Title: Sweet Troubled Soul
Author: la_folle_allure
Rating: R
Category: Angst
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/!ShapeShifterDean
Spoilers: little bits from every episode, but nothing too major
Author Notes: This is my first Supernatural fic! Everything here has been created by my twisted little brain and along with the help of famous demons in religion, I present to you my story. Also, none of these stories follow any order. Just picture separate drabbles.
Dedication: this is for an incredibly talented author name ethrosdemon on livejournal. It was her story and enthusiasm for Supernatural that made me tune in, so its only fair she should get the first fic. Plus, you know, she's a fellow resident of the Barren Wasteland known as Canada.
Warnings: Slash, depression, angst, sadism, pretty incest at its finest and tons of other jewels.


When everything else is broken away, all that will be left is a [ i ] : the lie Druj

Dean does not believe the hovering demon with the twisted expression on his bloody lips. Even as the demon laughs and laughs and laughs, burning ginger eyes blazing with a maniacal sense of accomplishment, Dean still doesn't believe it.

"Shut the fuck up," he hisses through the throbbing pain in his temple, emphasizing his point by thrusting his shotgun under its scaly chin. Somehow, he and Sam became separated in the basement of an abandoned club where a monster was driving people mad with a paranoia that was slowly eating away at the population of the small town in Denver.

Without Sam at his side, the Druj attacked him from the ceiling and now Dean was sporting a rather nasty cut on the side of his face that was bleeding far more than a cut of this nature should.
Dean hissed in pain as he furrowed his brow in an attempt to look menacing. The Demon kept his gaze perfectly levelled, the Cheshire grin only widening.

"Pathetic flesh," the demon spits out in a voice that sounds something like gravel being crushed with glass. "You spend years of your mortal life training yourself to see us" it hisses out the word in a manner that makes Dean's head explode in a fit of agony, "yet you cannot sense him."

"You're a Druj. You're a demon of lies!" Dean cocked the gun as he drove it further into the demon's skin. "I have no reason to believe a fucking word you say, so why should I start now?"

"Because flesh," the snickering beast bubbled, "sometimes the truth is much more painful than a lie. And often times much more amusing."

Dean pulled the trigger and watched with a horrifying sense of accomplishment as he watches every individual piece of what was once a hell demon's face burn to ash.

[ ii ] : the greed Az

Sam has always wished he were normal.

Despite the fact Dean and his father always laughed at this humble request, claiming there was no fun in normal; Sam still yearned for a life where he didn't have to sleep with a knife under his pillow and a protection charm sealing his door.

But Sam's always been so needy and so dependant that even after he turned his back on his family and accepted the scholarship to Stanford, he still placed protective wards on his doors and windows and it took close to two years for him to sleep without a knife.

He had girlfriends and friends and he began to truly smile and enjoy himself, yet there was always this hollow pit in his stomach that no amount of free movies (since his roommate Keith worked the projector at the all night movie theatre), study dates over too greasy pizza or clubbing with friends could ever fill for Sam will always remember the weight of a crossbow slung across his back, the blinding pain of having a broken bone set back into place or the feeling of absolute security his brother's arms could cast as they engulfed his frail form in the middle of the night.

You see, Sam never thought of himself as greedy, yet all he has ever done is take and take and take till there is nothing left but empty promises and weary smiles.

"I hate you," he heard the shape shifter hiss in Dean's skin. It was so hard seeing that perfect face warped into such a grotesque expression. Dean would never ever look at Sam the way the shape shifter was. "I think you're a greedy little brat who deserted the family and I will never be able to forgive you for leaving me."

"Shut up," Sam's voice lost all its confidence, willing himself to not hear the cruel words.

"I hate you," it repeated again, eyes roaring yellow. "I hate you so much I can barely stand to look at you."

A gentle hand was placed against Sam's face and the shape shifter carefully lifted Sam's head and brought their lips together for a chaste kiss. A million different memories of pleasure and happiness began to cloud Sam's head and he instinctively responded to the feel of Dean's lips despite the fact he consciously knew Dean was really a demon.

"I hate you so much that this is the only way you will ever be able to make me feel anything for you except disgust," the demon whispered so sultry and honestly in Dean's beautiful voice that even as Sam felt the hands begin to descend and loosen his jeans he just let it happen.

"This is the only way you'll ever matter to me anymore you greedy, pathetic fucking whore," the voice was floating in and out of Sam's comatose cotton stuffed world. He could hear the demon Dean's moans and scathingly sweet words hours after he had finished and left him to die in the sewer.

The pain was worse than any he had ever experienced, but he had brought this upon himself.

After all, there is no retribution for the damned.

