Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Forgive Us These Trespasses ❯ Forgive Us These Trespasses ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: No sexy boys that you may find in this story are MY sexy boys. And believe me, no one is as sorry as I am.

 

Characters: Dean and Sam Winchester, Cal and Niko Leandros, scary scary monsters, and an idiot in a truck

 

Setting: Sometime in the third season of Supernatural, but really, it could be set in a lot of places in the Nightlife series.

 

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Dedicated to the supremely wonderful BlueEyedDemonLiz, just for being her.

 

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Forgive Us These Trespasses

 

“How is it,” Dean Winchester ground out irritably as he jerked the wheel to avoid a swerving convertible, “that we always end up here?”

 

From the passenger's seat, Sam smiled at him. It wasn't a grin—Sam didn't grin too often these days—but the expression still caused the worry lines around his mouth and eyes to fade a little. “What, you mean New York?”

 

“No, Sam, I'm talking about Pakistan. I just hate that it's so hot and everyone is so crabby all the time and yes, New York.” And if there was a bit of a snap to his voice, well, blame it on the traffic. He cursed as the cars in front of him once again slowed to a crawl. “I mean, think about it. Supernatural crap hardly ever brings us to the same place twice, but we've been here on business—” He resolutely ignored Sam's chortle at his use of the words “on business.” “—So many times that I could probably navigate it with my eyes closed.”

 

“I strongly request that you don't,” Sam said with a pained expression.

 

Dean gave a haughty scoff and said, “As if I'd endanger my baby like that. Not all of us—SHIT!”

 

Sam barely had time to register Dean's sudden shout, or the fact that a huge black truck had decided to merge into their lane without doing them the courtesy of signaling, before Dean slammed on the brakes.

 

The problem was, they were still in a traffic jam in New York City, inching past a traffic light—not an ideal place to have to make an abrupt stop. Remarkably, no one hit them from behind—though later, both brothers kind of wished it would have been.

 

Instead, though, the car that hit them came from Sam's side.

 

Sam didn't really have time to think much—except that this was going to give Dean a whole new list of reasons to hate New York—before he blacked out.

 

XXX

 

“Yep, I hate New York.”

 

Sam sighed inwardly as he finished the last AMA form. “I know, Dean. You've said that already.”

 

Dean huffed quietly and signed his own form, then stood up and went over to the bed Sam was sitting on. Sam handed over his papers, and Dean set them on the table before leaning down slightly to look at Sam's eyes.

 

Sam sighed. “Dean, seriously, stop doing that. What do you think you're going to find that the doc didn't?”

 

Dean, ever the dignified one, ignored that. “How're you feeling? You dizzy or anything?”

 

“No, Dean, I just have a headache.”

 

Dean didn't look entirely convinced, but at least he didn't press the issue of Sam staying overnight for observation as the doctor urged. He just sighed a little and straightened up to grab the paperwork. “Fine, then just sit tight while I take these down and then we can go.”

 

XXX

 

“So how's the car?”

 

Sam had been trying to decide whether or not to ask that question ever since he'd woken up in the ER four hours before with Dean looming over hi, masking concern with impatience as usual. HE would have to find out eventually, but he wasn't sure Dean wasn't going to start steaming at the ears if he had to talk about it.

 

But to his surprise, Dean just kind of shrugged, although his jaw clenched a little, probably at the memory of the moron in the truck.

 

“Pretty good, actually,” he replied in answer to the question. “The car that hit us wasn't going very fast. There's a big dent in the side and the window's smashed, but the EMTs put a tarp over it and all, and I can do the body work at Bobby's, when we get out of here. Driver of the other car's fine, too.” A sideways glance, and then Dean said casually, “Looks like you were the only one damaged, little brother.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam said, chuckling a little. “Just my luck.”

 

Dean was about to reply to that when a decidedly familiar voice spoke up behind them—one that caused Sam to smile and Dean to lose all expression entirely.

 

“Sam and Dean Winchester?”

 

It was not a voice either of them had ever expected to hear in a hospital, and for good reason—it belonged to someone who was not entirely human, and therefore avoided anyone who could possibly figure that out like a three-week-old deli sandwich. So neither of them could really be blamed for hesitating before turning around.

