Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ The Devil's Trill ❯ The Devil's Trill ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own either set of awesomely rockin' brothers. If I did I wouldn't be writing these. I wouldn't even know how to write. I wouldn't know how to read. I'd just be smishing them. All the time. Oh, and also, the quote at the beginning of this chapter isn't mine, either—it came from Buffy.

 

Setting: Probably right before Croatoan

 

Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester, guest starring Niko and Cal Leandros

 

Warnings: Probably some OOC on the part of the Brothers Leandros, because honestly, I might suck at writing them. I don't know for sure.

 

Author's Note: Okay, so after I finished this little thing, I had a long and drawn out argument with myself over whether or not to post it. I have only read the books Nightlife and Moonshine once, and I have never, ever tried to write anything from them. I'm not entirely sure I can keep Cal and Niko in character—and if they are OOC, I will probably cry and be very ashamed for my disrespect.

 

So you can see why I thought twice about posting it. But finally I just had to. I couldn't have it sitting there, haunting me, without someone to tell me whether it sucks or not. So here it is, ready to be judged and sentenced accordingly. Please be kind…

 

Oh, and also: the random chapter breaks? Yeah, no point to them. I just wanted to put them there.

 

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“You think you know. Who you are. What's to come. You haven't even begun.”

 

Prologue

 

There was a struggle going on in one of New York's many cemeteries tonight. Rather a different kind of struggle, however, as it wasn't between two people, but rather between a man and a dead weight.

 

“Good God, man, what're they feedin' you down there in the Third Circle?” With a grunt to match the irritation in his words, the man laid down his burden, having finally reached his destination—a pile of freshly turned earth headed by a stone slab that read “Lia McPike—1972-2005.” Once relieved of said burden, the man kept talking, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his companion was in no condition to reply or even hear.

 

“I think you'll get along well with this chick. Good thing, since you'll be stuck with her for awhile. See, the reason I think that is because she was a murderer. A killer, same as you.” White teeth glinted in the dark as the man smiled. “Have a nice afterlife, Cal.”

 

And he closed the coffin lid.

 

Chapter 1

 

“Why can't I ever spend a Saturday night somewhere that's not a graveyard, or a haunted house, or a police station?”

 

Sam resisted the urge to smile at his big brother's grumblings, knowing that it would only serve to get him in trouble. Instead, he simply tossed his shovel up and out of the grave and said, “Get out so I can get it open.”

 

Dean scowled at him, undoubtedly offended by Sam's indifference to his supposed plight, but he hopped out of the hole anyway and went to collect the salt, the gasoline, and the matches they'd left a few feet from their dig site.

 

Giving into the smile now that it was safe to do so, Sam leaned down to pull Lia McPike's coffin open—and lost the smile immediately.

 

“Dean!”

 

The older Winchester was at his side in a second, undoubtedly scared out of his wits by the shock and borderline panic in his yell. Sam didn't have to look to know that Dean was staring into the coffin and feeling the same shock.

 

There were two people in the coffin.

 

One was a skeleton—Lie McPike, as she was supposed to be.

 

The other was a kid, or at least someone not much older than a kid.

 

And he was most definitely not a skeleton.

 

“What the hell…?” Dean murmured, as if he simply didn't know what was going on, as if, for the first time in Sam's memory, he just didn't have any idea what to do.

 

Sam was already on his knees in the coffin, ignoring the bones and fumbling for a pulse.

 

“He's alive!” he cried out. “Help me get him out.

 

Dean only said one thing as he leapt into the grave and bent to get a hold on the unconscious kid.

 

“What the hell?”

 

XXX

 

“Think he's drugged?” Dean asked, staring at the still-unconscious young man stretched out on Sam's bed. They'd gotten back to the motel ten minutes before, after Dean finished the salt-and-burn while Sam monitored their sudden and unexpected charge, and they'd been sitting on Dean's bed ever since, trying to figure out what to do.

 

“Probably,” Sam replied. “He's beaten pretty bad, but nothing looks broken. He doesn't look sick, and he doesn't have any bumps on the head, and those are the only other explanations I can come up with.”

 

“Well, what if he was just in there too long and he's…I dunno, comatose, or something?”

 

“…Dean, do you know anything about the human body? At all?”

 

“Well, I hope so, I've patched you up enough.”

 

Sam grimaced. “I think I'll just bleed to death next time. Look, the point is, if he was in the coffin too long, he'd just be dead. He wouldn't be breathing, he wouldn't have a pulse, he definitely wouldn't look like he was asleep.”

