When the Night Fades Away (Sam Winchester/Will Graham; R) 1/3

[monicawoe]

Word-count: ~20K

Author: monicawoe

Characters: Sam Winchester, Will Graham, Bella Crawford, Jack Crawford, Alana Bloom, Margot Verger, Beverly Katz, Michael, Lucifer, Hannibal

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Will Graham

Warnings/Tags: demon-blood addiction, gore, possession (angelic and demonic), Sam Winchester’s demonic powers

Summary: Sam and Dean split after River Pass, and their confrontation with the Horseman, War. Since Will’s escape from the Baltimore Institute for the Criminally Insane, he and Sam have been in hiding. They found a cabin, in the middle of nowhere, that keeps them off the radar. But they can’t stay off the chessboard forever, especially not when Lucifer, wearing Hannibal Lecter as a vessel, is tearing the world apart around them.
Featuring art by quickreaver

Notes: Final fic in the Pattern Recognition series, a Supernatural/Hannibal fusion ‘verse. Can be read as a standalone. Set in season 5 of Supernatural. Splits from canon after 5x03 - Sam doesn’t reunite with Dean but instead finds a friend in Will Graham, who has escaped wrongful imprisonment. Lucifer has taken Hannibal as a vessel, and Will and Sam are in hiding. Sam struggles with his ongoing demon-blood addiction and Will, when under duress, transforms into a raven-stag.
Big thanks to my beta WetSammyWinchester !

Will was growing restless. The months of shared solitude were starting to get to him. It was better-infinitely better-sharing his exile with Sam, but he still hated being stuck.

It was strange. For so long, he’d dreamt of this kind of place. His old house back in Wolf Trap had been a step in this direction-far enough away that he could almost pretend he had no neighbors, that it was just him and the dogs. God, he missed his dogs.

This cabin really didn’t have any neighbors, it was a forgotten shack in the middle of the woods that they’d made mostly habitable. But they had no other choice. The police were looking for him, probably the feds too-especially the ones that had been his friends, once upon a time. Frustrated with himself as well as the situation, Will turned on the television again.

“...the thirteenth incident like this in the last two months. Local authorities are still identifying the victims and working to contain the damage. So far the cause of this river of fire remains unknown. Residents in the surrounding areas are advised to evacuate, as the river’s current does not appear to be following any natural-

The door lock clicked; Sam bumped the door open with his hip, two big paper bags of groceries in his arms.

Will scrambled for the remote, hit the mute button, and went to change the channel.

Sam set the bags on the kitchen table, with a little more force than necessary. He started unpacking: sack of potatoes, bananas, a glass jar of tomato sauce that clunked loudly against the wood . “You don’t have to turn it off.”

“I know, I was just-“

“It’s on every channel, every newspaper. The Inquirer had a picture of him in a dark-red suit with matching shoes.”

Hannibal would never wear something that tacky, Will thought. Maybe that was evidence of exactly who was in control.

“They say he’s been seen near the epicenter of the last five earthquakes,” Sam kept going, “The Times had the headline: Rivers of Blood - another sign of global warming, or an elaborate hoax?” Sam scoffed. “There’s days where it’s really tempting to pick up a phone and call the journalists, tell them what’s actually going on so they’ll stop making shit up.”

Will reflected on that for a bit while he helped Sam put the groceries away. “Maybe we should.”

“Maybe we should what?”

“Call up the Inquirer, or the Post-or one of the local TV stations and just them.”

“Tell them what?” Sam asked, eyes narrowing.

“What’s really going on! That this is-“ Will forced his voice lower, gentler. Sam looked upset enough as it was. “That this really is the end of the world.”

Sam shook his head, kept his eyes on the groceries, unpacking rice, apples and an economy-sized bottle of Ibuprofen. “What’s the point?”

“Think they wouldn’t believe us?”

