Title: The Golden Agenda
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, 7) The Return of an Old Fiend, 8) Undulating Dynamics, 9) Personal Weirdness, 10) On the Road Again, 11) Doubletalk
Rating: PG-13 (for language and violence)
Pairing: Sam/Dean, but the Wincest is implied and unrequited (so far)
Summary: Dean finally gets it, and then everything goes to hell.
A/N: I spent a week in my youth volunteering out at the Pine Ridge Reservation and one night, a local man sat us down outside and told us 'true' stories about skinwalkers, among other things, which years later continue to freak me out. A few elements of his stories have made it into this one.


The monster waited to make an appearance until after Dean had run out of things to throw, but before he could smash his fists to a pulp punching objects that couldn't punch back. Taking hold of Dean's wrists, it held him until the fight drained from his body and his head fell forward against the monster's chest. Wordlessly, the monster helped Dean into bed and cleaned up his nose--taking more than one taste of the blood for itself. It used the ice from the bucket which had somehow managed not to get overturned and a threadbare towel from the bathroom to create an ice pack for Dean's throbbing face, then curled up beside him, holding the troubled man in his arms.

Dean let it, for a while, as he gingerly pressed the ice against his nose. The blazing rage he'd felt before had been reduced to a numbing simmer, one that didn't encourage company, but he didn't particularly care what the monster did so long as it kept quiet. He needed its silence so he could think about Sam without the monster's usual diversions. He needed to think about what his brother had said before bloodying his nose, before the kiss.

The kiss.

His thoughts stumbled as he remembered the kiss, that one blissful moment when his lips were touching Sam's and everything fell into place. In that moment, he understood who he was and who he was meant to be, and he knew he was a fool.

He was a fool for kissing Sam the way he had--his brother had been dead on about why he'd done it, and if he'd been in Sam's place, he probably would have socked himself too. But he was also a fool for being so afraid to kiss Sam in the first place. The world hadn't come to an end. They hadn't been swallowed by hellfire. He hadn't even felt an ounce of shame for kissing his brother. It had just felt. . . right.

Oh, yeah, he was definitely a fool. And now he was at risk of losing everything because, in his own stupidity, he had convinced himself it was better to hide willingly in the monster's arms than to face the truth.

Sam had told him to be certain that what he was doing was truly the right thing. It wasn't right, this whole situation between himself and the monster, of course it wasn't. Otherwise, he wouldn't spend so many hours trying to convince himself it was. And if being with the monster was the wrong thing, how could being with Sam also be wrong?

The answer, which had been so disastrously muddled before, was now painfully clear.

Being with Sam wasn't about good or evil, right or wrong. This bizarre destiny forced on them wasn't meant to keep them apart, but to make sure that once they found each other and that they stayed together. He belonged with Sam, he understood that now, and he wanted to tell him so.

If only he didn't have to wait until morning.

He wanted to make sure his brother knew he'd thought about this, not agreed to it just because it was what he thought Sam wanted to hear. His brother needed to know that he meant it--all of it--that he loved him, wanted to be with him, that every kiss was given with his whole heart, that every touch had all of him behind it. If he tried to approach him now, Sam would just slam the door in his face. He could wait. He deserved to wait, and in the meantime, he would remove the last obstacle between them.

Dean looked over at the monster, the creature seeming so content to just lie there with its arms around him, and he felt a hint of remorse for what he had to do. How could he tell it that no matter what it knew or what had to offer, he wanted nothing more to do with it? Most importantly, how could he do it without this ending badly? Considering the monster had not exactly been cooperative in the past, he didn't predict this to be an easy conversation.

How did a guy break up with the monster under the bed anyway?

Thinking back on the monster's previous response, he did it with a gun in one hand and a machete in the other.

Dean sighed and, pushing away from the monster, crawled out of bed. He walked across the room and took a deep breath, but couldn't find the words. Running his hands through his hair, he shifted from one foot to the other, trying to figure out the best way to say this. The monster watched him with curious gold eyes that quickly narrowed with suspicion when Dean finally dug into his bag and removed his shotgun, turning to point the end of the barrel at it.

"Warrior," it began, casually moving to stretch its lovely long body across the mattress, "is there something you wish to tell me?"

"There's no easy way for me to say this, so I'll just come out and say it. We're breaking up."

It blinked. "Breaking up?"


"I don't understand what you mean."