 

And there, standing behind them, his hands in his pockets, was Cal Leandros. His posture seemed loose and easy, but to Sam's experienced eyes, he was ready to do anything from lying his way out of police custody to fighting off a demonically-possessed mugger. But what was really obvious was that he looked exhausted, more so than Sam had ever seen him, with deep purple shadows set into the pale skin under his eyes.

 

“Cal?” Sam blurted out, finally able to find his voice. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Could ask the same of you,” Cal said, his voice just as tired as his face, but wary.

 

“Car accident,” Dean grunted.

 

“Huh,” Cal said noncommittally. “Better or worse than getting hacked by a ghost?”

“Definitely worse,” Dean said instantly. “Ghosts usually leave my car alone. So what's with you?”

 

Cal didn't answer for a moment, and when he did, his words fell like stones. “Niko's here.” He actually sounded surprised by the information, and if he wasn't quite used to it.

 

“He's hurt? What happened?” Sam asked, fairly taken aback himself. I didn't know he could do that…

 

“Bad luck, is all,” Cal said evasively. “He got tossed a few weeks ago. Smashed his skull. We brought him here—he's still pissed at me for it, but he was…we had no choice. They told me he wasn't likely to wake up again, but he did. Eight days ago.”

 

Cal relayed these faces in a flat, calm voice, and Sam felt sympathy stabbing at him. Weeks…how long did he sit there and think about being alone?

 

Sam knew how that felt, and before he thought about it he reached out and let his hand fall on Cal's shoulder, squeezing hard and hoping he got the message across. Cal didn't acknowledge his hand, but he didn't shrug it off, either, so Sam left it there for another moment before letting it fall.

 

“So do you…need a ride or anything?” he asked, suddenly feeling awkward. “We still need to find a motel, so we're not exactly heading anywhere.”

 

Cal shrugged. “Doesn't matter. I'm just going home to take a shower, maybe grab a couple hours of sleep, and then I'm coming back.”

 

He didn't have to mention that it was Niko who made him do this. Sam had been there, and the thought made him smile a little sadly and say, “Well, no problem. We can drop you off, at least.”

 

Cal hesitated, then shrugged and said, “Okay. Thanks.”

 

Dean waited until Cal had stepped past them and headed for this door to lean closer and mutter, “Nice of you to offer. You're supposed to be in bed by now, ya know.”

 

“Sorry, Dad, forgot about the curfew,” Sam replied dryly.

 

“Shut up, you know what I mean. Can't have you collapsing on me or we'll never get out of here.”

 

“Uh-huh. Relax, Dean. I'm fine. My headache's even going away.” It wasn't strictly true, but it was true enough. “And it's just a ride home. C'mon, Cal's waiting.”

 

Dean huffed and muttered, “Joy.”

 

But he followed close behind, just as Sam had known he would.

 

Just as he always did.

 

XXX

 

Cal Leandros felt…uneasy, and even though it wasn't an unusual feeling to him, that didn't mean he didn't hate it. And in fact, with Niko…laid up…he felt worse about it than ever before. Because now there was no shield, no neo-ninja protection. No big brother next to him.

 

But there would be. Soon there would be Niko again, and thank God.

 

Dragging himself from the mixed emotions these thoughts had been creating in him in recent weeks, Cal focused instead on figuring out the cause of his unease. Wouldn't do any good to ignore it—that approach could get him hurt or killed, which would seriously piss Niko off. Better to get all introspective instead.

 

He didn't think his problem stemmed from Dean and Sam. Sure, none of them precisely enjoyed each other's company—they'd figured out long ago that whenever they all met up, things tended to get…explosive. But even so, they'd fought side by side before, more than once, and after the mutual life-saving that had gone on, Cal really couldn't feel less than at ease around them.

 

So riding in the back of their Impala with the car utterly and completely silent couldn't be his problem, even if Niko had been holding him as he slowly bled to death last time he'd been in this seat.

 

What, then?

 

He would think that it was simply lack-of-Niko syndrome, and in fact part of it probably was. On some level it had been bothering him constantly ever since Niko had gotten hurt, but he'd gotten so used to it that he didn't really notice it anymore.