“Some of them won’t. Most of them will, but it-“ Sam cut himself off, jaw flexing as he took a forced slow breath,”-it won’t matter, because if we don’t figure out a way to stop this, they’ll all be dead soon either way. Doesn’t matter if they believe.”

Will’s pulse crawled up his throat, weeks of cabin fever finally spilling out as anger. “We’re not going to figure out anything if we keep-hiding.” He said the last word a bit too emphatically, more of a growl than he’d intended. His knuckles cracked, and quills began to prick at the inside of his skin. He waited a beat, and swallowed the rage back down, adding, “It’s not going to stop on its own.”

Sam turned on him, his own, barely-tamped anger twisting his mouth. “No, it won’t. But if I go out there again- if I stop hiding, let him find me-“ Sam cut himself off, grinding his teeth, but Will saw the fear in his eyes.

“I know,” he said, hands up.

“No, you don’t!” Sam snapped. “Hannibal’s his vessel, and you’ve seen what they’re capable of. But if he gets to me, if he possesses me, it’ll be a thousand times worse.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Will asked.

Sam let out a bitter huff, turned away from Will, leaning against the window. “Because he told me.” Sam’s voice quivered with choked back sorrow. “He talks to me in my dreams. Shows me what he’s doing, and what we could do together. Not rivers of fire, oceans. Earthquakes that span whole continents. Hundreds of thousands dead with a snap of his fingers.”

Will swallowed, and put his hand on Sam’s back, tentatively at first, before stepping in closer and sliding his arm around Sam’s waist. He opened his mouth to say something-anything, but the red-rimmed glassiness of Sam’s eyes chased away the words. Instead he pushed into the crook of Sam’s arm, and leaned against him, willing his body warmth to offer some modicum of comfort.

With another, softer exhale, Sam pulled him in close, and rested his cheek against the top of Will’s head, pressing a half-kiss against his hair. They stayed there, for a precious minute, long enough for Will to clear his mind of everything but the soothing thrum of Sam’s heart beating against his own. He imagined them pumping as one, a solid rhythm united against the chaos of the world outside. The beastly part of Will receded, falling back into a deep slumber inside his cells as his body and mind relaxed.

#

They ate dinner in companionable silence. The food was cheap and uncomplicated, pasta primavera, but somehow, meals with Sam felt far more satisfying than Hannibal’s fanciest seven-course affair. And considerably safer.

“You’re right.” Sam said, setting his fork down.

“I am?” Will swallowed his last forkful. “About what part? That fresh garlic makes all the difference?”

“That too.” Sam cleared his throat. “I haven’t just been hiding you, I’ve been hiding.”

“You had a better reason than most.”

“Maybe, but it’s still my job to try to stop it.”

“Our job.”

“No, Will, you’re-“

“I’m as much a part of this as you are.”

“No, you’re not.” Sam’s voice was still quiet, but heavy with self loathing. Will had heard that same vitriol in his own voice enough to recognize the sound of someone who truly hated themselves. “I caused this. All of this-the Apocalypse, Lucifer- is my fault, my doing.”

“You were manipulated, you said so yourself.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve stopped, if I hadn’t been so caught up in my own self-righteousness.“

“That’s not what you are, Sam.”

Sam shook his head.

“You’re a good man, and you’ve got these abilities that are violent and ugly and feel like a curse, but sometimes they save people’s lives.” Will’s voice had started climbing, but he tamped it back down. “I understand something about that.”

With a scoff, Sam broke Will’s gaze. “It’s not the same thing. You don’t drink blood to do what you do.”

“Maybe not. But I wade in it. My mind drowns in blood. And my body turns into a monstrosity that shouldn’t even exist.”

“Will-you’re not the monster here.“

“Fine. Then neither are you.”

Sam looked like he was going to argue, but thought better of it, his jaw flexing instead.

Will stood and began clearing the table. “I might not know as much about what’s going on, but I’m a quick study.” He reached for Sam’s plate, and Sam caught his hand, squeezing his fingers gently.