 

Dean thought about it. “Okay, so he's drugged. And he couldn't have been there that long before we found him. So…who did it to him? Hell, who is he?”

 

Sam shrugged helplessly. “I don't have a clue. Maybe we should take him to a hospital.”

 

“Oh, yeah, sure, `cause that story would be so easy to pull off.”

 

Sam sighed. “Yeah. Well, we should at least check him for ID. Maybe he has a cell. We could call his family.”

 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Fine. Go check his pockets.” At Sam's look, he added, “Well, I'm not doing it!”

 

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Sam approached the still form on the bed. “You are unbelievable.”

 

Dean grinned disarmingly. “I know.”

 

Still muttering, Sam carefully reached for one of the side pockets in the guy's jeans—only to find himself in the place of said kid, lying on the bed, a knife at his throat and Dean on the floor, with no idea of how any of it had happened.

 

Chapter 2

 

Sam was trying really hard not to breathe, though it was difficult with Dean staring at him from across the room, looking indecisive, unsure if it was even safe to blink, and more than a little frightened. Meanwhile, the young man they'd saved was leaning over him, eyes impassive and empty of anger, or fear, or even questions, and the knife was still bare and cold against Sam's throat.

 

After several moments of tense silence, Sam finally managed to force words out, feeling the blade dig a little into his skin.

 

“I…uh…think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot here.”

 

Gray eyes narrowed slightly, and then the guy did something decidedly odd. He inclined his head a little, took a deep breath, like he was trying to inhale something, and let it out. For one agonizing moment, the knife pressed firmly, stinging, and then its cold bite disappeared.

 

Dean was at his side the moment the stranger backed off enough, reassuring hands probing at the tiny, deliberate, almost painless cut in his neck. Then, satisfied with his examination, Dean dropped his arms to his sides and whirled on their knife-wielding “companion” and said furiously, for all the world as if they'd been having a conversation, “And just what the hell were you thinking?!”

 

Still the oddly creepy young man didn't say a word, but his lips did quirk momentarily, as if in amusement.

 

Dean apparently didn't see the funny, though, judging by the sudden rise of his voice.

 

“You pulled a knife on my brother! He saved your life, man!”

 

The other guy frowned a little, as if that idea simply hadn't occurred to him before, and didn't make any sense now that it had. Then, without warning, he broke his self-imposed silence, and with the strangest thing.

 

“What the hell are you laughing at?” Dean roared, about at the end of his rope.

 

Laughter subsided to quiet chuckles, and the guy shook his head. “I just never thought I'd see the day that hunters rescued me.”

 

The silence had an actual ring to it as the Winchesters stared at him, dumbfounded, and he looked calmly back. Then Sam spoke up for the first time.

 

“Who are you?”

 

The other man shrugged and said, “Cal. Caliban Leandros.”

 

XXX

 

Eight and a half miles from the Winchester motel room where these unusual events were taking place, Niko Leandros was stepping into the apartment he shared with his brother and closing the door quietly behind him.

 

His face was impassive, and if anyone were with him they wouldn't have been able to see that he was in great turmoil. Not unless they were Cal, and Cal wasn't here.

 

That was the whole problem.

 

With careful, measured steps, Niko went to the table and sat down. His hand reached for his boot, and a moment later the silver of one of his many daggers flashed through the air. Niko twirled the dagger with deft and practiced movements, his mind faraway.

 

George hadn't been any help to him, and that was…unusual. She had already known about Cal's disappearance, of course, and the moment he'd walked into the ice cream parlor and sat down at her table she'd looked at him with her unfailingly kind and disturbingly direct gaze and said gently, “I can't help you today, Niko.”

 

Then she'd gone on to explain that she'd already tried to See Cal, and she'd succeeded—after a fashion.

 

“…Dark…cold…closed in…small…and…he's scared.”

 

Even now the words rang in Niko's ears—the only sense George had been able to get of Cal, and a horrifying sense it was. Scared…Cal was scared…

 

And it got worse after that, because after the fear George's senses had gone utterly blank. She couldn't find Cal at all now, and Niko would not—would not—think about what that could mean.

 

“It doesn't have to mean what you think,” George had said placidly. “After all, I can only See what I'm allowed to See. Maybe I'm just not supposed to See him right now.”

 

And what do you say when a psychic uses that kind of logic—the kind that normal people simply can't understand?

 

So Niko had gotten up and left, and now he was still without his brother, and still without any idea of what to do.

