of evil and mario ii
title: Of Evil and Mario II
author:
dev_earl
warning/notes: mildly Wincest-esque and Dean/Lindsey
summary: Let's say Dean and Sam made it out alive and still hunting. Let's say Angel and Spike made it through the apocalypse and still running Wolfram & Hart--well, Angel is. And let's say they cross paths. Vampires and demon hunters; that would be fun, right? Or awkward.
disclaimer: I wish I own Dean Winchester and Angel and Spike and Sam Winchester and everything in between. But I don't. Boo hoo!
word count: 2560
author's note: crits are welcomed and would be appreciated. there might be an exaggeration of what sam knew about what went on in dean's mind. but i wrote this in a state of drowsiness so forgive me
Of Evil and Mario II
“Now, now,” Lindsey drawled. “Let’s not be hostile.”
“What do you want from me?” Sam cut in, seething.
“I’ve told you, Sammy.”
“Dude,” Dean sighed, sitting cross-legged before Sam. “I just don’t understand what do you evil beings could ever need this dumb psychic power for. I mean, you guys are, like, ancient, right? So what don’t you already know anyway?”
Lindsey blinked, eyes staring at Dean with deep interest. “That is not what I want, Dean. I desire something more…corporeal.”
“We don’t really care what you want, buddy,” Spike cut in. “We just want to decimate you.”
“Could we please focus on releasing my brother first?” Dean snapped, not caring at all to ask how the thing had come to know his name.
Lindsey smirked and waved one hand before himself with a flourish. Sam grunted and realized he was able to move freely again. Dean checked his brother for bruising and cuts but found none.
“That was easy and quick. Are you sure you’re evil?” he retorted.
Angel approached Lindsey with a menacing swagger, regardless of being unarmed. “It doesn’t matter. Take your brother and leave.”
Dean stood up fast, battle axe ready. “You’re talking crazy. I’ve never run away from a fight.”
Lindsey looked amused. “Funny you don’t remember.” His eyes glinted a weird tint of indigo.
And it all came back to Dean, reaffirming his first observation that the guy looked awfully familiar. It was some two and a half years ago when he was on a hunting trip alone somewhere west. It turned out to be a false alarm and he was missing someone so bad-it wasn’t until after that he realized it was his brother-and so he decided to get drunk at a nearby grimy bar.
It had initially been a stupid fight over a measly stool. In a matter of minutes it had turned into a massive war between a drunken guy, a hot-tempered biker, his buffed girlfriend, the bartender and the bouncer. Something sane in Dean told him it was none of his business but the bigger part of him was being the usual daredevil. Plus there was something pleading in the drunk’s gaze. Not to mention he needed a release from the disturbing yearn to see his Sammy. And before he knew it, he was in the middle of the brawl, hitting a six-foot-five bouncer with a chair. He could manage the fight well, having sparring with freakishly tall Sam over the years. In the middle of the fight, he left, probably leaving the guy alone to fight his own fight.
But Dean knew he was okay because the guy came over to his motel room later that night. It was funny how he managed to forget because it was the first time he had ever kissed a guy. Dean didn’t even stop to ask how the hell did the guy knew where he was staying when he was pushed against the wall and kissed. The guy nipped at his lower lip as his hands roamed across the guy’s heavily tattooed chest. Some sort of a tribal design in blue ink. Then, when he felt the guy’s hand at the zipper of his jeans, he did stop. Because it suddenly felt wrong. And not for the obvious reason. But because it was the wrong guy. Dean knew-though he hated to admit it. His right fist hooked the guy just across the jaw and he stormed out of the room, T-shirt half off his body, leaving the drunken guy sprawled on the floor. When he came back, the guy was gone but none of his belongings were. Not even the shiny handgun he hid under his pillow.
“You,” Dean breathed. “You’re a demon?”
Lindsey grinned, knowing that the memory was refreshed. “I think just half.”
Angel, somehow sensing in a weird way what happened, stepped back. “Spike, take the kid home with you. We’ll finish this ourselves.”
“Fine,” Spike scoffed. “What the hell. It’s an easy gig anyway. I’m off.”
Sam looked at Dean, as if for approval before he let himself be hauled up by Spike. Dean gave him an I’m-fine-by-myself-you-go-right-ahead look, eyes intense and brows furrowed. As always, Sam hesitated. Of course, there was no doubt that Dean could handle a demon-possessed zombie or whatever what’s with the sturdy-looking dude in black leather duster with him. But it had been too long since they started hunting together again and Sam felt like it was the best way-doing it together, the two of them. No matter how easy the job. He wanted to be with Dean. And somehow his brother knew. And gave him a sterner look, asking him to go away.