“You are. That’s what I’m worried about. This stuff it’s-it’s only going to get worse.”

“I assumed it would. No description of the Apocalypse I’m aware of features a lot of bright spots.”

“Even if we figure out how to stop it, we may not make it through.”

“Par for the course with my life,” Will said, smiling ruefully.

Sam’s eyes met Will’s. “This might be our last bright spot. And I guess I...didn’t want it to end.”

Will’s cheeks flushed. The cabin was small, and had barely any insulation, but somehow that hadn’t bothered him. They kept each other warm at night, and this place had been an oasis of peace the last few months, even if he’d never learned to completely ignore the world collapsing around them. “If we do make it out the other end, then we could keep this, come back to it after.”

Sam nodded, kept his glassy eyes downturned. He didn’t believe it anymore than Will himself, but it was a pretty lie, a comforting one. “Right.”

Will set the plates in the sink. “So, now that we’re not on the sidelines anymore...where do we start?”

“With a phone call.”

##

“Bella, I love you, more than anything, and I have always respected your choices, especially when it comes to your health, but this is your life-“

“Yes. This is my life. And I will not undergo treatment to extend my life if that life is nothing but suffering. I refuse.” Bella’s voice was steady, resolute. “I saw what chemo did to my mother, how she wasted away. In the end, her mind was already gone, and her body was a living corpse, animated by machines. I will not go down that path.”

“There are other paths we could explore-experimental treatments. And-“

“And what? Fly halfway around the world only to learn that I’m still dying?” Bella shook her head, curls falling over her shoulders. “No, Jack. No.”

Jack watched his wife turn her back on him and head to the bed, sitting on the edge, eyes staring firmly out the window.

“I’m tired,” she said. They’d been together long enough that Jack heard the unsaid words along with the spoken: leave me alone, give me space, this conversation is over.

He nodded, realized she couldn’t see him, but left the room without another word, closing the door behind him.

#

Bella slid off the bed, drew her knees to her chest, rested her head on them as the tears began to build. She clasped her hands together and began to pray.

She prayed, and somebody answered.

##

Sam ended the call and stared at his phone, the deeply-worn hurt of Bobby’s voice still crisp in his mind.

“What did your friend say?” Will asked.

What the hell were you thinking? And your brother’s just as pigheaded as you! Nothing good ever comes of you two going your separate ways. Sam cleared his throat. “There’s a town in Missouri, where over the course of the last week, people have started dying by the dozens from overconsumption.”

“Huh?”

“People OD-ing on anything they can get their hands on. A bartender who drank down every bottle on his shelves until his bladder ruptured. A fast food cook ate everything in the kitchen, died by sticking his head in the deep fryer to get at the rest of the fries.”

“Is that kind of hunger something demons can do to people?”

“Gluttony maybe, but not on this scale. Bobby thinks it’s Famine, the Horseman.”

Will’s eyebrows crept up. “Do we know how to fight a Horseman of the Apocalypse?

Sam nodded, averting his eyes to keep his pain from showing. “Yeah, my brother and I, we uh-we fought War.”

“And...how did that go?”

Even though months had passed since Blue Earth, Sam could still feel the flush of shame, the hollow fury when he’d realized Dean would never trust him again. But telling Will any of that wouldn’t help. “We won.”

“Okay then,” Will’s expression showed he knew Sam was hiding something, but he’d learned not to pry, and Sam was grateful for that. “What are we waiting for?”

#

Will’s head jerked up at the sound of the car door unlocking. He’d been so engrossed in the book Sam had given him that he’d only been partially aware of Sam leaving in the first place. As Sam climbed back into the driver’s seat, Will tossed him a quick smile and finished scanning the page.

“That’s the best source we have on the Horsemen,” Sam said. “Been the most accurate so far.”

Will cocked an eyebrow. “Did War ride in upon a horse the color of flame?”

“A red Mustang, actually,” Sam said.

“Ah. Modern horses then. Was hoping they’d stick to tradition, make them easier to spot.”