 

Niko was generally able to keep his emotion sunder control, but Cal had been gone for a week now, and he was rapidly losing it.

 

And then the phone rang.

 

Chapter 3

 

“Yeah, that's right. Room twelve. Get here as fast as you can, okay?”

 

Cal paused and listened to whoever was on the other end of his phone, and for a moment his features relaxed into a sharp grin.

 

“No, Nik, they're not. They couldn't. I could get up and leave anytime I wanted. I just think you should come here.”

 

He paused again, and then his voice was the gentlest it had been yet. “Yeah, Nik. I'm okay.”

 

Then Cal hung up, put his phone away, and stared down at his knees. “A week,” he murmured to himself, sounding abstracted and puzzled. “A week…” Suddenly his head came up and he fixed the Winchesters with an inquisitive stare. “How long ago did you bring me here?”

 

“Hmm…” Dean said, giving his watch an exaggerated glance. “About an hour.”

 

Cal nodded and went on talking to himself, thoughtfully. “So he kept me for a whole week before he buried me…but why? And what do you guys have to do with it?”

 

Dean glanced at Sam and mouthed, “Crazy?”

 

Sam shook his head firmly and spoke instead to Cal. “You said you were gone for a week. Did your brother tell you that?” Cal looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and Sam flashed his shy and charming grin. “I know the look of a little brother. I'm one, myself.”

 

Cal returned the smile without so much as glancing at Dean. “Yeah. I could tell.”

 

And just like that, the knife that Cal had been holding at the ready the entire time vanished into his boot.

 

“So tell me,” he said. “How did two hunters like yourselves come to dig me up, anyway?”

 

“How do you know we're hunters?”

 

“Please,” Cal replied, rolling his eyes. “It's plain to anyone who looks. I haven't met more than a couple of you guys in my life, but it's enough.”

 

“Well, if you've met us, and you know what our job is, then why are you so surprise that we helped you?” Dean broke in, obviously deciding to leave the question of how Cal knew about hunters for another time.

 

Instead of answering him, though, Cal simply looked at him for a moment, appraising him—and then turned back to Sam. Sam hid a smile as Dean glared.

 

“So?” Sam asked, carefully changing the subject. “What happened, then?”

Cal just shook his head. “Not until my brother gets here.”

Dean went to protest, but Sam shook his head warningly and Dean settled sullenly back against the headboard of his bed, looking disgruntled.

 

XXX

 

Dean was irritated.

 

And not “a psychotic murderous ghost just ran me through with a crowbar” irritated, but really irritated. He tended to get that way when he didn't understand something, and he'd never met anyone he understood less than this Cal guy. He was just so indifferent! He didn't seem to care that he'd been buried alive, or particularly interested in the fact that he'd apparently lost an entire week of his life. Nor was he displaying any of the normal signs of post-traumatic stress normally shown by the people the Winchesters rescued. He was acting as if it were all just a vaguely interesting movie he was watching from the sidelines.

 

And this business of him knowing about hunters—what was that all about?

 

And if that wasn't enough, the guy was treating Sam—his little brother—like some kind of kindred spirit or something, and acting like he wasn't there, which just plain sucked.

 

All in all, Dean was seriously beginning to regret their decision to come to New York.

 

Except…well, there was the fact that if they hadn't been there, this guy—Cal—would be dead by now, and no matter how annoying he was, Dean still didn't want him dead.

 

He did wish the brother would just come and get him, though, so that that could be the end of it.

 

But then someone knocked on the door, twice, firmly, and Dean got up to answer it.

 

And when he got his first look at Cal's brother, he knew without a doubt that that would not be that, after all.

 

Chapter 4

 

Niko Leandros was not a man you crossed lightly.

 

That was Sam's first impression of Cal's older brother as the man walked through the door of their motel room. Niko's expression was calm, maybe even serene, but actually that only made the aura of Danger, Will Robinson, danger! around him more obvious—as if the calmer he looked, the deadlier he was. He moved with a catlike grace, always wary, always watching.

 

He was like Dean, that way.

 

Only Dean could never make his eyes do what Niko's were doing right now—sweeping the room, cold, calculating, and absolutely ready to kill at a moment's notice. Like little chips of ice, those eyes.

 

But then his gaze landed on Cal, and the ice just…melted, slid away, leaving only the older brother behind—the older brother who had spent seven days searching and had finally found his prize. Exhausted, care-worn, and feeling a sense of relief almost strong enough to topple him—but still deadly.

