"Beloved Sin," Rated R, SPN/Miracles, Dean/Paul, Ruby/Mr Friendly
Fandoms: Supernatural/Miracles
Pairings Dean/Paul, Ruby/Mr. Friendly
Art Post: Here, with art by caelith
Rating: Rated R
Word Count: 17,075
Summary: The Relic must die.
Warnings: Violence, some sexual content (het and slash), language
Part 2, continued from Part 1
Dimly aware of what was going on around him, Dean swung his left arm, the one that hadn't been bitten, over the side of the fountain and pulled as much of his body as he could manage up onto the ledge and out of the water. He was lucky that it was a shallow fountain, or he didn't think he would have been able to do that. Already, he was panting and his right shoulder was burning so bad that he couldn't concentrate, couldn't think, couldn't think.
The dog he had shot floated up next to him. It was dead. At least there was that. Now where was his gun? Dean couldn't move as quickly as he wanted, not quickly at all, and every move made his bitten shoulder scream. But he could hear the other dogs barking and throwing themselves against something that rattled loudly at every pounce; it could be the double doors leading into the records room. Dean hoped Paul was safe on the other side of those doors.
He had to get up there and shoot them all. Wherever those spectral dogs had come from, they could be killed with regular bullets. But when Dean tried to drag himself out of the fountain, his shoulder gave him such a strong bolt of pain that he passed out; for how long, he couldn't have known.
Paul watched the plastic arm begin to buckle in toward him and prayed, prayed, prayed. He could see the white teeth of the shrieking dogs through the ever-growing crack between the doors, saw their red spittle flying and dripping all over the floor. A white line across the orange bar threatened to grow wider and split with every pounce of the dogs against the doors. He was about to call Sam back when he heard the first gunshot.
The sound made Dean jerk and open his eyes to semi-conscious slits. He saw his brother run by and sprint up the stairs, heard a woman's voice yell, "I'll take the other side!" and then her hurried footsteps. Evie? Was that Evie? Dean slipped back down into unconsciousness to the sounds of the dogs barking and Sam and Evie opening fire.
The dogs stopped jumping against the doors. Paul saw them turning around before the doors slammed closed, blocking his view. There were many gunshots before the barking stopped, and an eerie silence fell over the building.
"Paul?" Evie called.
He sighed in relief. Paul yanked the bar out of the way and threw the doors open, going right into Evie's waiting arms. They hugged briefly.
"I'm glad you're okay," she said.
The mezzanine was littered with the bodies of dogs, four in all. Paul took only a moment to look at them before he was stepping over their prone forms, headed for the stairs. "Dean!"
Sam was right next to him on the way down to the first floor.
Evie stayed up on the mezzanine, surveying the area in case there were more of the dogs.
Only Dean's head and left arm were up on the ledge; the rest of him was still in the fountain. Sam and Paul knelt next to him. "Dean? He's out cold." They both looked at the black mess floating in the water nearby. "Was that one of the dogs?"
"Get him to your car! Take him to Paul's!" Evie called over the railing. "You can't take him to a regular hospital; they won't know what to do for him."
"How do you know that?" Sam yelled back.
"I called Alva on the way over here!" she replied. "He'll meet you at Paul's apartment."
"What about you?"
"One of my friends from the force is going to meet me here. We'll clean up the situation. Just go, now!"
As Sam and Paul were dragging Dean out of the fountain, Sam called up to her, "The car I came here in isn't exactly mine."
"Leave it. Take Dean's car back. We'll sort it all out."
Sam bore most of his brother's weight, but Paul tried to help on their way out of the building. Dean hung there limply in their arms. Just before they ducked out the window, Sam said, "Thank you, Evie!" and they were gone.
Evie looked down at the dogs. It was just as Alva had said - their bodies were beginning to dissolve into some sort of sludge, like a lumpy mix. She stood watch over them until her friend, and Alva, would arrive.
*****
Once they'd gotten Dean in the backseat of the Impala, Sam drove it back to Paul's building while Paul drove the car he'd borrowed from Mrs. Bongiovi back too. They each threw one of Dean's arms over their shoulders and carried him up to the apartment.
Mrs. Bongiovi came into the hall when they reached Paul's door. "Paul, is that you?"
"Yes, Mrs. Bongiovi," he whispered. It was late; many people in the building were sleeping. "Here are your keys. Thank you."
"Is your friend okay?"
They'd wrapped a blanket around Dean's neck so no one would see the blood staining his upper sleeve. "He's been drinking," Sam offered.
"Uh oh. What a nice friend you are to go get him." She grinned at Sam. "Are you another friend?"
They hadn't met up until this point. "I'm Dean's brother, Sam," he said, smiling back.
"Oh, you're both such big boys," Mrs. Bongiovi commented, laughing. She noticed Dean was wet. "Is it raining?"
Paul shook his head. "No... you know that dancing fountain in front of the Bellmont Hotel?"
"Yes." She began to chuckle again. "Was he playing in it?"
Both Paul and Sam nodded, grinning wider. "We'd better get him inside and change his clothes."
"Okay!" Still laughing, Mrs. Bongiovi turned to go back in her apartment.
Dean's head came up. Slurring, he said, "Hey, you got any lasagna?"
She tittered in response. "You boys," Mrs. Bongiovi said, and closed her door, shaking her head in amusement.
The two men carried Dean inside. On their way to Paul's bedroom, Sam said, "I'm gonna hold him up and you cover the bed with towels or a blanket, okay?"
"I've got a good fleece blanket that would work," Paul replied. He retrieved it, pulled the covers back, and lined the bed with the blanket.
"Okay, while I hold him up, you get him undressed." Just to make it seem like he didn't know things he wasn't supposed to know, Sam added, "That won't make you uncomfortable, will it?"
"No, I'm okay. I've taken care of invalids before." Paul unbuttoned Dean's pants.
"Mm not'n invalid," Dean mumbled.
"Just relax, Dean. One of the dogs bit you," Sam explained, in case Dean didn't remember.
"Was there when it happened, Sammy," he said back, and coughed so hard his entire body shook with the rattles in his chest.
After a minute, they had Dean stripped down to his wet underwear. They both cringed at the sight of his bitten shoulder. It wasn't just the bloody, torn teethmarks, but the deep redness and the way they weeped with yellow pus. They didn't need Alva there to tell them that the spectral dogs had some sort of poison in their saliva. "Let's get fresh underwear on 'im and get him into bed. He's burning up," Sam said.
For a brief moment after Paul saw Dean naked, he lamented the loss of their night of passion in the back of Dean's car. That had sounded like a lot of fun. The moment had been lost to those dogs, those damn dogs. Where had they come from?
Once they had the dry underwear on Dean, they carefully put him into bed and covered him up. Dean felt the fleece blanket under him with his fingers. "Fuzzy Paul," he said, grinning.
Sam and Paul looked at each other awkwardly. "Uh, maybe you better get a wet rag."
Paul was grateful for a reason to leave the room.
On his way back, Paul heard someone knock lightly at his door. He knew it had to be Alva even before he let him in. "Evie told me Mr. Winchester was bitten by a spectral dog," he said.
Paul looked at the bag in Alva's hand. "Yeah. Come in."
They both went into the bedroom. "Hi Mr. Keel," Sam said, and took the wet rag.
"Good evening, Samuel." Alva watched as Sam tried to clean up the wound, and how it made Dean wince. He looked at the red rings forming under Dean's eyes, how he was shaking, and the troubling appearance of the bitemarks. "What did the dogs look like?" he asked Paul.
Paul described everything about the dogs, down to their glowing green eyes. "They had a strange bark too, like a man screaming."
"Ahh. Shrikers," Alva said. "They're a familiar legend from back home. A type of spectral dog from Great Britain." Putting his bag down, he began to pull out several Ziplocs full of herbs. "Make a poultice from this, this, and this. Mix them with petroleum jelly and put the poultice on the wounds. Be careful not to touch the pus directly; if it gets into an open cut, you'll be infected too."
"The dogs have a poison in their saliva, don't they, Mr. Keel?" Sam asked. "This wound doesn't look good."
"Yes, they do. Evie and I have gathered what we need from the dog's bodies to make an antidote. It will take some time, though, as the matter needs to be mixed with a base to keep it from dissolving."
"The dog's dissolve?" Sam and Paul looked at each other. "That's what we saw in the fountain. The sludge."
"As soon as they're dead, their bodies begin to break down immediately. The full process takes two hours. Even the sludge will be gone. Evie and I have already lost thirty minutes, so I must go now." Alva leaned over Sam, who had pulled a chair up next to the bed. "Be sure to press the poultice down against the wound and try to draw out as much of the pus as you can. He's not going to like it, but it will keep him alive until we can get the antidote made."
"Peachy," Dean grumbled.
Alva spoke directly to him now. "Don't give Paul and Samuel any trouble, alright? The poison is raising your body temperature. You may not always know what's going on, but they're here to help you. Try to remember that, and stay in bed."
"I'll try," Dean said. "Thank you."
"Alright. I'll call you," he said to Paul, and left the apartment.
It took Paul and Sam almost twenty minutes to grind the herbs to a powder and prepare the poultice. Alva was right when he said Dean wasn't going to like his treatment. The first time Sam pressed the rag coated in the homemade medication down on his wound, he hissed through his teeth, eyes tightly shut. Dean felt Paul sit on the other side of the bed and take his hand. He couldn't help but squeeze that hand until Paul hissed in pain too. Everyone was glad when it was over.
Sam tossed the rag into a bucket they'd brought in for this purpose. "I'm glad you had these rubber gloves," he remarked of the yellow gloves for washing dishes, gloves he intended to wear each time he had to apply the poultice. "That rag is soaked with pus."
"Better on the rag than in Dean." Paul looked at the wound. "It's such a fast-acting infection. When do you think we should do that again?"
"I'd say... every twenty minutes should be good."
"Great," complained Dean, and coughed some more. "Is there any lasagna left?"
Paul felt his forehead. "He is absolutely burning up. Do you think it would be safe to give him some Tylenol?"
"I really don't know."
"I better call Keel and find out." Getting up, Paul grabbed his cell phone and left the room.
Paul had brought in a bunch of rags for the treatments; Sam took one into the bathroom and wet it. When he got back, Dean seemed only semi-conscious, with glassy eyes. Sam dabbed the damp rag over his face to mop up the sweat, then folded it and placed it across Dean's forehead.
"Am I gonna die?" Dean asked, groggy, half-whispered.
"No. No, of course not. They're making you an antidote. You'll be fine."
"In case I die, I think we should tell Sammy the truth about us."
Furrowing his brow, Sam said, "Dean? What?"
"It's something he should know if I die. He's my little brother. I don't like having to lie to him."
Sam realized that Dean was delirious from fever, and didn't realize who he was talking to. Sam and Paul did have almost the same hair color. He got choked up from his brother's words. "You're not going to die."