“I doubt we’ll have trouble spotting Famine. These guys they-” Sam paused and pushed his hair back behind his ear. “-they give off an aura, make the air feel heavy.”

Will nodded thoughtfully. “And they cloud minds.”

“They do.” Sam opened the paper bag he was holding and reached inside. “That’s why I got these.”

Right. Sam had pulled over to buy something. “Bracelets?”

“Trackers. They connect to our phones’ GPS system.” Sam held the adjustable band out to Will. “I know it’s weird, especially since you’ve had to wear one before. But they’re effective. This way we can find each other again if things go south.”

“Based on what I’ve been reading, things are certain to go south,” Will said, closing the laptop. He cocked an eyebrow as he took the soft nylon band from Sam, noting, “This seems way more comfortable than the ones they use in correctional facilities.”

Sam threw him a smile. “Well, this one’s designed for animals actually.”

“Even better.” Will slipped the band on over his ankle and tightened it, wondering if it would stay on if he shifted.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen here. I can’t promise that I won’t go completely off the rails, and if I do, it might be better for me to stay far away from you.” Sam toyed with his own band, but finally slid it over his shoe and up to his ankle, fastening it just under the cuff of his jeans.

“We both already tried toughing it out alone,” Will said, folding his arms across his chest. “What we’re about to do here-there’s no scenario where we’re better off apart. You go off the rails, I’ll drag you back on and you’d better do the same.”

Sam met Will’s eyes and gave him a solemn nod. “Deal.”

#

The floor of the liquor store was slick with a revolting mix of blood, vomit and everything that had spilled past voracious open mouths and onto the floor. The twelve corpses were all human-one of them still clutching a bottle, even in death. Their bellies were distended, skin tinged blue.

Will held his hand over his nose, trying to block out some of the stench. Sam stood behind him, just outside, giving Will the space he needed.

The scene reassembled itself quickly, broken bottles and shelves and bodies all whole again in Will’s mind. He hit play and watched them all rapidly fall apart: people stumbling in through the door, heading for the fridge in the back at first, downing the contents of everything they could get their hands on.

A dozen bodies were in the store, but those twelve had made quick work of the entire inventory. Two men had died strangling each other, fighting over a bottle. They both had glass shards in their faces, and buried deep in their sliced tongues from licking up what had spilled onto the floor between them. One had asphyxiated on his vomit, still drinking while his body tried desperately to push it all back out.

Will took a breath and looked over his shoulder at Sam, beckoning him in. “This is mass hysteria, an addictive impulse made into a life-or-death need strong enough to override everything else. They all drank themselves to death.” Will walked to the corpse slumped against the rear corner, surrounded by a dozen bottles of whiskey. An AA token lay in the puddle of piss and booze between his legs.

“This is what Famine does.” Sam surveyed the store. The clerk was slumped over the counter, five empty prescription bottles scattered around him.

“How do we track him?”

“Don’t know.” Sam smiled grimly. “Follow the madness?” His head was starting to ache, from the stench of the liquor and everything else, or from the rising panic of what was to come. If Famine could do this to recovered alcoholics, Sam’s chances of making it through clean were even slimmer than he’d thought. He still dreamt about the taste of Ruby’s blood, the gushing warmth running down his throat and the electric charge that came with it, the dormant parts of his mind lighting up and that feeling of indomitability. He took a slow breath through his nose, and followed Will back out of the store.

And then the smell hit him, accosted his senses, overwhelming everything else. Demon blood. Close. Sam’s head snapped up, heart hammering in his chest as he whirled around just in time to block a punch from a black-eyed man. “Winchester,” the demon said. “Boss says he misses you. Both of you.”

Without thought, Sam had him by the throat, pinned against the wall. Crumbs of brick and concrete rained down from where the demon’s head had slammed into it.

“I’m from the welcoming committee,” the demon said, smiling wide. A drop of blood welled up from where he’d bitten his lower lip.