 

Always so deadly.

 

Sam watched as Niko crossed the room in two strides, going down on his knees and looking up into his brother's face, studying, assessing, in much the same way Dean would be if the situation were reversed.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

It was the first time Sam had ever heard that kind of voice, anywhere—a tone of such perfectly blended authority and concern that it was impossible to tell where one picked up and the other began. Faced with that tone, even Sam, always the rebel in his family, would have had to resist jumping to a salute.

 

But Cal only smiled reassuringly, and reached out to pat Niko's shoulder. “Peachy, Cyrano. Just…peachy.”

 

And then Niko did the most amazing thing—he put a hand on Cal's shoulder and pulled him into a hug. He held on for a long time, fingers gripping the back of Cal's shirt, and Sam didn't have to look to know that Dean was looking away from them, undoubtedly embarrassed by the display.

 

But Niko finally let go and turned to the brothers with a hand still on Cal's shoulder.

 

“Well, what happened?”

 

The question was directed to everybody. It was clear that he expected an answer, and Sam surprised himself by stuttering out a nervous explanation.

 

“Well, we, uh, we found him in the cemetery, drugged, and we, um, brought him back here to, er, take care of him, and then he woke up and wanted to call you, so he did, and…yeah,” he finished, somewhat lamely, almost feeling Dean's snicker behind him.

 

But Niko only smiled, briefly, and said, “Thank you. For taking care of him.”

 

“Hey!” Cal spoke up, sounding younger than he had yet. “I didn't need taking care of! I woulda been fine on my own!”

 

 

“Oh, yeah, sure, you woulda dug yourself out of that grave just fine, I'm sure,” Dean blurted tactlessly before Sam could stop him.

 

Niko's face hardened instantly at the words, and he dropped to the bed and turned Cal forcefully to him.

 

“Tell me everything.”

 

XXX

 

(Flashback)

 

Something was wrong.

 

Cal couldn't put his finger on it, exactly. He felt…floaty, high in the air. He hurt, distantly, but he couldn't figure out where or why. And he wasn't really interested in finding out these things, because inevitably they would mean something bad, and being out of his body and ignorant to the world was just such a nice change. It was such a nice place, and he didn't want to leave.

 

But…well, didn't he almost have to wake up? Because wherever he was, it certainly wasn't with Niko, and it was almost as certain that Niko didn't have any clue where he was. He was probably in some amount of trouble, and he should probably do something about it.

 

But he didn't want to!

 

He wasn't prepared for the pain. It was sudden, excruciating, and violent, and of course he couldn't see where it came from because the whole world he was as nothing more than a gray mist.

 

Nevertheless, he knew it was there, exploding in his side, and with it came a voice—an angry voice—murmuring gibberish at him. And the next second the blows began to rain down on him, everywhere. But they were distant, and he didn't really feel the pain.

 

He lost time, and so had no idea how ling the beating lasted, but it did eventually stop. Then there was a prick in his arm—a needle—and that was clear, sharp, real, for one suspended moment, before Cal spun down into the black.

 

XXX

 

After that, Cal emerged from the darkness from time to time, to varying degrees. Sometimes, he only had a vague sense of there, and other times he was almost—almost—able to open his eyes. The drug keeping him under did its job well—until, one day, someone was a little careless with the dosage.

 

For a short and blessed length of time, Cal was awake. He could feel every bruise, every cut, and he could feel his danger. But he was weak—badly weak—and so when he tried his hand at a desperate escape—

 

Well, it didn't work, and there was another needle stick, and more darkness.

 

XXX

 

The dosage had been relatively small this time, and Cal began to emerge before the coffin lid had fairly closed. Hadn't done him a lot of good, though—all it did was make him aware that he was closed in and buried alive, and that even Niko couldn't find him now. All being aware did was scare him.

 

But this time there was no drug to send him away again, and by the time the coffin was opened again, he was almost able to open his eyes and see his rescuers.

 

Whoever carried him away from the grave was gentle, but Cal was suspicious, because that was what his brother taught him. He had a policy of treating everyone as an enemy until proven otherwise, and his time in the dark had not helped his paranoia any.

 

So, when he opened his eyes and saw for the first time in days, looked into warm eyes and a face that radiated comfort and safety, he pushed past his weakness and lashed out at it.

