Title: The Return of an Old Fiend
Author: Dhvana
Series: 1) The Monster Under the Bed, 2) A Little Help From Bob, 3) The Temptation of Dean, 4) Questions Without Answers, 5) Don't Lose Your Head, 6) Retribution and Remorse
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean, but the Wincest is implied and unrequited (so far)
Summary: Dean becomes the prey once more.
A/N: I just want to make sure I keep thanking you all for your comments and support! Not to mention, your extreme patience in getting to the Wincest. It'll happen, trust me, just not quite yet. :)


As soon as Sam could no longer see him, Dean let the smile cross his face.

Sam loved him. He could hear it in his brother's voice. Sam LOVED him.

And he loved Sam, but that was part of the problem, wasn't it?

The smile faded.

He was getting too emotionally involved, and if there was one thing his father had taught him, it was that emotions got in the way. He needed to remain distant, detached. He needed to stay objective in order to ensure Sam's safety. He could never stop loving his brother, he knew that much, but he could do his damnedest to make sure it didn't go any further than that. All those feelings, all that touching, all those. . . those needs, from now on, he'd just have to take care of them on his own.

Not that he had the energy for that right now. He felt like a goddamn zombie as he trudged down the hospital hall, but he couldn't allow himself the luxury of sleep, not yet. He had business to attend to first.

Retrieving his torn jeans and jacket, Dean got dressed, feeling a little ridiculous without his shirt. He zipped up the jacket and called for a cab while waiting for his prescriptions to be filled. When it arrived, he eased himself into the backseat and immediately popped a couple of the pain killers. He prayed that they would start working fast as he gave the driver directions to the Impala because he wasn't going to last much longer unless the pain was at least numbed a little. Or a lot, he amended as the cab hit a pothole and he bit back a gasp. That tiny bump had been enough to make his entire body flare with pain. Yeah, he was definitely going to have to make this quick.

Fortunately, a little bit of luck was on his side--his car was still sitting untouched on the street. He paid the driver, including a decent tip, though not one large enough to garner suspicion, and waited until the taillights had vanished before grabbing a flashlight from the trunk and heading into the woods. It wasn't his ideal way to end the night, but then, nothing about the night had gone the way he'd hoped.

Picking up a fallen branch to act as a cane, he limped and tripped and stumbled his way through the woods to the cemetery, swearing enough to fill a novel by the time he reached the carefully manicured grounds. He would never again look down on a gardener, he thought, practically moaning with relief at no longer having to fight his way through the brush, and claimed the lawnmower as his new god.

As he neared where they'd staked out the Horseman earlier, Dean checked for any signs that a policeman had been placed on guard, but didn't see anyone. The cops mush have written the whole night off as another visit by the Headless Horseman and weren't expecting to find any evidence otherwise, which was good, because he and his brother had left evidence all over that cemetery. He gathered up their fallen bags and his shotgun, cursing loudly as the added weight amplified the pain in his ribs. He paused only long enough to spit on the darkened earth where the Horseman had met its end and then headed over to the bridge.

There, standing opposite of where he'd almost lost Sam, he stopped.

He hadn't thought this would be so hard. After all, Sam was going to be okay. There was no logical reason for him not to want to cross the bridge, but damn if the very thought didn't make him feel sick to his stomach. He tried to reassure himself that they'd done their job, and that, despite everything, it had been a success. Sleepy Hollow wouldn't have to worry about being tormented by the Headless Horseman again--at least, not by that one, and while it bothered him that they'd never learned where the thing had come from, with his body screaming in hellish agony and Sam lying half-dead in the hospital, he decided he really didn't care. It was gone, and they'd survived.

Yet in the end, the thought of their success wasn't much reassurance. He still needed to make it across the bridge.

Taking a deep breath, he again made that terrible walk over the wooden planks to the other side. Deliberately avoiding looking at the grass darkened by his brother's blood, he instead dropped their bags a little out of the way and began searching for Sam's gun in the patch of bushes where he thought he'd thrown it. It took more time than he'd hoped to spend, but he finally found it and added the gun to the growing pile of crap he'd have to lug back to the car.

If only that was the worst of it.