"I just love him, is all. I don't know what he'll think if he knows about us. He might leave me," Dean said in a weak little voice. "I'm afraid he'll leave me."
A heavy lump settled into Sam's throat. "Sam isn't going to leave you," he declared. "He loves you too."
"You've got to tell him if I die, okay?" Dean said. "Tell him I was bi, but only for certain guys. Tell 'im I was in love with you. Okay? Tell him I loved you, Paul."
Sam choked back tears. He realized in that moment that they would have this conversation for real at some point, he just didn't know when. Dean did intend to tell him one day. "Okay, I'll tell him, Dean," Sam said, adjusting his covers. The thing that touched him just as much as this realization was the fact that Dean had just admitted that he was in love with Paul Callan. His brother was in love with another man. Dean being in love with anyone was a big deal, but another man... no wonder it was so tough for him to tell Sam the truth.
Dean relaxed into the pillow. "Okay. You'll tell him. I'm glad." His eyes closed, and he seemed to fall asleep.
Sam had to get up from the chair and retreat to the bathroom to get control of his emotions. He didn't want to cry in front of Paul.
When he came out, Paul was off the phone. "It isn't a good idea to give Dean any pills," he reported, "but Keel said we could give him some ginger ale."
"Ginger ale?"
"His stomach should tolerate it well, and it'll keep him hydrated."
"Okay. You don't have any, do you?"
Paul shook his head.
Sam wanted an excuse to get some air anyway. "I'll go find an all-night grocery store and get some. I shouldn't be long."
Nodding again, Paul let him out, then went back to Dean's side.
Soon, it had been twenty minutes since the last application of the poultice. Paul didn't want to do this. He didn't want to hurt Dean again. But it had to be done. "Dean?" Paul shook him lightly. "We've got to apply the poultice."
"Oh, no, no, no," Dean nearly whispered, licking his dry lips. "Can I have some water?"
"Yeah." He poured some water from a plastic pitcher beside the bed into a cup, brought it to Dean's lips, and lifted his head with his other hand. Dean took a little water before lying back again. "There."
Dean smacked his lips. "Thanks, Sammy."
"No, he went to get you some ginger ale."
As Paul smeared the medicinal ointment onto another rag, Dean just stared at him in confusion, unable to focus his eyes on the man's face. "Huh?"
"I said we're getting you some ginger ale. It will help keep your stomach settled." Paul folded the rag into fourths. "Okay, here we go."
"No, not again." He was too weak to keep him from doing it. After putting on the gloves, Paul pressed the rag down on Dean's wounds. With a weak cry of pain, Dean grasped Paul's wrist and squeezed it as he drew out as much pus as he could. They both wound up wincing in pain.
Eventually, Paul threw the rag into the bucket and removed the gloves, glad to be done with that for the time being. "I wish we didn't have to do this," he said to himself.
"Me too," Dean added.
"I really don't like having to hurt you."
"It's okay, you can't help it. I can take it, really." Smacking his lips like he was thirsty again, Dean continued talking. "I gotta tell you something. In case I die, I want you to know something I've been keeping from you."
Paul shook his head. "You're not going to die, Dean. We can talk about it later."
"No, I gotta tell you now. Just in case, I gotta tell you."
"Alright. If it's that important to you, what is it?"
"I'm bisexual, Sammy," Dean said. "Paul and I are involved."
Paul looked confused in reaction. "Dean, I'm not - "
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you a long time ago, but I was afraid you'd be freaked out by it. It's not easy to know your brother likes guys too."
"Dean..."
Dean wouldn't let him get a word in. "You're my kid brother and I love you. Please don't leave me. Please understand. I'm in love with him, Sammy. I'm in love with Paul Callan."
As Paul realized what Dean was saying, he took his hand and held it, stroking the back of it against his cheek. "Oh, Dean..." Would he even remember this conversation later? Paul would say it anyway. The fact that Dean might not even remember made it easier for him to voice how he really felt. "I love you too."
A bewildered look on his face, Dean yanked his hand back. "Don't be a smartass, Sam. This is important."
Paul had to chuckle at that. "Dean, it's me."
Dean stared at him for a long time before speaking again. "Oh, hi Paul. When did you get here?"
Paul, rolling his eyes, decided it was easier to lie at that moment. "Just now. Sam went to get you some ginger ale."
"I'd rather have a beer."
"Sorry, not right now."
With a frustrated groan, Dean settled back into the pillow. "Goddamn dogs." He looked at Paul again, eyes moving up and down his body. "You're still all fuzzy."
It was true that Paul still had the sweater on over a collared shirt. "Yeah."
"I wanna feel how soft you are."
Indulging him, Paul leaned over where Dean could reach him. Dean weakly raised one hand and caressed Paul's side, running the sweater through his fingers. He chuckled suggestively to himself. "Want yooooou," Dean crooned.
Paul shook his head with a snicker. "Once we get through this, you can have me."
"Mmmm." Dean grinned.
Leaning over further, Paul gave him a little kiss. "I'm going to get you some more water." He didn't like how hot Dean's lips felt. Once he'd left the room, Paul called Keel again to see how much longer it would be before they had the antidote ready.
Paul almost dropped the full pitcher when he returned to the bedroom, Dean had startled him that badly. He was out of bed and standing in the middle of the room, swaying on his feet, a dangerous look upon his red, overheated face. Dean looked at him and growled. "You're back," he said. At some point, Dean had removed his underwear - he was totally nude.
Paul had to walk closer to him to put the pitcher on the nightstand; Dean leaned in, trying to kiss him. "Get back in bed," he commanded, putting his hands on Dean's arms.
Dean stumbled in place. "Gimme a kiss," he said.
"Not until you get back in bed."
"Noooooo." Dean took hold of the back of Paul's neck. "Come 'ere."
To try to placate him, Paul allowed Dean to pull him in for a good, long kiss. "There. Get back in bed."
"Gimme another one."
Paul rolled his eyes. "Dean!" He looked down and realized that the other man had a decently-sized erection. "Oh, lord."
Dean began to chuckle as he held Paul by the waist. "Fuzzy-wuzzy," he cooed. He went in for another kiss.
Concerned for his health, Paul desperately wanted to find a way to convince Dean to get back into bed, but demands for him to do so didn't seem to be working. He allowed Dean to kiss him again, still trying to placate him. Between kisses, Paul said, "Dean, your skin is extremely hot. Please get back into bed."
"Only if you get in there with me."
"Your brother could be back any minute."
"Don't care." Dean kissed him as he backed him toward the wall.
"Yes you do."
Going in to kiss Paul's neck, Dean's breath was hot in his ear. "Damn dogs ruined everything. I wanted to do this to you in the backseat of my car."
"There's plenty of time for that later." It surprised him, how much strength Dean had at that moment. He still pushed him away. "Back into bed now. Come on."
Dean suddenly growled, took hold of Paul's wrists, and slammed him back against the wall with his arms pinned up over his head. Paul gasped in surprise. Once Dean had done it, all of his strength left him, and he swayed dangerously on his feet, his grip weakening. He cringed at the pain in his shoulder. Paul watched as he opened and shut his eyes several times.
"Come on... back into bed," he said gently.
Dean simply collapsed against him with a grunt.
Paul helped him back to bed and put the covers over him. "Plenty of time for that later," he repeated.
Looking up at him with a pitiful look on his face, Dean begged, "Will you touch me? Please? I'm so turned on for you. Please, just a little."
Paul had to laugh. He turned the covers back a bit. "As long as you stay in bed, I'll touch you." With Dean's sexual appetite, it didn't seem odd at all to be doing this; it was just a part of who Dean was. It was certainly better than him wandering around the room, manhandling Paul until he passed out on the floor.
Dean grinned and hummed, "Mmmmmmnnnuuuh," his eyes closed.
Slipping his hand under the covers, Paul reached down and fondled Dean's hardness lovingly, stroking down his balls too. He did it slow, keeping an ear out for the opening of the front door and Sam's return. Dean's eyes did not open. He moaned quietly several times, sometimes licking his lips, until he stopped responding altogether.
"Dean?" Paul caressed his lover's cock a little more, but it began to grow flaccid in his hand. Dean had fallen asleep again. He took his hand out, fixed the covers around him, and gave him one last kiss before sitting back to watch over Dean. "I love you too," Paul whispered to him. The more he said it, the more comfortable the words became. "God, please don't let him die."
*****
Evie took a step back when the dark red mixture in the beaker before her started to bubble. "You've had this chemistry set how long?" she asked.
Letting out a brief chuckle, Alva stirred the concoction with a yellowed wand made of glass. "Over thirty years," he replied, smiling fondly. The mixture in the 250 milileter beaker slowly rose toward the rim. "Don't worry, it hasn't failed me before, it will serve its purpose now." He turned the heat on the bunsen burner up just a touch. "Alright, you'll want your goggles on for this."
Evie hurriedly put the clear goggles on over her eyes. "If I was smart, I would have just kept them on like you. Who knows when this ancient thing could go off."
Chuckling again, he responded, "My parents gave me the set for my birthday when I was a child."
"Bet you never thought you'd be using it to mix up a shriker antidote."
Alva thought it over. "Actually, I've used the set for stranger chemistry projects."
"Bathtub gin?" she teased.
He paused longer than he should have before answering. "Not quite."
"Alva..." Evie shook her head. "I knew there was a teenage miscreant in there somewhere."
A sly little grin was his only reply on the subject. "Get ready. I'm adding the catalyst."
"Right. The blue stuff."
As Alva began to pour the liquid into the beaker, Evie held up the bucket and stiff-bristled brush he'd instructed her to have ready. Maroon tendrils instantly began to rise up out of the glass and over the wide rim as the liquid sizzled and boiled. They were like the tentacles of an octopus, or maybe slithering snakes, with the consistency of a thick marshmallow foam. The snakes grew up and down toward the conference table, which Alva had covered with a rubber mat. The tendrils smoked as the air hit them and cooled them down.
"Now," he said.
Evie held the bucket under a grouping of the snakes and touched them with the brush. The tendrils shattered like dry leaves, falling into the bucket. She went around with the hard bristles and destroyed every one of the dark red tentacles, trying to get them before they reached the table. A tendril split into two like a double-headed snake; Evie poked at one and watched its disintegration spread to the other. Eventually, the chemical process calmed back, and they were left with a beaker half-full of black, boiling liquid.
"Alright, get the funnel and the bottle."
Evie retrieved a 20-ounce bottle with five ounces of clear liquid already in it. "What is this anyway?"
"Jagermeister."
She stared at him in disbelief as he put the funnel in the mouth of the bottle and began to pour the shriker potion into it, filling it up the rest of the way. "You're making the antidote out of Jagermeister?"
"Alcohol helps complete the chemical process. Besides..." Alva eyed her with a merry grin. "...Mr. Winchester seems like a Jagermeister fan, wouldn't you say?"