 

(End Flashback)

 

Chapter 5

 

By the time Cal finished his story, he was the only one in the room who was completely calm, even impassive. Dean was just looking shocked, and Sam was utterly horrified. And Niko…well, Niko just sat there, visibly fighting between rage and pain, his arm around Cal's shoulder as if he didn't ever actually plan to let go.

 

“Nik…ow,” Cal said quietly, shifting pointedly.

 

Instantly Niko moved away as if he'd been burned, and looked accusing.

 

“You said you weren't hurt.”

 

“No, I said I was fine,” Cal replied, wincing as he rolled his shoulders back and forth. “And I am. It's nothing that hasn't happened before. Well, except for the part where I was buried alive.” He smiled then, reassuring. “I'm okay, Niko. Really.”

 

“Fine,” Niko said. “I'm going to pretend I believe you, for the sake of moving things along here. But we will continue this later,” he added somehow making it the deadliest of threats.

 

Sam couldn't help it—he laughed.

 

And then shrank back guiltily as every eye turned on him and three voices said, with varying degrees of exasperation. “What?”

 

“Um…nothing,” he said quickly. But in the crowd, no one was going to take that for an answer, and he continued. “You guys just…remind me of me and Dean, is all.”

 

“No,” Cal replied, while Dean spluttered in disbelief behind Sam. “Your brother isn't all that scary.”

 

“Yeah, well, come around the next time I get stuffed in a box,” Sam said. “Then we can compare notes.”

 

The two of them grinned at each other, an odd sort of camaraderie springing up between them in that instant, and Niko and Dean exchanged a rather discomfited look.

 

“Okay, you know what?” Dean said, sounding just about fed up. “My turn to talk, `cause I'm just a little tired of being confused.”

 

“I wasn't aware that you had anything to be confused about,” Niko said, ever so politely.

 

“Hell-freaking-lo, ninja-kitty!” Dean burst out. “Your brother was kidnapped and buried alive. You're obviously not happy about it, but you don't exactly seem surprised by it. Cal knows about us—what we are—and he seems to have had experience with us and I assume you have, too. He can clearly handle a weapon, and you probably can as well. I think you both have experience with the supernatural, but you're not hunters. Oh, yeah, there is nothing to be confused about.” Dean paused in his rant and took a deep breath, then asked in a considerably more mellow tone, “Who are you?”

 

Cal studied him for a long time, then lifted a hand and pointed at Sam. “Just him.”

 

“…Huh?” Dean asked intelligently.

 

“Wha--?” Dean said, sounding angry and baffled at once. “Why him?”

 

“Because I don't like you,” Cal replied promptly, and Sam grinned widely.

 

“You wanna….go outside, then?” he asked, attempting to control the amusement in his voice.

 

Cal nodded and stood up, and Niko said, “Right outside. Not one step further than outside the building.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Cal said with a mocking salute, and then he and Sam were gone.

 

XXX

 

“Okay, so what was that, back there?” Sam asked as they walked down the hall to the lobby of the motel. “Not that it wasn't entertaining,” he added quickly. “But why don't you like my brother?”

 

Cal walked a few steps in silence, then said, “Well, to be fair, it's not that I don't. He's okay, I guess. But…he seems like the kind to jump the gun, and you don't. And that's…important, for what I have to tell you.” He pushed the doors open and stepped out into the brightness of the city lights.

 

Suddenly, Sam was reminded that only a couple of hours had passed since they'd pulled Cal out of that grave, and that just seemed…wrong.

 

“Your brother said I wasn't a hunter,” Cal began, choosing his words with care. “He was right—I'm not. I'm pretty much the opposite—I've been running away from the things you hunters run toward for my entire life. I don't fight them—I don't want to fight them—unless I have to. And I've had to. We've had to—me and Niko. He's all I've got, Niko, and he's given up…everything…for me. All Dean's questions about how I learned to fight, how I'm so experienced with weapons—Niko's the answer. He protects me with his life, and I do the same for him.”

 

Well, Sam could identify with that much of Cal's story, at least.

 

“But why?” he couldn't help asking. “Why is that your life? What are you running from?”

 

Cal met his eyes then, and there was so much there that Sam couldn't begin to separate it all.

 

“My father.”

 

XXX

 

“I wish I could say my mother didn't mean it, that she wasn't intending to sleep with a monster, but that would be a lie. She knew exactly what she was doing. But the money proved…too tempting, and in the normal number of months Cal was born. And since then his father's kind have been hunting him, intent on bringing him down into their hell. He is…important to them. But he would rather die than set so much as a toe in that place. And so we keep running, and always are we looking over our shoulder for them.”