Thoroughly cursing the evil that had spawned the Horseman, his brother for following the damn thing and putting him in this position, and the Horseman itself for daring to fuck with the Winchesters, he took off his jacket and waded into the stream.

"Son of a goddamn bitch!" he swore over clenched teeth as the shock of the cold water hit his skin through his jeans. Oh, this was so the very last thing he'd needed right now, to wade his injured ass through icy water in search of sword that he regretted ever having laid eyes on in the first place. His jeans and shoes were already weighing him down, but he wasn't able to bend over and take them off, so he'd have to keep going.

"We just had to do this in fall," he muttered as he slogged through the stream towards the bridge, feet sliding over the stones on the bottom. "We couldn't have let the Horseman keep on riding until the middle of summer, could we? Noooo! We had to come at the end of fucking fall when the water is freezing-ass cold and I'm the one who has to go walking through it. My fucking boots alone are going to take days to dry and I'll probably catch a cold and won't THAT just make everything so much better. I know evil's not gonna go out of its way to be convenient, but does it have to be so goddamn incon--FUCK!"

Dean yelped, slipping on a rock and effectively cutting off his tirade. He re-wrenched his ankle and lost his balance, which sent him flailing into the stream.

White light flashed behind his eyes as he slammed his ribs against the rocks lining the bottom and he cried out only to inhale a mouthful of water. Too paralyzed by pain to move, he was helpless. He could do nothing except lay there, letting the cold liquid wash over him, filling his nose and mouth and lungs. Unable to fight both his body and the rush of stream, he struggled as hard as he could, reaching for the flash of gold he glimpsed above him, but he was already too far under and couldn't keep the darkness from overtaking him.

So he was extremely surprised when he woke up an hour or so later in the parking lot of the Inn, sitting in the front seat of the Impala and very much alive, if in an amazing amount of pain.

"Damn good survival instincts," he muttered groggily and fell back asleep, too exhausted to further question the apparent miracle.

Judy found him later that morning using the steering wheel as a pillow and nearly called for an ambulance.

"Been there," Dean groaned as he forced himself out of the car with her help. "Done that."

"And you should go back!" she said, feeling his forehead. "You're burning up!"

"Just need some shuteye," he mumbled. His jeans and boots were still damp from his little dip in the stream, the denim sticking to his skin and chilling his flesh. He really wished he'd have taken them off before going for his swim, but he couldn't have done so with his ribs and hoped to get them back on again. He'd already learned the hard way that being found in wet clothes beat being found wet and naked any day.

"What you need is a doctor," she said, grabbing onto his arm when he was about to tip over backwards while trying to walk up the stairs.

"I'll be fine," he muttered, holding onto the railing with his meager remaining strength, but grateful for her help down the hall to his room.

"You're too stubborn for me to deal with," she scolded. "Where's that young man of yours?"

Closing his eyes, Dean sighed. "Still at the hospital."

"My god," she gasped. "What happened? Is he all right?"

"He'll be fine. Just needed to get some blood put back in him and a few stitches to make sure it stayed there."

"What exactly were you boys doing out in those woods?" she asked, then shook her head. "You know, never mind. You can tell me later."

He nodded, moaning with relief as he caught sight of his mattress. Judy noted the object of his suddenly occupied attention and her face grew stern.

"I'm going to help you out of those wet clothes, but I want you to know I'm doing this out of pure motherly concern," she said, easing him onto the bed. "I'd do this for any of my boys, so don't start getting the wrong idea."

"I didn't know you had kids," he said, his head hitting the pillow the second he was stretched out onto the mattress. He groaned in protest as she pushed him back up into sitting long enough to get his jacket off, and then he was back down again.

"Two boys, both about your age," she said, pulling his boots and socks off. "Though with a little more sense than you. Jeans next."

He nodded, too out of it to care as she unbuttoned his jeans and yanked the protesting denim down his legs.

"All right, under the blankets with you."

He rolled over enough for her to maneuver the blankets out from under him, and then he rolled onto his back as she tucked them in around his body, lingering a moment to touch his bandage.

"We'll have to change this when you wake up. It's filthy. I just don't understand what you were doing between here and the hospital."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, and she patted his hand.

