wanted to hunt—not that he’d told Brady what the family business was—and Brady hadn’t wanted to join his old man’s company. If Sam remembers correctly Brady’s family owns a Pharmaceutical company.

Sam asks him what he’ll be doing for his father’s company and Brady’s glee is unholy. “The old man is so thrilled I’ve finally caved that he’s offered me VP of Research and Development.”

Which probably answers the question of why Brady is still hanging around at Stanford. Sam can’t imagine the demons have anything good planned if they’re trying to get control of a pharmaceutical company.  They need to exorcise Brady urgently, but first they need to get him away from Meg.

Meg though, seems keen to stick to Brady’s side and she’s just invited herself to join the one-on-one game of golf Sam was trying to interest Brady in when Dean stills so suddenly and completely that he may as well have leapt to his feet waving his arms. Sam turns to him and then follows his wide-eyed gaze.

The man standing just inside the door was not someone he was expecting to see.

“Dad?” Sam says.

--

Dean’s bored by all the chit chat, unsettled by the fact that his brother is apparently, if not gay, then at least bi, and never told him, and also by the way Meg keeps staring at him.  There’s something off about her and Sammy is wound tighter than a two dollar watch. Dean pours himself a second whisky, sips at it slowly and tries to stay alert. The last thing he expects is for his old man to walk through the front door.

“Dad?” Sam says.

John Winchester smiles. “Gang’s all here, I see,” he turns the open signed to closed and that’s when Dean notices that the only people still in the bar are the people at their table, Max and Alicia, their Dad and the barman.

Dean decides he has a bad feeling about this.

“There’s a lot more silver in your beard than there was the last time I saw you,” Sam says.

Silver is Winchester brother code for that’s not who you think it is and Dean’s bad feeling intensifies.

When he glances up at Brady his eyes are completely black. So are Meg’s. He turns to look at the bartender and yep, his too. He looks back at their Dad, dreading seeing black there too. Instead he sees yellow, which is so much worse.

He knew they should’ve brought that special gun.

“What do you want, Azazel?” Sam somehow manages to sound bored.

Their dad’s…no, Azazel’s grin widens. 

“You. I’ve got big plans for you, Sammy.”

Azazel turns swiftly to Max who freezes with his athame poised to cut into his hand.

“Don’t,” Azazel flicks his wrist and Max is pinned to the wall. Alicia meets the same fate a heartbeat later when she tries to drip her own blood onto the vanishing sigil Max has carved into the table.

Sam uses the distraction to spit out the first few words of the Rituale Romanum, but he barely manages to get to omnis immundus before Meg has grabbed Dean.

“Don’t,” she says. “Or I’ll break his neck.”

“So what d’you say, son?” Azazel takes a few ambling steps toward Sam. “Come with me, fulfil your destiny. Maybe I’ll even let you keep your brother as a plaything.”

Sam’s answer is to throw his hands out and Dean is abruptly released as all the meatsuits start gasping and clutching at their throats.

Max and Alicia drop from where they’re pinned to the wall and Max runs to Sam, calling for Dean to help him. Between them they drag Sam (whose nose is dripping blood and who’s looking paler by the second) to the door of the bar, arms still outstretched, while Alicia slices her hand with the athame and completes the banishing spell. The demons vanish; meatsuits and all.

“They’ll be back,” Alicia says, “and fast. We need to get somewhere safe.”

--

Somewhere safe turns out to be their joined motel rooms, which the twins had thoroughly warded when they first arrived, with sigils, salt, goofer dust, and a few other things that mean nothing to Dean, but cause Sam to nod in approval.

Nodding is just about all Sam can do though. He’s pale and waxy, his nose is still bleeding, and he looks like he’s holding on to consciousness by sheer bloody-minded willpower.

“We need to do a ritual,” Alicia says.

Max drags the bed quilt and all of the pillows onto the floor and helps Sam to lie down, and then the twins begin to strip and Dean ducks his head, suddenly and surprisingly shy about seeing them naked. 