A smile slowly tugged at the corners of Evie's mouth. "Yeah, he does."
Still grinning, Alva capped the bottle and shook it up vigorously. "It says right there on its bottle, it's for hunters." He winked. "Now, let's wash these beakers out as quickly as we can and be on our way."
By the time they got to Paul's, Dean was semi-conscious and even more delirious. Both Sam and Paul looked sick with worry, fidgety and pale. "His temperature's way up," Paul said at the door. "And he won't drink any of the ginger ale."
"It's alright. We've got the antidote." Alva held up the bottle.
Dean noticed them as they entered the bedroom. His feverish eyes shined like glass. "Evie!" he cried gleefully, and threw back the covers so she could see he was naked. Dean raised his arms in triumph. "It's St. Patrick's Day!"
"Oh, Dean, good lord!" Sam cried, and leaned over his sick brother to grab the covers.
Evie cocked an eyebrow at him, folding her arms. She knew his behavior was due to him being sick, and tried not to react. "St. Patrick's Day?"
"You were a cop!" When Sam covered him back up, Dean simply tossed the sheet off again. Paul put a hand over his face and shook his head. "Does this bring back any memories? Naked guy on St. Patrick's Day!"
"Oh, God, does it ever." Evie waited for Sam to cover Dean up again and stuff the edge of the sheet under the mattress for good measure. She leaned over and took hold of Dean's chin. "All you need is a funny little green hat on your head."
Dean snickered with glee.
"Do you know what we used to do with St. Patty's Day drunks who ran around in the streets naked? We'd hogtie 'em and throw 'em in the back of the police car."
Dean pouted. "That's no fun."
Patting his head, she replied, "It was for us." Then she looked back at Alva. "They're right, he's burning up worse than ever."
Dean began to sing, "I'm hot-blooded, check it and see. I got a fever of a hundred and three..."
Evie and Alva both glared at Paul as if to say, He's your friend. To defend himself, Paul shrugged and said, "The fever's made him delirious."
"We'll get him fixed up." Alva walked over to the side of the bed and showed Dean the bottle. "Mr. Winchester, now that I've seen you at your worst, I think I'll be comfortable calling you Dean from now on."
Dean was kicking at the covers, pouting like a little boy. "It's too hot for blankets. Sammy, you tucked 'em in too tight."
Snapping his fingers in front of Dean's eyes, Alva got his already half-focused attention. "This is for you to drink. It's the antidote. It will save your life."
Dean grinned at him goofily. "You got pretty-colored eyes."
"My, but you are far gone, aren't you?" Alva chuckled. "Samuel, help me?"
"Oh, sure." Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam supported Dean's shoulders, raising him up a little so he could drink. In the background, Paul watched, worried, a hand over his mouth.
Dean began to smack his lips like he was thirsty. "Gimme." He reached out with his good arm, opening and closing his hand.
Opening the bottle, Alva brought it to Dean's mouth. "Careful. Don't spill any, our supply is limited."
Sam propped Dean against him so his hip formed a wedge of support under Dean's hurt shoulder. He watched his brother closely, ready for any protest as Dean took his first few experimental sips.
The sips quickly turned to gulps. Dean seemed to like the taste, taking several greedy swallows of the potion. "Mm. That Jagermeister?" He tried to take hold of the bottle.
"No, no," Sam scolded, and put his fingers over Dean's. He did not make Dean let go, but helped Alva keep the bottle steady as Dean drank down half its volume without taking a breath.
When he did finally take the bottle out of his mouth, Dean sighed, "Ahhhh!" in satisfaction, licking and smacking his lips. "Not bad."
Paul couldn't help but smile, in amusement and relief. Dean was kind of cute when he was this helpless, like a sick little boy.
"Evie, bring me one of those rags." Alva waited for her to bring him a clean rag, and then tipped the bottle into it a couple of times to wet it down a bit. "This will sting. Grin and bear it, okay Dean?"
"'Kay."
Alva dabbed at his bitten shoulder with the rag, trying to get some of the antidote into his wounds. Dean hissed out between his teeth. "Owie owie owie," he muttered. Sam patted his good shoulder. As an afterthought, Dean offered, "You're a good doctor."
With a wistful smile, Alva said, "I was pre-med at Cambridge."
He let Dean have a few more swigs of the potion before taking it away. "Let's wrap the wound with gauze and tape it up well. You should sleep, Dean. You'll feel better in a few hours."
They all sat on Paul's bed and went to work with the First Aid kit, Evie and Paul handing supplies to Alva and Sam as they bandaged Dean's shoulder. Paul let Dean squeeze his hand while Alva took a few stitches here and there to close any tears in his skin. Dean fell asleep before they could finish the job. He moaned and shifted a little whenever someone brushed his shoulder too hard, but otherwise snored lightly against his brother's side.
"Lay him down, gently," Alva instructed. "I better stay the night."
"Shouldn't he have antibiotics or something?" Evie suggested.
"Most definitely. Hmmmm..." Alva suddenly snapped his fingers, remembering an old friend he hadn't seen in a while. "Dr. Creed!"
"The guy who killed me?" Paul asked.
Sam stared at him in disbelief.
"Yes."
Now Sam looked at Alva in disbelief.
"He can write prescriptions." Taking out his cell phone, Alva dialed the doctor's number.
Sam, looking from Paul to Evie, said, "Do I even want to know?"
"Long story," Evie replied. "Another time."
Sam just nodded in understanding.
"Well, I better get back to my friend at the records building." Standing up, she continued, "We came up with a really good story for the police report, but I should still back him up until the whole thing's done."
"What'd you make up for the police report?"
Clearing her throat, Evie related the whole made-up story. "Paul and Dean were out getting something at the all-night store when they saw a bunch of vicious dogs chasing a smaller dog around the records building. They stopped to try to save the puppy, but had to seek refuge when the dogs turned on them, and one of the windows in the building was slightly ajar. Unfortunately, this window got stuck and wouldn't close, and the dogs chased them inside. Dean was bitten, Paul barracaded himself in one of the rooms and called me for help. I contacted one of my friends on the force, Officer Burkholter, and we proceeded down to the building where we shot all of the vicious dogs not only to protect innocent civilians, but ourselves. Turns out the dogs were rabid and their bodies had to be removed from the premises immediately and destroyed to protect the health of the public."
"So I wasn't even there," Sam said, trying to fall in line with her story.
"No, of course you weren't," Evie agreed. "You are the animal control officer who collected and disposed of the dogs if the sargeant calls you for a follow-up."
Paul had to snicker.
An amused grin spread across Sam's face. "It is a good story. We might just get away with it." They smiled at each other for a moment; when Evie turned to go, he added, "Evie? Thank you for helping us smooth all this over. It's always easier when we don't have to deal with the cops directly on stuff like this."
"I know. Believe me, I know." She sighed. "I'm grateful to have a few friends left on the force who are open-minded. You should have seen Ronnie's face when he saw those dogs dissolving on the floor. I don't even want to think how the sargeant would have reacted."
Alva came back into the room; he was just finishing up his phone call. "Yes, that will be plenty. We'll see you soon." He was quiet as he listened to the doctor's question, and replied in a perfectly calm voice, "I'm quite sure I don't need you to kill anyone this time. Goodbye."
Evie looked from Alva to Sam and back again. "Maybe it's time we explain that..."
"No, wait." Paul stood up. "Keel, do you have any clue where these dogs could have come from? Why did they attack Dean and I?"
"Well... from what I've heard of shrikers, they are spectral dogs who sometimes appear to people who are about to die. But in those cases, they don't attack anyone. They just act as ghostly warnings, menacing the doomed." Eyeing Paul and then the sleeping man in the bed, Alva added, "When they attack the living, it's usually because they are sent."
"Sent?"
"Then someone sicced them on Dean and Paul?" asked Sam.
"It looks that way."
"Why?" Paul exclaimed in horror.
Putting a hand on his shoulder, Alva tried to reassure him. "That's something we'll have to find out."
"Dean and I do have some enemies..." Sam said as a possible explanation.
"But the dogs..." Paul swallowed down the lump that constricted his throat. "The dog that bit Dean was going for me. He threw himself in the way. I saw it happen."
"Paul, we have some enemies of our own, don't we?" Alva reminded him. "We've taken on many paranormal beasts who have the intelligence to pull this off. This is probably someone's revenge on us."
Paul's eyes burned with protective anger. "I want to know who did this."
Alva now patted the shoulder under his hand. "We'll do what we can, Paul. I promise."
*****
A few hours later, Dean woke up in the dark, shivering. He pulled the covers over his shoulders and tucked them under his chin.
"How are you feeling?" Paul whispered.
Dean looked over and saw the vague outline of Paul's face in the dim light; he was lying on the other side of the bed, on top of the covers. "Where is everybody?"
"Sam brought the air mattress in here; he's sleeping at the end of my bed. Keel's out on the couch and Evie's at home. You're going to be okay."
"I'm cold."
"You've got the chills. Your fever's way down, though." Paul felt Dean's forehead for good measure. "Just cuddle up under the covers and you'll warm up soon enough."
Dean knew why Paul couldn't cuddle up with him and help him get warm, but he wished he could do it anyway. "I don't remember much."
"You were hurt pretty bad. But you're going to recover." Stroking his hair, Paul said, "Go back to sleep, okay?"
Dean was quiet for a few moments, just thinking. Eventually, he murmured, "You all saved my life."
"I know."
For a short time, Dean was quiet again. "Remind me to thank everyone later," he said.
Paul replied, "Okay."
He stroked the hair at Dean's temples back while Dean drifted on the edge of sleep. Out of nowhere, Dean suddenly asked, "Why do I have the distinct impression I showed Evie my junk?"
Paul chuckled deeply at him. "I'll tell you about it later."
*****
Despondent, defeated, Bela checked her watch one last time before slumping down to her knees. In the distance, she could see the sun just beginning to rise. "Time's up."
"The shrikers have failed?" Mr. Friendly asked.
She sighed. "The shrikers have failed."
Mr. Friendly looked back at Ruby, who shrugged. "That's very unfortunate," he said. "What do you think happened?"
"The Winchesters are hunters. They must've figured out how to kill them," Ruby replied.
"It wasn't such a foolproof plan anyway." With a grin, Friendly added, "We'll just have to come up with something else."
Bela ran her hand through the ashes on the ground, obliterating the words she'd traced there. As a thought occurred to her, she scrambled to her feet. "Lilith will be told how hard I worked on this spell, won't she? Even though it didn't succeed? It's not my fault it didn't succeed."
Ruby put a stern, no nonsense expression on her face. "I suppose I could put in a good word for you. Can't promise it will make a difference, though."
"That's good enough," Bela said gratefully. "Thank you, thank you!" She began to gather up the remaining supplies for the spell.
"Pfft. What a simp." Taking out her cell phone, Ruby cycled through the stored phone numbers, looking for a particular person. "My boss wasn't very sure about this plan anyway. Spectral dogs can be easily distracted. You tell them to attack and they just piss on your leg..."