 

Niko took a deep breath, palming a knife in his hand like a comfort object, and looked at Dean, who was staring at him like he was some new and baffling form of poetry.

 

“But…I…he…he looks…and you…and…huh?”

 

Niko half-smiled and said, “Yes. He looks human enough, and acts human enough—well, for a really angry and depressed human, anyway—and indeed, where it counts, he is human. But his heritage is nevertheless the same.”

 

“Okay…” Dean said slowly, his mind racing with questions. “So why would he only tell Sam this?” he finally asked, almost absently.

 

“My brother is…cautious,” Niko said slowly. “He could see that you are the type to act first and think later and as a hunter, if you'd known what he was, and had a target…” He shrugged. “Anyway, I think maybe he sees Sam as an ally—someone who can sympathize with him. I'm sure you see what I mean.”

 

Dean looked quickly at him, but Niko was focusing solely on something very faraway. “Then…why are you telling me?”

 

Niko did look at him then, and said calmly, “Because he knew I would stop you if you decided to go for him.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think you could?”

 

“Try me,” Niko replied. There was absolutely no bravado in his words—he was stating that he could kill Dean without an excess of trouble as a matter of solid fact, and for the first time, Dean really looked at Niko Leandros.

 

What he saw was…not a hunter. Niko had told him flat out that they didn't stand and fight their enemies, unless they had to. Niko wasn't a hunter, nor did he look like such. Built like a soldier, with movement like a lynx and lines on his face that didn't belong and old, old eyes with every emotion in them—Niko was a killer who hated killing, and everything about him made that clear.

 

All in all, here was a scarier man than John Winchester had ever been.

 

“No,” Dean said quietly, moving a little further away from Niko. “No, I don't think I will.”

 

XXX

 

“Why are you telling me all this?” Sam asked, watching as Cal leaned against the brick outer wall of the motel, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his gaze on the mini-mart across the street.

 

Cal didn't answer for a moment. Then he removed his hands from his pockets, dropped the foot that had been resting against the wall, and turned to face Sam.

 

“Because you're different,” he said simply. “And not normal different—really different. I think you know what it's like—to be separate, to be lost, to look into the future and not like what you see.”

 

Sam felt his shoulders stiffen, and he turned slowly. “How did you know that?”

 

XXX

 

“Okay, so I've told you about why I'm running,” Niko said, almost conversationally, almost casually, but with a shrewd and all-seeing look. “But why are you?”

 

Dean took a moment to gather himself, and so almost managed to sound scathing as he answered. “Oh. I thought you knew—when you hunt things, you actually move toward them. You don't run away.”

 

“Dean, come on,” Niko said flatly. “You don't try to con a con artist, and you don't try to flat-out lie to a big brother. You should know that. You don't have to tell me—it's none of my business, but…”

 

“You're right about that,” Dean replied, more harshly than he'd intended, but Niko didn't even seem to notice.

 

“It's Sam, isn't it?” he asked softly, and Dean nearly fell off the bed in shock. “You've found out something about him, and you don't like it.”

 

“Well…I…” Dean floundered.

 

“That's why you understand me—you're trying to get him away, to save him, and you feel like you're losing the fight.”

 

“Dude, how are you doing that?”

 

Still Niko went on talking, as if Dean hadn't spoken, as if he were conversing with the bedposts.

 

“And you haven't told him yet, because you want to keep him safe from it for as long as you can.” Niko let out his breath in something resembling a chuckle. “Well, it's good you have a chance to do that. But if won't work for long, Dean. It always comes out in the end.”

 

“Well, if it does, it won't be because of something I did,” Dean said, a little defensively.

 

“No,” Niko agreed. “It won't. But you may come to wish it had.”

 

“Hey,” Dean said sharply. “I don't need a lecture from you. What are you, twenty?”

 

“Twenty-two,” Niko replied calmly. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean said, and then silence fell for a long time. Then, without even knowing he was going to, he blurted out, “I think he's supposed to become evil. My dad told me, in so many words, and I don't know how long I can protect him from it.”

 

Niko didn't press for details, an unexpected but welcome gift.

 

He didn't say anything at all.

 

XXX

 

“Y'know, the girl I like is a psychic.”

 

Sam looked over at Cal in surprise. They were sitting now, right on the sidewalk, their backs still against the wall, and Sam wouldn't have been surprised if people threw coins at their feet.

 

“Really? What's she like?”