Alicia begins to gather supplies…candles, feathers, water, stones…from a bag and then sets up an altar, while Max begins to draw a chalk outline on the carpet around Sam; a pentacle Dean realizes, with Sam at the center.

Dean stands, twiddling his thumbs and feeling useless until Max gives him a little shove and tells him to go to his brother.

“He needs to recharge fast. The more love, the better. Just…hug him.”

Dean can definitely hug his baby brother, so he hurries over and gathers Sam in his arms.

“I got you, little brother,” he says.

Sam smiles wanly.

“What were you doing to the demons back there?” Dean asks.

“Trying to pull them out of their hosts. It takes a lot of juice though and Azazel is really powerful.”

Just that one sentence leaves Sam out of breath and trembling.

“And he’s got Dad,” Dean swallows.

 In all his worry about Sam, Dean had put that fact to the back of his mind, but now his fear for his father comes rushing back.

“We’ll save him,” Sam’s tone is reassuring. The sudden increase in blood dripping from his nose is not.

“Here,” Alicia passes Dean a damp face cloth and he carefully uses it to wipe the blood from Sam’s face.

“The most demons I’ve ever seen him pull,” says Max, who’s busy lighting candles around the periphery of the circle, “is two. And those were stunt demons number one and two, nowhere near Azazel’s power class.”

His tone is faintly chiding and Sam looks a little chagrined.

“Sounds a bit reckless, Sammy,” Dean says.

Sam shrugs. “She threatened to break your neck. Besides, it worked.”

Max snorts and then eyes Dean speculatively. “Skin is the livery of the Goddess,” he says. “It would be helpful if you and Sam were also skyclad.”

Dean swallows and nods and takes off his clothes, moving to help Sam do the same when Sam tries to sit up and unbutton his shirt.

Max and Alicia walk clockwise around the outside of the pentacle, chanting…We conjur thee o circle of power…

“They’re casting the circle,” Sam murmurs. 

Dean may not be a witch, but he’d already figured that out for himself. Still, he appreciates Sam trying to make sure he knows what’s going on.

They’re both naked now, save for Dean’s pendant which, thanks to Kalfu, he can’t remove until he’s ready to accept Ogou as a rider. Dean hesitates for a moment and then manoeuvres Sam and himself so that Sam is sitting between his legs and leaning against his chest. It’s an intimate position and Dean can’t help feeling self-conscious, but Sam seems utterly unconcerned by their nudity and relaxes against him. “Next,” he explains to Dean, “they’ll call the quarters and the elements, and then the Lord and Lady. Their traditions are a little different to mine, but compatible.”

Sam’s traditions, Dean thinks sourly, his traditional traditions, involve salting and burning bones and making silver bullets. They involve Dean. That’s maybe the part he’s struggling with the most in all this. It’s not that Sam has powers; that he’s become an accomplished witch, it’s that Max and Alicia and Brittany and Phoebe are an integral part of that life, while Dean is an outsider. He doesn’t like being an outsider where his brother is concerned. From the time Dad put Sam into his arms and told him to run, up until Sam left for Stanford, they were the most important person in each other’s life. They were Sam’n’Dean. A unit. Two parts of a puzzle. And now Dean doesn’t know how they fit together any more.

“How’s he doing?” Max asks Alicia.

Alicia’s eyes go golden and she smiles at Sam and then at Dean. “Better.”

She and Max join them on the floor.

“You ready to raise some energy?” Max asks Sam with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

In reply Sam shifts himself out of Dean’s lap and takes Max’s face in his hands, kissing him thoroughly.  It’s actually kind of hot and Dean thinks that maybe, if this ends up being a full blown foursome orgy, he might even be able to participate. He looks at Alicia, who’s frowning.

“What’s wrong?” he asks her.

Her eyes are still doing the golden glowy thing.

She shakes her head. “Sam’s energy levels are dipping again. Sam,” she puts a hand on Sam’s arm. He turns and, whoa, Dean can’t help noticing that Sam is clearly very much into the kissing. He drags his eyes determinedly upward.

“Your levels are dipping again. Could you maybe…” Alicia glances at Dean, “could you maybe go cuddle Dean again for a minute?”

