Familial Relations chp 5 - R - 1/2
Title: Familial Relations
Chapter: V. Blood Kin
Fandom:"Supernatural"/Devour crossover
Disclaimer: Not my characters excepting the ones I thought up. Just for fun.
Warnings: pedophilia, child abuse, rape, underage whoring, AU after “Shadow,” spoilers for season one and Devour
Pairings: various het; slash(pedophilia) in the past
Rating: R for language and an assortment of other things(take a look at the warnings. I think you’ll understand.)
Wordcount: total--11690
Point of view: third
Notes: My knowledge of geography(including that of my own country) leaves much to be desired.
Chapter I: " Rapture"
Chapter II: "Bloodcall"
Chapter III: " Crystalline"
Chapter IV: " Genetic Codes"
I’ll offer you a deal, but I won’t offer twice. So take it now or don’t take it all.
-
Dad left on Asher’s first birthday. Michael barely remembered him. When he was younger, he asked Mom to talk about him, to tell stories of the man she loved, the man she married, the man she gave two sons. She wove marvelous stories for him, bone-weary and hurting, and Michael didn’t know how much it cost her till it was too late to apologize.
They stayed in Jackson for a couple of years after Dad left, until Mom couldn’t stand it anymore. She had an aunt in Fitchburg, Wisconsin, so she took them there. Aunt Gabrielle ran a small motel so Mom started helping her out. Aunt Gabrielle finally moved on, tired of the hotel, and Mom took over.
Sometimes it was scary, those early years, with the riffraff that came through, but scariest of all were Mom’s revolving boyfriends.
By the time Michael hit seventh-grade, Mom’d had five lovers. The first was David Kole, a tyrannical bastard. Michael hated him on sight and made sure Asher never went near him. But David only stayed for a few months and then came Adam Willis, who seemed kind-until he showed up drunk and slapped Michael across the face. Mom ended things instantly.
Mom took a year long break from dating until she met Bruce Johnson and he swept her off her feet. Michael felt odd around Bruce, like there was something whispering to him, something he needed to hear but couldn’t; he kept Asher well away from Bruce. Then Bruce died in a car wreck and Michael breathed a sigh of relief. But on Bruce’s heels came Cole Potter.
Around Mom, Cole was a darling, the kindest man to ever live. Around Michael, Cole was a predator who said he’d hurt Asher if Michael told. So Michael didn’t tell. Cole whispered to him what a beautiful boy he was, with his eyes and lips and face. Michael did anything Cole commanded, no matter how sick it made him, terrified that Cole’s attention would turn to Asher.
Michael swore to himself that if Cole ever even looked at Asher wrong he’d kill the son of a bitch.
Cole was picked up for drunk driving and Michael never heard from him again. It was years before he slept peacefully.
And after Cole came William Davis. He didn’t stay long and he was the best of Mom’s boyfriends.
Mom finally decided to focus solely on the motel and her boys. The motel wasn’t doing so well and Mom confided in Michael that she figured it’d go under soon. Mom had fallback money, so they’d be fine while she searched for another job, but the motel was all Michael knew.
School wasn’t easy but neither was it hard. Michael was firmly ensconced in the middle and that’s where he planned to stay. Asher and Mom were his world and he wouldn’t put his whole attention on schoolwork while he had Asher to look after.
Michael couldn’t fire a gun(or rather, he could, since anyone can, but he never had) and he only knew the rudimentary basics of self-defense, but he was good with knives. He practiced whenever he could, after Ash and Mom had gone to bed, in an old storage closet he’d found. It was unused, fairly big, and out of the way. He’d swiped a few steak knives from the kitchen and threw them, over and over, until he hit the bull’s-eye four out of five times.
By seventh grade, he counted himself happy. He had Mom and Asher, all he needed-yet he wanted more. He wanted Dad and a dog and baseball and the memory of Cole’s hands out of his head. He wanted his innocence back but knew he’d never get it.
-
When the woman first appeared to him, Michael thought nothing of it. He was dreaming of his life before, with Mom and Dad and baby Ash, back in Mississippi. He figured she was someone his parents had known, back then.
But she appeared again and again and again, popping up somewhere in each of his dreams for a month. On his twelfth birthday she spoke to him, kneeling in front of him and meeting his eyes. Michael, she said, I’d like to make a deal with you. I can give you your father back, heal your family, protect Asher for the rest of his life. But only if you come to me on your eighteenth birthday and agree to be mine forever.
It was a dream and something told him to disbelieve everything out of her mouth. So he said no. She appeared and asked four more times, wearing a different face each night, but her eyes were always blacker than a midnight sky. He never told her what she wanted to hear and he never thought about her while awake.
And then one day, a Wednesday, while he was eating lunch outside at school, she sat next to him. Sank down beside him and smiled, eyes darker than dark.
“Hello, Michael,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his face. He jerked away, scrambled to his feet, glared at her.
“Michael,” she cooed up at him, “I want you to be mine.” She patted the ground beside her and said, “Sit.”
He backed away swiftly, eyes narrowed. Her black gaze followed him and her mouth still smiled.
Later that day, Mom put him in charge of the desk and Asher while she went to pick something up at Aunt Gabrielle’s. He was heating up Asher’s supper when the bell dinged, so he headed to the front.
A man stood there, young, maybe twenty, if that. He didn’t seem threatening-but then, neither had Cole at first. The guy had short dark blond hair, huge hazel eyes, a face Cole would have called beautiful.
“King or two queens?” Michael asked, meeting the guy’s gaze.
“Two queens,” he answered and something moved outside the window, so Michael looked out it. Another guy, leaning against a cool car.
Michael wanted to raise an eyebrow but Mom had told him not to antagonize guests, so he just muttered, “Yeah, I’ll bet.” He flicked his eyes back to the guy in time to see him smirk. “How long do you want the room?” Michael asked.
“A week at the moment,” Blond Guy answered. “But it may become more.”
Michael nodded, consulting Mom’s notes; the computers had crashed on Monday and wouldn’t be fixed till Saturday. “Cash or credit?”
“Cash,” Blond Guy said, pulling out a thick wallet.
“Two hundred,” Michael calculated, glancing up to see how Blond Guy would take it.
“Okay,” he responded, handing over ten twenties.
The other opened the door and stepped in. Michael grabbed the key and handed it to Blond Guy, who tossed it over his shoulder. “Room ten,” Michael said, trying to hide his nervousness.
The other guy was huge. Like, Goliath huge.
“I’ll meet you there, Sam,” Blond Guy said. “I’ve just gotta settle the bill.” He turned slightly and grinned. Sam, apparently, nodded and went back out. Blond Guy looked over Michael and said, “How ‘bout you write a receipt so I can go lay down-‘cause I am beat-and the little guy back there won’t burn himself on the stove?”
Michael spun around, dread pulsing through him, and-damn, Blond Guy was right. “Asher!” Michael barked and his little brother froze in the act of reaching for the pot of boiling water. “Get away from there!”
“It’s about to spill!” Asher called back, pouting. “I’s just tryin’ to help.”
Michael sighed and hurried over. He poured the box of noodles into the pot and turned the burner down. “Go back to your drawing, Ash,” he said, ruffling Asher’s hair. “You’re not big enough to cook yet.”
Asher pouted up at him and stomped back to the table, where his pencils were spread everywhere. He picked up the purple one and jabbed it against the paper. Michael watched him for a few heartbeats before heading back to the front, where Blond Guy still waited.
“Nice job,” Blond Guy said.
Michael ignored him and scribbled a receipt on a scrap of paper. “Have a nice stay,” he muttered and turned, going back to his most important job-watching out for Asher. He didn’t watch Blond Guy leave but heard the door open and close.
Ash refused to acknowledge him for a few minutes, but Michael refilled his cup of Kool Aid and asked about his picture. Ash explained at great length that Michael was the blue warrior, he was the green one, and Momma was the purple one. They all defended the Earth-a giant brown smudge in the upper right corner-from the alien invaders-gray specks in the bottom left corner.