"We're still going to destroy the world, aren't we?" Friendly asked. He sounded like a little boy who might be denied his turn at trick or treating.
Ruby patted his cheek. "Yes dearheart. I promise." She looked at her phone again. "My associates are just full of great plans."
"Tear it down?" He extended a pinky to her.
Ruby linked her pinky with his and shook on it. "Tear it all down."
*****
Sam awakened early in the afternoon to the smell of something cooking, something that smelled heavenly. He checked on everyone, finding the others asleep, and nothing in the oven. Must be a neighbor cooking lunch, then.
After a shower with the door closed to keep things quiet, Sam dried off and got dressed. He checked on Dean again. His forehead felt cool. That was a relief.
The heavenly smell got closer. Someone knocked at the door. Sam rushed to get it so the noise wouldn't wake anyone up. It was Mrs. Bongiovi, with a foil-covered casserole dish and over mitts over her hands. "Oh, hi!" Sam said in a hushed voice. "You're Paul's neighbor, right?"
"Yes, Mrs. Bongiovi." She held the casserole up to Sam. "I made you all some lasagna."
"Oh, that's great! Thanks so much. Everyone will really appreciate it." Taking the dish from her, oven mitts and all, Sam waved it around under his nose and took a long, savoring whiff. "I'll just go put this down and bring you back your hot pads."
Mrs. Bongiovi couldn't help but smile when he brought back the oven mitts. "Everyone else is still asleep? I could hear someone snoring."
"Yeah." Sam stepped out into the hall, closing the door to a crack. "Long night."
"Mmm." Mrs. Bongiovi gave Sam an appraising and sympathetic look. "You're a very good brother, you know. Taking care of your big brother like that."
Hands in his pockets, Sam shrugged. "He'd do the same for me."
She nodded, just looking at him for a few seconds, reading his body language. "You know about your brother and Paul, don't you?"
A bit of hurt crossed Sam's face for a moment. "They told you?"
"No," the woman said, chuckling and shaking her head. "Some things, you can just tell."
"Yeah. Yeah, I know they're involved." Sam let out a long sigh. "But they think I don't."
Mrs. Bongiovi touched his arm. "It's a hard thing for many people to accept, or even to admit." Smiling, she gave his forearm a squeeze. "One day, he will tell you. Dean won't keep his relationship secret forever."
Sam smiled back at her. "Yeah. I know."
She headed back to her apartment, stopping in the open doorway. "You're a good brother," she repeated, and went inside, closing the door behind her.
Sam reflected on those words a short time, and decided that yeah, he was a good brother. Who else would put up with feverish confessions in which his older brother told him everything, but still wouldn't reveal what he knew?
Dean would tell him in time. It was okay to let things lie for now.
When he came back into the apartment, Alva was up and around, his brown hair sticking up at weird angles in a few places. He ambled toward the casserole dish on the table, scratching his side. "Do I smell lasagna?"
*****
Dean didn't know why Evie had stopped by. Could it actually have been to check on him? As she now sat at Paul's table taking demure bites of her helping of lasagna, Dean avoided looking at her. His face burned with an embarrassed blush.
Sam grinned like a fool. His brother was sitting up at the table with a blanket wrapped around his body, when he could have been lying on a slab in a body bag instead. Sure, Dean's eyes were underlined with red, puffy half-moons, and he had to eat with his left arm because moving the right one hurt too much, but he was far from dying of shriker poison as he had been only twelve hours ago. "Are you gonna finish that?" he asked, pointing to Dean's lasagna.
"Yes," Dean snapped. He protectively wrapped his forearm around his plate.
Sam only grinned again.
It didn't matter how awkward this was. Dean wanted to be a man of honor. Clearing his throat, he began, "I'm a man who says what needs to be said... when it needs to be um, said." Boy, that came out dumb.
Evie cocked a penciled eyebrow at him.
He tried to continue. "Keel... Evelyn... er, Evie? You helped save my life. I just wanted to say thank you. So... thanks."
Shifting uncomfortably in their seats, Alva and Evie glanced at each other. "Oh, of course, you're welcome," Alva replied.
Evie nodded in agreement. "You would have done it for us."
With a small, sheepish laugh, Dean added, "And I'm sorry I showed you my junk."
Paul almost choked on his latest bite of lasagna. He started to cough, prompting Sam to clap him hard on the back.
Smiling, Evie crossed her legs, looking at him smugly. "Why Dean, are you blushing?"
He shrugged, embarrassed. "Maybe."
Evie suddenly stared at him very carefully. "You mentioned St. Patty's Day... were you ever in Boston on that day? Around 1997?"
His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Um... no. I was only eighteen then." With everyone now staring at him, Dean scoffed and tried to shrug it off. "That's impossible," he said indignantly, his eyes shifting back and forth.
Eventually, everyone stopped staring and awkwardly returned to their lunch. Everyone except Evie. "I could swear..." She leaned forward and rested her chin on her upraised hand. "When we're done here, could you get down on the floor in a hog-tied position? Just to settle my mind."
Dean only wished it was possible to disappear into the blanket, while his brother began to snicker.
"I like her," Sam laughed.
*****
Within days, Alva and Evie found themselves busier than they thought they'd be, picking through resumes that had been sent in answer to their ad for the receptionist. Alva looked up from their printouts, eyeing Paul across the room.
Paul sat at the conference table with Dean. Dean's right arm was still in a sling, his wrist also wrapped in an Ace bandage. "It looks like you're healing well," Paul remarked. "Sorry we didn't baby that wrist."
"You already said that three times," Dean growled. "I told you, it's okay. There wasn't any way you could know my wrist was sprained from the fall, and I was too out of it to tell you. Just forget it already."
"You're lucky you didn't break it."
"All the more reason to count our blessings."
It was obvious Sam was bored; he wandered aimlessly past the table, bouncing a tennis ball off the floor and up into the air, catching it. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch. They couldn't work with Dean's shoulder and wrist in the condition they were in, and Sam wasn't going to go without him. He had spent the last few days doing a lot of nothing.
Dean watched the ball bounce a few times before making a suggestion. "Hey Sam, you're all college educated and stuff. Why don't you offer to help Keel and Evie with their search for a good office girl?"
With a doubtful shrug, Sam replied, "You really think they'll find me qualified for that?"
"Only one way to find out. Besides, Paul and I still have some stuff to talk about, so we won't be here for an hour or so."
Sam shrugged again. "Guess it's worth a try." He walked over to Evie's desk, a bit sheepish.
Paul didn't have to ask Dean what he wanted to discuss, but he did anyway. "We haven't had a moment alone in several days. You want to tell me about my file now, don't you?"
"I don't think it can keep anymore," Dean said with a nod. "How about we go get lunch for everyone and take some time to have a talk?"
Now Paul nodded. "Okay."
His eyes grew wide when Dean offered him the keys to the Impala. "Usually, I can drive just fine with one hand, but with my shoulder being like this, it throws off my balance. I don't want to crash 'er."
Paul took the keys. "I promise I'll be careful."
Finding an out of the way spot in the park, Paul put the car under a tree and turned off the car. They both got out, going around to the front and leaning on the hood. It was doubtful that anyone could see them in the shade of the tall willow.
Dean put his good arm around Paul's shoulders. "I wish I wasn't so badly injured. We could fool around in the backseat."
"It's alright," Paul said, chuckling. "I don't want to hurt you."
After another moment of smiling at each other and snuggling, a serious look overcame Dean's face. "Paul, I'm sorry. I know there was a time when you wanted to see that file pretty badly, and the man who came to look at it had it sealed so you couldn't find out his name. I wish I could have found out that name for you. He might've been your father. But..." Dean bit at his lower lip. "I'm sorry, baby. The file was blacked out."
This wasn't a possibility Paul had even considered. He tensed against Dean's side. "It was unreadable?"
"Yeah. All I could see was a few things we already know. Your name and birthdate, mother's name, stuff like that. But the name of your father... someone had gone over it and a bunch of other things with a black marker." Dean sighed. "I tried holding the paper up to the light, but I couldn't read a thing."
"Oh, wow." Paul gently put his arms around Dean's waist, his hands inside Dean's jacket. Dean pulled him close with his good arm and kissed the side of his head. "I hadn't even considered that. I thought you might be telling me the name of my father. I even readied myself for it. But... blacked out. He really doesn't want me to find him."
"Maybe it's better that way."
They just held each other in silence for a minute, Paul's head tucked into the crook of Dean's neck. He began lovingly stroking Paul's hair. Eventually, Dean added, "I'm sorry. At least you still have your friends. And me."
"Dean... what am I to you?"
Talk about unexpected replies... "You need a label?"
"I don't know. I just want to know that you're going to be around for a while." Paul looked up at him. "I'm getting really attached to you."
Even Dean was surprised to hear himself say, "That's okay. 'Cause I'm getting really attached to you." They shared a long, passionate kiss. "You're not worried about the Christian thing anymore?"
Letting out a little laugh, Paul replied, "I'll always be a Christian. It will always be a concern for me. But... you're worth confession. And penance."
They kissed again, Paul's hands sliding deeper into Dean's jacket and rubbing his back. Neither man seemed to care if anyone was close enough to spy them under the leaves of the willow tree; they were too lost in each other.
When they broke the kiss, Dean chuckled to himself. "I pose the same question, smarty. Paul, what am I to you?"
A brief pause and Paul had an answer for him. "You are my beloved sin," he whispered, and they kissed once more.
Outside Dean's fever-induced confessions, it was the closest either one of them had come to saying, "I love you."
*****
Alva and Evie had already spoken to two applicants and were about to interview a third when Alva said, "I like the first girl."
"She could only type twenty words a minute," Evie reminded him.
"Then... let's hire the second girl."
"Alva..."
"Oh, I'm no good at this." He turned to Sam. "Samuel, what do you think?"
Finally, they were actively including him. He smiled and said, "I think we should interview a few more before we make even a preliminary decision."
"Now that makes sense," Evie remarked.
Another girl came in five minutes later. She was blonde and leggy, with a lovely smile, and a look that was mature beyond her years.
Mrs. Murtaugh would have said the high school senior looked twenty-five.
"Thank you for coming in." Alva extended a hand to her. "I'm sorry, we're seeing so many applicants today, I've forgotten your name. You are, ah..." He looked through the resumes to find hers.
She took his hand and shook it, then offered a fresh copy of her resume so Alva wouldn't have to search for it. Before giving them her name, she flashed a warm, flirtatious smile at Sam, who couldn't help but return it.
"My name is Robin. Robin Finch."
(This story was actually written in November 2010, but I wasn't allowed to release it until now because of it being an spnslashbigbang story.)