Dean didn’t want Sam to know what the demon really wanted. Sam might have an IQ of 170 but he was awfully slow when it comes to figuring out a desire. As Dean would know.
“Take him to your place,” Angel said. “If he needs medical attention, get him to Wolfram and Hart.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Spike snorted. “Let’s go, kid.”
Sam stole a glance at Dean for a split moment before dashing out of the old apartment with Spike. For a somewhat long moment, neither of those left in the apartment moved.
“I know what you want,” Dean sort of seethed.
Lindsey smirked. “That’s given. I know what you want, that’s what important.”
Angel was quiet, letting the interface happen. Keeping in mind only to act when and if Lindsey acted first. God-he despised thinking in stride with his conscience. He thought after the apocalypse, after the goddamn long gruesome battle he had lost what was left of his humanity to something purely ruthless inside him but it turned out there was still something human inside him. Perhaps a lot more than he could handle.
Dean knew demons could read mind. And not a moment he thought of that he caught on to what it was implying. And his blood ran cold.
“You shouldn’t have let your friend took my brother away,” Dean said softly with a sliver of lethal without even taking his eyes off Lindsey.
Angel frowned. “What do you…oh.” He didn’t lived as long as he did and still be clueless of things-weirder things in life. Not so much weird as mildly deviated, he reasoned with himself. He didn’t know why.
“I’ll be seeing you,” Lindsey grinned.
He was gone before they even had time to blink. Angel was the first to move, his pace quick but still humanly so Dean could catch up. And he did.
///
“How did you guys meet up with Dean?”
Spike sighed as he turned the key to his apartment. There was nothing of much value except for his television and newly purchased PlayStation but he was still not keen on some thug breaking into his place. He wasn’t expecting the guy to be a huge talker so he let Sam’s question hung for a while.
“I was out for a hunt and I bumped into your brother in a dark alley.”
“So you’re a hunter? Like us?”
Spike turned around and had to tilt his head for a bit to look Sam in the eyes. “Not by a long shot.”
“Huh. So what are you guys?” Sam pressed on, settling onto the old couch.
Spike returned to the living room from the kitchen, two bottles of beer in his hands. “What?” he asked back irritably, handing Sam one of the cold bottles.
Sam twisted the cap open and took a gulp, wincing at the sudden cold in his throat. “Your hand was freaking arctic when you pulled me up. My best guess would be a vampire. Not a mirror in sight,” he gestured around the room.
“So it’s true then?” Spike grinned. “You are a smartass college boy.”
Sam raised an eyebrow.
Spike smiled and took a seat next to him, stretching his legs before him. “Your brother mumbled a lot about that when we were looking for you out there.”
The look Sam conveyed was somewhat a cross between hurt and amusement. “I thought he’d think of more than that about me. After what we’ve went through…”
“You seem to be so tight-knit for brothers,” Spike slipped in a tad hint of taunt in his tone.
Sam’s gaze was far-off, unfocused. “I guess you could say that.”
Spike leant back against the couch, his shoulder bumping into Sam’s a little. “And you can’t figure out what that ponce back there want from you?”
A look of terror crossed Sam’s face.
///
“Don’t worry so much. I’m sure Spike could handle Lindsey if he shows up where they are.”
“Well,” Dean groaned, trudging madly across the shallow water of the sewer, “I’m not as certain as you are. Besides, he’s a different…being now, isn’t he? How sure are you that Spike could handle a hell-bound demon?”
“I know this demon,” Angel said, his voice low. “She’s fairly swift but nothing too strong.”
“She?” Dean frowned in the dark. “Is that why he wanted…”
Angel turned around, watching Dean as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “He wasn’t possessed yet when you met him.”
Dean’s eyes widened. “So you mean this dude really did want…I mean…he…”
Angel shifted his gaze, sensing a movement not far ahead. “Yes.”
Dean heard it too. It was faint but he was able to catch it. “Is it him?”
“No,” Angel whispered, moving forward with controlled caution. “It’s something else.”
A turn at the bend of the sewer and there she was.
“Hello, Angel,” she drawled, her voice as husky as always.
Angel was blocking his view but Dean knew from the sound of her voice that she was easy on the eyes. It was quite an understatement. Her red lips curling up in an enticing smile, she had her arms crossed across her chest, dressed in a white tank top and black leather pants.