"I don't know how to translate into evil the term for 'breaking up', so I'll just be blunt. I can't keep doing this, so I want you to go and never return. I will, of course, be setting up wards around the bed from now on that will prevent you from sneaking back in, but I thought I'd at least let it look like you have a choice. You just have to ignore the gun pointed at your face when you make that choice."

The creature raised its golden limbs from the bed and stood up, its eyes gleaming dangerously. "You want me to leave?"

"It's either that, or I kill you and scatter your remains so you can't return ever again. This may come as a surprise to both of us, but I really don't want to do that. Clearly I will, if you ever bother me or Sam again, but I won't like it, so it would be best if you just go and don't come back."

"You cannot 'break up' with me. You need me."

"Actually, I need Sam. You are just a substitute for him, you always were, and I never got anything from you I couldn't have figured out for myself. It's time for me to stop acting like a wuss and stand up for what I want. You're not it."

"You're choosing a dangerous path, warrior," the monster growled, and Dean shrugged.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Joining with your brother will not bring you peace. You draw down upon you both attention you are better off avoiding."

Dean took a moment to absorb this, knowing there was a warning in there but not quite sure what it was, and shook his head. "I don't care. No matter what we have to face, we're stronger together."

"You're a fool."

"Again, tell me something I don't know. But you can't, can you?" he asked darkly. "You are bound to your secrets, and I've decided I no longer give a damn anymore. Keep your secrets. I don't need them."

"If it's my secrets you want--"

"The answer is still no."

"You're putting yourself and your brother in danger," it said, taking a step forward, and Dean cocked the gun.

"Don't," he said, shaking his head. "Just don't."

The monster stood still for a moment, its eyes growing distant for a second as if consulting a voice only it could hear, and then it nodded. "Very well. I will go, but I leave you with this warning--do what you must. Set up your wards, protect yourself and your brother. The next time we meet, one of us will not survive."

"So, no hard feelings, right?" Dean asked, a certain amount of bitterness in his voice, and the monster laughed.

"This is nothing personal, warrior. This is the way of things between us. Our recent alliance was unnatural. We are enemies and we always will be. It is time you remembered that."

Giving him a smile that sent chills up and down his spine, the monster slid beneath the bed and was gone. Dean rushed to set up wards around the room and waited to make sure it didn't return. Deciding it was gone--hopefully for good--he tossed the gun onto the bedspread and fell next to it onto the mattress with a huge sigh.

Well, that had gone about as well as could be expected. Better, really, since it hadn't involved blood or blown off limbs or anything that usually accompanied his break-ups. Now he just needed to tell Sam everything. . . well, not everything, but at least enough for his brother to forgive him.

He wanted nothing more than to go running to Don's room and pound on the door, begging Sam to listen to him, but Sam had made his position extremely clear, and if he'd been in Sam's place, he wouldn't want to see him either. He'd just have to wait until morning when his brother was convinced they'd both had a good night's sleep and they were both thinking with their right minds and then Sam would believe him when he told his brother just how much he needed him.

But there was no way he'd be able to sleep tonight, not with the undercurrent of nerves running through his body over the monster and his anticipation about finally getting things worked out with Sam. Maybe he could go out and kill something. That might help calm him down--it had always worked in the past.

Throwing on some clothes, he grabbed his gun and his keys and went out to the Impala. "Hey, baby," he smiled, giving her an affectionate pat on the hood. "It's only going to be you and me tonight, just like old times." He opened the door and slid inside, turning the key in the ignition. "Wanna go find some shape-shifters?" He pushed his foot down on the gas, answering himself with the engine's deep growl, and grinned. "That's my girl. Come on, let's go fight some evil."

He pulled out of the motel parking lot and took off towards the reservation, oblivious to the figure of gold watching him from the shadows.

Sam had been asleep for barely five minutes before he sat straight up in the bed, gasping for breath. His heart pounded in his chest as he searched the room with wide eyes for something he knew wasn't there.


It wasn't a dream that woke him up, but a feeling that his brother was in danger, a sense of terror that gnawed at his stomach and turned the blood in his veins to ice. He didn't know what was wrong, he didn't know what had happened, he didn't even know if his brother was still alive. He just knew he had to get to him.

Alarmed by the suddenness of Sam's movements, Don was instantly awake and sitting up beside him. His vigilant dark eyes scoured the room for any immediate danger, his face taut with concern when he ascertained that the disturbance had been caused by Sam. "What is it?"