 

This he noticed.

 

Why?

 

He was still thinking about it when the car stopped in front of his and Niko's apartment building. With an inward sigh, he shoved the issue aside for the moment and started to shove his way past the now-empty passenger seat and out the door Sam was holding open.

 

But as soon as his feet touched the ground, the unease reared its ugly head again, and he knew.

 

He was reaching for his gun before he thought about it, and firing off a shot before Dean or Sam noticed that he even had a weapon. He didn't hit anything—he hadn't expected to. But the direction in which he shot got Sam's attention, and the lanky hunter turned quickly to see the glowing beads of Auphe eyes coming quickly closer as the monsters loped steadily toward them. They didn't appear to hurry. Cal suspected that it was intentional.

 

“What the hell…?” Sam asked no one in particular, and Cal was suddenly struck by the realization that this time, the Winchesters had no idea what they were facing.

 

“Damn it, Sam, stop gawking and get back in the car!” Cal snapped, sounding so much like Niko that it surprised even him.

 

“What are those things?” Sam asked, still staring at the Auphe with a kind of horrified fascination. The Auphe were closer to him than to Cal, but he hadn't even taken a step back.

 

With a strangled yell, Cal leapt forward and clapped a hand over Sam's arm, pulling him back and reaching out to pull open the Impale door. He threw Sam inside, then jumped in himself and said to Dean, “Drive.”

 

Dean floored the gas immediately, but Cal could already tell that it wasn't going to do any good. Just as he thought it, he saw the shadow of one of the Auphe as it leaped, and then it hit the Impala with a thunderous crash.

 

Only then did it occur to all of them that tarp wasn't a great deal of protection against teeth and claws.

 

“I don't suppose you have any weapons hidden under your seats, do you?” Cal asked, putting up an admirable show of steadiness even as his heart pounded in his throat.

 

“In the trunk,” Dean said through clenched teeth, sounding furious and worried and confused all at once. “What the hell're we running from?”

 

“You don't want to know.”

 

“Any hope of outrunning them?” Dean snapped, obviously deciding that now was not the time to press the issue.

 

Cal chuckled bitterly. “Sure, just give the damn car wings.”

 

Another Auphe crashed against the Impala, and this time the car swerved. They were driving down a deserted road—one of maybe two in downtown New York City—so they didn't hit anything, but Dean cursed as if they had.

 

“Damn it, then what do we do?”

 

Cal was silent for a long moment, and then his face went blank as a mask and he said, “I'll tell you what you'll do—stop the car.”

 

“What?”

 

“Are you deaf? I said stop the damn car!”

 

Dean let out a strangled sound, but he slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt.

 

“Pop the trunk and duck,” Cal snapped.

 

This time Dean didn't ask any questions. He just popped the trunk and then reached over to shove Sam into a hunched, protective position. He barely noticed Cal leaping out of the car, but he did notice the sound of the gun going off, and Cal's subsequent curse as the bullet failed to hit its mark.

 

“I don't believe this,” Dean muttered, pulling Sam closer to his side of the car, the more protected side. “Being protected by a nineteen-year-old…ridiculous…I…DAMN IT!”

 

Sam let out a quiet sound—a kind of angry cry mixed with alarm—as claws tore through the tarp and swiped through the air next to him, and before he thought about it, Dean leaned back against his door and flung both him and Sam out onto the street. He pulled them to their feet without pause, and then Sam shoved him back and headed for the trunk.

 

Dean followed him and ducked around him to pull out his machete and his rifle, and when he straightened, it was to meet red eyes and yellow fangs.

 

One of the things was crouched on top of his car.

 

“HOLY—” Dean choked, firing his gun before he thought about it.

The thing wasn't more than two feet away, and the bullet lodged itself into silver-gray skin. Blood sprayed and drained—and the creature bared its teeth in a grin and leapt lightly over Dean and Sam to land in the street behind them.

 

It didn't even seem to notice its wound.

 

And now, its eyes were trained on Sam.

 

Not good, not good, not good…

 

“Sam,” Dean snapped.