It took every ounce of willpower Sam had to not lunge forward and taste the blood. He let go, pushed himself off the demon and stumbled back, unable to tear his eyes away from that glistening speck of red. He drew the demon-killing blade from its sheath and clutched it tightly. If he used it there’d be more blood, but what choice did he have?

The demon’s eyes flicked down to the blade. “I’m the first of many. It’s our job to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Sam,” Will said, and it wasn’t as much a warning as it was reassurance. Whatever choice Sam made here, Will would back it. That trust made Sam even more determined to make the right call, and so, with every fiber of his being aching to taste blood, Sam stabbed the blade quickly into the demon’s skull, and yanked it back out. Without looking at it, Sam wiped the blade clean on the corpse’s jacket and shoved it back in his sheath.

A high-pitched buzz filled Sam’s ears. The throbbing in his head got worse and he winced as the pulsing ache became lances of pain. He needed demon blood. It was all he could think about.

“Sam? What’s wrong?” Will asked, his voice muffled beneath the pulse of Sam’s own heart, pounding like an echo chamber.

“I’m-I think it’s Famine.”

Will grabbed Sam’s arm, squeezed his fingers until Sam focused on him. “Do we need to call this off?”

“We can’t! We have to-” Sam couldn’t get the rest of the words out. The pain had gotten so intense he had to clench his eyes shut. And then, with shocking clarity, the scent of the corpse’s blood-still sulfur tinged, still demonic-hit his nostrils. If Will hadn’t been holding onto him, he would’ve dropped to his knees, and lunged for its neck.

“We go back to the motel. We regroup. We try again tomorrow. This isn’t giving up, Sam. It’s being smart.”

Sam tried to protest, but he could barely get the words together. He was too far gone, and Will was right. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Will said, leading Sam back out into the parking lot. “And don’t worry, I’ll drive. I know how, in theory.”

#

By the time they reached the motel, Sam could barely see straight. The need had grown so all-encompassing, he could hear Will’s pulse too, see his blood pumping through the veins of his slim neck, not what he needed, but close, and he was not going to hurt Will. He had to get away, had to get himself under control.

The car jerked as Will gracelessly stopped it, angled across two parking spaces. He tore the key out of the ignition like he couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, ran to the passenger side and opened the door, pulling Sam to his feet.

Sam followed, eyes closed against the blinding neon of the lights, disgusted at how slippery his hands were when he clutched onto Will like a lifeline. He let himself be led up the stairs, “Watch the last step, Sam,” into their room, wincing at the glare of the overhead.

“I’ll turn on the lamp, hang on,” Will said, and he pulled Sam’s hand gently off his arm, placing it against the wall so he could support himself. Moments later the harsh light went dark and a much softer one took its place, one of the low-wattage bedside lamps.

Will took Sam’s arm again and led him to the bed, but Sam tugged free of his hold. “No. You-you have to lock me up.”

Will looked around the room, incredulous. “Where? In the bathroom? You blew a storm cellar door apart last time you detoxed, how’s a little slab of pressboard going to hold up?”

Sam shook his head. “There’s cuffs in my bag. Chain me to the pipes.”

It took a moment for Will to move, that pressure at his temples growing stronger, the pounding more insistent. But he made it to the bed, grabbed Sam’s duffel bag and dug through it. There were two pairs of handcuffs inside.

Will brought the cuffs over to Sam, set one pair on the edge of the sink, and crouched down next to him. Sam was getting worse, sweat coating his brow in a thin sickly sheen. His skin looked sallow and heat poured off of him.

Gently, Will pushed back Sam’s sleeve, and closed the first cuff around his wrist. He threaded their fingers, squeezing gentle reassurance as he brought Sam’s arm closer to the sink and closed the other cuff around the metal drain pipe.

Sam’s eyes flicked up to the other pair of cuffs, hanging off the edge of the porcelain. “Those won’t fit around my ankle.