Dean heard the choking bliss in Angel’s voice. “Faith.”
///
Spike felt like he was faced with a trivia machine but somehow he played along.
“So what are you guys? Like, partners?”
Sam was convinced after a thorough assuring by Spike that Angel could cover Dean’s back should anything happen. Spike hated regret but he let it bite, if it means the guy would shut up with the questions already and be back at worrying about his brother being gobbled up alive or worse by a homosexual demon-possessed undead.
“If you mean hunting partners,” Spike slurred, slumping on his seat, an empty beer bottle in his hand, “no. If you mean sexual partners…” he paused for effect. “Hell, no.”
“But I thought vampires are like…orgy creatures or something. I bet you guys had had some back in your days,” Sam teased, ripping the label off the bottle idly.
“That my friend,” Spike replied, sitting up and placing the bottle on the coffee table before him, “is for me to know and for you to never find out.”
“Fine,” Sam huffed.
“Just like I wouldn’t ask you about how it must feel to be head over heels in love with your own brother,” Spike said, a grin splitting his feature.
Sam kept quiet, avoiding Spike’s taunting gaze.
“I mean, it’s pretty easy to understand. Having being around him that much, seeing lots of skin and sinewy muscles, dripping wet as he walks out of showers and touching warm skin on occasions, knowing very well how he likes to be treated by sexual partners and noticing how he could never sit with his legs set close let alone crossed…”
“Alright, alright!” Sam groaned. “I’ll stop asking you questions about you and Angel!”
Spike grinned insolently. “Oh. I wasn’t complaining. I could tell you everything you want to know except as compared to what you and Dean have, ours seemed so much less complicated. I mean, he’s only my grandsire-sort of, but it’s a long story. And we’ve only known each other for two hundred years. Granted, we’ve been at each other’s throats ever since I found him banging my bloody soul mate. And then he went and got himself a soul which let’s face it, is a punch in the gut…”
“Let’s do something else!” Sam cut in impatiently. “Do you have anything in mind?”
Spike thought he’d never asked. It’s been too long since he had a playmate. It was about time. Bending down, he collected the controllers he had stashed under the couch and handed one to Sam, full on beam on his face.
He had never sounded so giddy. “Mario?”
///
“I mean, it wasn’t just about giving me the last bowl-worth of Lucky Charms or the last glass of milk or last piece of cookie or sticking up for me when I was having a fight with dad even though he was dead scared of the man…”
Spike groaned. “Respected, he respected the man. Not scared of him.”
“How did you know that?” Sam frowned.
“I just know, alright?” Spike rolled his eyes, punching the buttons on the game controller avidly.
“Whatever. It’s just different now, you know? The cold, almost emotionless way he shot the demon-possessed guy to save me…it sealed the deal. It was different when he was set on exorcising Meg to save dad because I know he loved him the…normal way. The things he would do for me…the mere notion of it scares even me sometimes. But then again, I would do the same for him.”
The sound of flails came from the television and Spike howled, tossing the controller in his hand at the screen.
“When did this game playing session turn into a fluffy girl talk session anyway?” It wasn’t that-it was the way Sam defeated him, four times, without even paying attention to the screen.
Sam leaned back on the couch, placing the controller on his lap and running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know how it feels like. You lived for, what, two hundred years and counting but you’d never get to feel this way.”
Spike eyed Sam, sighing. “I know. But sometimes, at least after hearing you rambling on about it for a couple of hours, I wish I could have the chance to feel that way. I really do.”
Sam was closing his eyes, at the brink of sleep. “What about that Angel guy?”
“That’s different. He’s my grandsire. Technically my granddad. Except we’re not even related by blood. Well, we do. Sort of. I mean…it’s complicated,” Spike growled under his breath.
An eyebrow shot up, eyes still shut. “Hah!” Sam grinned drowsily. “You said what you guys have is much simpler than Dean and I.”
Spike’s eyelids fluttered close, too tired to argue. “Whatever,” he yawned.
Slumber easily took over, Sam’s mind playing images of Dean. Of a young Dean, a teenaged Dean, of Dean when they were hunting and searching for dad, of Dean after the accident, after the death, trying to look tough for him-all intermittent. But every one of the images is of him smiling, the way Sam wanted to know him, to remember him. The way Sam wanted Dean to be, all the time. Smiling.
Lindsey smiled, watching as the two dozed off on the couch, the sound of Mario Bros. wafting in the background.
(of evil and mario i)