 

And however out of it Sam was—and if he wasn't talking, he was out of it—he understood what the unspoken order meant. He immediately crouched low to the ground and raised his own gun to shoulder height, but before he could even take aim, the thing…disappeared.

 

And then Can let out an angry bellow, and then there was…silence.

 

Silence?

 

Seriously?

 

“Uh…Cal?” Dean called uncertainly, his eyes trained on Cal's still form. “You…okay?”

 

Cal didn't move for a moment, but then he said flatly, “We have to go. They'll be back.”

 

XXX

 

Red eyes watched the big black human thing carry the stupid foolish worthless things away. Claws scraped cement and sharpened with each pass.

 

They were not happy watching their quarry go from them. It had not been part of the plan, and the Auphe greatly disliked a change in plans.

 

But there must be…discussion. Discussion of the new human who walked with the enemy. He bore watching—he bore taking—but the Auphe had to discuss it first, just as if the conclusion they would reach was not inevitable.

 

XXX

 

“Okay. `Fess up, kid,” Dean snapped.

 

“About what?” Cal asked, not even trying to sound innocent.

 

“You knew about what. I've never seen anything like those in my life—and me and Sam have seen a lot of things—but obviously you have. Time for you to play storyteller.”

 

Cal was silent, picking at a loose thread in his sleeve.

 

“Well?” Dean demanded.

 

“Dean,” Sam said quietly, and when Dean looked, he saw plainly that Sam knew something he hadn't figured out yet.

 

 

Well, what else was new?

 

Dean huffed and had turned back to the road again when Cal said, “They're my family.”

 

It was a good thing they still hadn't reached a main road, because the Impala probably wouldn't have survived the speed at which Dean would have hit any passing car as he swerved.

 

“Say it again?” Dean demanded, turning to face Cal once he'd straightened his course.

 

“Dean,” Sam said again, still quietly. “Leave him alone.”

 

“They want my head on a plate and they won't stop `til they have it. Guess they know about Niko and they're interested in collecting.”

 

Dean shook his head a little. “This is all sounding a little too much like my life to me.”

 

Sam gave him a sharp look, but Dean studiously ignored it.

 

“Okay, so these things are after you. What do we do about it?”

 

Cal looked honestly surprised at the question. “We don't do anything about it. You guys drop me at the apartment and then get the hell outta dodge. Finish whatever hunt you came for and don't do anything stupid. Niko and I have done this before—we'll do it again.” He didn't say it like it was easy, like it was a sure thing—he said it like it was simply what he was going to do, and Dean wondered exactly how familiar he was with this pattern.

 

Dena felt a profound sense of relief as he stopped the car in front of Cal's apartment building, and following close on its heels was guilt, which he ignored because he didn't really have time for it.

 

“Thanks,” Cal muttered, making sure Sam had a gun in his hands before he opened the door and climbed out, pulling the seat forward to create space for Cal to clamber out. Dean watched his brother carefully to make sure he was still steady on his feet—he was, though it probably wouldn't last longer than it took to get him a warm bed.

 

It only occurred to him as Sam closed the door that he should probably get out and say goodbye. Sam would be all over him later if he didn't, so with an inward sigh Dean picked up his gun and pushed his door open.

 

He was closing it again when the Auphe leapt silently from the darkness and directly for Cal.

 

No, not Cal. The horrible realization came to him immediately as the creatures changed course, and without a thought to the consequences, he screamed, “SAM!”

 

Dean didn't see it in slow motion—if he had, he might have been able to do something. Instead everything seemed to speed up, Sam disappeared from his sight, pinned to the ground on the other side of the car by a monster.

 

It was Dean's worst nightmare come to life, and that he'd seen it many times before did nothing to help.

 

And remembering the last time he'd been seen something like this was enough to make him lose control completely.

 

The Impala had already been through enough today, but tonight Dean didn't care. He didn't go around the car, he went over it, his shoes squeaking and scratching the hood as he did.

 

“Be still.”

 

The voice was more like a hiss, scarier than Steven King novels, clowns, airplanes, or anything Dean had ever hunted, but it alone wouldn't have been enough to stop Dean in his tracks. Nor would the knowledge that he and Cal were ringed by things that would have willingly ripped their throats out. No, the only thing that was enough was seeing Sam stretched on the ground with a clawed hand—paw—thing—wrapped around his neck.