Beloved Sin is (c) 2010 Demented Stuff/The Pleasure of the People
Miracles is (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment and Touchstone Television
Supernatural is (c) 2005+ Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland, & Warner Brothers/The CW Television
Pairings Dean/Paul, Ruby/Mr. Friendly
Art Post: Here, with art by caelith
Rating: Rated R
Word Count: 17,075
Summary: The Relic must die.
Warnings: Violence, some sexual content (het and slash), language
Part 2, continued from Part 1
Dimly aware of what was going on around him, Dean swung his left arm, the one that hadn't been bitten, over the side of the fountain and pulled as much of his body as he could manage up onto the ledge and out of the water. He was lucky that it was a shallow fountain, or he didn't think he would have been able to do that. Already, he was panting and his right shoulder was burning so bad that he couldn't concentrate, couldn't think, couldn't think.
The dog he had shot floated up next to him. It was dead. At least there was that. Now where was his gun? Dean couldn't move as quickly as he wanted, not quickly at all, and every move made his bitten shoulder scream. But he could hear the other dogs barking and throwing themselves against something that rattled loudly at every pounce; it could be the double doors leading into the records room. Dean hoped Paul was safe on the other side of those doors.
He had to get up there and shoot them all. Wherever those spectral dogs had come from, they could be killed with regular bullets. But when Dean tried to drag himself out of the fountain, his shoulder gave him such a strong bolt of pain that he passed out; for how long, he couldn't have known.
Paul watched the plastic arm begin to buckle in toward him and prayed, prayed, prayed. He could see the white teeth of the shrieking dogs through the ever-growing crack between the doors, saw their red spittle flying and dripping all over the floor. A white line across the orange bar threatened to grow wider and split with every pounce of the dogs against the doors. He was about to call Sam back when he heard the first gunshot.
The sound made Dean jerk and open his eyes to semi-conscious slits. He saw his brother run by and sprint up the stairs, heard a woman's voice yell, "I'll take the other side!" and then her hurried footsteps. Evie? Was that Evie? Dean slipped back down into unconsciousness to the sounds of the dogs barking and Sam and Evie opening fire.
The dogs stopped jumping against the doors. Paul saw them turning around before the doors slammed closed, blocking his view. There were many gunshots before the barking stopped, and an eerie silence fell over the building.
"Paul?" Evie called.
He sighed in relief. Paul yanked the bar out of the way and threw the doors open, going right into Evie's waiting arms. They hugged briefly.
"I'm glad you're okay," she said.
The mezzanine was littered with the bodies of dogs, four in all. Paul took only a moment to look at them before he was stepping over their prone forms, headed for the stairs. "Dean!"
Sam was right next to him on the way down to the first floor.
Evie stayed up on the mezzanine, surveying the area in case there were more of the dogs.
Only Dean's head and left arm were up on the ledge; the rest of him was still in the fountain. Sam and Paul knelt next to him. "Dean? He's out cold." They both looked at the black mess floating in the water nearby. "Was that one of the dogs?"
"Get him to your car! Take him to Paul's!" Evie called over the railing. "You can't take him to a regular hospital; they won't know what to do for him."
"How do you know that?" Sam yelled back.
"I called Alva on the way over here!" she replied. "He'll meet you at Paul's apartment."
"What about you?"
"One of my friends from the force is going to meet me here. We'll clean up the situation. Just go, now!"
As Sam and Paul were dragging Dean out of the fountain, Sam called up to her, "The car I came here in isn't exactly mine."
"Leave it. Take Dean's car back. We'll sort it all out."
Sam bore most of his brother's weight, but Paul tried to help on their way out of the building. Dean hung there limply in their arms. Just before they ducked out the window, Sam said, "Thank you, Evie!" and they were gone.
Evie looked down at the dogs. It was just as Alva had said - their bodies were beginning to dissolve into some sort of sludge, like a lumpy mix. She stood watch over them until her friend, and Alva, would arrive.
*****
Once they'd gotten Dean in the backseat of the Impala, Sam drove it back to Paul's building while Paul drove the car he'd borrowed from Mrs. Bongiovi back too. They each threw one of Dean's arms over their shoulders and carried him up to the apartment.
Mrs. Bongiovi came into the hall when they reached Paul's door. "Paul, is that you?"
"Yes, Mrs. Bongiovi," he whispered. It was late; many people in the building were sleeping. "Here are your keys. Thank you."
"Is your friend okay?"
They'd wrapped a blanket around Dean's neck so no one would see the blood staining his upper sleeve. "He's been drinking," Sam offered.
"Uh oh. What a nice friend you are to go get him." She grinned at Sam. "Are you another friend?"
They hadn't met up until this point. "I'm Dean's brother, Sam," he said, smiling back.
"Oh, you're both such big boys," Mrs. Bongiovi commented, laughing. She noticed Dean was wet. "Is it raining?"
Paul shook his head. "No... you know that dancing fountain in front of the Bellmont Hotel?"
"Yes." She began to chuckle again. "Was he playing in it?"
Both Paul and Sam nodded, grinning wider. "We'd better get him inside and change his clothes."
"Okay!" Still laughing, Mrs. Bongiovi turned to go back in her apartment.
Dean's head came up. Slurring, he said, "Hey, you got any lasagna?"
She tittered in response. "You boys," Mrs. Bongiovi said, and closed her door, shaking her head in amusement.
The two men carried Dean inside. On their way to Paul's bedroom, Sam said, "I'm gonna hold him up and you cover the bed with towels or a blanket, okay?"
"I've got a good fleece blanket that would work," Paul replied. He retrieved it, pulled the covers back, and lined the bed with the blanket.
"Okay, while I hold him up, you get him undressed." Just to make it seem like he didn't know things he wasn't supposed to know, Sam added, "That won't make you uncomfortable, will it?"
"No, I'm okay. I've taken care of invalids before." Paul unbuttoned Dean's pants.
"Mm not'n invalid," Dean mumbled.
"Just relax, Dean. One of the dogs bit you," Sam explained, in case Dean didn't remember.
"Was there when it happened, Sammy," he said back, and coughed so hard his entire body shook with the rattles in his chest.
After a minute, they had Dean stripped down to his wet underwear. They both cringed at the sight of his bitten shoulder. It wasn't just the bloody, torn teethmarks, but the deep redness and the way they weeped with yellow pus. They didn't need Alva there to tell them that the spectral dogs had some sort of poison in their saliva. "Let's get fresh underwear on 'im and get him into bed. He's burning up," Sam said.
For a brief moment after Paul saw Dean naked, he lamented the loss of their night of passion in the back of Dean's car. That had sounded like a lot of fun. The moment had been lost to those dogs, those damn dogs. Where had they come from?
Once they had the dry underwear on Dean, they carefully put him into bed and covered him up. Dean felt the fleece blanket under him with his fingers. "Fuzzy Paul," he said, grinning.
Sam and Paul looked at each other awkwardly. "Uh, maybe you better get a wet rag."
Paul was grateful for a reason to leave the room.
On his way back, Paul heard someone knock lightly at his door. He knew it had to be Alva even before he let him in. "Evie told me Mr. Winchester was bitten by a spectral dog," he said.
Paul looked at the bag in Alva's hand. "Yeah. Come in."
They both went into the bedroom. "Hi Mr. Keel," Sam said, and took the wet rag.
"Good evening, Samuel." Alva watched as Sam tried to clean up the wound, and how it made Dean wince. He looked at the red rings forming under Dean's eyes, how he was shaking, and the troubling appearance of the bitemarks. "What did the dogs look like?" he asked Paul.
Paul described everything about the dogs, down to their glowing green eyes. "They had a strange bark too, like a man screaming."
"Ahh. Shrikers," Alva said. "They're a familiar legend from back home. A type of spectral dog from Great Britain." Putting his bag down, he began to pull out several Ziplocs full of herbs. "Make a poultice from this, this, and this. Mix them with petroleum jelly and put the poultice on the wounds. Be careful not to touch the pus directly; if it gets into an open cut, you'll be infected too."
"The dogs have a poison in their saliva, don't they, Mr. Keel?" Sam asked. "This wound doesn't look good."
"Yes, they do. Evie and I have gathered what we need from the dog's bodies to make an antidote. It will take some time, though, as the matter needs to be mixed with a base to keep it from dissolving."
"The dog's dissolve?" Sam and Paul looked at each other. "That's what we saw in the fountain. The sludge."
"As soon as they're dead, their bodies begin to break down immediately. The full process takes two hours. Even the sludge will be gone. Evie and I have already lost thirty minutes, so I must go now." Alva leaned over Sam, who had pulled a chair up next to the bed. "Be sure to press the poultice down against the wound and try to draw out as much of the pus as you can. He's not going to like it, but it will keep him alive until we can get the antidote made."
"Peachy," Dean grumbled.
Alva spoke directly to him now. "Don't give Paul and Samuel any trouble, alright? The poison is raising your body temperature. You may not always know what's going on, but they're here to help you. Try to remember that, and stay in bed."
"I'll try," Dean said. "Thank you."
"Alright. I'll call you," he said to Paul, and left the apartment.
It took Paul and Sam almost twenty minutes to grind the herbs to a powder and prepare the poultice. Alva was right when he said Dean wasn't going to like his treatment. The first time Sam pressed the rag coated in the homemade medication down on his wound, he hissed through his teeth, eyes tightly shut. Dean felt Paul sit on the other side of the bed and take his hand. He couldn't help but squeeze that hand until Paul hissed in pain too. Everyone was glad when it was over.
Sam tossed the rag into a bucket they'd brought in for this purpose. "I'm glad you had these rubber gloves," he remarked of the yellow gloves for washing dishes, gloves he intended to wear each time he had to apply the poultice. "That rag is soaked with pus."
"Better on the rag than in Dean." Paul looked at the wound. "It's such a fast-acting infection. When do you think we should do that again?"
"I'd say... every twenty minutes should be good."
"Great," complained Dean, and coughed some more. "Is there any lasagna left?"
Paul felt his forehead. "He is absolutely burning up. Do you think it would be safe to give him some Tylenol?"
"I really don't know."
"I better call Keel and find out." Getting up, Paul grabbed his cell phone and left the room.
Paul had brought in a bunch of rags for the treatments; Sam took one into the bathroom and wet it. When he got back, Dean seemed only semi-conscious, with glassy eyes. Sam dabbed the damp rag over his face to mop up the sweat, then folded it and placed it across Dean's forehead.
"Am I gonna die?" Dean asked, groggy, half-whispered.
"No. No, of course not. They're making you an antidote. You'll be fine."
"In case I die, I think we should tell Sammy the truth about us."
Furrowing his brow, Sam said, "Dean? What?"
"It's something he should know if I die. He's my little brother. I don't like having to lie to him."
Sam realized that Dean was delirious from fever, and didn't realize who he was talking to. Sam and Paul did have almost the same hair color. He got choked up from his brother's words. "You're not going to die."
"I just love him, is all. I don't know what he'll think if he knows about us. He might leave me," Dean said in a weak little voice. "I'm afraid he'll leave me."