Michael praised his drawing and finished the macaroni, serving it to them both just as Mom came in. “Anything happen while I was out?” she asked breathlessly, nearly dropping a box bigger than Ash onto the table.
“We have new guests,” Michael said, portioning out some macaroni for her, too.
“Thank you, baby,” she sighed, taking the bowl and spoon from him, sitting down next to Asher. “Which room?”
“Ten.” He plopped down across from her, next to the box, and dug into his macaroni.
In between gulps of his food and that god-awful red stuff he drank like water, Asher explained his picture again. Mom exclaimed over it, telling Ash how proud she was, and then Asher pushed it across the table, towards Michael.
Michael reached out, laying his fingers over the brown smudge representing Earth. “For me?” he asked and Asher beamed. “Thanks, Ash,” he murmured and then Ash started telling Mom about school.
-
By the time Michael crawled into bed, just after eleven, he’d remembered the black-eyed woman who reminded him of Cole. And the memories of Cole and Cole’s hands and Cole’s ruining eyes and Cole’s belt and Cole’s dick wouldn’t leave him be. The memories haunted his dreams that night, but the worst nightmare of the lot was the one where Cole turned his attention to Asher and Michael couldn’t stop him. Could only watch and beg and scream.
He woke crying just after three. He stared up at the ceiling and pictured Cole’s face, his grin and his smirk, his smile when Michael did everything said.
“Mikey?” Ash’s small voice called across the room. “Are you okay?”
“’m’fine, Ash,” he responded. “Go back to sleep.”
“I had a bad dream,” Asher said. “You were taken by a bad lady and I screamed and screamed, but you never came back.”
Michael felt his stomach clench. “This bad lady-what did she look like?”
“I don’ ‘member,” Ash answered, voice hazy like he was fading. “But her eyes…” a yawn cut him off and the rest was muttered. “… were black…”
He dropped back into sleep. Michael stared at the ceiling for a minute more before slipping out of his bed and padding to Asher’s. He watched his little brother for a while, Asher’s chest rise and fall, and then he crawled under the covers with him. When he finally drifted off, it was to the lullaby of Ash breathing.
-
When Michael got back from school Thursday afternoon, Blond Guy was rummaging in the car’s trunk, muttering. Michael stepped closer because, after all, it was a pretty sweet ride, even if he’d never been particularly interested in automobiles. He preferred horses and sea monsters.
“What kind is it?” he asked and Blond Guy straightened, looked over. Michael froze, gazing up at him.
Unless Blond Guy had aged about five years in the course of one night, this man wasn’t him.
“Dean!” someone called and NotBlond Guy(Dean?) glanced towards the room. Michael followed his gaze and Sam stood in the doorway. “Found it yet?”
“No,” Dean called back.
Sam slipped back into the room and closed the door.
Dean looked back at Michael and said, “1967 Chevy Impala.”
Michael just stared up at him and asked, “What?”
“My car,” Dean told him, shutting the trunk. “It’s a ’67 Chevy Impala.” He grinned down at Michael, strode around the car to the driver’s door, opened it, hit ‘lock,’ and gently closed it.
“So…” Michael began and Dean paused, raising an eyebrow. Michael licked his lips and continued, striving to hide his nervousness, “Who’s that other guy? The one that checked in?”
Dean laughed and said, “My brother.”
For some reason Michael would never be able to fully fathom, he didn’t believe Dean.
-
Mom was home the entire time that night. She was in a good mood, laughing and smiling, talking about the old days, before Dad left. Asher asked question after question, eager for any story of the man he’d idolized. Michael listened, wondering what had happened. Either she’d won the lottery or she’d met a guy-Michael hoped fervently it was the former.
After Asher settled himself in front of the TV, Michael helped Mom straighten out the notes about guests and what needed to be taken care of, cleaned or fixed.
“So,” he asked, “what happened today?”
She looked over at him and set down the pen. “I stopped by Wal-Mart on the way home,” she said, still smiling. “And there was this guy-I couldn’t reach the paper towels I usually get, so he grabbed ‘em for me.”
Mom’s taste in men sucked, so Michael had his doubts.
“We talked; he likes the same movies and music, and he loves kids.” Mom sounded exited and she gestured wildly with her hands; Michael’s stomach sank.
“You have a date?” he asked, trying to mask how he really felt.
“Yeah,” she answered, looking young again, like back in Jackson. “For Saturday night.”
“What’s his name?” Michael jabbed down his pen hard, copying over some pencil scribblings of Abigail, Mom’s ‘assistant,’ translating her notes into English.
“James Nickols,” she laughed. Michael had never seen her act so girlish, so like the kids he went to school with.
“I hope you have a good time,” he lied, gently putting down the pen and standing.
“I know you’ve hated my boyfriends, Mikey,” she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder, smiling gently. “But this one-I think he’s different. I think you’ll get along great.”
Michael nodded, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
“I’m sure you’re right, Mom,” he murmured and walked down the hall to his room. He changed out of jeans and into boxers, then slipped beneath the covers, hoping that he’d have normal dreams, that Cole wouldn’t haunt him.
-
“I offer you a choice, Michael, darling,” she said, eyes black and cold. She wore the same form she had at school, thin and short with blond hair shorn close. “You are starting to annoy me.”
He glared at her then glanced around the empty field. They stood in the middle, with dead trees in the distance and a falling down fence along the edge. “So fuck off,” he told her, backing up a little. “Leave me alone.”
She laughed coldly and stepped forward, following him. “I can’t do that, Mikey. You see, you’re a missing piece, you and Ash. Either of you will do, but you’re the one we want. You’re the one full of pain and rage-you’re the one who could hate. So, if you agree to join us of your own free will when you turn eighteen, I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again. But if you don’t…” Her voice trailed off and her smile darkened. “If you don’t, Michael Springs, then I will take Asher. I will break him, mold him, turn him, and make him mine.”
Michael froze, anger and fear warring in him. He never looked away from her blank, black eyes. He could feel something inside him, straining and stretching, trying to rise and explode.
“Ah, yes,” she murmured, stepping toward him. “You have a lot in common. Older brothers always do, but the two’a ya-so easy.” She reached out and he didn’t move back, didn’t try to avoid her touch. Her hand lightly brushed his cheek and she leaned down to whisper, “Think on it, Michael. You or Asher. You willingly or him stolen in the night, broken and shattered, changed into something that has no memory of you at all.”
She smiled once more and faded away. He stood alone for a long moment before sinking down onto his knees and falling backward, staring up at the midnight sky. He knew it was a dream, but also-he had spoken to her while awake. She had told him she wanted him, for whatever reason-
“She’s evil, you know.”
The voice sounded from out of the darkness and he jerked up, looked around. A large form plopped next to him and Michael recognized him. “Dean?” he asked blankly.
“After a fashion,” Dean answered. “See, this is one of those things where neither of us is awake. You’re searching for someone, anyone, to help you-you’re in danger, but more importantly? Asher is in danger. Baby brother. If it had just been you that bitch wants, I wouldn’t be here.” Dean smiled and Michael could see the razor-edge, but Dean wasn’t dangerous to him. Somehow, Michael just knew it.
“What do I do?” Michael gazed up at him, taking in everything-the short dark blond hair, the weary hazel eyes, the face Cole would have called beautiful and Michael called gorgeous, broad shoulders, beat up leather jacket-Dean was dangerous. Very dangerous.
Michael didn’t much care for reading, but there was one book Aunt Gabrielle gave him, called Shane. He’d been leery of it at first, but then Asher begged him to read aloud. After he started, Michael couldn’t stop. He devoured the book in one go and then reread it. It was the only thing he perused over and over and over again.
Dean reminded him sharply of Shane. Coiled and waiting and deadly.
“When you wake up,” Dean said, “you have to make a choice. Do what that bitch asks, give yourself to keep Asher safe, trust her word or-talk to me and Sammy and Jake. Trust us, let us know everything she’s said, how long she’s been talking to you.” Dean’s eyes were serious and his voice kind. He didn’t talk down to Michael like most adults. Only Mom and Aunt Gabrielle spoke to him like Dean all the time.