"Dean. We have to find Dean."

The warrior didn't ask. He just nodded and climbed out of bed, quickly getting dressed while Sam ran to his room to do the same. Walking inside, a chill slithered down his spine, heightening the sensation that something was terribly wrong. He pulled on a pair of jeans and grabbed the bag filled with the few weapons he'd brought in from the car, then went to meet Don in the parking lot. On the way, he tried Dean's cell, but it kept ringing until it went to voice mail.

"Hey, this is Dean Winchester. If you've got problems, I've got answers. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I clean the slime off my hands."

Sam rolled his eyes and waited for the beep. "Dean, call me. Now. I need to know you're okay. Look. . . I'm sorry for hitting you. I just. . . I need you to understand why I did it. I love you, man. As a brother, as--as something more, and I know you know it, and if you don't feel the same, that's fine, I can get used to it, but I won't have you taking advantage of it. Of me. So, call me, okay? We need to talk, and I. . . I can't. . . Dean, if something's happened to you. . ." He took a deep shuddering breath and cut himself off. "Just call."

"No luck?" Don asked as Sam turned off the phone, and he shook his head.

"He didn't answer."

"We'll find him," the warrior said as he looked out over the parking lot. "But first we'll need a car."

Sam snorted. "That's the least of our worries."

Don arched an eyebrow but didn't say anything as Sam scoped out the cars in the parking lot, pausing in front of a cherry red 1965 Mustang. What the hell, Sam thought. If he was going to steal a car to rescue his brother, he'd might as well steal a good one. Glancing around to make sure they weren't being observed, he jimmied the lock open and slid into the driver's seat, unlocking the passenger's side door for Don.

"Get in!" he hissed loudly and the man heaved a resigned sigh before climbing inside. "Oh, like you've never stolen a car before?" Sam asked, handing Don the flashlight he'd pulled from his bag as he leaned down to peer under the console.

"I will admit, in cases of dire urgency, I have been forced to 'borrow' a vehicle."

"Trust me, this is one of those cases," Sam said, begging whatever gods who might be listening to grant him a little luck as he found and crossed two red wires. The Mustang started with a surprisingly subdued purr and he sat up, grinning at his passenger. "Looks like we're in business."

"I'm willing to bet your brother taught you that."

"When I was in third grade," Sam said, glancing behind him before pulling out of the parking spot. He shifted the gear into drive and took the road towards the Pine Ridge Reservation, dead certain that Dean had driven in the same direction. "It was over summer break and Dad was out on a hunt. He'd been gone for about two days and we were bored out of our skulls. It was really hot out and there was no air-conditioning in the apartment, so we were just sitting there, sweltering, taking ice cubes from the freezer and letting them melt all over our skin. The ice never really did any good, so basically we were just sitting there, bored, irritable, and picking at each other because we had nothing better to do."

Next to him, Don said nothing, sensing the younger man's need to keep his thoughts occupied, and Sam was grateful for it. He was telling the story as he'd written it for his freshman Comp class, with a few variances. He'd taken that class in another time, another world, and the story now changed with retelling. This time he told it to keep himself distracted, to let himself feel closer to his brother.

"One day, Dean got it in his head that he wanted ice cream. Of course, we didn't have any ice cream, but he would not let it go. He wanted ice cream, and when Dean wants something, he doesn't stop until he gets it, and he will get it by any means necessary. There was a 7-Eleven a couple miles away but he didn't want to walk that far, so he decided to steal a car. Dad had taught him how only a couple months before and he was anxious to show off his skills.

"There was a Cadillac in the parking lot that belonged to this old guy who lived on the first floor. The car was almost as old as he was, and neither of them went anywhere, so Dean figured the car wouldn't be missed for an hour or so. He got the door open and we climbed in the front seat where he showed me how to hotwire the car.

"I can still hear his whoop of excitement when the engine turned over, and that excitement was contagious. Soon I was grinning and laughing right along with him, not caring about the trouble we would get into if we were caught. It was just enough that my brother had gotten the car to start. He turned up the radio and we drove the Caddy to a street behind the 7-Eleven. Even back then, Dean was smart enough not to park out front where people could see a couple of kids driving a car, and we walked to the store where he bought us two Drumsticks each. We took them back to the car and sat on the hood, kicking our heels against the sides as we tried to beat the sun and finish the cones before the ice cream melted."