 

Dean stopped dead—next to him, Cal was already completely still—and stared at the claws sharp enough to cut metal, resting gently against Sam's throat.

 

“Be still, or we kill,” the one holding Sam said, and he felt more than heard the other creatures growl in agreement. But whoever they would kill didn't matter, not as long as there was even the tiniest possibility that it would be Sam.

 

“Okay,” Dean choked without taking his eyes from his brother. “We…we're not moving. Now how about loosening your grip there, okay?”

 

Yellow fangs bared in a grin, and then the creature leaned down close to Sam's face—and sniffed.

 

It was somehow deeply disturbing, and Sam's wide eyes, when they looked on Dean's, reflected Dean's own terror.

 

But if the Auphe sensed their fear, they did not acknowledge it, not even to revel in it, or to gloat over it. The ones surrounding the group simply tightened their circle a bit, and the one that was the focus of Dean's entire world lifted its head and spoke softly.

 

“Power. New power,” it whispered. “Different human…” Then it smiled, and looked up at Dean as if to ensure that its next words were heard. “Power tastes good.”

 

Dean's mind refused to comprehend the words, and very nearly blanked out entirely when the monster's claws dug, ever so slightly, into the skin of Sam's neck. Blood welled from the wound, and Dean felt bile rise in his throat as the Auphe brought one hand to its lips and licked, almost delicately, at the blood.

 

Not Sam's blood.

 

It couldn't be Sam's blood, not if Dean was going to get them both through this.

 

His eyes and Sam's had been firmly chained to each other since the horror had begun, but they jerked to the Auphe immediately when the creature grunted and spit the blood from its mouth.

 

“Psychic,” it snapped, sounding disgusted and angry. Its claws did not leave Sam's through, though. In fact, they dug deeper, until it seemed like they had to split an artery, and just as Dean was about to say “screw it” and jump the damn thing—threat or no—it backed off. Slowly, as if it couldn't bear to release its prize, it let go of Sam's throat and stepped off him. It looked down at Sam, leaned in close. Dean saw Sam shudder violently as it hissed at him, “You are not for us.” It spoke slowly, as if it was trying to make Sam understand something. “Not for us,” it repeated at Sam's terrified, puzzled expression. “For others. For them.”

 

It backed further away, looked at its—pals? Family? Henchmen?—and then they were gone.

 

For a second, Dean, Cal and Sam didn't move, in shock that the nightmare should end so quickly. Then Sam let out a strangled little sound and raised his hand to his throat, and Dean snapped abruptly to.

 

“Sam…” he whispered, half to himself and without really thinking about it jumped forward and went down on his knees next to his brother. “Sam,” he repeated, and Sam looked obediently at him. His eyes were wide and panicked, and Dean wondered distantly how, after all they'd been through, this could be the thing that broke them.

 

But Sam was still bleeding, and right now was not the time for introspection.

 

“Here, let me look,” he muttered, putting a hand over Sam's and pulling it gently away from his neck. The light here was completely inadequate for triage, but by the headlights of the Impala he was able to make out that Sam's bleeding was already slowing. After some antiseptic and a bandage, he'd be good to go. He wouldn't even need stitches.

 

“How's your head?” he asked, moving his hands up to the back of Sam's neck and lifting it up so he could card carefully through Sam's hair.

 

Sam grunted a little. “Still killing me, so business as usual.”

 

Dean mustered a smile at that, but he only stopped when he had decided for himself that Sam wasn't lying to him.

 

Finally, though, he felt satisfied that Sam would live, and backed away a little to help his brother up.

 

Cal hadn't moved the whole time Dean was making his assessment, but now he stepped forward and said, “We should probably get inside. It's…safer. And you guys should probably stay here tonight. Just in case.” For all the world as if something had been decided, he turned away from them and headed toward the apartment building.

 

Dean wasn't quite sure what to do about this, but Sam solved the matter for him by leaning against the hand on his shoulder—Dean hadn't moved it, preferring to have some kind of contact with his brother for just a little longer—and Dean immediately made up his mind to get them to the closest bed possible.