 

Cal shrugged. “Different. She sees…anything she wants, but she refuses to look at herself. She's eternally convinced that everything that happens was meant to be, so she won't let anyone change the future. And…she's happy. She has to see things that are bad—it can't all be good, or even most of it, but…she's completely at peace.” He looked at Sam, and smiled a little. “Well, anyway, she's not like you. But—I hate to admit it, but you don't creep me out nearly as much as she does.”

 

Sam chuckled. “Thanks for that.”

 

“You're welcome. Does it scare you?”

 

Sam looked at him, surprised by the sudden question.

 

“All the time.”

 

Cal nodded, as if this was only what he'd expected.

 

“Me, too.”

 

XXX

 

“And then he died, and now I'm stuck trying to figure out what he meant, and I feel like I'm losing Sammy and I don't know what to do.”

 

Dean fell silent, thoroughly surprised at how much he'd just told this complete stranger. But Niko didn't do anything embarrassing, like trying to give him any advice or assuring him that everything was gonna be okay. He just looked steadily at Dean and said, “I'm sorry.”

 

“Yeah. Me, too.”

 

Niko continued to look at him in that disconcerting way, and to cover his awkwardness Dean looked at his watch.

 

“What's taking them so long?”

 

Niko smiled a little. “Maybe they have a lot to talk about.”

 

“Like what? What could they have in common?” Dean asked. “Well, except for both of them being chased by demons and feeling different and getting attacked all the time and…wow, it does sound like a lot when you string it all together like that.”

 

And yet, oddly, the idea of Sam and Cal all chummy together no longer bothered him. The idea of someone else understanding Sam better than he did no longer grated.

 

He still kind of wished they would get back, though.

 

But when Cal returned to the room minutes later, he was alone.

 

“Hey, guys. Sam went to get some dinner. He wants you to meet him later at the pub over on 2nd.”

 

“Uh…okay,” Dean said slowly. “Why didn't he just come in and tell me himself?”

 

Cal shrugged. “I dunno. He just seemed like he wanted to be alone for a while. Like he wanted to think.” With this rather fascinating insight into Sam's psyche, Cal turned to his brother and said, “Okay, I'm bored now. Let's go—wait, Robin's not at the apartment, is he?”

 

Niko smiled. “No. At least, he wasn't when I left.”

 

“Then let's go home.”

 

Niko nodded. “Fine with me. The place misses your unique sort of fungus, you know.” As he spoke, he stood up, and out of habit, so did Dean. And then he held out his hand to Niko.

 

Now, normally, Dean just didn't shake hands, because he saw it as an old-fashioned gesture of respect, and Dean Winchester didn't do that. But he did now, and Niko did him the courtesy of only looking surprised for a moment before taking it. His grip was firm and strong and he held tight for a moment before letting go.

 

“Okay, kiddo. Let's get going.”

 

“Damn it, Nik, my name is still Cal.”

 

“And I'm still your brother, so I get to call you whatever I want.”

 

“Right. And the same goes for me. Cyrano.”

 

“Touché.”

 

They were heading for the door as they bickered, and Cal was the first into the hallway. Niko was following, his hand on the knob to close it behind him, when he suddenly stopped and turned.

 

“You'll find a way to do it, you know.”

 

Dean, who had resumed his seat on the bed, glanced up at him. “What?”

“To save your brother. You'll find a way.”

 

Dean's lips quirked in an almost-genuine smile. “You sure about that?”

 

“Yeah. I'm sure. You'll save your little brother, Dean.”

 

Niko paused, then added one more thing.

 

“I did.”

 

Chapter 6

 

Dean waited exactly one hour before joining his brother at the bar.

 

He saw Sam sitting at one of the tables in the far corner within the minute, and immediately headed for him, winding his way between tables, waiters, and customers until he reached the place.

 

Sam looked…a little out of it, and it was a bit alarming that he didn't even seem to notice Dean until he spoke.

 

“Did you order any food yet?”

 

“Huh?” Sam said, coming out of his daze. “Oh. Dean. Hi. No. How long have I been here?”

 

This was all said quickly, like one long sentence, and Dean's concern spiked.

 

“Over an hour. You all right, man?”

 

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Sam said, looking surprised. “Just lost track of time, is all. Why?”

 

“Can I get you boys something?”

 

Dean glanced up and saw one of the middle-aged, motherly bar waitresses, and put on a charming, if automatic, smile. “Yeah. I'll have the biggest burger you got, fries, onion rings, and a beer.”

