New fic, maybe will finish?

[nowordforit]

Title: Bad Blood
Word Count: 2053
Rating: R (for language - no sex)
Summary: Azazel gave Dean Winchester the demon blood. (Sorry I didn’t finish but consider it a nasty cliffhanger).


Four-year-old Dean Winchester is going to be in big trouble.   His dad is pretty strict about bedtime, and his mom put him to bed hours ago. But dad also says that Dean’s supposed to keep Sammy safe, and he’s sure he heard someone in the nursery. It’s like his dad is practically telling him to be up past bedtime.

Dean creeps carefully into Sam’s nursery, passing over the creaky floorboard without making a sound. “Sammy,” he whispers, smiling. “You know you’re supposed to be quiet so mommy and daddy can sleep.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that anymore,” a man’s voice says from the shadows. Dean jumps. “Who’s there?,” he asks shakily. “I’ve got a bat. I can totally kick your ass,” he adds, trying to sound intimidating.

The man just laughs in response. “Oh, you’re a feisty one aren’t you? I was here for little Sammy, but I might just use you instead.”

Dean looks at his baby brother. “Please,” he begs, “don’t hurt Sammy.”

“Oh, so brave. Well, since you asked nicely.” The man slowly steps away from the shadows, and Dean can clearly see his yellow eyes, before he’s suddenly flung hard against the opposite wall.

Sammy, who had been peacefully ignorant, suddenly breaks out crying. Dean’s never been so happy to hear his brother cry in the middle of the night. Now mommy will be here any second, and Sammy will be safe. The yellow-eyed-man doesn’t seem bothered by the noise, as he takes out a knife and slides it across his arm. “Drink,” he commands.

Dean seals his lips together, but they are forced open, and he drinks. It burns so badly. Dean tries to stop, but the arm is unyielding.

He hears footsteps in the hallway, the loud floorboard in front of the nursery squeaks. Dean nearly cries with relief at seeing his mother, but he’s still swallowing down the burning liquid.

“Dean!,” she cries, but the man merely flicks a finger and she too is flattened against a wall.

“Had your fill?,” yellow eyes asks sarcastically, before dropping Dean to the floor. He turns to Mary. “I’m here to collect my end of our little deal. Thanks for the hospitality.” He dips his head in a mocking bow, before lifting Dean’s mother to the ceiling and burning her alive.

He glances back at Dean, grinning. “I’ll be seeing you.”

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Dean spends the next few months saying as little as possible. John is obsessed with avenging his wife, and Dean is occupied by caring for Sammy. Dean sometimes wonders if he should mention the yellow-eyed-man to his father, but he doesn’t want to upset him by bringing up that night again.

By the time Dean’s old enough to understand that the man he saw was one of the things his father hunts, he doesn’t trust what he remembers. Drinking blood? He’s probably just traumatized from seeing his mother die in front of him. No point in telling Dad, since he’d just tell Dean to suck it up, or better yet, leave for a night and come back completely drunk.

Subconsciously, though, he knows that he’s tainted. He throws himself into hunting, becoming the perfect partner for his father, as though he can force the blood out of him by destroying all the evil he can find. When he’s not hunting, he’s helping Sammy with his homework, taking him to school, putting him to bed.

And it goes like that for years.

He’s eighteen when the dreams start.  It’s night, and all he can see is some cemetery, but he doesn’t recognize it as one of his past salt-and-burn sites. He looks around, trying to gather his bearings, and then there’s a rush of black smoke. Sometimes the smoke goes down Dean’s throat, and he wakes up coughing. For the past few nights, though, a man has seemingly appeared inside the smoke. His yellow eyes give Dean no doubts about who the man is.

He tells him things. Says that Dean shouldn’t take crap from his Dad, not when he has so much power inside him. Join him, he says. Remember that demon blood? That was just a taste.

What’s really disturbing though is that at least in the dreams, Dean agrees with him. When yellow eyes is around, he can feel what little of that blood runs through his veins, and the strength it brings with it. And, god, he wants more.

Dean wants to believe they’re just nightmares, but the smell of sulfur remains long after he wakes up.

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Dreams are one thing. Hallucinations? Another thing entirely.

Dean is driving Sam home from school, when suddenly those familiar eyes wink at him in the rearview mirror. Somehow he stays calm, surreptitiously glancing at the mirror to look at his mother’s murderer sitting in the back seat.

“Ignore me all you like, Deano. I’ll be patient. At least for a little while.”

At the next red light, Dean closes his eyes and tries to remember some of the prayers Pastor Jim taught him and Sam when they were kids. “Seriously kid, God? You think the big man upstairs gives a rat’s ass about you? You’re evil, kid.”

“Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up,” Dean mutters. “Dean?,” Sam asks, looking at him warily. “You okay?”
“Fine.”

When they get back to the motel, the back seat is empty.

From then on, Dean starts seeing him everywhere. In the back seat, on his bed, outside Sammy’s high school. His dreams aren’t safe either. Yellow eyes is always there, taunting him.

He doesn’t know what to do, but he can feel his time running out.

The bastard wasn’t lying when he said he was patient. It’s been two months since the first incident when he sees yellow eyes in the reflection of one of those security mirrors at the Seven Eleven, and suddenly he’s back in the graveyard. But this time, he isn’t dreaming.

“What the fuck?”
“Language. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Dean grinds his teeth together but says nothing.

“Now Dean,” he says mockingly. “This is no way to treat an old friend, especially one that’s given you such a powerful gift.”