“What?” both Sam and Max say simultaneously, “Why?”

Alicia shrugs. “Just a hunch.”

Sam looks puzzled, but he moves to settle against Dean again. This time, Dean hugs him with intent and it’s a little weird, because they’re both semi hard now, but Sam will never feel wrong in his arms. 

“Huh,” Alicia says. “Sam’s energy levels are going up again.”

“It makes sense, I guess,” Max says. “Love is far stronger than sex. And sure, I love Sam, as a colleague, as a friend to play around with, but it makes sense that the love between you two would be stronger.”

“It is strong,” Alicia says. “You see it too, right Sam? The way your souls entwine around each other?”

Sam ducks his head, seems embarrassed. “I see it,” he says quietly.

It makes complete sense to Dean. He grew up hearing teachers and school counsellors calling him and Sam co-dependent and enmeshed.  He remembers his Dad breaking another hunter’s nose when said hunter claimed that the Winchester boys were ‘too close’.  

“We can charge the ritual with love instead of sex,” Alicia says, “sex produces some good oxytocin, but love does too, especially when the love is this strong.”

--

Sam can’t remember every having felt this energized after a ritual and if the look on Dean’s face is any indicator he’s feeling supercharged too. Sam wonders what it would be like if they had ritual sex, rather than just ritual hugs, and then chides himself for even wondering. Dean is straight and besides, for all his rebel without a cause attitude, he’s fairly conservative. Incest would probably be a taboo too far for him. Sam’s not sure how he feels about it himself.

Dean, of course, is raring to go after the demons, but Sam manages to persuade him that they need to do some planning first.  

John Winchester was impossible to track by magical means when he wasn’t possessed, and he’s no more possible to track now. Brady is similarly off the magical radar and Sam doesn’t know Meg well enough to have any hope of tracking her.  Instead they look for the voids, the places where they can’t see anything. They find a few…there are always a few practitioners of magic with something to hide, everywhere. Most of them are in the kind of places you’d expect; private houses and apartments, the Rosicrucian Egyptian Museum; one of them though, is at a large, vacant warehouse in Redwood City, at the Port, near a sand quarry, and they all agree that the isolated location would make a great hideout for a group of demons, so they’ll check that void out first. They also agree to leave it until the next day, to launch their assault at midday, under the high noon sun, rather than to give the demons the advantage of the dark. 

They spend the rest of the evening planning and organizing, before turning in for the night.

--

Dean dreams of a desert, barren and cold, under a moonless night sky that’s streaked with red.

Ogou is there with his machete, dressed in red, reeking of rum and cigar smoke.

Dean still isn’t sure whether the Loa is real or just a figment of his imagination, but he tells him about their plan to deal with the demons anyway. Ogou is helpful (even if he turns out to be Dean’s subconscious) and makes good suggestions. He reminds Dean that if he wants the Loa’s more direct help, all he has to do is take off his pendant. Dean reaches up to stroke his fingertips across the bulls head.

“Sam gave me this.”

The Loa nods. “I know. It’s part of what makes it so powerful. That’s why Mami Wata chose it for your protection, and why Kalfu chose it for your invitation to me.” he eyes Dean speculatively. “You and Sam are soulmates, you know that?”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Soulmates? Aren’t they supposed to be like, a married couple or something?”

Ogou shrugs. “Can be. Don’t have to be. Don’t have to fuck neither.”

Dean squirms and Ogou catches it, grins. “You humans,” he shakes his head. “Sharing the pleasures of the flesh can mean as much or as little as you want it to. Sharing your life with someone, that’s the important part.”

--

The sun is blazing overhead when they arrive at the warehouse.

Sam and Alicia do their glowy eyes trick and then announce that the building has no warding, so Dean figures the demons themselves must have mojo bags or charms or something that’s hiding them.

“So we’re in the right place?” he asks.

Alicia’s lips thin. “Oh, yeah. The whole place reeks of magic and sulfur.”

They spread out around the outside of the warehouse, Sam and Dean together, Max and Alicia together. Sam and Dean find a small window and Sam peers in, pulling back fast.