“You have to trust us,” Dean told him, meeting his gaze straight on. “Can you do that?”
“I don’t understand.” Michael looked up, knew the fear was plain on his face. “How can you help?”
Dean’s smile was gentle, kind. Michael stopped worrying when he said, “It’s what we do.”
-
Michael skipped school on Friday. He saw Asher to his homeroom and then hurried back to the hotel. He waited until Mom was busy at the office and headed to room ten, wondering if Dean remembered.
He could hear low voices through the door but couldn’t make out the words. It took a minute but he worked up the courage and softly tapped on the door. He waited, heart in his throat, and when the door opened, it was Blond Guy smiling at him.
“Dean didn’t think you’d come,” Blond Guy said and moved back, letting Michael slip in. “Figured you’d write it off as a dream, like he almost did.”
“If Asher’s in danger and the three of you can help,” Michael told him, swinging his gaze to include Dean and Sam, “I’ll do anything.”
Sam sank down onto one of the beds, the bed closer to the door, a few feet from Michael. Blond Guy shut the door and then walked around Michael, settling next to Sam. Dean stayed standing, his gaze on Michael.
“I’ve never communicated with someone in a dream before,” Dean said. “And I pretty much remember nothing. I don’t know how or why, if the power came from my end or yours.” Dean paused and his eyes flicked to Sam and Blond Guy. “It seems that power hit every member of my family, so it wouldn’t be shocking. But-from what I remember-that chick was seriously evil, so clearly there’s something about you.”
Michael began after almost a minute of silence. “She wants me to agree to join her on my eighteenth birthday. Something about power, how me and Asher are wanted, but they’ll only take one. If I agree, they’ll leave Asher alone. If I don’t, they’ll take him and…” Her words echoed in his head and he continued softly, “Break him, mold him, turn him, and make him theirs.”
Dean nodded and licked his lips, glanced over at Blond Guy. “Jake,” he asked, “do you remember anything about this?”
Jake-Blond Guy-shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said and Michael looked at him. “I focused on Dean-” he bit off the rest of the words and lowered his gaze. “I could have ended everything-I had the strength. But I didn’t.” He laughed softly, bitterly. Michael was at a loss, had no clue what Jake was talking about, what was expected of him now. Jake added, “I know where it ends, or rather, where it did before.”
Dean looked at Sam and Michael followed his gaze. “Your vision, Sammy-did you recognize the place?”
Sam shook his head. “I’ve never been there before. It looked like a sanctuary, one of those old churches. But it was…” his voice trailed off and he closed eyes, clearly searching for the words. Michael wondered what he’d fallen into, if he’d lost his mind-but that woman’s eyes as she spoke of Asher… Michael couldn’t leave the outcome to chance. Not with Ash on the line.
Asher was his brother. Michael would do anything to keep him safe. And if it came down to giving himself to that woman and whatever cause-so be it.
Sam opened his eyes. “It was worse than Sue Anne’s altar, even worse than Meg’s. It was… dark, seriously dark. Like whatever worshiped there fed on pain and fear and despair. Meg held-Asher, is it?-by the arm, a wicked looking dagger at his throat.” Sam’s gaze focused on Michael and Michael couldn’t look away. He was held there, by the rage he saw in Sam’s eyes.
The rage was deep and dangerous, swelled and leapt; Sam’s eyes flickered between green and black, and Michael jerked away, tossed himself against the door. Dean’s exclamation of shock filled the room, but Michael couldn’t move. He tried turning his head and he saw Jake and Dean also frozen, Dean by the bathroom door and Jake held to the wall near Michael.
The thing controlling Sam’s body laughed and Michael shivered, suddenly terrified.
“Let go of my brother, you son of a bitch,” Dean snarled, straining against the invisible bond. “Get your hell-smoke outta him.”
“Or what?” NotSam asked. “You gonna glare me to death?” He laughed again, a sound that sent a thrill of fear-and a touch of anger-down Michael’s back.
“I didn’t come here for a fight,” NotSam said, standing up. He straightened to Sam’s full height and turned his head, looking down into Michael’s eyes. “You’re a brave boy, Mikey. Courageous and strong-you took everything Cole gave and never snapped. You’re the kind we seek out, the kind we want. Your brother-oh, Asher has the raw power, leashed deep in his soul. But he’s not angry, he doesn’t hate.” NotSam turned back to look at Dean, softly stepped over and stood next to him. “Dean, here? He’s the kind of anger we want. It singes the very air around him.”
Dean clenched his jaw and met Michael’s gaze. Hold on, Michael read in his eyes. We’ll get out of this. Just trust me. And then he heard Dean’s voice in his head. Trust me, Michael.
Michael nodded.
NotSam lowered his head, placed his lips a finger’s-breadth from Dean’s. “My father has made a handful of mistakes in all his centuries. Two of them stand in this room.” NotSam laughed and moved forward, licking Dean’s lips. Michael closed his eyes but still heard NotSam say, “He should have taken you, Dean. That night he killed Mary, he should have taken you.”
Dean made a small noise; Michael squeezed his eyes tighter shut and started listing every horse breed he could remember.
His eyelids flew open at Jake’s voice.
“Stop.”
The tone had to be obeyed. Something threaded through it. NotSam froze where he stood, one hand tangled in Dean’s close-cropped hair, the other unzipping Dean’s jeans.
Michael wanted to look away but to his shame, he couldn’t. The way Dean’s head was lowered, face blank, eyes closed-Michael wondered if that’s how he himself had looked. If so… he still couldn’t forgive Cole.
NotSam turned around, furious. “How dare you command me?” he hissed and Jake laughed. It was darker than NotSam’s laugh had been. Scarier.
Michael wished he’d gone to school.
In the corner of is eyes, he saw Jake move, so he turned his head slightly. Jake stepped forward slowly, leisurely. “How dare I?” he asked mockingly. “Because I can.”
“You gave up the power!” NotSam denied. “We all felt it. You don’t have the strength or the claim anymore.”
Jake smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile and Michael closed his eyes again, unable to comprehend what he’d stepped into the middle of.
He could close his eyes to the sight but he couldn’t stop up his ears. Jake kept talking, his voice getting lower and deeper, darker-“Some things remain still, demon. Some things will always remain. It’s in the blood, at the core-my mother wove me with blood and fire, threaded the power along my skin. And I can cast some of it from me, but never all of it.”
“How-” NotSam gasped; Michael heard choking, and Jake chuckled.
“You pissed me off,” Jake explained. “Now, tell me-how long have you been possessing Sam?”
NotSam snarled and Michael shouted the history of the Morgan breed in his mind. He pretended he was anywhere else, far from room ten and this fight.
Suddenly, he was released, his entire body back in his control. He dropped to the floor and just breathed for a moment then opened his eyes and looked. Jake and NotSam were locked against each other, eyes glowing-NotSam’s black and Jake’s a pale amber.
Michael stared past them to Dean, who was hunched slightly, eyes wide, breathing shallowly. Slowly he straightened and stepped forward, to where Jake and NotSam battled.
Around Dean, something built on the air, something sang-it shrieked and Michael cried out, covered his ears, but the sound grew, it echoed in his mind, it would not be ignored and could not be denied. Tears pooled in his eyes, slid down his face, and the shriek got louder.
By the time Dean knelt beside him and pulled Michael into his arms, Michael was sobbing uncontrollably. His head pounded and whirled, and he thought he might throw up. Dean whispered and shushed him, threaded his fingers through Michael’s hair.
Only one thought filled Michael’s head. “How’s your brother?”
Dean stilled; his arms tightened around Michael. “He’s fine,” Dean muttered.
“Check on him,” Michael insisted. “You need to be sure he’s okay.”
“Alright,” Dean said. He extracted himself from around Michael and gently let go. Michael let himself fall over backwards. He stared at the ceiling trying not to think. Dean said something unintelligible and then murmured, “Sammy.”