[ iii ] : the thirst Tishn

Dean hadn't said a word to his brother in over five days.

Sam has been missing for close to a day before Dean had managed to locate his exact whereabouts in the sewer. His blood was churning acid in his chest as he ran with every ounce of strength and speed he possessed.

To Dean's credit, he hadn't thrown up. He saved that for later when Sam was in the local ICU with a steady morphine drip to slowly ebb the pain away. Three local and two out of state plastic surgeons stopped by to see it they could repair the massive demonic markings that littered his brother's tender flesh. Whatever the Az demon used to cut Sam left angry and enflamed red rivers that decorated his skin in an almost artistic fashion.

Local authorities called Sam's attacker ‘The Artist', classifying him as a serial rapist with extreme homicidal and sadistic tendencies. Every surrounding state was on high alert, but Dean knew the Az would not appear again. He had stolen something from his brother and Dean made a vow to get it back, even if he had to travel through hell to get it.

"Such a pity," a smoky voice filled the small bathroom as Dean looked up from the sink where he had just emptied out his stomach.

There, looking him square in the eye was a mirror demon; a Tishn. Her hair was a jarring shade of electric purple and her lime green eyes stood out prominently on her orange skin. Like all Tishn, she was exceptionally beautiful; the kind of creature that could only spawned the always-alluring incubi and succubae Dean had fought with his father a few years prior.

Yet Tishn very rarely made a public appearance; especially to gloat or taunt. "What do you want?" Dean snapped wearily as he filled his hands with water and took a huge gulp to clear the sour taste clinging to his mouth.

"I've come to look upon the form of The Thirst," she giggled seductively. Dean could swear he saw a flash of an old hag under a glamour charm. "It's just such a pity he's such a beauty. I will surely claim his form once he crosses over."

"Cut that shit out," Dean threatened, fist balling.

"But surely we warned you," the mirror demon smiled prettily, flashing blindingly white teeth. "We claimed him long before you had mortal. He is The Thirst; the one that will end the imprisonment of my kind."

"I swear to you right here and now: if you or any of your kind even so much as think of my brother again, I will personally hunt you down and when I'm finished you'll be begging for death."

The Tishn began to laugh a hauntingly melodic laugh. "Oh poor mortal! You're already so consumed by The Thirst that you can't even see what's right in front of your eyes."

A creeping sense of deja vu washed over Dean as his stomach dropped and the smell of sulphur became overpowering. The mirror began to fog as the demon disappeared, but not before repeating the lies heard almost a year before.

"Whoever said he was your brother?"

[ iv ] : the sloth Bushasp

Sam was released from the hospital a month after he was admitted.

Dean checked him out with a slight dip of the head to the cute receptionist and gallantly kissed the hands of every female nurse that helped Sam out in anyway possible.

Leaving an army of RN's blushing and giggling, Dean gently placed his hand on Sam's lower back and lead him out of the place he began equating with his grave.

Neither had spoken to each other in almost a month. The wear was evident in the faces of both the Winchester boys and there was something bubbling beneath the surfaces of their flesh that left both itching.

It was only when Dean checked them into Le Chateau Royal Motel did either male say anything.

The door had barely closed as Sam frantically pressed Dean into the cheap press on wooden door, desperately attacking his brother's mouth with his own.

"Fuck Sammy," Dean groaned out and Sam immediately stopped his actions and broke down crying.

Dean went to lift his brother to a more comfortable setting that the space between the doorframe and the window jam, but heavily bandaged arms wrapped around Dean's neck and brought his tumbling down onto Sam's waiting mouth.

Never in his life had Sam wanted anything more than to just curl up and disappear into Dean; into a place that was warm and safe and where the pain of having your soul ripped from your body, stained, then forcibly replaced would not matter.

"Sammy, you have to lie down," Dean gasped out, face beautifully flushed. Sam wanted more.

"No," he muttered defiantly, pressing back into the scorching heat oh Dean's mouth, lazily teasing his brother's tongue exactly the way he knew Dean liked it. Dean's moan was swallowed by Sam's eager throat as he pulled back from the kiss to playfully kiss Dean's full lips, taking the bottom one and worrying it with his teeth. He had always been fascinated with Dean's lips. Envious even.

"Fuck!" Dean hissed as Sam began to torturously nip at his neck, "Sammy, please… we…"

But Sam had other ideas. "Fuck me," he whispered so softly Dean had to strain his ears to hear. "Please Dean. Please fuck me."

Dean was certain he had never been so hard in his life. His entire body was throbbing with the need to feel his little brother under him, screaming out his name with that sinful little mouth that he reclaimed as his own.