“I don’t want it. I didn’t ask for it.”

“But you did. ‘Please save Sammy,’ blah blah,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “I was going to pick your brother, but you just had to have your way.”

Dean glares. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I want what everyone wants: a pony, a million dollars, maybe a little hell on earth.”

“Wonderful. What’s that gotta do with me?” Dean asks indignantly.

Yellow eyes smirks, his eyes sharpening. “I’ve got big plans for you Dean. Let’s not spoil the ending just yet.”

He then tilts his head as though he’s listening to music only he can hear. Out of thin air, a knife appears in his hand. “It’s time for round two.”

Dean backs away reflexively, but he’s no match for the demon. The blood is just as he remembered it. It’s terrible and amazing, and Dean almost cries out when the arm is pulled back.

“Now Dean, I want you to do something for me, and you’ll do it if you want dear Sammy to breathe another day.”
Dean’s heart pounds in his chest.

“I’m going to be sending someone out to you. You do what she says, Sam lives, and we all go home happy.”

“What’s the catch?”
And Dean’s back at the Seven Eleven, looking at his tiny reflection in the store’s mirror.

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It turns out she is a waitress at some diner in Smalltown, Mississippi. At least, her meatsuit was. She seems like every other waitress at first, meaning that Dean thinks he’s going to fuck her in the supply closet while his Dad calls Pastor Jim outside on the payphone. But then her eyes flash black, and Dean’s spitting garbled Latin at her while he merely tips her head.

“You really need to work on your pronunciation.”

“What the fuck do you want?,” he asks angrily.

“It’s not what I want. It’s what he wants. Didn’t yellow eyes tell you I was coming?,” she questions, raising her eyebrows.

“You’re her,” he says incredulously, brows furrowing.

He takes a closer look at her. She’s tiny, blonde, looks about seventeen. Not very intimidating.

“Don’t let this human body fool you,” she states blithely. “It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

Dean says nothing. About a minute passes before she speaks up again.

“Do you have no social skills? This is where we introduce ourselves. I’m Meg.”

“Meg?” he repeats disbelievingly.

“Yes, Meg,” she answers, pointing to her name tag. “You were gonna fuck me without knowing my name?” Meg grins.

Ouch. Well, maybe he would have.

She rolls her eyes impatiently. “Are you stupid as you are pretty? Me Meg, You - ”

“Dean.”

Her eyes gleam. “Well Dean, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She moves like she’s about to shake his hand, but then she sticks her hand down into Dean’s right jean pocket.

“What the - .”

Meg hums as she fishes around, until she pulls out his phone, smiling victoriously. She presses a few buttons before handing it back to him.

Suddenly looking somehow harder, she says, “When I call, you answer, no matter what. I don’t care if you’re bleeding, or you’ve got a concussion. You answer the goddamn phone, and you do what I say. Got it?”

Dean nods slowly.

“Good boy!” Then she lifts a finger to her lips, pouts, and asks, “Is my lipstick smudged?”

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Meg is certainly less patient than her boss. It’s not even two hours before she calls again. She says she was making sure he ‘understands the rules.’ Dean is careful to keep his replies as short and dull as possible, with Sam sitting next to him.

Sam wastes no time in questioning who was on the phone.

“No one.”

“Deannn,” Sam whines.

“Really, Sammy. It wasn’t anything important.”

It was only Sam’s life on the line.

They’re staying with Bobby in South Dakota when Meg calls again. All she says is to meet her in Cold Oak in two hours. Sammy’s still at school, and Dad and Bobby are at the library researching for their latest hunt. For all he knows, Meg might not let him go for days, so he settles for leaving a note.

Had to go out. Will try to be back soon.

-Dean

While driving, his phone rings. Probably Dad, ready to yell at him for taking off and shirking his responsibilities. But Dean’s biggest responsibility is to look out for Sam. Keeping him breathing is a good start.

He makes it there with only a few minutes left. Cold Oak is an abandoned crap fest. It looks like some kind of tourist trap that hasn’t seen a broom in twenty years.

He finds Meg outside what looks to have once been a saloon. She’s grinning.

“What’s so funny?”

She turns to look at him. “I’m just thinking about all the fun we’re - well, you’re - going to have here.”

“What do you mean?” he asks hoarsely.

Meg ignores him, walking into the saloon. There’s an old glass sitting on a rickety little table.

“Move it.”

“Huh?”

“Move the glass,” she replies exasperatedly.

“And how the hell am I supposed to do that, with my mind?”

“Ding ding ding!,” she giggles enthusiastically. “What did you think all the blood was for?”

Dean feels nauseous, but tries to keep his face composed. Move the glass, move the glass, that can’t be that hard. He focuses on how the blood feels, how it makes him feel. The rush of power that almost overtakes him. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on the glass. He hears a shatter.

“Well, not quite, but an A for effort.”

The glass is in shards all over the table.

“Great,” he mutters. “Can I go now?”

“All good boys get a present, silly.”

Her blood isn’t as good as Yellow Eye’s, not nearly as intense. But it does the trick.

“So is this it?” She stares at him, her brows furrowing.

“I mean,” he clarifies, “you’re just going to keep me hooked on demon blood, make me break things?”

Meg glances at him, her expression a shoddy mockery of innocence. “You’ll see.”

I wrote this for a challenge, and I'd be happy to finish it if anyone is interested.  Otherwise, just assume it follows canon (although the ending I want to write for this does not follow canon :P