 

And then, with a little bit of luck, he could pump Sam full of painkillers, and then the kid would go straight to sleep, high but down for the count.

 

And they could put all this on the back burner for a blessed little while.

 

XXX

 

As Dean had hoped, Sam fell asleep almost the moment his head touched the pillow. It had probably been pure adrenaline keeping him going until then. Cal, too, went almost straight to sleep, though Dean suspected he was just trying to avoid any questions. But as for himself—well, he wasn't so lucky. The beds Cal and Niko owned were barely big enough for one, and Dean had refused Cal's, so he bedded down on a pile of blankets on the floor next to Sam's bed. It wasn't comfortable, but it was far from the worst he'd ever encountered.

 

Still, he couldn't sleep. He always had a lot on his mind lately, but tonight was the first time that his deal wasn't topping the list.

 

From the moment he'd pulled Sam to his feet outside the apartments, he had kept himself together. It hadn't been hard as long as he'd had something to do—get a stumbling Sam up several flights of stairs, take care of his cuts, get pain pills down his throat, put him to bed—but now everything was silent, there was no distraction, and Dean could not help but dwell on the words of a monster.

 

If Dean had been taught one thing by his father, it was never to listen to anything said by a creature he hunted. No matter what it said, the words were bound to be false. And for most of his life, Dean had believed his father.

 

Only now, after John's death, was he learning that this wasn't always the case. Sometimes, evil spoke the truth.

 

“You are not for us…”

 

“For others.”

 

“For them.”

 

Dean had been trying to put those words in a positive light since he'd heard them.

 

He'd tried to find some meaning other than one that would take Sam away from him.

 

He couldn't.

 

XXX

 

The next day, Cal took them to see Niko.

 

He actually looked pretty good, all things considered. In fact, he looked good, and decidedly tired of being where he was. Dean had been there—he knew the look—but Niko was different from him and Sam, apparently, because when Cal, Sam and Dean came in, he did not burst out with a demand to be discharged. He simply said calmly, “They've moved my release date up to tomorrow.”

 

Cal seemed torn by something upon hearing this news, and it became clear what was bothering him when he said slowly, “You sure you're ready?”

 

Niko shook his head and smiled in fond exasperation. “Cal, you should know the answer to that. I've been ready for days—more. It just happens that my doctor finally agrees, and I'm overruling my brother's decision, so as of tomorrow at ten A.M., we'll be on our way home. Hello, Sam. Dean.” The greeting—and only indication that he'd even known the Winchesters were there—was spoken in exactly the same tone as the rest of it, so it took them a moment to realize that they were being addressed.

 

“Uh…hi,” Dean said awkwardly, Sam echoing him. “You…uh…look okay,” he added lamely. He never did quite know how to talk to Niko—or Cal, but especially Niko—so usually it was awkward around him.

 

“Thank you, I'm feeling okay, too. Are you two here for a job?”

 

“No. Well, yeah, actually, but it kinds got pushed aside after—”

 

Cal cleared his throat meaningfully—and loudly—and Dean snapped his mouth shut…but not in time, apparently, because Niko's eyes darkened immediately, and he pointed at the foot of his bed and ordered implacably, “Sit, and tell me what happened last night.”

 

It was a few notches above depressing that Dean couldn't have been sure, were he in Niko's place, that Sam would have told him the truth, or even consented to say anything at all. But Cal sat down at the end of Niko's bed immediately and, though he looked like he'd pretty much rather die, began to spill out the whole story-including the party Dean would rather had been kept quiet.

 

Niko listened with an intensity that might have frightened anyone unacquainted with him, but though his eyes darkened with anger once or twice, he didn't interrupt. When Cal got to the end, Niko's eyes flicked over to Sam, but they returned to Cal's face almost instantly, and Dean wasn't even sure anyone noticed but him.

 

When the story finally came to a close and Cal fell silent, Niko said nothing for a long time. When he did, it was only to say, “I don't want you to go home tonight. You'll be staying here with me.”