Clothing was shed in a furry and the sterile gauze used to wrap Sam's scars was ripped from his body in a passionate rage.

"Harder!" Sam screamed, choking back moans and screams and tears. Oh God he didn't deserve this, he never deserved to feel this good. His body was aflame with agony as Dean's thunderous thrusts racked his slender frame with an earth-shattering desire.

When Dean had finally came, Sam clung to his body with a grip that could bend steal. "Please don't go," he begged, voice thick with unshed tears and emotion. "I promise I'll do whatever you want just dontleavemeohgodpleasedontleaveme."

Suddenly, Sam was twelve years old again and Dean was holding him close to his body after a particularly violent round of sex. "It said this is the only way you'll stay with me," he remembered the beautiful little teenager crying so brokenly. "It said all I was good for was this."

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean muttered to himself, the memory dying as he pulled the brunette against his chest. "I could never leave you. You're everything Sammy."

"Then why does he keep telling me-" Sam pointed, face streaked with tears. He never got to finish his sentence, for Dean had already grabbed the blessed knife from his bag and was plunging it in the demon's chest.

"Goddamn sloth demon!" Dean shouted at the dying blob of green slime. Six large bug eyes bore right into Dean's face. Sam shook his head to rid the picture of that demon whipping his brother to the bone.

He wouldn't tell Dean though.

He would forget it soon anyway.

"Gurlygt zbef rag kog nor!" The demon let out an insane laugh before it melted into the floor, returning to hell. You could never kill a Bushasp.

Dean looked at the darkened spot on the cheap cotton candy pink carpet and back to where Sam was sprawled out, skin peeling and red, bleeding in some areas. "Shit Sammy," Dean immediately retrieved the first aide kit.

"I don't want to be this," Sam numbly uttered as Dean finished the last of the gauze.

"Like what?" Dean tried to keep his voice steady.

"You heard the demon. I'm empty now. They made me empty…" Sam plucked at the gauze, rubbing a cluster of scars. Only for an instant, Dean would have sworn he saw the scars glow red to spell out something. "They wrote it all over me Dean."

[ v ] : the end Astwihad

Dean should have realized it would happen on the twenty-fifth anniversary of their mother's death. Demons were nothing if not horribly stubborn when it came to dates. They even had the common courtesy to host their little reunion in the now abandoned Winchester house.

But at this point, the last think on Dean's mind was what date it was and couldn't be bothered to acknowledge a low-grade torture demon had broken both his legs in seven different areas.

He had to get to Sam. His beautiful little Sam who was, in approximately eleven minutes, going to be merged with the ultimate evil hell had to offer; the Death demon.

Everything he and his dad fought for over the course of their lives came down to this moment. It was always about Sam. Sam, the most beautiful creature Dean had ever laid eyes on; Sam, the most tempting individual in existence; Sam, the being of ultimate perfection that was given to Mary Winchester to guard with her life. A gift that was later placed under Dean's protection.

Dean looked over at his brother's unconscious body that was hovering in the middle of the room. He was almost completely naked, safe for the shreds of ceremonial cloth that was pathetically covering his body. A week prior, the scars had completely vanished from Sam's skin, now leaving the long expanse of unmarred flesh that Dean was so used to.

Under any other circumstance, this would be one of the hottest things ever.

"The Astwihad will devour his presence," Dean's head snapped toward the voice. The long mirror that decorated the closet door began to glow a shimmering blue and out stepped a mirror demon.

"Once he has corporeal form, he will kill all living creatures. Not even God herself could stop him then," the beautiful Tishn loving stroked Dean's hair, making sure her poison was sprinkled over every open wound on his face. "You will be killed as soon as the ceremony is completed," her voice was one of sadness. "But if you swear to be mine, I can keep you alive. It would be a shame to dispose of a beauty like yours."

"I would rather die and you know it," Dean spat vehemently.

"Don't be a fool!" the Tishn sounded almost desperate, her voice reaching that of a shriek. "I'm offering you a way to stay alive! There's no one here that can save you!"

All it took was a faint glimpse from the corner of his eye to know he was not alone. Dean could have sworn his face was going to break under the weight of his smirk. "And that's why you demons will never win. You always underestimate us Winchesters."

One shot filled with rock salt and holy water reduced the Tishn to atoms. Another three took out the surrounding evil spirits.

Within five minutes, Dean found his father dragging both him and a disoriented Sam out of their old house, just as the fiery blaze erupted behind them.

"It'll be another twenty five years before they can try anything like that again," John Winchester explained as he quickly dialled 911. By the time the ambulance arrived, he was gone, leaving only another journal in his place.