Sam said something back and Michael froze. A part of him somehow knew it was actually Sam, not NotSam, but he still trembled at the sound of his voice.
“It’ll be alright now,” Jake whispered, crawling up beside Michael. Michael raised his head a little. Jake was beat; he moved slowly, surely, and lowered himself to the floor like he was old.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked, worried.
Jake started to nod but paused, his gaze assessing. “I will be,” he answered. “After about forty-eight hours of sleep. And they’ll be fine, too. But the real question is: how’re you doin’?”
Michael closed his eyes and started at his head, internally worked his way down. “I ache,” he replied honestly. “All over. But I’ll be fine if I get a good night’s sleep.”
“Good to hear,” Dean said, standing and stretching. “Go to your room and start workin’ on that. We’ll touch base tomorrow, okay?”
Michael rolled over and pushed himself up to his knees, slowly stood. “But that thing inside Sam?” he asked. “Where’d it go?”
“It’s gone,” Jake responded. “Completely.”
Michael glanced over, seeking reassurance. “Forever?” He winced when he realized he’d sounded younger than Ash.
“Yeah.” Sam’s voice was hoarse and weary. “Jake killed it.” He almost laughed and Michael turned his head slightly. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one after you.”
Michael closed his eyes and considered sobbing again. Dean reached out and lightly touched his shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed, Michael,” he murmured. “We’ll talk again tomorrow, after we’ve all rested. Okay?”
Without opening his eyes, Michael nodded, swallowing back tears.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” Jake said and Michael opened his eyes.
Dean held out a hand and Jake took it; one pull and Jake stood. He swayed for a second, one hand held to his head, but righted himself and stilled. “You okay?” Dean asked and Jake answered softly, “For the most part.”
Michael watched them have a silent conversation for a few heartbeats; finally Dean said, “Get him to bed safely, okay?” Jake smiled.
-
It was a deep, solid, nightmare-free sleep. Michael dreamed of Dad and Ash and Mom, of Aunt Gabrielle and Grandma, of his hopes for the future and his triumphs in the past.
No one with black eyes appeared. No deal was offered. He slept soundly and woke wrapped around Asher.
“Ash?” he mumbled and felt Asher nod against his chest. “What’re you doin’ in m’bed?”
“I didn’t want you gettin’ bad dreams,” Ash whispered. “You didn’t, right?”
“No,” Michael answered. “I didn’t.”
Michael slowly pulled himself from bed, wanting a bath more than anything ever. He didn’t check in with Mom, didn’t let her know he was up, didn’t pause for a moment. He turned the water on scalding and closed his eyes, hoping to soak out the memories. He scrubbed every inch of his skin twice over, trying to convince himself it had all been a dream. An odd, fanciful dream, brought on by some weird chick and three men too gorgeous to be real.
But he knew. He knew. And now he couldn’t unknow.
With a sigh he lunged up, stepped out of the tub. He toweled off and slipped on an old, ragged T-shirt two sizes too big and faded jeans he’d just about outgrown.
Mom, Abigail told him when he stopped by the office, had a meeting this morning she couldn’t get out of. But she’d be back by one and she expected answers.
“Is her date still on?” he asked finally, checking the time: just past nine.
Abigail shrugged. Michael headed for the kitchen, famished. After breakfast, he decided, he’d go to room ten and learn more than he’d ever wanted to know.
-
Standing before the door, it was much harder to raise his hand and knock. He closed his eyes, swallowed, counted to fifteen, then thirty. Right before his knuckles touched the wood, the door opened. Jake stood there, looking less tired. His eyes were clear and his short hair ruffled. “Mornin,” he said and yawned. “How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty good,” Michael answered, unable to keep from smiling in reply.
Jake stepped back and Michael entered. Dean sat in the room’s one chair; the bathroom door was shut and the water running.
“It’s his third shower since yesterday,” Dean told Michael. Jake walked past him and sank onto the bed closest to the door, stretching out along it. “He still doesn’t feel clean.”
Michael looked from one to the other. “What happened yesterday?” he asked.
Dean sighed. “My mom died when I was four. Sam was just a baby. She was killed by a demon, a real nasty son of a bitch. Our dad decided to seek vengeance, so he became a hunter, a warrior on a crusade against the darkness. He trained me and Sam to hunt as well, ruined us for basically anything else. But Sam…” Dean shook his head. “Sam never liked hunting. He wanted normal. So when he was eighteen he left for college. And for four years, he had his normal. His safety. Then the demon killed his girlfriend, the same way it killed Mom.” Dean stood and rolled his shoulders, walked over and bent down, looked Michael straight in the eye. “The thing that possessed Sammy is one of many. Not the one that’s been visiting you in your sleep or the one that killed Mom. Why it was here-well, we don’t know yet. Sam… he hasn’t spoken since Jake took you to your room.” Dean sighed and stood back up.
Jake jumped in. “I’ll tell him where I fit.”
Dean glanced his way and Michael followed his gaze. “You sure?” Dean asked.
Jake nodded. “He’s a part of this now. Always was, I guess, since-Meg?-that girl’s been in his dreams from before we met up.” Jake met Michael’s eyes and tried to smile. “You’ve fallen into quite a mess, kiddo. It’s not gonna be easy.”
“I’ll do anything for Asher. Anything.” Michael made his voice as serious as he possibly could. He put all of his determination, all of his love, into the words.
“Okay,” Dean said.
And Jake began. Michael sat down on the foot of the bed and faced Jake, listened avidly with wide eyes. It was hard to believe but he knew every word was true. Marisol and Dean’s blood and the power of a god cast away. An unhappy childhood with little love, an environment that should have turned him evil but didn’t. Michael listened silently, watching the emotions play across Jake’s face. With his back to Dean and the bathroom, he was able to forget everything but Jake, Jake’s voice, and the words.
So when Jake finished, ending with his tale with casting away the majority of his power, Michael fell back into his body with shock. He realized that Dean had settled next to him and Sam sat cross-legged on the other bed.
“So,” Michael said, “you’re Dean’s son?”
“Yahtzee,” Jake told him, almost smiling.
“So how do I fit in?” Michael asked. “Where do I fit? I’m not the son of a hunter or a demon-I’m not special at all!”
“Michael,” Sam said. Michael looked over and tried to avoid meeting Sam’s eyes, but he said, “Michael, look at me.” Slowly, Michael raised his gaze. Only when Michael met his eyes straight on did Sam say, “You feel it. You felt it in this room when Jake battled the demon. You felt it when you first met Jake, then Dean. You’ve felt it your entire life but never had a name for it.”
Michael tried looking away but he couldn’t. Sam’s eyes were pulling him in, telling him a truth he could never again deny.
“For normal people,” Sam said, “demons have no limitations. They can enter dreams and do what they like. But for us, those who’re something more… they can visit our dreams, but they can’t change anything. Nothing at all. She could talk to you, but that’s it. The next move is yours.”
“That demon,” Michael asked, “the one that possessed you? What’d it want?”
Sam looked away, down at his clasped hands. “To stack the deck,” he answered softly. “To take you and Dean and Jake out of the equation. It entered me when I first stepped in this room, took over so suddenly I had no chance to fight back. If Dean hadn’t been mostly asleep, he’d have caught on instantly.” Sam paused and licked his lips then sighed. “I was lazy. I should have been prepared.” He scoffed. “We came here because of a vision I had, a warning of danger. And I lowered my guard.”
“Sam,” Jake interrupted, “it’s not just your fault. I should have sensed something.”
Michael glanced up to Dean. “If all three of us had died, what would have happened to Asher and Mom?”
Sam replied, “Your mom may have been left alone. But most likely, they’d kill her. Then they’d take Asher and break him, reforge him as a weapon for their side.”
Michael closed his eyes and longed for the days when all he had to worry about was Mom finding out about Cole. But he put all his focus on Asher, on the little brother he’d kill and die for, and opened his eyes.