A heavy lump settled into Sam's throat. "Sam isn't going to leave you," he declared. "He loves you too."
"You've got to tell him if I die, okay?" Dean said. "Tell him I was bi, but only for certain guys. Tell 'im I was in love with you. Okay? Tell him I loved you, Paul."
Sam choked back tears. He realized in that moment that they would have this conversation for real at some point, he just didn't know when. Dean did intend to tell him one day. "Okay, I'll tell him, Dean," Sam said, adjusting his covers. The thing that touched him just as much as this realization was the fact that Dean had just admitted that he was in love with Paul Callan. His brother was in love with another man. Dean being in love with anyone was a big deal, but another man... no wonder it was so tough for him to tell Sam the truth.
Dean relaxed into the pillow. "Okay. You'll tell him. I'm glad." His eyes closed, and he seemed to fall asleep.
Sam had to get up from the chair and retreat to the bathroom to get control of his emotions. He didn't want to cry in front of Paul.
When he came out, Paul was off the phone. "It isn't a good idea to give Dean any pills," he reported, "but Keel said we could give him some ginger ale."
"Ginger ale?"
"His stomach should tolerate it well, and it'll keep him hydrated."
"Okay. You don't have any, do you?"
Paul shook his head.
Sam wanted an excuse to get some air anyway. "I'll go find an all-night grocery store and get some. I shouldn't be long."
Nodding again, Paul let him out, then went back to Dean's side.
Soon, it had been twenty minutes since the last application of the poultice. Paul didn't want to do this. He didn't want to hurt Dean again. But it had to be done. "Dean?" Paul shook him lightly. "We've got to apply the poultice."
"Oh, no, no, no," Dean nearly whispered, licking his dry lips. "Can I have some water?"
"Yeah." He poured some water from a plastic pitcher beside the bed into a cup, brought it to Dean's lips, and lifted his head with his other hand. Dean took a little water before lying back again. "There."
Dean smacked his lips. "Thanks, Sammy."
"No, he went to get you some ginger ale."
As Paul smeared the medicinal ointment onto another rag, Dean just stared at him in confusion, unable to focus his eyes on the man's face. "Huh?"
"I said we're getting you some ginger ale. It will help keep your stomach settled." Paul folded the rag into fourths. "Okay, here we go."
"No, not again." He was too weak to keep him from doing it. After putting on the gloves, Paul pressed the rag down on Dean's wounds. With a weak cry of pain, Dean grasped Paul's wrist and squeezed it as he drew out as much pus as he could. They both wound up wincing in pain.
Eventually, Paul threw the rag into the bucket and removed the gloves, glad to be done with that for the time being. "I wish we didn't have to do this," he said to himself.
"Me too," Dean added.
"I really don't like having to hurt you."
"It's okay, you can't help it. I can take it, really." Smacking his lips like he was thirsty again, Dean continued talking. "I gotta tell you something. In case I die, I want you to know something I've been keeping from you."
Paul shook his head. "You're not going to die, Dean. We can talk about it later."
"No, I gotta tell you now. Just in case, I gotta tell you."
"Alright. If it's that important to you, what is it?"
"I'm bisexual, Sammy," Dean said. "Paul and I are involved."
Paul looked confused in reaction. "Dean, I'm not - "
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you a long time ago, but I was afraid you'd be freaked out by it. It's not easy to know your brother likes guys too."
"Dean..."
Dean wouldn't let him get a word in. "You're my kid brother and I love you. Please don't leave me. Please understand. I'm in love with him, Sammy. I'm in love with Paul Callan."
As Paul realized what Dean was saying, he took his hand and held it, stroking the back of it against his cheek. "Oh, Dean..." Would he even remember this conversation later? Paul would say it anyway. The fact that Dean might not even remember made it easier for him to voice how he really felt. "I love you too."
A bewildered look on his face, Dean yanked his hand back. "Don't be a smartass, Sam. This is important."
Paul had to chuckle at that. "Dean, it's me."
Dean stared at him for a long time before speaking again. "Oh, hi Paul. When did you get here?"
Paul, rolling his eyes, decided it was easier to lie at that moment. "Just now. Sam went to get you some ginger ale."
"I'd rather have a beer."
"Sorry, not right now."
With a frustrated groan, Dean settled back into the pillow. "Goddamn dogs." He looked at Paul again, eyes moving up and down his body. "You're still all fuzzy."
It was true that Paul still had the sweater on over a collared shirt. "Yeah."
"I wanna feel how soft you are."
Indulging him, Paul leaned over where Dean could reach him. Dean weakly raised one hand and caressed Paul's side, running the sweater through his fingers. He chuckled suggestively to himself. "Want yooooou," Dean crooned.
Paul shook his head with a snicker. "Once we get through this, you can have me."
"Mmmm." Dean grinned.
Leaning over further, Paul gave him a little kiss. "I'm going to get you some more water." He didn't like how hot Dean's lips felt. Once he'd left the room, Paul called Keel again to see how much longer it would be before they had the antidote ready.
Paul almost dropped the full pitcher when he returned to the bedroom, Dean had startled him that badly. He was out of bed and standing in the middle of the room, swaying on his feet, a dangerous look upon his red, overheated face. Dean looked at him and growled. "You're back," he said. At some point, Dean had removed his underwear - he was totally nude.
Paul had to walk closer to him to put the pitcher on the nightstand; Dean leaned in, trying to kiss him. "Get back in bed," he commanded, putting his hands on Dean's arms.
Dean stumbled in place. "Gimme a kiss," he said.
"Not until you get back in bed."
"Noooooo." Dean took hold of the back of Paul's neck. "Come 'ere."
To try to placate him, Paul allowed Dean to pull him in for a good, long kiss. "There. Get back in bed."
"Gimme another one."
Paul rolled his eyes. "Dean!" He looked down and realized that the other man had a decently-sized erection. "Oh, lord."
Dean began to chuckle as he held Paul by the waist. "Fuzzy-wuzzy," he cooed. He went in for another kiss.
Concerned for his health, Paul desperately wanted to find a way to convince Dean to get back into bed, but demands for him to do so didn't seem to be working. He allowed Dean to kiss him again, still trying to placate him. Between kisses, Paul said, "Dean, your skin is extremely hot. Please get back into bed."
"Only if you get in there with me."
"Your brother could be back any minute."
"Don't care." Dean kissed him as he backed him toward the wall.
"Yes you do."
Going in to kiss Paul's neck, Dean's breath was hot in his ear. "Damn dogs ruined everything. I wanted to do this to you in the backseat of my car."
"There's plenty of time for that later." It surprised him, how much strength Dean had at that moment. He still pushed him away. "Back into bed now. Come on."
Dean suddenly growled, took hold of Paul's wrists, and slammed him back against the wall with his arms pinned up over his head. Paul gasped in surprise. Once Dean had done it, all of his strength left him, and he swayed dangerously on his feet, his grip weakening. He cringed at the pain in his shoulder. Paul watched as he opened and shut his eyes several times.
"Come on... back into bed," he said gently.
Dean simply collapsed against him with a grunt.
Paul helped him back to bed and put the covers over him. "Plenty of time for that later," he repeated.
Looking up at him with a pitiful look on his face, Dean begged, "Will you touch me? Please? I'm so turned on for you. Please, just a little."
Paul had to laugh. He turned the covers back a bit. "As long as you stay in bed, I'll touch you." With Dean's sexual appetite, it didn't seem odd at all to be doing this; it was just a part of who Dean was. It was certainly better than him wandering around the room, manhandling Paul until he passed out on the floor.
Dean grinned and hummed, "Mmmmmmnnnuuuh," his eyes closed.
Slipping his hand under the covers, Paul reached down and fondled Dean's hardness lovingly, stroking down his balls too. He did it slow, keeping an ear out for the opening of the front door and Sam's return. Dean's eyes did not open. He moaned quietly several times, sometimes licking his lips, until he stopped responding altogether.
"Dean?" Paul caressed his lover's cock a little more, but it began to grow flaccid in his hand. Dean had fallen asleep again. He took his hand out, fixed the covers around him, and gave him one last kiss before sitting back to watch over Dean. "I love you too," Paul whispered to him. The more he said it, the more comfortable the words became. "God, please don't let him die."
*****
Evie took a step back when the dark red mixture in the beaker before her started to bubble. "You've had this chemistry set how long?" she asked.
Letting out a brief chuckle, Alva stirred the concoction with a yellowed wand made of glass. "Over thirty years," he replied, smiling fondly. The mixture in the 250 milileter beaker slowly rose toward the rim. "Don't worry, it hasn't failed me before, it will serve its purpose now." He turned the heat on the bunsen burner up just a touch. "Alright, you'll want your goggles on for this."
Evie hurriedly put the clear goggles on over her eyes. "If I was smart, I would have just kept them on like you. Who knows when this ancient thing could go off."
Chuckling again, he responded, "My parents gave me the set for my birthday when I was a child."
"Bet you never thought you'd be using it to mix up a shriker antidote."
Alva thought it over. "Actually, I've used the set for stranger chemistry projects."
"Bathtub gin?" she teased.
He paused longer than he should have before answering. "Not quite."
"Alva..." Evie shook her head. "I knew there was a teenage miscreant in there somewhere."
A sly little grin was his only reply on the subject. "Get ready. I'm adding the catalyst."
"Right. The blue stuff."
As Alva began to pour the liquid into the beaker, Evie held up the bucket and stiff-bristled brush he'd instructed her to have ready. Maroon tendrils instantly began to rise up out of the glass and over the wide rim as the liquid sizzled and boiled. They were like the tentacles of an octopus, or maybe slithering snakes, with the consistency of a thick marshmallow foam. The snakes grew up and down toward the conference table, which Alva had covered with a rubber mat. The tendrils smoked as the air hit them and cooled them down.
"Now," he said.
Evie held the bucket under a grouping of the snakes and touched them with the brush. The tendrils shattered like dry leaves, falling into the bucket. She went around with the hard bristles and destroyed every one of the dark red tentacles, trying to get them before they reached the table. A tendril split into two like a double-headed snake; Evie poked at one and watched its disintegration spread to the other. Eventually, the chemical process calmed back, and they were left with a beaker half-full of black, boiling liquid.
"Alright, get the funnel and the bottle."
Evie retrieved a 20-ounce bottle with five ounces of clear liquid already in it. "What is this anyway?"
"Jagermeister."
She stared at him in disbelief as he put the funnel in the mouth of the bottle and began to pour the shriker potion into it, filling it up the rest of the way. "You're making the antidote out of Jagermeister?"
"Alcohol helps complete the chemical process. Besides..." Alva eyed her with a merry grin. "...Mr. Winchester seems like a Jagermeister fan, wouldn't you say?"
A smile slowly tugged at the corners of Evie's mouth. "Yeah, he does."