“Meg,” he says, “and a black altar.”

“What about the rest? Any sign?”

Sam shakes his head

They work their way around the warehouse until they meet back up with Max and Alicia who’d gone around it the other way. They tell the twins about Meg and the black altar and the twins tell them that they found the barkeeper from last night patrolling around the back of the warehouse, and exorcised him.

“Demon’s gone.” Max says. “Barkeep’s dead though.”

“What about our Dad?” Dean asks. “Did you see him?”

The twins shake their heads.

They enter the warehouse via the door farthest from Meg and her altar. It’s dark inside the warehouse and Dean’s eyes are still adjusting to the lower light when something slams into him from the side.

Sam cries out his name as claws rake across Dean’s torso and then Max shines one of the flashlights on him and Dean hears a yelp and the claws in his side come loose as whatever attacked him skitters away.

“Shadow demon,” Alicia says, turning on her own flashlight.

“Daeva,” Max agrees.

“The altar,” Alicia says. “We’ll need to destroy it.”

Max nods.

“You’re bleeding,” Sam says to Dean, looking absolutely stricken.

“Flashlight!” Max barks and Sam quickly puts his on as he hurries to Dean.

Dean pulls himself into a sitting position and puts a hand gingerly on his side. It comes away wet.

“I’m okay,” he reassures Sam. “It’s just a scratch. Help me up?”

“We’ll get the altar and Meg,” Alicia says. “You look for the others.”

“No need,” says their father’s voice as Azazel moves out of the shadows with a smug look on his face.

He flicks a hand and Sam is pinned to the wall. Before any of them can react, Brady and Meg walk out of the shadows too and Max and Alicia are similarly pinned. It’s clearly taking all three demons a lot of effort to keep the trio of witches immobilized; Dean can see beads of sweat running down the side of his father’s face, Brady is grimacing and Meg is breathing heavily.

Dean’s not pinned; he can still move and it stings that the demons don’t believe he’s a threat. They’re very wrong; he’s the one carrying the gun that can kill anything, but he can’t shoot all three at once and they’ll pin him the second the first of them goes down. If he kills Azazel, it will free Sam and he can take care of the other two demons, but if he kills Azazel, he kills his Dad. Dean can’t bring himself to do that.  Maybe, though, he can break the demons’ concentration for long enough that Sam and the others can get free.

So Dean pastes a shit-eating grin on his face and says, “Wow. Pathetic. Ladies and Gentlemen, The great Demon General Azazel,” he sweeps a hand out theatrically, “struggling to control one puny human.”

Azazel raises an eyebrow. “Dean the smart ass,” he says, “The class clown. But then that’s part of your M.O, isn’t it? Masks all that nasty pain. Masks the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That your family doesn’t need you, not like you need them. Sammy here is more powerful than you could ever hope to be. And your old man, ditched you to go after me himself. He’s in here, by the way. I could have made him sleep through all this, but I want him to feel his hands wet with blood as he tears you and your brother to pieces.” 

Azazel prowls toward Dean and backs him against the wall. He leans in uncomfortably close and whispers against the shell of Dean’s ear, “Maybe I’ll have a little fun with you first, hmm?”

And that? Might have been a mistake. Abruptly, Azazel is clasping his hands against his head and Sam is collapsing from where he’d been pinned to the wall.

“Quickly!” John gasps, “I can’t hold him long,”

Sam reaches out an arm, just as their father’s eyes slide back to yellow, and starts trying to pull Azazel from their Dad. Brady swears and tries to pin Sam, which splits his power just enough for Max to get free and throw a hex bomb at him. Brady screams and Meg’s control of Alicia falters, then steadies, and Dean finally has the gun out and shoots her, freeing Alicia. Sam wipes at his bleeding nose.