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, Dean would freak now if we sat on the hood of the Impala and kicked our feet against the sides, not to mention what he'd do if I dared to drip ice cream on it. He didn't have the respect for cars then that he does now."

He was quiet a moment, lost in his thoughts about Dean's near-obsession with his car and how often he'd teased him about it, until Don nudged him back into the present with a question.

"And did you get caught?"

He shook his head. "Surprisingly enough, we didn't, not by the old man or by the cops or anyone who could get us into real trouble. No one saw us driving the car, no one missed it from the parking lot. It was our own little adventure, and keeping our secret kept us entertained for the rest of the summer. We actually took the car out a couple more times, always to the 7-Eleven and back, until one day Dad caught us returning it to the lot. He didn't say anything to me, but I know he said something to Dean. From then on, Dean wouldn't even let me talk about the car and, though it took me a while, I eventually learned to drop the subject."

"Your father probably didn't want to risk having the two of you taken away from him."

Sam didn't respond immediately, his eyes clouded with the emotions that usually emerged with thoughts of his father, and of what his and Dean's life might have been like without him in it. "Would that have been so bad?" he finally asked, his voice harsh with the disappointment of his childhood, and Don gave him a sharp look.

"Yes. If you had been taken from your father, you would have most likely been separated from your brother, and neither of you would have survived. Your brother needs you, Sam, and you need him."

Sam shook his head. "They could have tried to separate us, but Dean would have found me. He's always promised me we would be together." He just never counted on me not keeping my end of the bargain.

"And you'll be together again. We'll find him, Sam, but when we do, try not to forget what it is we've just said."

Sam glanced over at him, trying to read his eyes, but Don's face was barely visible in the darkness, effectively hiding any insight he might have gained into the man's thoughts. "Don, is there something I need to know?"

The warrior hesitated a second, then nodded. "Yes, but it is not my place to tell you."

"But you know what it is? You know what's going on?"

"Bob told me what I needed to know in order to prepare me for what I might be up against."

"If we're in any kind of danger, why haven't you told me what's going on? And I'm not buying into that whole 'it's not your place' bullshit. If Dean's in trouble, I need to know."

"What kind of trouble he's in depends on him, and the only explanation can come from him. I may know what's going on, but I don't know the details and I don't know the reason for it. Only Dean knows that."

Sam caught the disapproval in Don's voice, which only served to unnerve him even more. "You don't care what the reason is. You think he's wrong."

"Yes," he said, and Sam didn't know whether to welcome his honesty, or to resent it. "Since starting this crusade, I've had to do things I'm not proud of, things I'd rather have not done, but in the end, I did them because it would save others and protect Amanda. There's no excuse for what he's doing."

"You don't know that. You just said you don't know what his reasons are. He may have--"

"Sam," Don interrupted sharply, "he doesn't. There is nothing he can say that will justify what he's done."

"So why not tell me what it is instead of just scaring me like this?"

"Because he's your brother. You know him better than I do. In my eyes, what he is doing is wrong. Your eyes, however, may see him differently. You may be able to understand him in ways I can't. I doubt it, but I must allow for that possibility."

Sam nodded, taking a deep breath as he loosened his grip on the steering wheel. Yes, he thought, that must be it. It's like Dean said--we do things our way, they do things theirs. When we find Dean, he'll explain everything and show Don and Bob that they didn't have anything to worry about. I just need to find Dean, and then we'll prove them wrong.

Because, after all was said and done, Dean was his brother, and while he was capable of performing some undoubtedly stupid acts, there was nothing Dean could do that he wouldn't forgive. Nothing.

He hoped.

Dust and Metallica followed the classic black car down the empty road, the land stretching out in flat planes on either side. This was the best part of his job, Dean thought with a grin, pounding his palm against the steering wheel in time with the music. Speeding recklessly down back roads completely uninhabited by the fuzz, surrounded by nothing but the stars in the sky and the wind in his hair--there was nothing like it.

And he got to do this on a daily basis.

Most people didn't even get to see the stars anymore, the night erased by buildings or city lights, but the only time his stars were blotted out was during a full moon, and then he was usually too busy to notice. He didn't envy anyone their nine-to-five jobs, their normality, their daily habits, because people like that never got to experience moments like these.

Sad pathetic bastards, he grinned.

Now, if he only had Sammy at his side, his life would be perfect. Not that Sam usually cared all that much about the stars. He was either playing with his email or with his laptop or trying to catch up on his sleep or, most likely, staring broodingly out the window without seeing a single thing, but his silent sullen company was better than not having him there at all.