Still grinning, Alva capped the bottle and shook it up vigorously. "It says right there on its bottle, it's for hunters." He winked. "Now, let's wash these beakers out as quickly as we can and be on our way."
By the time they got to Paul's, Dean was semi-conscious and even more delirious. Both Sam and Paul looked sick with worry, fidgety and pale. "His temperature's way up," Paul said at the door. "And he won't drink any of the ginger ale."
"It's alright. We've got the antidote." Alva held up the bottle.
Dean noticed them as they entered the bedroom. His feverish eyes shined like glass. "Evie!" he cried gleefully, and threw back the covers so she could see he was naked. Dean raised his arms in triumph. "It's St. Patrick's Day!"
"Oh, Dean, good lord!" Sam cried, and leaned over his sick brother to grab the covers.
Evie cocked an eyebrow at him, folding her arms. She knew his behavior was due to him being sick, and tried not to react. "St. Patrick's Day?"
"You were a cop!" When Sam covered him back up, Dean simply tossed the sheet off again. Paul put a hand over his face and shook his head. "Does this bring back any memories? Naked guy on St. Patrick's Day!"
"Oh, God, does it ever." Evie waited for Sam to cover Dean up again and stuff the edge of the sheet under the mattress for good measure. She leaned over and took hold of Dean's chin. "All you need is a funny little green hat on your head."
Dean snickered with glee.
"Do you know what we used to do with St. Patty's Day drunks who ran around in the streets naked? We'd hogtie 'em and throw 'em in the back of the police car."
Dean pouted. "That's no fun."
Patting his head, she replied, "It was for us." Then she looked back at Alva. "They're right, he's burning up worse than ever."
Dean began to sing, "I'm hot-blooded, check it and see. I got a fever of a hundred and three..."
Evie and Alva both glared at Paul as if to say, He's your friend. To defend himself, Paul shrugged and said, "The fever's made him delirious."
"We'll get him fixed up." Alva walked over to the side of the bed and showed Dean the bottle. "Mr. Winchester, now that I've seen you at your worst, I think I'll be comfortable calling you Dean from now on."
Dean was kicking at the covers, pouting like a little boy. "It's too hot for blankets. Sammy, you tucked 'em in too tight."
Snapping his fingers in front of Dean's eyes, Alva got his already half-focused attention. "This is for you to drink. It's the antidote. It will save your life."
Dean grinned at him goofily. "You got pretty-colored eyes."
"My, but you are far gone, aren't you?" Alva chuckled. "Samuel, help me?"
"Oh, sure." Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam supported Dean's shoulders, raising him up a little so he could drink. In the background, Paul watched, worried, a hand over his mouth.
Dean began to smack his lips like he was thirsty. "Gimme." He reached out with his good arm, opening and closing his hand.
Opening the bottle, Alva brought it to Dean's mouth. "Careful. Don't spill any, our supply is limited."
Sam propped Dean against him so his hip formed a wedge of support under Dean's hurt shoulder. He watched his brother closely, ready for any protest as Dean took his first few experimental sips.
The sips quickly turned to gulps. Dean seemed to like the taste, taking several greedy swallows of the potion. "Mm. That Jagermeister?" He tried to take hold of the bottle.
"No, no," Sam scolded, and put his fingers over Dean's. He did not make Dean let go, but helped Alva keep the bottle steady as Dean drank down half its volume without taking a breath.
When he did finally take the bottle out of his mouth, Dean sighed, "Ahhhh!" in satisfaction, licking and smacking his lips. "Not bad."
Paul couldn't help but smile, in amusement and relief. Dean was kind of cute when he was this helpless, like a sick little boy.
"Evie, bring me one of those rags." Alva waited for her to bring him a clean rag, and then tipped the bottle into it a couple of times to wet it down a bit. "This will sting. Grin and bear it, okay Dean?"
"'Kay."
Alva dabbed at his bitten shoulder with the rag, trying to get some of the antidote into his wounds. Dean hissed out between his teeth. "Owie owie owie," he muttered. Sam patted his good shoulder. As an afterthought, Dean offered, "You're a good doctor."
With a wistful smile, Alva said, "I was pre-med at Cambridge."
He let Dean have a few more swigs of the potion before taking it away. "Let's wrap the wound with gauze and tape it up well. You should sleep, Dean. You'll feel better in a few hours."
They all sat on Paul's bed and went to work with the First Aid kit, Evie and Paul handing supplies to Alva and Sam as they bandaged Dean's shoulder. Paul let Dean squeeze his hand while Alva took a few stitches here and there to close any tears in his skin. Dean fell asleep before they could finish the job. He moaned and shifted a little whenever someone brushed his shoulder too hard, but otherwise snored lightly against his brother's side.
"Lay him down, gently," Alva instructed. "I better stay the night."
"Shouldn't he have antibiotics or something?" Evie suggested.
"Most definitely. Hmmmm..." Alva suddenly snapped his fingers, remembering an old friend he hadn't seen in a while. "Dr. Creed!"
"The guy who killed me?" Paul asked.
Sam stared at him in disbelief.
"Yes."
Now Sam looked at Alva in disbelief.
"He can write prescriptions." Taking out his cell phone, Alva dialed the doctor's number.
Sam, looking from Paul to Evie, said, "Do I even want to know?"
"Long story," Evie replied. "Another time."
Sam just nodded in understanding.
"Well, I better get back to my friend at the records building." Standing up, she continued, "We came up with a really good story for the police report, but I should still back him up until the whole thing's done."
"What'd you make up for the police report?"
Clearing her throat, Evie related the whole made-up story. "Paul and Dean were out getting something at the all-night store when they saw a bunch of vicious dogs chasing a smaller dog around the records building. They stopped to try to save the puppy, but had to seek refuge when the dogs turned on them, and one of the windows in the building was slightly ajar. Unfortunately, this window got stuck and wouldn't close, and the dogs chased them inside. Dean was bitten, Paul barracaded himself in one of the rooms and called me for help. I contacted one of my friends on the force, Officer Burkholter, and we proceeded down to the building where we shot all of the vicious dogs not only to protect innocent civilians, but ourselves. Turns out the dogs were rabid and their bodies had to be removed from the premises immediately and destroyed to protect the health of the public."
"So I wasn't even there," Sam said, trying to fall in line with her story.
"No, of course you weren't," Evie agreed. "You are the animal control officer who collected and disposed of the dogs if the sargeant calls you for a follow-up."
Paul had to snicker.
An amused grin spread across Sam's face. "It is a good story. We might just get away with it." They smiled at each other for a moment; when Evie turned to go, he added, "Evie? Thank you for helping us smooth all this over. It's always easier when we don't have to deal with the cops directly on stuff like this."
"I know. Believe me, I know." She sighed. "I'm grateful to have a few friends left on the force who are open-minded. You should have seen Ronnie's face when he saw those dogs dissolving on the floor. I don't even want to think how the sargeant would have reacted."
Alva came back into the room; he was just finishing up his phone call. "Yes, that will be plenty. We'll see you soon." He was quiet as he listened to the doctor's question, and replied in a perfectly calm voice, "I'm quite sure I don't need you to kill anyone this time. Goodbye."
Evie looked from Alva to Sam and back again. "Maybe it's time we explain that..."
"No, wait." Paul stood up. "Keel, do you have any clue where these dogs could have come from? Why did they attack Dean and I?"
"Well... from what I've heard of shrikers, they are spectral dogs who sometimes appear to people who are about to die. But in those cases, they don't attack anyone. They just act as ghostly warnings, menacing the doomed." Eyeing Paul and then the sleeping man in the bed, Alva added, "When they attack the living, it's usually because they are sent."
"Sent?"
"Then someone sicced them on Dean and Paul?" asked Sam.
"It looks that way."
"Why?" Paul exclaimed in horror.
Putting a hand on his shoulder, Alva tried to reassure him. "That's something we'll have to find out."
"Dean and I do have some enemies..." Sam said as a possible explanation.
"But the dogs..." Paul swallowed down the lump that constricted his throat. "The dog that bit Dean was going for me. He threw himself in the way. I saw it happen."
"Paul, we have some enemies of our own, don't we?" Alva reminded him. "We've taken on many paranormal beasts who have the intelligence to pull this off. This is probably someone's revenge on us."
Paul's eyes burned with protective anger. "I want to know who did this."
Alva now patted the shoulder under his hand. "We'll do what we can, Paul. I promise."
*****
A few hours later, Dean woke up in the dark, shivering. He pulled the covers over his shoulders and tucked them under his chin.
"How are you feeling?" Paul whispered.
Dean looked over and saw the vague outline of Paul's face in the dim light; he was lying on the other side of the bed, on top of the covers. "Where is everybody?"
"Sam brought the air mattress in here; he's sleeping at the end of my bed. Keel's out on the couch and Evie's at home. You're going to be okay."
"I'm cold."
"You've got the chills. Your fever's way down, though." Paul felt Dean's forehead for good measure. "Just cuddle up under the covers and you'll warm up soon enough."
Dean knew why Paul couldn't cuddle up with him and help him get warm, but he wished he could do it anyway. "I don't remember much."
"You were hurt pretty bad. But you're going to recover." Stroking his hair, Paul said, "Go back to sleep, okay?"
Dean was quiet for a few moments, just thinking. Eventually, he murmured, "You all saved my life."
"I know."
For a short time, Dean was quiet again. "Remind me to thank everyone later," he said.
Paul replied, "Okay."
He stroked the hair at Dean's temples back while Dean drifted on the edge of sleep. Out of nowhere, Dean suddenly asked, "Why do I have the distinct impression I showed Evie my junk?"
Paul chuckled deeply at him. "I'll tell you about it later."
*****
Despondent, defeated, Bela checked her watch one last time before slumping down to her knees. In the distance, she could see the sun just beginning to rise. "Time's up."
"The shrikers have failed?" Mr. Friendly asked.
She sighed. "The shrikers have failed."
Mr. Friendly looked back at Ruby, who shrugged. "That's very unfortunate," he said. "What do you think happened?"
"The Winchesters are hunters. They must've figured out how to kill them," Ruby replied.
"It wasn't such a foolproof plan anyway." With a grin, Friendly added, "We'll just have to come up with something else."
Bela ran her hand through the ashes on the ground, obliterating the words she'd traced there. As a thought occurred to her, she scrambled to her feet. "Lilith will be told how hard I worked on this spell, won't she? Even though it didn't succeed? It's not my fault it didn't succeed."
Ruby put a stern, no nonsense expression on her face. "I suppose I could put in a good word for you. Can't promise it will make a difference, though."
"That's good enough," Bela said gratefully. "Thank you, thank you!" She began to gather up the remaining supplies for the spell.
"Pfft. What a simp." Taking out her cell phone, Ruby cycled through the stored phone numbers, looking for a particular person. "My boss wasn't very sure about this plan anyway. Spectral dogs can be easily distracted. You tell them to attack and they just piss on your leg..."