Put in Cal's place, Dean probably would have remarked that Niko had been the one to send him out in the first place, against his will, but apparently this much younger man had one up on hi when it came to maturity—or respect, or thoughtfulness, or whatever it was—because all Cal said was, “Sure.”

 

And then the silence just…stretched, until finally Cal said, “I'm gonna go get something to drink. Nik, tea?”

 

Niko nodded. “Thank you.”

 

“Hey,” Sam said, “I think I'll go with you. I could use a cup of coffee. I'll grab you one, too, Dean,” he added, and Dean settled back into the seat he'd already been half out of, feeling vaguely unhappy and knowing exactly why.

 

Because he and Niko were about to be left alone with each other.

 

To talk.

 

Again.

 

Great.

 

XXX

 

“He looks good,” Sam remarked lightly as he and Cal headed toward the hospital cafeteria. “Great, actually.”

 

Cal didn't say anything, but his steps picked up their pace a little.

 

“Really great,” Sam pressed on, determined. “I expected…well, I dunno what I expected, but—he looks good.”

 

If Cal had noticed the unspeakably lame ending, he didn't say anything. He just kept walking, and in a moment they were at the elevator.

 

But Sam was not new to the whole younger brother mentality, and he thought he knew exactly what was bothering his younger friend.

 

He just had to figure out a way tog et him to talk about it, and by the time the elevator doors slid open, he thought he'd hit upon an idea.

 

“Ya know,” he said as they stepped inside and let them close, “I remember the first time Dean got put in the hospital. I was about twelve, so he woulda been sixteen. He got hit by a bookcase when a poltergeist was throwing stuff around on a hunt in Michigan. It wasn't half as bad as it could've been, and now I know that he was unbelievably lucky he hadn't gotten hurt before, but at the time—I was twelve, ya know? And it all just seemed so…scary.”

 

The elevator doors slid open again, and they stepped out.

 

Cal still hadn't said anything, but his shoulders were not noticeably tenser.

 

“I remember when Dad brought me to the hospital to visit. He was asleep when we got there, and he had an IV and this nasal cannula. And he just looked so…vulnerable. My whole life, he'd been protecting me, shielding me, and now he needed protection himself, and—I don't think I'd ever been that scared in my entire life, up to that point.”

 

Cal still wasn't saying a word, but that was okay—Sam hadn't quite gotten to his point yet, anyway.

 

“I didn't think I'd ever stop being freaked out by that, but a few months later, I went on my first hunt. It was pretty simple—just a salt-and-burn, which is pretty much a traditional first hunt for our family—but me, being the klutz that I can be, I got knocked around a little. Tossed into a tree, actually. It just winded me, but from the way Dean reacted, you'd think it had killed me.” Sam chuckled, even though there was really nothing funny about the memory. “I'd never seen him so mad, and while he was finishing up, I watched him, and it was like—I dunno, it was like everything fell back into place then.” He paused, then said, “It will for you, too, you know.

 

“Are you sure?” Cal asked, finally breaking his silence in a voice that sounded all of about ten years old.

 

Sam smiled. “Yeah, I'm sure. Trust me, you'll be surprised at how fast he stops being an injured guy and starts being your big brother again.”

 

This time, when Cal didn't say anything, the silence wasn't awkward or tense, and when Sam's hand reached out to close on Cal's shoulder, that didn't feel awkward, either.

 

Too much.

 

XXX

 

“Why do we always end up here?” Dean asked, after a couple of minutes had passed in silence.

 

“Because it enables us to stay true to who we are,” Niko replied calmly. “And perhaps because my brother and yours get on exceptionally well.” What he thought of this, exactly, was unclear, but then Niko went on, as if to explain. “Sam seems to understand him better than I do, sometimes. He needs that right now, I suppose.”

 

Dean shrugged, not quite sure what to say to that. “So what's new?” he asked instead, lightly. “I mean, besides the obvious.”

 

Niko's face took on a knowing expression that was just plain irritating, but he answered as lightly as Dean had asked. “Nothing, really. Well, nothing until the Auphe showed up on our doorstep again.”

 

“What goes on with them, anyway?” Dean asked exploiting the opening before he could stop himself. “I mean, Cal said they were family, but that can't be right. You're his family.”