“So now what do we do?”
Part 2
Chapter: V. Blood Kin
Fandom:"Supernatural"/Devour crossover
Disclaimer: Not my characters excepting the ones I thought up. Just for fun.
Warnings: pedophilia, child abuse, rape, underage whoring, AU after “Shadow,” spoilers for season one and Devour
Pairings: various het; slash(pedophilia) in the past
Rating: R for language and an assortment of other things(take a look at the warnings. I think you’ll understand.)
Wordcount: total--11690
Point of view: third
Notes: My knowledge of geography(including that of my own country) leaves much to be desired.
Chapter I: " Rapture"
Chapter II: "Bloodcall"
Chapter III: " Crystalline"
Chapter IV: " Genetic Codes"
I’ll offer you a deal, but I won’t offer twice. So take it now or don’t take it all.
-
Dad left on Asher’s first birthday. Michael barely remembered him. When he was younger, he asked Mom to talk about him, to tell stories of the man she loved, the man she married, the man she gave two sons. She wove marvelous stories for him, bone-weary and hurting, and Michael didn’t know how much it cost her till it was too late to apologize.
They stayed in Jackson for a couple of years after Dad left, until Mom couldn’t stand it anymore. She had an aunt in Fitchburg, Wisconsin, so she took them there. Aunt Gabrielle ran a small motel so Mom started helping her out. Aunt Gabrielle finally moved on, tired of the hotel, and Mom took over.
Sometimes it was scary, those early years, with the riffraff that came through, but scariest of all were Mom’s revolving boyfriends.
By the time Michael hit seventh-grade, Mom’d had five lovers. The first was David Kole, a tyrannical bastard. Michael hated him on sight and made sure Asher never went near him. But David only stayed for a few months and then came Adam Willis, who seemed kind-until he showed up drunk and slapped Michael across the face. Mom ended things instantly.
Mom took a year long break from dating until she met Bruce Johnson and he swept her off her feet. Michael felt odd around Bruce, like there was something whispering to him, something he needed to hear but couldn’t; he kept Asher well away from Bruce. Then Bruce died in a car wreck and Michael breathed a sigh of relief. But on Bruce’s heels came Cole Potter.
Around Mom, Cole was a darling, the kindest man to ever live. Around Michael, Cole was a predator who said he’d hurt Asher if Michael told. So Michael didn’t tell. Cole whispered to him what a beautiful boy he was, with his eyes and lips and face. Michael did anything Cole commanded, no matter how sick it made him, terrified that Cole’s attention would turn to Asher.
Michael swore to himself that if Cole ever even looked at Asher wrong he’d kill the son of a bitch.
Cole was picked up for drunk driving and Michael never heard from him again. It was years before he slept peacefully.
And after Cole came William Davis. He didn’t stay long and he was the best of Mom’s boyfriends.
Mom finally decided to focus solely on the motel and her boys. The motel wasn’t doing so well and Mom confided in Michael that she figured it’d go under soon. Mom had fallback money, so they’d be fine while she searched for another job, but the motel was all Michael knew.
School wasn’t easy but neither was it hard. Michael was firmly ensconced in the middle and that’s where he planned to stay. Asher and Mom were his world and he wouldn’t put his whole attention on schoolwork while he had Asher to look after.
Michael couldn’t fire a gun(or rather, he could, since anyone can, but he never had) and he only knew the rudimentary basics of self-defense, but he was good with knives. He practiced whenever he could, after Ash and Mom had gone to bed, in an old storage closet he’d found. It was unused, fairly big, and out of the way. He’d swiped a few steak knives from the kitchen and threw them, over and over, until he hit the bull’s-eye four out of five times.
By seventh grade, he counted himself happy. He had Mom and Asher, all he needed-yet he wanted more. He wanted Dad and a dog and baseball and the memory of Cole’s hands out of his head. He wanted his innocence back but knew he’d never get it.
-
When the woman first appeared to him, Michael thought nothing of it. He was dreaming of his life before, with Mom and Dad and baby Ash, back in Mississippi. He figured she was someone his parents had known, back then.
But she appeared again and again and again, popping up somewhere in each of his dreams for a month. On his twelfth birthday she spoke to him, kneeling in front of him and meeting his eyes. Michael, she said, I’d like to make a deal with you. I can give you your father back, heal your family, protect Asher for the rest of his life. But only if you come to me on your eighteenth birthday and agree to be mine forever.
It was a dream and something told him to disbelieve everything out of her mouth. So he said no. She appeared and asked four more times, wearing a different face each night, but her eyes were always blacker than a midnight sky. He never told her what she wanted to hear and he never thought about her while awake.
And then one day, a Wednesday, while he was eating lunch outside at school, she sat next to him. Sank down beside him and smiled, eyes darker than dark.
“Hello, Michael,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his face. He jerked away, scrambled to his feet, glared at her.
“Michael,” she cooed up at him, “I want you to be mine.” She patted the ground beside her and said, “Sit.”
He backed away swiftly, eyes narrowed. Her black gaze followed him and her mouth still smiled.
Later that day, Mom put him in charge of the desk and Asher while she went to pick something up at Aunt Gabrielle’s. He was heating up Asher’s supper when the bell dinged, so he headed to the front.
A man stood there, young, maybe twenty, if that. He didn’t seem threatening-but then, neither had Cole at first. The guy had short dark blond hair, huge hazel eyes, a face Cole would have called beautiful.
“King or two queens?” Michael asked, meeting the guy’s gaze.
“Two queens,” he answered and something moved outside the window, so Michael looked out it. Another guy, leaning against a cool car.
Michael wanted to raise an eyebrow but Mom had told him not to antagonize guests, so he just muttered, “Yeah, I’ll bet.” He flicked his eyes back to the guy in time to see him smirk. “How long do you want the room?” Michael asked.
“A week at the moment,” Blond Guy answered. “But it may become more.”
Michael nodded, consulting Mom’s notes; the computers had crashed on Monday and wouldn’t be fixed till Saturday. “Cash or credit?”
“Cash,” Blond Guy said, pulling out a thick wallet.
“Two hundred,” Michael calculated, glancing up to see how Blond Guy would take it.
“Okay,” he responded, handing over ten twenties.
The other opened the door and stepped in. Michael grabbed the key and handed it to Blond Guy, who tossed it over his shoulder. “Room ten,” Michael said, trying to hide his nervousness.
The other guy was huge. Like, Goliath huge.
“I’ll meet you there, Sam,” Blond Guy said. “I’ve just gotta settle the bill.” He turned slightly and grinned. Sam, apparently, nodded and went back out. Blond Guy looked over Michael and said, “How ‘bout you write a receipt so I can go lay down-‘cause I am beat-and the little guy back there won’t burn himself on the stove?”
Michael spun around, dread pulsing through him, and-damn, Blond Guy was right. “Asher!” Michael barked and his little brother froze in the act of reaching for the pot of boiling water. “Get away from there!”
“It’s about to spill!” Asher called back, pouting. “I’s just tryin’ to help.”
Michael sighed and hurried over. He poured the box of noodles into the pot and turned the burner down. “Go back to your drawing, Ash,” he said, ruffling Asher’s hair. “You’re not big enough to cook yet.”
Asher pouted up at him and stomped back to the table, where his pencils were spread everywhere. He picked up the purple one and jabbed it against the paper. Michael watched him for a few heartbeats before heading back to the front, where Blond Guy still waited.
“Nice job,” Blond Guy said.
Michael ignored him and scribbled a receipt on a scrap of paper. “Have a nice stay,” he muttered and turned, going back to his most important job-watching out for Asher. He didn’t watch Blond Guy leave but heard the door open and close.
Ash refused to acknowledge him for a few minutes, but Michael refilled his cup of Kool Aid and asked about his picture. Ash explained at great length that Michael was the blue warrior, he was the green one, and Momma was the purple one. They all defended the Earth-a giant brown smudge in the upper right corner-from the alien invaders-gray specks in the bottom left corner.