"You're probably right. We can talk when you wake up. You just get yourself plenty of sleep."

He mumbled a response and was out cold before she left the room.

Dean was in heaven. He was lying in their luxurious bed in the Sleepy Hollow Inn, and Sam was somewhere down below the blankets giving him the most mind-blowing blow job he'd ever experienced. He didn't know his brother had such talent in his lips. There was licking and nibbling and fondling and sucking and he felt like he was about to go out of his head.


"Sammy," he moaned, reaching up to pull his brother down for a kiss, not bothering to question how Sam could be in two places at once. "Sammy, why didn't you ever tell me you were capable of this?"

"You never asked," his brother smiled. "Dean, I need you to do something for me."

Down below the sheets, Sam did a little swirl with his tongue and he gasped. "God, anything, just don't stop doing that."

Sam looked at the lump beneath the sheets that was giving Dean so much pleasure with something resembling hatred in his gaze, then those hazel eyes focused on him once more. "Dean, I need for you to wake up."

"Wake up?"

"This is a dream."

Dean frowned. "A dream?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, a dream. Jesus, Dean, do blowjobs always make you this stupid?"

"Yes," he grinned.

"All right then, I'll speak slowly and in small words. This is a dream. You are asleep. You have to wake up."

"Will you be here when I wake up?"


"Then I think I'd rather keep dreaming."

"Dean, you're not getting it. You have to wake up. I'll do this for you later, I promise, but not unless you wake up."

"You will?"

"I've been wanting to for months now," he said, smiling fondly at his brother.

"You have?"

"Dean--" he began, his exasperation starting to show.

"If you want this and I want this, then why do I have to wake up?"

"Because, quite frankly, there is a mouth around your dick, and it isn't mine."

Dean's eyes flew open.

He sat up and scrambled away from the bulge under the covers, crying out as he aggravated the pain in his ribs. He flung the blankets back and growled to see long pale gold hair and golden eyes.


The monster smiled as it sat up and stretched its arms far above its head, displaying a body that belonged on a billboard modeling Calvin Klein underwear. Not that he would know that. It was just something he'd overheard women discussing, because he certainly had no idea what a Calvin Klein underwear model looked like.

"Hello again," it said with a catlike smile. "Did you miss me?"

Dean groped for the knife he could have sworn he'd shoved under the pillow between one of his trips to the bathroom and visits from Judy trying to force-feed him enough food to support twenty people. "What do you think?" he growled.

It shook its head, silken hair flowing around its face. "You needn't be so bitter. After all, you're the one who killed me."

"Yeah, about that--what the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked, a little confused and still unable to find his knife, but dead was dead, that much he could be certain of, and this thing wasn't dead.

"The housekeeper," it smiled. "She vacuumed my remains into a large canister and I was able to reconstruct my body. Admittedly, a few pieces were missing and I was as weak as one of you, but a bit of flesh solved all that."

"You killed her?" Goddamnit! Where the fuck was his knife? Dean began inching towards the edge of the mattress.

"No," the monster said, leaning over and trapping his legs between its arms. "I knew you wouldn't approve. I drank from her, nothing more. Well," it shrugged, "her, and a few others."

"So you healed yourself--supposedly without killing anyone else--and came all this way to find me so I could kill you good and proper?"

"I would be a fool to think you might trust me, but I can assure you, no one was permanently harmed. And I can also assure you that you don't want to kill me," it said, crawling towards him until their faces were only inches apart.

"Why not?" he asked, unnerved by the creature's intrusion of his personal space, though he supposed that polite boundaries meant nothing to the forces of darkness.

"Because of what I can offer you," it said, leaning forward to flick its tongue across his lips.

Dean shuddered, pushing it away. "You have nothing I want."

"Oh really," it said, glancing pointedly at Dean's half-hard penis and he grimaced.

"It's been a long time," he said with narrowed eyes. "Not my fault, and definitely not your doing."

"But I was helping."

"You were taking advantage of a sleeping man." One having an extremely provocative dream about his brother, which was wrong on several counts and he supposed he should actually be grateful at being woken up, but that was beside the point.