"We're still going to destroy the world, aren't we?" Friendly asked. He sounded like a little boy who might be denied his turn at trick or treating.
Ruby patted his cheek. "Yes dearheart. I promise." She looked at her phone again. "My associates are just full of great plans."
"Tear it down?" He extended a pinky to her.
Ruby linked her pinky with his and shook on it. "Tear it all down."
*****
Sam awakened early in the afternoon to the smell of something cooking, something that smelled heavenly. He checked on everyone, finding the others asleep, and nothing in the oven. Must be a neighbor cooking lunch, then.
After a shower with the door closed to keep things quiet, Sam dried off and got dressed. He checked on Dean again. His forehead felt cool. That was a relief.
The heavenly smell got closer. Someone knocked at the door. Sam rushed to get it so the noise wouldn't wake anyone up. It was Mrs. Bongiovi, with a foil-covered casserole dish and over mitts over her hands. "Oh, hi!" Sam said in a hushed voice. "You're Paul's neighbor, right?"
"Yes, Mrs. Bongiovi." She held the casserole up to Sam. "I made you all some lasagna."
"Oh, that's great! Thanks so much. Everyone will really appreciate it." Taking the dish from her, oven mitts and all, Sam waved it around under his nose and took a long, savoring whiff. "I'll just go put this down and bring you back your hot pads."
Mrs. Bongiovi couldn't help but smile when he brought back the oven mitts. "Everyone else is still asleep? I could hear someone snoring."
"Yeah." Sam stepped out into the hall, closing the door to a crack. "Long night."
"Mmm." Mrs. Bongiovi gave Sam an appraising and sympathetic look. "You're a very good brother, you know. Taking care of your big brother like that."
Hands in his pockets, Sam shrugged. "He'd do the same for me."
She nodded, just looking at him for a few seconds, reading his body language. "You know about your brother and Paul, don't you?"
A bit of hurt crossed Sam's face for a moment. "They told you?"
"No," the woman said, chuckling and shaking her head. "Some things, you can just tell."
"Yeah. Yeah, I know they're involved." Sam let out a long sigh. "But they think I don't."
Mrs. Bongiovi touched his arm. "It's a hard thing for many people to accept, or even to admit." Smiling, she gave his forearm a squeeze. "One day, he will tell you. Dean won't keep his relationship secret forever."
Sam smiled back at her. "Yeah. I know."
She headed back to her apartment, stopping in the open doorway. "You're a good brother," she repeated, and went inside, closing the door behind her.
Sam reflected on those words a short time, and decided that yeah, he was a good brother. Who else would put up with feverish confessions in which his older brother told him everything, but still wouldn't reveal what he knew?
Dean would tell him in time. It was okay to let things lie for now.
When he came back into the apartment, Alva was up and around, his brown hair sticking up at weird angles in a few places. He ambled toward the casserole dish on the table, scratching his side. "Do I smell lasagna?"
*****
Dean didn't know why Evie had stopped by. Could it actually have been to check on him? As she now sat at Paul's table taking demure bites of her helping of lasagna, Dean avoided looking at her. His face burned with an embarrassed blush.
Sam grinned like a fool. His brother was sitting up at the table with a blanket wrapped around his body, when he could have been lying on a slab in a body bag instead. Sure, Dean's eyes were underlined with red, puffy half-moons, and he had to eat with his left arm because moving the right one hurt too much, but he was far from dying of shriker poison as he had been only twelve hours ago. "Are you gonna finish that?" he asked, pointing to Dean's lasagna.
"Yes," Dean snapped. He protectively wrapped his forearm around his plate.
Sam only grinned again.
It didn't matter how awkward this was. Dean wanted to be a man of honor. Clearing his throat, he began, "I'm a man who says what needs to be said... when it needs to be um, said." Boy, that came out dumb.
Evie cocked a penciled eyebrow at him.
He tried to continue. "Keel... Evelyn... er, Evie? You helped save my life. I just wanted to say thank you. So... thanks."
Shifting uncomfortably in their seats, Alva and Evie glanced at each other. "Oh, of course, you're welcome," Alva replied.
Evie nodded in agreement. "You would have done it for us."
With a small, sheepish laugh, Dean added, "And I'm sorry I showed you my junk."
Paul almost choked on his latest bite of lasagna. He started to cough, prompting Sam to clap him hard on the back.
Smiling, Evie crossed her legs, looking at him smugly. "Why Dean, are you blushing?"
He shrugged, embarrassed. "Maybe."
Evie suddenly stared at him very carefully. "You mentioned St. Patty's Day... were you ever in Boston on that day? Around 1997?"
His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Um... no. I was only eighteen then." With everyone now staring at him, Dean scoffed and tried to shrug it off. "That's impossible," he said indignantly, his eyes shifting back and forth.
Eventually, everyone stopped staring and awkwardly returned to their lunch. Everyone except Evie. "I could swear..." She leaned forward and rested her chin on her upraised hand. "When we're done here, could you get down on the floor in a hog-tied position? Just to settle my mind."
Dean only wished it was possible to disappear into the blanket, while his brother began to snicker.
"I like her," Sam laughed.
*****
Within days, Alva and Evie found themselves busier than they thought they'd be, picking through resumes that had been sent in answer to their ad for the receptionist. Alva looked up from their printouts, eyeing Paul across the room.
Paul sat at the conference table with Dean. Dean's right arm was still in a sling, his wrist also wrapped in an Ace bandage. "It looks like you're healing well," Paul remarked. "Sorry we didn't baby that wrist."
"You already said that three times," Dean growled. "I told you, it's okay. There wasn't any way you could know my wrist was sprained from the fall, and I was too out of it to tell you. Just forget it already."
"You're lucky you didn't break it."
"All the more reason to count our blessings."
It was obvious Sam was bored; he wandered aimlessly past the table, bouncing a tennis ball off the floor and up into the air, catching it. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch. They couldn't work with Dean's shoulder and wrist in the condition they were in, and Sam wasn't going to go without him. He had spent the last few days doing a lot of nothing.
Dean watched the ball bounce a few times before making a suggestion. "Hey Sam, you're all college educated and stuff. Why don't you offer to help Keel and Evie with their search for a good office girl?"
With a doubtful shrug, Sam replied, "You really think they'll find me qualified for that?"
"Only one way to find out. Besides, Paul and I still have some stuff to talk about, so we won't be here for an hour or so."
Sam shrugged again. "Guess it's worth a try." He walked over to Evie's desk, a bit sheepish.
Paul didn't have to ask Dean what he wanted to discuss, but he did anyway. "We haven't had a moment alone in several days. You want to tell me about my file now, don't you?"
"I don't think it can keep anymore," Dean said with a nod. "How about we go get lunch for everyone and take some time to have a talk?"
Now Paul nodded. "Okay."
His eyes grew wide when Dean offered him the keys to the Impala. "Usually, I can drive just fine with one hand, but with my shoulder being like this, it throws off my balance. I don't want to crash 'er."
Paul took the keys. "I promise I'll be careful."
Finding an out of the way spot in the park, Paul put the car under a tree and turned off the car. They both got out, going around to the front and leaning on the hood. It was doubtful that anyone could see them in the shade of the tall willow.
Dean put his good arm around Paul's shoulders. "I wish I wasn't so badly injured. We could fool around in the backseat."
"It's alright," Paul said, chuckling. "I don't want to hurt you."
After another moment of smiling at each other and snuggling, a serious look overcame Dean's face. "Paul, I'm sorry. I know there was a time when you wanted to see that file pretty badly, and the man who came to look at it had it sealed so you couldn't find out his name. I wish I could have found out that name for you. He might've been your father. But..." Dean bit at his lower lip. "I'm sorry, baby. The file was blacked out."
This wasn't a possibility Paul had even considered. He tensed against Dean's side. "It was unreadable?"
"Yeah. All I could see was a few things we already know. Your name and birthdate, mother's name, stuff like that. But the name of your father... someone had gone over it and a bunch of other things with a black marker." Dean sighed. "I tried holding the paper up to the light, but I couldn't read a thing."
"Oh, wow." Paul gently put his arms around Dean's waist, his hands inside Dean's jacket. Dean pulled him close with his good arm and kissed the side of his head. "I hadn't even considered that. I thought you might be telling me the name of my father. I even readied myself for it. But... blacked out. He really doesn't want me to find him."
"Maybe it's better that way."
They just held each other in silence for a minute, Paul's head tucked into the crook of Dean's neck. He began lovingly stroking Paul's hair. Eventually, Dean added, "I'm sorry. At least you still have your friends. And me."
"Dean... what am I to you?"
Talk about unexpected replies... "You need a label?"
"I don't know. I just want to know that you're going to be around for a while." Paul looked up at him. "I'm getting really attached to you."
Even Dean was surprised to hear himself say, "That's okay. 'Cause I'm getting really attached to you." They shared a long, passionate kiss. "You're not worried about the Christian thing anymore?"
Letting out a little laugh, Paul replied, "I'll always be a Christian. It will always be a concern for me. But... you're worth confession. And penance."
They kissed again, Paul's hands sliding deeper into Dean's jacket and rubbing his back. Neither man seemed to care if anyone was close enough to spy them under the leaves of the willow tree; they were too lost in each other.
When they broke the kiss, Dean chuckled to himself. "I pose the same question, smarty. Paul, what am I to you?"
A brief pause and Paul had an answer for him. "You are my beloved sin," he whispered, and they kissed once more.
Outside Dean's fever-induced confessions, it was the closest either one of them had come to saying, "I love you."
*****
Alva and Evie had already spoken to two applicants and were about to interview a third when Alva said, "I like the first girl."
"She could only type twenty words a minute," Evie reminded him.
"Then... let's hire the second girl."
"Alva..."
"Oh, I'm no good at this." He turned to Sam. "Samuel, what do you think?"
Finally, they were actively including him. He smiled and said, "I think we should interview a few more before we make even a preliminary decision."
"Now that makes sense," Evie remarked.
Another girl came in five minutes later. She was blonde and leggy, with a lovely smile, and a look that was mature beyond her years.
Mrs. Murtaugh would have said the high school senior looked twenty-five.
"Thank you for coming in." Alva extended a hand to her. "I'm sorry, we're seeing so many applicants today, I've forgotten your name. You are, ah..." He looked through the resumes to find hers.
She took his hand and shook it, then offered a fresh copy of her resume so Alva wouldn't have to search for it. Before giving them her name, she flashed a warm, flirtatious smile at Sam, who couldn't help but return it.
"My name is Robin. Robin Finch."
(This story was actually written in November 2010, but I wasn't allowed to release it until now because of it being an spnslashbigbang story.)
Beloved Sin is (c) 2010 Demented Stuff/The Pleasure of the People
Miracles is (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment and Touchstone Television
Supernatural is (c) 2005+ Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland, & Warner Brothers/The CW Television