Michael praised his drawing and finished the macaroni, serving it to them both just as Mom came in. “Anything happen while I was out?” she asked breathlessly, nearly dropping a box bigger than Ash onto the table.
“We have new guests,” Michael said, portioning out some macaroni for her, too.
“Thank you, baby,” she sighed, taking the bowl and spoon from him, sitting down next to Asher. “Which room?”
“Ten.” He plopped down across from her, next to the box, and dug into his macaroni.
In between gulps of his food and that god-awful red stuff he drank like water, Asher explained his picture again. Mom exclaimed over it, telling Ash how proud she was, and then Asher pushed it across the table, towards Michael.
Michael reached out, laying his fingers over the brown smudge representing Earth. “For me?” he asked and Asher beamed. “Thanks, Ash,” he murmured and then Ash started telling Mom about school.
-
By the time Michael crawled into bed, just after eleven, he’d remembered the black-eyed woman who reminded him of Cole. And the memories of Cole and Cole’s hands and Cole’s ruining eyes and Cole’s belt and Cole’s dick wouldn’t leave him be. The memories haunted his dreams that night, but the worst nightmare of the lot was the one where Cole turned his attention to Asher and Michael couldn’t stop him. Could only watch and beg and scream.
He woke crying just after three. He stared up at the ceiling and pictured Cole’s face, his grin and his smirk, his smile when Michael did everything said.
“Mikey?” Ash’s small voice called across the room. “Are you okay?”
“’m’fine, Ash,” he responded. “Go back to sleep.”
“I had a bad dream,” Asher said. “You were taken by a bad lady and I screamed and screamed, but you never came back.”
Michael felt his stomach clench. “This bad lady-what did she look like?”
“I don’ ‘member,” Ash answered, voice hazy like he was fading. “But her eyes…” a yawn cut him off and the rest was muttered. “… were black…”
He dropped back into sleep. Michael stared at the ceiling for a minute more before slipping out of his bed and padding to Asher’s. He watched his little brother for a while, Asher’s chest rise and fall, and then he crawled under the covers with him. When he finally drifted off, it was to the lullaby of Ash breathing.
-
When Michael got back from school Thursday afternoon, Blond Guy was rummaging in the car’s trunk, muttering. Michael stepped closer because, after all, it was a pretty sweet ride, even if he’d never been particularly interested in automobiles. He preferred horses and sea monsters.
“What kind is it?” he asked and Blond Guy straightened, looked over. Michael froze, gazing up at him.
Unless Blond Guy had aged about five years in the course of one night, this man wasn’t him.
“Dean!” someone called and NotBlond Guy(Dean?) glanced towards the room. Michael followed his gaze and Sam stood in the doorway. “Found it yet?”
“No,” Dean called back.
Sam slipped back into the room and closed the door.
Dean looked back at Michael and said, “1967 Chevy Impala.”
Michael just stared up at him and asked, “What?”
“My car,” Dean told him, shutting the trunk. “It’s a ’67 Chevy Impala.” He grinned down at Michael, strode around the car to the driver’s door, opened it, hit ‘lock,’ and gently closed it.
“So…” Michael began and Dean paused, raising an eyebrow. Michael licked his lips and continued, striving to hide his nervousness, “Who’s that other guy? The one that checked in?”
Dean laughed and said, “My brother.”
For some reason Michael would never be able to fully fathom, he didn’t believe Dean.
-
Mom was home the entire time that night. She was in a good mood, laughing and smiling, talking about the old days, before Dad left. Asher asked question after question, eager for any story of the man he’d idolized. Michael listened, wondering what had happened. Either she’d won the lottery or she’d met a guy-Michael hoped fervently it was the former.
After Asher settled himself in front of the TV, Michael helped Mom straighten out the notes about guests and what needed to be taken care of, cleaned or fixed.
“So,” he asked, “what happened today?”
She looked over at him and set down the pen. “I stopped by Wal-Mart on the way home,” she said, still smiling. “And there was this guy-I couldn’t reach the paper towels I usually get, so he grabbed ‘em for me.”
Mom’s taste in men sucked, so Michael had his doubts.
“We talked; he likes the same movies and music, and he loves kids.” Mom sounded exited and she gestured wildly with her hands; Michael’s stomach sank.
“You have a date?” he asked, trying to mask how he really felt.
“Yeah,” she answered, looking young again, like back in Jackson. “For Saturday night.”
“What’s his name?” Michael jabbed down his pen hard, copying over some pencil scribblings of Abigail, Mom’s ‘assistant,’ translating her notes into English.
“James Nickols,” she laughed. Michael had never seen her act so girlish, so like the kids he went to school with.
“I hope you have a good time,” he lied, gently putting down the pen and standing.
“I know you’ve hated my boyfriends, Mikey,” she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder, smiling gently. “But this one-I think he’s different. I think you’ll get along great.”
Michael nodded, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
“I’m sure you’re right, Mom,” he murmured and walked down the hall to his room. He changed out of jeans and into boxers, then slipped beneath the covers, hoping that he’d have normal dreams, that Cole wouldn’t haunt him.
-
“I offer you a choice, Michael, darling,” she said, eyes black and cold. She wore the same form she had at school, thin and short with blond hair shorn close. “You are starting to annoy me.”
He glared at her then glanced around the empty field. They stood in the middle, with dead trees in the distance and a falling down fence along the edge. “So fuck off,” he told her, backing up a little. “Leave me alone.”
She laughed coldly and stepped forward, following him. “I can’t do that, Mikey. You see, you’re a missing piece, you and Ash. Either of you will do, but you’re the one we want. You’re the one full of pain and rage-you’re the one who could hate. So, if you agree to join us of your own free will when you turn eighteen, I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again. But if you don’t…” Her voice trailed off and her smile darkened. “If you don’t, Michael Springs, then I will take Asher. I will break him, mold him, turn him, and make him mine.”
Michael froze, anger and fear warring in him. He never looked away from her blank, black eyes. He could feel something inside him, straining and stretching, trying to rise and explode.
“Ah, yes,” she murmured, stepping toward him. “You have a lot in common. Older brothers always do, but the two’a ya-so easy.” She reached out and he didn’t move back, didn’t try to avoid her touch. Her hand lightly brushed his cheek and she leaned down to whisper, “Think on it, Michael. You or Asher. You willingly or him stolen in the night, broken and shattered, changed into something that has no memory of you at all.”
She smiled once more and faded away. He stood alone for a long moment before sinking down onto his knees and falling backward, staring up at the midnight sky. He knew it was a dream, but also-he had spoken to her while awake. She had told him she wanted him, for whatever reason-
“She’s evil, you know.”
The voice sounded from out of the darkness and he jerked up, looked around. A large form plopped next to him and Michael recognized him. “Dean?” he asked blankly.
“After a fashion,” Dean answered. “See, this is one of those things where neither of us is awake. You’re searching for someone, anyone, to help you-you’re in danger, but more importantly? Asher is in danger. Baby brother. If it had just been you that bitch wants, I wouldn’t be here.” Dean smiled and Michael could see the razor-edge, but Dean wasn’t dangerous to him. Somehow, Michael just knew it.
“What do I do?” Michael gazed up at him, taking in everything-the short dark blond hair, the weary hazel eyes, the face Cole would have called beautiful and Michael called gorgeous, broad shoulders, beat up leather jacket-Dean was dangerous. Very dangerous.
Michael didn’t much care for reading, but there was one book Aunt Gabrielle gave him, called Shane. He’d been leery of it at first, but then Asher begged him to read aloud. After he started, Michael couldn’t stop. He devoured the book in one go and then reread it. It was the only thing he perused over and over and over again.
Dean reminded him sharply of Shane. Coiled and waiting and deadly.
“When you wake up,” Dean said, “you have to make a choice. Do what that bitch asks, give yourself to keep Asher safe, trust her word or-talk to me and Sammy and Jake. Trust us, let us know everything she’s said, how long she’s been talking to you.” Dean’s eyes were serious and his voice kind. He didn’t talk down to Michael like most adults. Only Mom and Aunt Gabrielle spoke to him like Dean all the time.