"In order for an exchange of information to take place, you're well aware that I need your flesh, and you must admit that this method is much more pleasurable for both of us than the draining of your blood. Your essence is all I require."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "So instead of my blood, you want to eat my--" The word strangled in his throat. His body remembered the pleasure the creature had given him and didn't object one bit, but his mind and stomach balked at the idea.

The creature licked its lips, its eyes half-closed with pleasure. "Oh, yes. I've discovered the direct embodiment of your flesh is so much more appealing than your blood, though your body itself would be preferable.

"No. Fuck no."

It stretched out next to him, staring up at him with its hunger-filled gaze. Dean crossed one leg over the other to keep the thing from touching his skin, as well as to make himself a little less exposed. "Just a few drops of the essence that leaked out of your flesh was enough to fully heal me. Imagine what a full mouthful would do."

The monster let its fingers drift up the length of Dean's leg and he shuddered, though not in revulsion. His cock twitched as the hand grew near and he quickly reached out to grab the monster's wrist. "Before I even consider this--which I'm not--you'd better give me something concrete to work with, or I'm slicing your head off right here and now."

"With what?" it asked, full lips tilted in amusement. "I already took your knife away."

"I'll manage," he snarled.

It sighed. "All right. I'll tell you something. There are those gathering forces against you, including the one who summoned the Horseman."

"So there was someone behind it," he murmured. "But why?"

"You're being tested."

"Tested?" he frowned. "For what?"

"You and your brother, when you were separated, you weren't a threat."

"Hey!" Dean protested and the creature gave him a scathing look.

"Yes, you hunted and killed us, but the threat was different. You and your brother, with your powers combined, with the two of you working together, you're no longer mere mortals with a trunk full of weapons and a mission. You're something else entirely, and that makes you a bigger threat. They're testing you for your weaknesses, to see how well you work together, to try and tear you apart. They're looking for advantages."

"And we're playing right into their hands."

"You are making it rather easy for them," the monster said smugly and, irritated, Dean tightened his grasp around its wrist. It didn't seem to notice. "However, considering your mission, it would be impossible for you to resist."

"But wait--" A new thought occurred to him, a thought made even more horrible by what the monster had said. "When I brought Sam into this, when I asked him to come help me search for dad--fuck. By doing that, I put him in danger. If I'd just left him alone, he'd be fine. You wouldn't be after him, Jess would be alive. If anything happens to him--everything that has happened to him--it's all my fault."

The monster shook its head. "These things were set into motion long before the two of you were born. Your destiny could not be avoided. You are meant to be with him, and he is meant to be with you. You, you alone, are the warrior chosen to protect him." It leaned forward, the golden eyes holding his captive. "You need me, warrior. You need the advantage I can give you to keep him safe."

Dean felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff and that the slightest breath of wind would knock him over, but here the monster was, offering him a rope. The thing was, he didn't know whether or not the other end was tied to anything. "How can I trust you?"

"You can't. Even if I told you you could, you wouldn't. I have no loyalties to any side except my own. I will gladly give you pleasure and tell you everything I know, but anything I might gleam from you during our encounters, I feel no obligation to share. I could even teach you how to awaken your brother's powers without ever having to come into contact with him. I know I made a mistake earlier, one I do not care to repeat, as it ended rather poorly for me. Your brother is stronger than he looks."

Dean felt a surge of anger rush through him at the mention of their last encounter and the danger to Sam. He threw the creature on its back, straddling it as he wrapped his hands around the smooth throat. "You will not touch him."

"I won't even look at him. Our encounters will be a secret," the monster said, not even acknowledging the danger it was in, most likely because it didn't feel it was in any danger. Dean knew the creature could flick him off like a mosquito and send him flying across the room any time it wanted. "This will remain strictly between you and me." It pressed a hand against his chest. "You should lie back down before you do yourself even more damage. I saved your life once. As much as I enjoy this form your flesh provides for me, I don't know if I could be bothered to do so twice."

Dean frowned down at the creature, the beautiful face looking up at him with a combination of hunger and indifference. What the hell was it talking about? "When did you save my life?"

"You would have drowned in the water if I hadn't pulled you out. I'm the one who brought you here."