 

“I am,” Niko said slowly. “In truth, I'm the only family he has. By family, he only meant that the Auphe share the most basic of ties with him—that of blood.”

 

“Wait…so those were…”

 

“The creatures that brought Cal into the world, yes. The only thing they've ever done that I haven't once resented, regretted, or hated.” He paused, then asked, “Would you like to hear about them?”

 

Dean honestly wasn't sure whether he did or not, but either way his answer would have been the same. “Yes.”

 

Niko nodded, as if this had only been what he'd expected, and launched directly into the story without any kind of visible gearing up.

 

“Cal and I have been running from them since he was sixteen—it was why we came to New York in the first place. They want him, and they will do anything to get to him.” Niko's voice quieted, and Dean could tell the next words weren't really meant for him. “I should have remembered that.”

 

Before Dean could form a reply, Niko shook his head a little and went on.

 

“Anyway, we won't run this time. They might come again, or they might not. Either way, we'll be ready. But then, we know the full extent of that we're up against. I'll try to tell you all I can, so that you will, too.”

 

He paused again, seeming to be trying for the right words. “The thing you have to understand about the Auphe is that they are…different. They aren't like werewolves, or ghosts, or demons, or anything of the sort. They're not quite monster, not quite demon, but they are all bad. They are wholly without conscience—nothing matters to them except what they want, and what they can do to get it. When you combine that with their strength, their intelligence, their subtlety and their reflexes, they become nearly unstoppable. Until now I'd thought they were a low unto themselves. But from what Cal has told me, it appears that they fear something, at any rate.”

 

“Yeah, and that something apparently has some kind of dibs on my little brother!” Dean bust out with a sudden upwelling of anger.

 

“Dean,” Niko said gently. “It means nothing.”

 

“How do you figure?” Dean snapped. “Something out there has plans for him. Something evil.”

 

“The Auphe had plans for Cal, too, once upon a time,” Niko said calmly. “He almost helped them destroy the world. That turned out all right.” He smiled briefly, then said, “The world does not make the man, Dean. Your brother will not be taken so easily.”

 

“You don't get it!” Suddenly feeling like he couldn't sit anymore, Dean stood and began to pace. “I'm not worried he's gonna turn evil. He wouldn't. But there are plans for him, by something big, and—what will happen when he doesn't follow them? I thought it was just Yellow Eyes I had to worry about, but I killed him and it's still…I thought this was over, damn it! And…I already lost Sam once. I can't…”

 

He trailed off, realizing only then how loudly he'd been talking. But Niko only smiled and him and said, “You'll take care of him.”

 

He said it with such unswerving certainty, brother-to-brother, that for a moment, Dean forgot exactly why Niko was wrong.

 

Yeah, `course I'll take care of him, he thought, unsettled. Only problem is, I wouldn't be able to do it much longer, will I?

 

XXX

 

When Dean and Sam left the hospital an hour later, they were alone. Cal had stayed behind to visit with Niko, and Niko was going to charm the nurses into letting him stay through the night—again. Dean and Sam hadn't found a motel yet, but Dean had made the executive decision that they would stop at the first cheap one they came to so that Sam could sleep some more and they could do some research.

 

Sam hadn't bothered arguing about the sleep. He was too smart for that, by now.

 

“So,” Dean said, once they were on the road again. “Quite a night, huh?”

 

“Sure,” Sam said, staring absently out the window.

 

“Sam, you know this doesn't mean anything, don't you?” Dean pressed, unable to take the silence. “Nothing,” he went on firmly. “You don't belong to anyone, except you. I don't know what that damn thing meant, and unless you do…”

 

“I don't,” Sam said quickly. “And…I know, okay? I knew it doesn't' mean anything. I'm fine. Really.”

 

If Dean knew that he was lying—about all of it—he didn't say so.

 

He usually didn't.

 

And as always, the car drove on.

 

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Author's Note: Okay, guys, so I have been working on this thing for two and a half months, and it's finally finished! Aren't you all proud of me? I am! And I really hope I haven't lost all my readers after the last two stories I put out. If I haven't, then someone please review!