“You have to trust us,” Dean told him, meeting his gaze straight on. “Can you do that?”
“I don’t understand.” Michael looked up, knew the fear was plain on his face. “How can you help?”
Dean’s smile was gentle, kind. Michael stopped worrying when he said, “It’s what we do.”
-
Michael skipped school on Friday. He saw Asher to his homeroom and then hurried back to the hotel. He waited until Mom was busy at the office and headed to room ten, wondering if Dean remembered.
He could hear low voices through the door but couldn’t make out the words. It took a minute but he worked up the courage and softly tapped on the door. He waited, heart in his throat, and when the door opened, it was Blond Guy smiling at him.
“Dean didn’t think you’d come,” Blond Guy said and moved back, letting Michael slip in. “Figured you’d write it off as a dream, like he almost did.”
“If Asher’s in danger and the three of you can help,” Michael told him, swinging his gaze to include Dean and Sam, “I’ll do anything.”
Sam sank down onto one of the beds, the bed closer to the door, a few feet from Michael. Blond Guy shut the door and then walked around Michael, settling next to Sam. Dean stayed standing, his gaze on Michael.
“I’ve never communicated with someone in a dream before,” Dean said. “And I pretty much remember nothing. I don’t know how or why, if the power came from my end or yours.” Dean paused and his eyes flicked to Sam and Blond Guy. “It seems that power hit every member of my family, so it wouldn’t be shocking. But-from what I remember-that chick was seriously evil, so clearly there’s something about you.”
Michael began after almost a minute of silence. “She wants me to agree to join her on my eighteenth birthday. Something about power, how me and Asher are wanted, but they’ll only take one. If I agree, they’ll leave Asher alone. If I don’t, they’ll take him and…” Her words echoed in his head and he continued softly, “Break him, mold him, turn him, and make him theirs.”
Dean nodded and licked his lips, glanced over at Blond Guy. “Jake,” he asked, “do you remember anything about this?”
Jake-Blond Guy-shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said and Michael looked at him. “I focused on Dean-” he bit off the rest of the words and lowered his gaze. “I could have ended everything-I had the strength. But I didn’t.” He laughed softly, bitterly. Michael was at a loss, had no clue what Jake was talking about, what was expected of him now. Jake added, “I know where it ends, or rather, where it did before.”
Dean looked at Sam and Michael followed his gaze. “Your vision, Sammy-did you recognize the place?”
Sam shook his head. “I’ve never been there before. It looked like a sanctuary, one of those old churches. But it was…” his voice trailed off and he closed eyes, clearly searching for the words. Michael wondered what he’d fallen into, if he’d lost his mind-but that woman’s eyes as she spoke of Asher… Michael couldn’t leave the outcome to chance. Not with Ash on the line.
Asher was his brother. Michael would do anything to keep him safe. And if it came down to giving himself to that woman and whatever cause-so be it.
Sam opened his eyes. “It was worse than Sue Anne’s altar, even worse than Meg’s. It was… dark, seriously dark. Like whatever worshiped there fed on pain and fear and despair. Meg held-Asher, is it?-by the arm, a wicked looking dagger at his throat.” Sam’s gaze focused on Michael and Michael couldn’t look away. He was held there, by the rage he saw in Sam’s eyes.
The rage was deep and dangerous, swelled and leapt; Sam’s eyes flickered between green and black, and Michael jerked away, tossed himself against the door. Dean’s exclamation of shock filled the room, but Michael couldn’t move. He tried turning his head and he saw Jake and Dean also frozen, Dean by the bathroom door and Jake held to the wall near Michael.
The thing controlling Sam’s body laughed and Michael shivered, suddenly terrified.
“Let go of my brother, you son of a bitch,” Dean snarled, straining against the invisible bond. “Get your hell-smoke outta him.”
“Or what?” NotSam asked. “You gonna glare me to death?” He laughed again, a sound that sent a thrill of fear-and a touch of anger-down Michael’s back.
“I didn’t come here for a fight,” NotSam said, standing up. He straightened to Sam’s full height and turned his head, looking down into Michael’s eyes. “You’re a brave boy, Mikey. Courageous and strong-you took everything Cole gave and never snapped. You’re the kind we seek out, the kind we want. Your brother-oh, Asher has the raw power, leashed deep in his soul. But he’s not angry, he doesn’t hate.” NotSam turned back to look at Dean, softly stepped over and stood next to him. “Dean, here? He’s the kind of anger we want. It singes the very air around him.”
Dean clenched his jaw and met Michael’s gaze. Hold on, Michael read in his eyes. We’ll get out of this. Just trust me. And then he heard Dean’s voice in his head. Trust me, Michael.
Michael nodded.
NotSam lowered his head, placed his lips a finger’s-breadth from Dean’s. “My father has made a handful of mistakes in all his centuries. Two of them stand in this room.” NotSam laughed and moved forward, licking Dean’s lips. Michael closed his eyes but still heard NotSam say, “He should have taken you, Dean. That night he killed Mary, he should have taken you.”
Dean made a small noise; Michael squeezed his eyes tighter shut and started listing every horse breed he could remember.
His eyelids flew open at Jake’s voice.
“Stop.”
The tone had to be obeyed. Something threaded through it. NotSam froze where he stood, one hand tangled in Dean’s close-cropped hair, the other unzipping Dean’s jeans.
Michael wanted to look away but to his shame, he couldn’t. The way Dean’s head was lowered, face blank, eyes closed-Michael wondered if that’s how he himself had looked. If so… he still couldn’t forgive Cole.
NotSam turned around, furious. “How dare you command me?” he hissed and Jake laughed. It was darker than NotSam’s laugh had been. Scarier.
Michael wished he’d gone to school.
In the corner of is eyes, he saw Jake move, so he turned his head slightly. Jake stepped forward slowly, leisurely. “How dare I?” he asked mockingly. “Because I can.”
“You gave up the power!” NotSam denied. “We all felt it. You don’t have the strength or the claim anymore.”
Jake smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile and Michael closed his eyes again, unable to comprehend what he’d stepped into the middle of.
He could close his eyes to the sight but he couldn’t stop up his ears. Jake kept talking, his voice getting lower and deeper, darker-“Some things remain still, demon. Some things will always remain. It’s in the blood, at the core-my mother wove me with blood and fire, threaded the power along my skin. And I can cast some of it from me, but never all of it.”
“How-” NotSam gasped; Michael heard choking, and Jake chuckled.
“You pissed me off,” Jake explained. “Now, tell me-how long have you been possessing Sam?”
NotSam snarled and Michael shouted the history of the Morgan breed in his mind. He pretended he was anywhere else, far from room ten and this fight.
Suddenly, he was released, his entire body back in his control. He dropped to the floor and just breathed for a moment then opened his eyes and looked. Jake and NotSam were locked against each other, eyes glowing-NotSam’s black and Jake’s a pale amber.
Michael stared past them to Dean, who was hunched slightly, eyes wide, breathing shallowly. Slowly he straightened and stepped forward, to where Jake and NotSam battled.
Around Dean, something built on the air, something sang-it shrieked and Michael cried out, covered his ears, but the sound grew, it echoed in his mind, it would not be ignored and could not be denied. Tears pooled in his eyes, slid down his face, and the shriek got louder.
By the time Dean knelt beside him and pulled Michael into his arms, Michael was sobbing uncontrollably. His head pounded and whirled, and he thought he might throw up. Dean whispered and shushed him, threaded his fingers through Michael’s hair.
Only one thought filled Michael’s head. “How’s your brother?”
Dean stilled; his arms tightened around Michael. “He’s fine,” Dean muttered.
“Check on him,” Michael insisted. “You need to be sure he’s okay.”
“Alright,” Dean said. He extracted himself from around Michael and gently let go. Michael let himself fall over backwards. He stared at the ceiling trying not to think. Dean said something unintelligible and then murmured, “Sammy.”