"You. . . you're the one. . ." Okay, that made a little more sense than him being able to save himself based on his survival instincts alone. "But what about--" He hesitated. Would it be wise to let one of them know he had one of their weapons?

The creature seemed to read his mind and answered his unfinished question. "The Horseman's sword is in the trunk of your car, along with the rest of your things. Consider it a peace offering," it said, then increased the pressure of its hand on his chest, the fingers surprisingly warm against his skin. "Now lie down before you fall on top of me and I get the wrong idea."

Dean resisted for a second, then rolled over and collapsed onto his back. His tired muscles trembled from the effort of holding himself up, not to mention the stabbing pains in his side and the throbbing of his ankle.

"Let me take care of you," it said, sliding those long fingers down his stomach. "Let me feed from you, give you pleasure, and I will let you see what the night truly holds."

Light touches glanced over the tip of his cock, and a moan escaped his throat. It had been so long, so very very long, and as much as he'd once hoped for something like this with Sam, Bob's warning continued to echo in his ears.


He needed to concentrate on keeping his brother safe, and he couldn't do that and walk around with a hard-on for him at the same time. What this creature was offering seemed to be, if not the ideal solution, then certainly an acceptable one towards solving that particular problem. He could help Sam, get insight into the mind of the enemy, and still keep his distance from his brother at the same time.

But this was seriously messed up. Letting one of them drink his blood, okay, that wasn't exactly sane either, but to be fucking one of them? Not that there'd be fucking involved. He'd just be letting off a little steam and the monster would be acting as a handful of Kleenex, nothing more. And it didn't hurt that it wasn't entirely horrible to look at. He could almost pretend it was human, right?

Yeah, right. Even he wasn't buying that.

But he couldn't go on like this. This obsession with Sam, he had to find a way to stop it somehow. Look at his dreams--they were becoming more explicit with each passing night. How much longer would it be before he gave in and started acting them out?

He couldn't do it. He couldn't put either himself or Sam in danger like that. It would be the greatest weakness their enemies would have to exploit. And at least, unlike with the bites, there would be no marks left behind to give him away. Sam would never have to know, and if his brother asked where he was getting his information, he could always claim that Bob was coming to him in dreams. Stranger things had happened. Sam might even believe him.

Meeting the monster's eyes, Dean nodded, and it sighed with relief.

"But remember," he warned, stopping it as it moved to take its nourishment from him, "this is just between us. If Sam ever finds out, I'll kill you."

"He'll never know," it said. "Thank you." The monster then lowered itself between his legs and Dean arched into its mouth as it swallowed him whole.

Sam woke to a vaguely uneasy feeling and a faint buzzing in his veins. "Dean?" he murmured, opening his eyes.

"Sorry, shug. My name's Dora."

It took him a moment to focus on the nurse standing next to him, his wrist between her fingers as she took his pulse. He was still fairly groggy from all the drugs and whatnot in his system and he was getting his feelings confused with hers. After all, he couldn't be both fearful and content at the same time. He decided to just accept that the feelings with any sort of clarity belonged to Dora, and everything that was still fuzzy around the edges belonged to him.

"Sorry," he yawned, moving his left arm before he could remember what a bad idea that would be. He hissed, letting it fall back into the sling.

"Careful there. You don't want to be causing yourself any more pain."

"Somehow, I don't think that's possible," he said, offering her a smile to take the bite off the sourness in his voice.

She returned his smile. "You are pretty beat up. What happened to you?"

"Run over by a lawn mower," he answered, and she rolled her eyes.

"Trust me, shug, you'd be in a lot more pieces if that were true. I've seen someone who was run over by a lawn mower once, and it ain't pretty."

Sam grimaced as he picked up an image of her memory of the sight, his stomach churning at the mangled legs she'd helped put back together. He had to get people to stop touching him until all the drugs were out of his system, especially if they were going to be thinking such gruesome thoughts.

"I don't know how you do it," he said, his voice filled with horrified admiration.

"You get used to it after a while."