 

“`Kay. And you, hon?” the woman said, looking at Sam.

 

“Oh. Nothing for me, thanks…”

 

“He'll have the same,” Dean said a beat later.

 

“Oh—no, Dean, I—”

 

“He'll have the same,” Dean repeated firmly, and the waitress nodded, wrote the order down, and left.

 

“Dean, I'm not hungry,” Sam said irritably.

 

“Well, you haven't had anything since lunch yesterday. You're eating whether you want to or not.” Dean watched his brother for a minute and then asked, “So what've you been thinking about?”

 

Sam shrugged. “Just…stuff. It's been a weird day.”

 

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Never thought I'd meet a family more dysfunctional than ours, but…”

 

“Well, maybe they're not dysfunctional at all. They might just be the most functional people in the world.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, God, you're not gonna quote Freud at me, are you?”

 

Sam smiled. “Nah, I think you're safe. For tonight, anyway.” He fell into silent contemplation, and Dean was about to change the subject when he asked suddenly, “Why did we meet them, Dean?”

 

“…Eh?” Dean asked, baffled. What was up with Sam tonight?

 

“Why did we meet them? Cal and Niko? What was the point of it?”

 

“Um…to drive you crazy?” When Sam gave him The Eyes (Version 4), Dean went on. “Well, I don't know, Sammy! What makes you think there was one? A point? Can't it just be a coincidence? We have been known to run into those occasionally, ya know.”

 

“Yeah, I know, but…this one had a reason behind it. I know it did. Cal said some things to me that…well, I feel like there was a…purpose here. Only I can't figure it out, and it's bugging me.”

 

“You sure it's not just the face that you've made friends with a half-demon that's getting on your nerves?” Dean asked casually, and when Sam stared, he nodded. “Yeah. Niko told me.”

 

“And you didn't kill him on sight? My, how far we've come.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said uncomfortably, casting frantically for a change of subject, because no way were they going there. Not tonight. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever, if he could help it.

 

“See, and that's another thing that's bugging me, as of right this second,” Sam said. “Ever since we left you and Niko alone in that room together, you've been acting…jumpy. Like you only are when you have to change your mind about something or consider a new idea.” He was studying Dean shrewdly, and Dean squirmed under the scrutiny. “Dean, what are you hiding from me?”

 

For a moment, Dean considered telling Sam the truth—because he wanted to, so badly.

 

But how do you go about telling all like that? How was he to tell such a gentle person as Sam that kind of truth?

 

Because the truth was, tonight, under slightly different circumstances, Dean would have killed a man. If Niko hadn't been there, or able to stop him, and Dean had somehow found out the truth, anyway, he would have killed Cal. He would have gone out and taken a bullet to a kid, snuffed out the life of a little brother who was as important to his older brother as Sam was to him, slaughtered a guy whose only crime was having daddy issues of Dionysian proportions.

 

He would have killed an innocent man.

 

Just like he may someday have to kill Sam.

 

“Nothing, Sammy.”

 

Their waitress came with the food then, and apparently, Sam had been hungrier than he'd thought, because he immediately turned most of his attention to his food, sparing only one disbelieving glance at his brother, and so didn't look up when Dean repeated the lie, quietly.

 

“Nothing at all.”

 

Epilogue

 

When Gordon Walker found out that Sam Winchester had saved Caliban Leandros from what should have been his rightful grave, he was, understandably, quite angry. Here he had tried to do a good thing for humanity, tried to remove yet another piece of vermin, more murderous filth, one more blemish on the face of society, and Sam, with his goddamn bleeding heart, had undone all his hard work.

 

But after a while the anger passed, and Gordon was able to think clearly.

 

Sam Winchester had helped a thing of evil. Therefore, one must assume that Sam was evil.

 

Well, Gordon had already known that. He'd heard things, from reliable sources, and he had no reason to doubt them. He'd actually been planning to take care of the boy once he'd gathered his considerable resources, and even so he really didn't want to have to do it, but…

 

Well, Sam had become too much of a risk now, and the inevitable couldn't be avoided any longer.

 

It was time for Sam Winchester to die.

 

“You think you know. Who you are. What's to come. You haven't even begun.”

 

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Author's Note 2: So, there it is. Looking back, maybe it's not as bad as I thought, but I'm not entirely sure, so I'd appreciate any input anyone can give me. I actually do like it a little more than I remember, though. Interesting…

 

So, anyways, bottom line: please, please, please review! It would mean the world to me! Especially since this took me almost a solid month to write!