Sam said something back and Michael froze. A part of him somehow knew it was actually Sam, not NotSam, but he still trembled at the sound of his voice.
“It’ll be alright now,” Jake whispered, crawling up beside Michael. Michael raised his head a little. Jake was beat; he moved slowly, surely, and lowered himself to the floor like he was old.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked, worried.
Jake started to nod but paused, his gaze assessing. “I will be,” he answered. “After about forty-eight hours of sleep. And they’ll be fine, too. But the real question is: how’re you doin’?”
Michael closed his eyes and started at his head, internally worked his way down. “I ache,” he replied honestly. “All over. But I’ll be fine if I get a good night’s sleep.”
“Good to hear,” Dean said, standing and stretching. “Go to your room and start workin’ on that. We’ll touch base tomorrow, okay?”
Michael rolled over and pushed himself up to his knees, slowly stood. “But that thing inside Sam?” he asked. “Where’d it go?”
“It’s gone,” Jake responded. “Completely.”
Michael glanced over, seeking reassurance. “Forever?” He winced when he realized he’d sounded younger than Ash.
“Yeah.” Sam’s voice was hoarse and weary. “Jake killed it.” He almost laughed and Michael turned his head slightly. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one after you.”
Michael closed his eyes and considered sobbing again. Dean reached out and lightly touched his shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed, Michael,” he murmured. “We’ll talk again tomorrow, after we’ve all rested. Okay?”
Without opening his eyes, Michael nodded, swallowing back tears.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” Jake said and Michael opened his eyes.
Dean held out a hand and Jake took it; one pull and Jake stood. He swayed for a second, one hand held to his head, but righted himself and stilled. “You okay?” Dean asked and Jake answered softly, “For the most part.”
Michael watched them have a silent conversation for a few heartbeats; finally Dean said, “Get him to bed safely, okay?” Jake smiled.
-
It was a deep, solid, nightmare-free sleep. Michael dreamed of Dad and Ash and Mom, of Aunt Gabrielle and Grandma, of his hopes for the future and his triumphs in the past.
No one with black eyes appeared. No deal was offered. He slept soundly and woke wrapped around Asher.
“Ash?” he mumbled and felt Asher nod against his chest. “What’re you doin’ in m’bed?”
“I didn’t want you gettin’ bad dreams,” Ash whispered. “You didn’t, right?”
“No,” Michael answered. “I didn’t.”
Michael slowly pulled himself from bed, wanting a bath more than anything ever. He didn’t check in with Mom, didn’t let her know he was up, didn’t pause for a moment. He turned the water on scalding and closed his eyes, hoping to soak out the memories. He scrubbed every inch of his skin twice over, trying to convince himself it had all been a dream. An odd, fanciful dream, brought on by some weird chick and three men too gorgeous to be real.
But he knew. He knew. And now he couldn’t unknow.
With a sigh he lunged up, stepped out of the tub. He toweled off and slipped on an old, ragged T-shirt two sizes too big and faded jeans he’d just about outgrown.
Mom, Abigail told him when he stopped by the office, had a meeting this morning she couldn’t get out of. But she’d be back by one and she expected answers.
“Is her date still on?” he asked finally, checking the time: just past nine.
Abigail shrugged. Michael headed for the kitchen, famished. After breakfast, he decided, he’d go to room ten and learn more than he’d ever wanted to know.
-
Standing before the door, it was much harder to raise his hand and knock. He closed his eyes, swallowed, counted to fifteen, then thirty. Right before his knuckles touched the wood, the door opened. Jake stood there, looking less tired. His eyes were clear and his short hair ruffled. “Mornin,” he said and yawned. “How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty good,” Michael answered, unable to keep from smiling in reply.
Jake stepped back and Michael entered. Dean sat in the room’s one chair; the bathroom door was shut and the water running.
“It’s his third shower since yesterday,” Dean told Michael. Jake walked past him and sank onto the bed closest to the door, stretching out along it. “He still doesn’t feel clean.”
Michael looked from one to the other. “What happened yesterday?” he asked.
Dean sighed. “My mom died when I was four. Sam was just a baby. She was killed by a demon, a real nasty son of a bitch. Our dad decided to seek vengeance, so he became a hunter, a warrior on a crusade against the darkness. He trained me and Sam to hunt as well, ruined us for basically anything else. But Sam…” Dean shook his head. “Sam never liked hunting. He wanted normal. So when he was eighteen he left for college. And for four years, he had his normal. His safety. Then the demon killed his girlfriend, the same way it killed Mom.” Dean stood and rolled his shoulders, walked over and bent down, looked Michael straight in the eye. “The thing that possessed Sammy is one of many. Not the one that’s been visiting you in your sleep or the one that killed Mom. Why it was here-well, we don’t know yet. Sam… he hasn’t spoken since Jake took you to your room.” Dean sighed and stood back up.
Jake jumped in. “I’ll tell him where I fit.”
Dean glanced his way and Michael followed his gaze. “You sure?” Dean asked.
Jake nodded. “He’s a part of this now. Always was, I guess, since-Meg?-that girl’s been in his dreams from before we met up.” Jake met Michael’s eyes and tried to smile. “You’ve fallen into quite a mess, kiddo. It’s not gonna be easy.”
“I’ll do anything for Asher. Anything.” Michael made his voice as serious as he possibly could. He put all of his determination, all of his love, into the words.
“Okay,” Dean said.
And Jake began. Michael sat down on the foot of the bed and faced Jake, listened avidly with wide eyes. It was hard to believe but he knew every word was true. Marisol and Dean’s blood and the power of a god cast away. An unhappy childhood with little love, an environment that should have turned him evil but didn’t. Michael listened silently, watching the emotions play across Jake’s face. With his back to Dean and the bathroom, he was able to forget everything but Jake, Jake’s voice, and the words.
So when Jake finished, ending with his tale with casting away the majority of his power, Michael fell back into his body with shock. He realized that Dean had settled next to him and Sam sat cross-legged on the other bed.
“So,” Michael said, “you’re Dean’s son?”
“Yahtzee,” Jake told him, almost smiling.
“So how do I fit in?” Michael asked. “Where do I fit? I’m not the son of a hunter or a demon-I’m not special at all!”
“Michael,” Sam said. Michael looked over and tried to avoid meeting Sam’s eyes, but he said, “Michael, look at me.” Slowly, Michael raised his gaze. Only when Michael met his eyes straight on did Sam say, “You feel it. You felt it in this room when Jake battled the demon. You felt it when you first met Jake, then Dean. You’ve felt it your entire life but never had a name for it.”
Michael tried looking away but he couldn’t. Sam’s eyes were pulling him in, telling him a truth he could never again deny.
“For normal people,” Sam said, “demons have no limitations. They can enter dreams and do what they like. But for us, those who’re something more… they can visit our dreams, but they can’t change anything. Nothing at all. She could talk to you, but that’s it. The next move is yours.”
“That demon,” Michael asked, “the one that possessed you? What’d it want?”
Sam looked away, down at his clasped hands. “To stack the deck,” he answered softly. “To take you and Dean and Jake out of the equation. It entered me when I first stepped in this room, took over so suddenly I had no chance to fight back. If Dean hadn’t been mostly asleep, he’d have caught on instantly.” Sam paused and licked his lips then sighed. “I was lazy. I should have been prepared.” He scoffed. “We came here because of a vision I had, a warning of danger. And I lowered my guard.”
“Sam,” Jake interrupted, “it’s not just your fault. I should have sensed something.”
Michael glanced up to Dean. “If all three of us had died, what would have happened to Asher and Mom?”
Sam replied, “Your mom may have been left alone. But most likely, they’d kill her. Then they’d take Asher and break him, reforge him as a weapon for their side.”
Michael closed his eyes and longed for the days when all he had to worry about was Mom finding out about Cole. But he put all his focus on Asher, on the little brother he’d kill and die for, and opened his eyes.
“So now what do we do?”
Part 2