Of course, if everything went the way he hoped, maybe Sam wouldn't be so sullen anymore. Maybe the two of them, together as they were meant to be, would finally be able to lift some of the grief that had been weighing him down since Jessica. It would certainly do a lot to raise his spirits.

And with the suddenness of a slap in the face--or a punch in the nose--Dean realized he meant it. The thought of being with Sam actually made him happy. There would be no more lying to his brother, no more hiding from him, no more hiding from himself--it was like his world had been turned inside out, and he'd discovered this was actually the way it was supposed to be. Just how long had he been struggling with his secret? Weeks, months, years?

Years. The idea startled him.

Maybe that's why Sam's leaving had hit him so hard in the first place. No--no, that couldn't have been. It just wouldn't have been right. Sam was too young, he was too young. It couldn't have started until after Sam had left, maybe not even until after he'd conned his brother into joining him again. It was the only opportunity they'd had to actually start spending time together as adults, to put their childhood in the past and start out fresh as men. Well, maybe not their entire childhood, but enough of it to give them a second chance.

Now he just had to make sure Sam gave him a second chance. He didn't want his brother to know what he'd done, but he didn't want to lie to him. He would just have to convince Sam he was better off not knowing, and that everything was going to be okay from now on.

Smiling, Dean turned his head to look out the window at his stars and nearly ended up depriving himself of any and all future chances. "Son of a bitch!" he shouted, spinning the steering wheel to keep from veering off the road. Once he had the car under control, he slowly turned his head and his heart leapt into his throat.

Running alongside the car, somehow managing to keep perfect pace when he was going eighty miles per hour, was a deer. A very large deer with an impressive set of antlers, and when it saw him looking, it turned its large deer head and smiled.

"FUCK!" Dean slammed on the brakes, the car skidding on the unpaved road as he tried to bring it to a halt. He ended up turning it in a half-circle before sliding off the dirt into the ditch alongside the road. The engine shuddered and died, and he sat there, breathing heavily as he did a quick mental check to make sure he was still in one piece.

"Fuck," he said softly, his heart pounding in his chest as his brain rapidly tried to restore the necessary connections that would get his ass in gear. The deer was a shape-shifter, of that he had no doubt, and where there was one, there were bound to be more. Deer and humans both traveled in herds, and deer-human hybrids were no different. He had to get out of there.

He turned the key in the ignition. Nothing.

"Come on, baby," he said, trying again. She sputtered a little, but no luck.


He did a quick count and realized all he had up front with him was his shotgun, a couple extra rounds, and his knife. This was absolutely the last time he traveled down an empty country road on a hunt without so much as an extra gun, or better yet, extra rounds, sitting next to him. He needed to reach the rest of his artillery.

Dean looked out the windshield, then to his sides, twisting to see behind him.

". . . two, three, four. . . twelve, thirteen, fourteen. . . Fuck." He was surrounded by eight pairs of glowing eyes. There was no way he could reach the trunk and get it unlocked and opened before the skinwalkers got him.

Well, shit.

What was he going to do now? Charge them and hope for the best? Try to negotiate? He'd swear off venison if that's what it took, though they might have to offer something more than his life if they wanted him to quit deer jerky. There was a general store in a small town in western Kansas that had the best deer jerky. Not too tough, just the right amount of spices--that stuff had acted as his breakfast, lunch, and dinner more days than he could count. There was no way he was giving that up without a fight.

Somehow, though, he had a hunch--or a 'haunch' he thought with a snicker--that the jerky would be a deal-breaker. Guess he was just going to have to fight.

Dean took a deep breath and, reaching for his gun, slowly let it out. "All right," he said, opening the door. "Time to shish kebab Bambi."

Swinging his feet onto the ground, he stood up and raised the barrel of the gun in one smooth motion, aiming it at the deer with the largest set of antlers. "You can go ahead and attack," he said, never looking away from the beast, "but I promise I'll take this one out before you finish me off."

There was a stirring amongst the herd but none of them moved any closer. It was as if they were waiting for some cue, and he'd be damned if he was going to push them. This wasn't the time to be rash. At least, he didn't think so. Usually being outnumbered meant patience, but there were times when it meant just dive in and hope for the best.