Dean takes a step toward Sam, but is thrown sideways, the Colt flying from his hand. The fucking shadow demon is back, and for a few fraught moments Dean is too busy fending it off to check on Sam or anyone else. His ribs are hot and he’s weakening, but then the daeva abruptly stops attacking him and disappears. Dean manages to drag himself to a sitting position. Alicia is nowhere to be seen, Max is squatting beside Brady…or at least, beside Brady’s body, Dean isn’t sure whether he’s even breathing, and Sam is standing with his hands up.

Azazel is holding the Colt and has it pointed at Sam.

“I don’t want to kill you, Sammy,” Azazel says. “You’re my favorite. You’ve got that delicious dark streak inside of you. But I have to be able to control you,” he turns to look at Dean. “Maybe I take him instead of dear ol’ Dad? Maybe then you’ll be more obedient.”

The look on Sam’s face tells Dean everything he needs to know about how important he is to his brother. Unfortunately it also tells Azazel too. His shark-like grin is cruel and self-satisfied.

They’re all wearing anti-possession charms, but Azazel obviously knows that because he nods toward Dean’s necklace and says, “Take that off, or I shoot your brother.”    

Max throws a hex bomb at Azazel, but the yellow-eyed demon is ready for it and disintegrates it before it comes close. He then waves a hand and immobilizes Max.   

“Take off the charm,” he says to Dean.

“Dean, don’t!” Sam says.

“It’s okay, Sam,” Dean meets his brother’s panicked eyes.

He takes off his necklace and Azazel smiles and begins to smoke out of their Dad, who collapses to the floor.

I be comin’ Cheval, Ogou’s voice resonates in Dean’s head as he sits holding both his anti-possession charm and his bulls head pendant in his hand.

Ogou pours into him like rolling waves crashing onto a beach and it feels good, not like being taken over, more symbiotic than parasitic. And even though Azazel is merely smoke, deep in his skull, Dean hears his roar of displeasure as he’s barred from possessing Dean by the Loa of the Hunt. The smoke whirls around, tries to re-enter John, but Alicia is back and she’s drawn a Devil’s Trap on the glass of her flashlight and is shining it on the ceiling above John.

Azazel howls in fury when he realizes there’s no one he can possess, and flees the warehouse, pouring himself underneath the door.

“Dad?” Dean limps across to his father, who’s pulling himself up onto his hands and knees.

“I’m fine, son. You’re bleeding.”

Dean nods. The daeva got his side good and he’s bruised too, from being thrown about, but the Loa is helping; stemming the bleeding, giving him energy.

Alicia approaches with her marker and tells John that she needs to draw an anti-possession sigil on him, so Azazel can’t get back in. He lets her, looking thoughtfully at her, then at Max and finally at Sam, who’s standing very quietly beside the wall.

As soon as Alicia finishes drawing the sigil, John pulls himself to his feet and crosses to stand in front of Sam. Dean goes with him, because he knows how his father feels about anything supernatural. Ogou stirs uneasily inside him.

“So,” John says to Sam. “Demon blood.”

“Yessir.”

“And you’re a powerful demon-fighting witch.”

“Yessir.”

“Azazel seems frustrated that he can’t make you turn evil. There’s darkness inside of you, but it’s not malevolent.”

Sam doesn’t respond, but the naked relief on his face when John pulls him in for a hug, tells Dean everything he needs to know.

“It’s good to have you back, son. And you,” John pulls out of the hug and eyes Dean suspiciously. “You took off that charm, why aren’t you possessed?”

Before Dean can speak, Max slips in with a smooth lie, “Because we’ve all got sigils drawn on us too, as a back-up.”

Dean nods and sends Max a silent thank you. Their Dad is taking Sam’s powers and witchcraft better than they’d dared hope. Dean isn’t convinced he’s going to be as sanguine about Dean being a willing horse for a Loa.

“And as touching as this reunion is,” Max adds, “we really should get somewhere safer.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That davea is still around somewhere.”

Alicia shakes her head and explains that she’d smashed the altar and freed it. “It wasn’t here willingly and it had no interest in staying around to keep serving the higher order demons who’d imprisoned and controlled it. But still, Azazel could find another host and return. We should leave.”