He could understand that, considering all the things he'd seen. He'd had to develop a sort of aloofness towards the nightmares that lurked in the dark and all they were capable of, or everything he'd witnessed would overwhelm him. Before he'd left, he'd been able to surround himself with a pretty thick skin, but it had faded with the years away from hunting and now he was having to re-grow it again. It was a long, slow process, one he wasn't sure he was capable of anymore. Those few years where he'd been ordinary had been not just a few years but a single day too many, and he didn't see things the same way anymore. Even with his increasingly strange abilities further separating him from the rest of the world, it was hard for him to remind himself he was not one of them anymore. Though he knew it was impossible, he still felt like he could slip back into the skin of Sam Winchester, college student, at any time and abandon all this to become ordinary again.

But he knew his days of pretending there was nothing waiting in the shadows to grab him were over. This time, there was no going back.

"The key," Dora said, adjusting his IV, "the key to making it through each day is to not let yourself forget that all the body parts, no matter how mangled or diseased, are connected to a person, and that that person is relying on you to make sure they get another sunrise. There's a reason you spend every day in a place where you know you'll see things that a will give you nightmares for the rest of your life or send you home in tears. Someone has to be here to help them."

Arching an eyebrow at how accurately the description of her duties echoed his, Sam looked up at the nurse. "Did Bob send you?"

Dora frowned, checking his IV. "Did we slip something unexpected in here?" she said, and he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Never mind. Inside joke."

"With your brother?"

"Something like that." Sam looked around his partitioned room. "Speaking of Dean, I don't suppose he's been here?"

"Sorry, shug. You haven't had any visitors all day."

"Oh." All day? He glanced down at his watch--it was nearly five o'clock. Though he couldn't help it, he was disappointed. He'd woken up expecting to find his brother pacing outside the door. He tried not to feel abandoned, but it didn't exactly work. He missed Dean.

"I heard what condition your brother was in," Dora continued, pressing a reassuring hand to his shoulder. "He's probably sleeping, if he knows what's good for him."

Sam nodded, resisting the urge to slap himself upside the head. Of course--he'd completely forgotten that Dean wasn't exactly in the best of shape himself. All things considered, while he may have been the one to lose a lot of blood, Dean had definitely borne the brunt of the night.

Realizing it was absurd of him to blame Dean for not showing, Sam hoped his brother was fast asleep, but couldn't help wishing he'd wake up soon. He'd been looking forward to seeing him--he needed to see him. He had to make sure Dean didn't get too far out of reach or he'd have to start all over again. He had himself just barely come to terms with his feelings towards his brother, and Dean was a thousand times more stubborn. If he had to re-fight his way through his brother's barriers. . . he didn't know if he had the energy to do that again.

That was a lie. Of course he had the energy to do that again.

He didn't care how long it took or how many times he had to repeat this process, he loved Dean. He loved him in ways he knew he shouldn't, and he loved him in all the ways he knew he should. He just wasn't sure if Dean loved him the same. He thought so--his brother had been surprisingly comfortable during their role-playing stint--but this was dangerous territory for them. The whole situation wasn't right. He knew it, and Dean definitely knew it, but right or wrong, he didn't care. He knew what he wanted, and he wanted Dean.

And while he certainly didn't care what anyone else thought, he wouldn't have minded a bit more insight into his brother's head. He'd sacrifice anything for Dean, the least of which included his life, but he wasn't sure how much Dean was willing to give up for him. The bad boy image only went so far. Sam didn't know how far into the territory of incest it might stretch before snapping back.

But maybe he needed to have more faith. Maybe his brother wouldn't snap at all. They faced the unknown horrors of the world on a daily basis. Telling everyone else to fuck off should be a piece of cake, but would Dean be comfortable telling his conscience that he didn't care? Would he be able to trick himself into believing that what they were doing--should they ever get that far--would be all right? Sam could only hope it wouldn't be a trick. In order for this to work, he needed Dean to believe in them. There was a little voice lurking in the back of his mind that told him everything depended on Dean believing in them.

Scratching lightly at a growing itch on his stomach, Sam turned to Dora. "Is there a phone I could use? I should check up on him, make sure he's all right."

"Right next to you on the table," she said, pointing to it with her pen. "Local calls are free. Long distance will cost you your other arm, and possibly a leg."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," he grinned. Reaching over with his good arm for the phone, he dialed the number for the Inn.


Next story in series - Undulating Dynamics.