The deer in charge took a step forward, then lifted itself up until it was standing on its rear legs, a sight Dean never would have believed if he hadn't seen it for himself. He resisted the urge to step back, mainly because he had nowhere to go, and watched as the creature began walking towards him, its forelegs reaching for him. It would have been comical if it weren't for the snarling coming from the deer's mouth or the cruelty in its eyes.

Steeling himself, he held the gun steady. "So Rudolph's gone and learned himself a new trick. Big deal. Take another step, and one of your smelly friends is going to have to lead Santa's sleigh this year."

The deer snorted but lowered its legs so it was once more standing on all four hooves.

"Good deer. You might live to see a petting zoo after all. Now what the fuck do you want?"

"It isn't what they want," said a familiar voice, and the air next to the deer began to shimmer, compacting into a vision of golden beauty. "It's what I want."

The barrel of his gun wavered slightly and suddenly Dean was very, very afraid. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was screaming 'DUH'. He really should have known the monster wasn't going to give up that easily. "What are you doing here? Don't tell me you turned to bestiality when I kicked you out. If I'd known it was going to drive you to this, I might have gone a little easier on you."

The monster under the bed just smiled, its eyes mocking him. "My association with the skinwalkers is one of mere convenience. They've agreed to help me contain you and your fellow warrior, and in exchange for their help, they'll get yours and the warrior's bodies to do with as they please. I hear your various parts are quite useful in some of their rituals. As for myself, I'm here for your brother, and it is you who will bring him to me."

"You're not going anywhere near Sam," Dean snarled, shifting his aim to the monster. He didn't care if he had to die--he was taking that goddamn piece of crap to hell with him. There was no fucking way he was letting that thing near his brother. "You yourself said you can't touch him."

"That was true, at the time, but not anymore," it said with a terrible smile as it held Dean's eyes. "Thanks to you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he demanded even as a feeling of dread began to knot in his stomach.

The monster looked at him, slowly licking his lips, and Dean suddenly knew the answer. "Our little exchanges," it explained for the pure joy of saying the words, having already seen the horrifying realization in Dean's eyes. "Each time I drank from you, I grew a little more powerful. Every time I took a little more of you in me, I grew that much closer to being able to touch your brother. Right now, I can reach out and snap his neck and nothing will be able to stop me."

"That's where you're wrong," Dean growled and fired. The buckshot hit the monster full in the torso, but instead of tearing it to shreds, the pellets bounced right off to land harmlessly in the dirt. It raised its head and laughed, the preternatural sound echoing through the night. And then, as if an eraser had been wiped across its face, all humor vanished from and it focused golden eyes on him, the gaze filled with a deadly triumph.

"You can't kill me Dean," it said. "You made me invincible. You gave me this body, you filled me with your essence, and to thank you, I'm going to drain your brother dry right before your eyes. If you beg, I might even let you say good-bye before I extinguish that final spark of life, but make no mistake, both of you will die. Like I said, warrior, it's nothing personal. It's why I'm here."

"Fuck you," he spat defiantly even as a silent scream of despair filled his head. He'd done this. He'd brought this upon them, made them vulnerable, and now Sam was going to suffer for it.

"I just might," the monster smirked, then gestured to the herd. "Take him."

The deer's leader charged at him and Dean dove beneath its antlers, knocking it in the head with the butt of his gun. The rest of the herd charged and he drew his knife, slashing at every inch of deer hide that came within reach, but there were too many. Hooves kicked at him from all angles, antlers batted him around like a kitten with a toy mouse until his body felt as tender as Sunday dinner's roast. Physically beaten but never broken, he fell to his hands and knees and only then did the deer stop their abuse. One stepped forward to stand in front of him and he slowly raised his head to look up at the deer in charge.

It grinned at him and lifted its leg to kick him across the head. There was a burst of white light behind his eyes and everything started to fade. He fought it as best he could, knowing that if he didn't stay awake, there was nothing he could do to help Sam, but this was one battle he wouldn't win.

The monster knelt down in front of him, brushing its fingers across his lips. "Poor brave warrior. You can fight all you want, but it won't matter. Your brother is as good as dead. You've failed."

He wanted yell in protest, to shout it was a lie, but even if he'd been able to, Dean knew the monster was right. He had failed.

His golden nemesis lifted his arm to its mouth and bit down, its teeth extending down into the marrow of his bones. Dean screamed until he lost consciousness, the monster chuckling as it stole his life away.


Next story in series - The Rescue of Dean.