Brady needs help too. He’s still alive, and has no apparent injuries, but he’s not conscious. If it’s just because of the hex bomb, if it’s knocked him out as well as the demon, it’ll wear off, but if the demon has damaged him in some way, he may need medical help.

Sam pulls the unconscious demon out of Brady and crushes it and then the twins take Brady to the hospital.

Sam and Dean take their Dad back to the motel room. They bring him up to speed on the Anti-Apocalypse Alliance and how they got the Colt from Elkins. John is impressed that they managed to persuade Elkins to hand it over and looks thoughtful when Dean tells him about Samuel Colt’s instruction that when the time came it should go to Sam Winchester.

John explains that he’d been working the Highway disappearances case in Jericho when he’d seen some heavy duty demon signs in Palo Alto.

“I’ve known for a while that the demon did something to you the night it killed your mother,” John confesses to Sam. “And with the anniversary coming up, I was scared they were going after you, so I just dropped everything and headed straight there, wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been. The yellow-eyed demon was waiting for me. I walked right into his trap. He couldn’t find you and he wanted to use me to get to you.”

Dean takes John to retrieve his truck from the motel where he’d been staying before he was possessed.  John comes back to their motel briefly, just to say he plans to head to Bobby’s to help co-ordinate the Anti-Apocalypse Alliance.

“What?” Dean says. “I thought we’d go after the demon together. The three of us.”

John shakes his head. “I’ve got a lot of research on demon patterns that could be helpful and I reckon I should stick to the control room for a while,” he smiles bitterly, “seeing as how I was stupid enough to get myself possessed so easily out in the field,” he pauses, looks at them both in turn. “You boys have got this. You’re grown men and you’re a great team. I’d feel like a third wheel if I stuck around. But when you find the demon, and you will, you call me, because I wanna be there when you end that son of a bitch.”

He asks the boys to go to Jericho to finish off the job there…a woman in white, he tells them, and gives Dean his journal. “You boys hang onto this,” he says. “If you’re going to be out on the road, saving people, hunting things, while you look for the demon and the special children, it’ll be more use to you.”

He hugs them both and leaves and Dean ponders that third wheel comment, wonders if their Dad feels excluded by the very co-dependency he always encouraged.

Max calls and says that Bobby has asked him and Alicia to go and help the Cunning Folk with a coven of borrower witches who seem open to the idea of switching sides. After Sam gets off the phone with Max, Ogou tells Dean that he wants to talk to his brother, and Dean willingly hands over the reins.

“Sam,” Ogou says, and Dean thinks it’s weird to hear Ogou’s much deeper, much older voice coming out of his own mouth. “I know you don’t like this, but me and Dean, we’re a good fit. And I come with some benefits. I already healed up your brother’s wounds. And I’ll make him stronger, faster and harder to kill in battle too. I came this first time because Kalfu’s spell allowed it. Next time, Dean’s gonna need to draw a vévé and make offerings to call me. He’s gonna need some training. After you deal with the esprit in Jericho, you need to go to New Orleans. Maman Odette will find Dean a barriè; a mentor.”

Sam hears him out and then says, “I don’t get why you wanted him. There are thousands of voudisants, raised in the faith, for you to choose from. Why Dean?”

Ogou grins. “Your brother was created to be the perfect vessel for the Archangel Michael. Compared to any other horse, he’s like a perfect stallion of impeccable breeding.”

Hey, Dean says, inside his own skull. Ogou chuckles.

“Also, I been watching him since he first met Maman Odette. What can I say? I like him. We got a lot in common. We could have a lot of fun together.”

Sam nods. “Can I have my brother back now, please?”

I be goin’ now, Cheval, Ogou says inside Dean’s head. You may feel a little disoriented when I leave.

Dean collapses to the floor as the Loa leaves him and Sam is by his side in a flash, hands hovering uncertainly over him.

“You okay?”

Dean sits up. “Yeah. Just…surprisingly hungry.”

Sam keeps hovering. “I know Ogou said he healed you, but, uh, I need to see for myself.”

Dean nods and starts to strip.

“Whoa!” Sam holds his hands out and Dean frowns at him.

“The davea got me right up my left side,” he says, “from thigh to torso. You ain’t seeing that without me getting practically skyclad!”

A smile creeps over Sam’s face. “Look at you, using witch words. You know, you’re taking all this so much better than I ever hoped you would.”

 “Yeah, well,” Dean gasps as Sam’s fingers run gently up and down his side.

“Hurts?” Sam looks at him sharply.

“No.”

The opposite, in fact. In feels good and Dean can’t help leaning into his brother’s touch.

Sam pronounces him healing nicely and Dean decides to take a shower, seeing as he’s basically naked, to wash all the dried blood off.

He’s somehow unsurprised when Sam appears in the bathroom while he’s under the spray.

“Why are you taking all this so well?” Sam asks, leaning against the basin with his arms folded.

“Ogou told me you and me are soulmates,” Dean says in lieu of answering.

Sam’s eyes slide away guiltily.

“You knew,” Dean surmises.

“I can see souls,” Sam says. “So, yeah,” he pauses, runs a hand across his mouth.  “It doesn’t mean what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

Sam shrugs. “That it’s about sex. It’s not about sex.”

Dean lathers his hair. “I know, Ogou explained,” he rinses the shampoo out of his hair and then meets his brother’s eyes. “For the record, I’m cool with the naked hugging. You and me, we were raised like warriors, in shitty motel rooms, so we’ve never really had a lot of barriers anyway.  We do make a good team, always have. And any of the…soulmate stuff…or the…ritual stuff that we do, it’s just us. And it can mean as much or as little as we want it to.”

Dean’s not sure if he’s making any sense, but given the way Sam’s looking at him, his brother gets it.  Dean raises an eyebrow. “And don’t think I didn’t notice your nose bleeding back at the warehouse. Do you want to do a ritual?”

Sam gapes at him. “So much better than I ever dared to dream. I think…”

He disappears for a minute and comes back carrying a jar. He strips off and gets into the shower with Dean. It’s a tight fit, but that just means they’re pressed together, which is okay with Dean. He meant what he said about the naked hugging.

Sam proceeds to wash both of them, almost reverently, while murmuring something about casting out malignity and dispelling negative energy. It’s all a little New Age hippy for Dean’s taste, but then Sam opens the jar and Dean doesn’t know what the luminescent white stuff is, but it smells weird, and when he asks what’s in it, Sam just shakes his head and tells him he doesn’t want to know. Sam paints it on Dean’s face and neck and then on his own, and then he presses their foreheads together and says something in a language Dean doesn’t understand.

Dean feels power surge through his body and he pulls back and stares up at his brother.

“What was that?”

“A binding ritual. I probably should’ve asked first, but…you and me together; soulmates; me with my powers; you ridden by Ogou; now bound by magic; the armies of Heaven and Hell won’t stand a chance.”

They wash the white stuff off and then towel dry before falling naked into the same bed. Dean’s still hungry, but he’s not sure if he’s hungry for food or something else. Sam’s under his skin in a way that makes him want to devour him and maybe that’s got something to do with the ritual Sam used to bind them together, the one Dean kind of thinks may mean they just got witch married.

This isn’t about sex, Dean thinks, as he turns to face Sam. His brother is, objectively, an attractive man, but that’s not why Dean’s in bed with him.  It’s about comfort and togetherness and never letting go; and yeah, Sam probably should’ve asked before he did that binding ritual, but Dean’s always known he would burn the world down for Sam, so it’s kind of nice to know that Sam’s just as obsessive and unhinged when it comes to him.

Tomorrow they’ll go to Jericho and deal with the woman in white. Once that’s done they’ll go to New Orleans so that Dean can learn what it means to be Ogou’s favorite horse. After that? Whatever it is, they’ll do it together, because apparently they’re soul mates, bound by magic, and for better or worse they’re cursed, or maybe blessed, to be all-consumingly devoted to each other until they’re nothing but dust and bone.

Sam reaches for him and Dean rolls over, content to be the little spoon. He falls asleep in his brother’s arms, feeling more right than he has ever felt and looking forward to what the future may bring.

The End.