“They’re not for you,” Will said, grabbing the second pair. He snapped a cuff closed around his own wrist and sat next to the tub, closing the other cuff around the exposed pipe there.

“What are you doing?” Sam said, squeezing his eyes shut. He was digging his fingertips into his palms-so hard, Will could feel little red half-moons of pain mirrored in his own hands.

“You’re not the only one with-“ Will’s words were cut off by a spike of pain, pushing against his breastbone like the thing inside of him knew he’d trapped them. “-problems.”

Sam looked at him, pupils blown wide. Too wide. The black was bleeding out from its circles, two quickly-growing oil slicks in his eyes. “They’re coming,” he said, and he slammed the back of his head against the wall with a morbid thump.

Will didn’t have to ask who. Sam’s limbs had stopped shaking, his shoulders and arms were clenched, corded muscles straining as he pulled hard against the cuff, like he could snap it off. Maybe he could. The pipe seemed laughably flimsy now, bending and groaning with each tug from Sam.

The door to the main room clicked open, and Sam yanked harder, a low growl slipping from his throat.

And that thing in Will responded in kind, pushing it’s way up, plasma-slick feathers rubbing against his lungs and heart as they expanded and swelled in his chest and pushed their way out. Will heard himself cry out as the door to the bathroom slammed open, and two demons stared back at him. His vision went red, pain boiled through his veins as his limbs lengthened and his back burst open.

##

Sam stood, feeling dizzy with the rush of power singing through him. The two demons that had come for them lay dead at his feet, thick gashes on their necks smeared with blood. He’d broken the ply-board wall and the pipe in the bathroom, though he couldn’t clearly remember doing either. But he’d stopped the demons, drank them down and killed them and now Will was-Will was gone.

He remembered he’d planned for this, had a way to find him, but couldn’t at that moment recall what it was. He could barely remember anything except the hot flood of power from the blood he’d just had. It was more than he’d ever had at once, but he was still thirsty. More-so than before.

The stabbing hunger from earlier came back and he staggered towards the motel room door which had been broken off its hinges. There were other demons, only a few miles away. They were too far away for him to smell, but amped up as he was, he could feel them, practically see them in his mind’s eye.

He was supposed to be looking for someone else, someone more important, but he couldn’t remember who, couldn’t think of anything beyond the blood.

#

The night air felt sticky, heavy with unshed rain. Sam ran, without a clear destination, relying fully on his preternaturally amplified senses-he followed first the feel and then the scent of the demons, his returning thirst becoming more pressing the closer he got.

He crossed another road, dotted with abandoned cars, and found himself in a strip of roadside forest, just thick enough that it blocked the streetlights. Another familiar scent was close, an important one. He slowed, when he heard the distinct sound of hooves crunching over dry leaves.

Will.

Sam knew it was him, though Will’s body no longer showed a trace of humanity-he was the size and shape of a stag, with black fur, and a ruff of raven feathers. As Sam watched, Will lowered his head and rammed it forwards, impaling a man on his antlers. The man let out a pained, chuckling noise.

It was only then that Sam noticed the tackiness on his own skin-the blood covering his mouth and chin and hands, the stains that had turned a patch of his charcoal grey shirt black. He should be ashamed, he thought distantly, should try to clean himself up, but he brought his hand towards his mouth, traced his fingers over his lips instead, and as the scent of demon blood grew even stronger, he realized what it was Will had speared.

Will heard him approaching, let out a huff, and turned slowly towards Sam, lifting the impaled body as he raised his head. With another, louder whuff of air, Will jerked his neck in Sam’s direction, and the gored demon came loose, hurtling through the air, landing in a heap at Sam’s feet.

It took every ounce of Sam’s willpower to not fall to his knees and suck at the gushing wounds. He stood his ground instead, watched Will come closer, snout and eyes lowered. Sam held out his hand, reached for the top of Will’s head and stroked him gently between the eyes, fingertips grazing the antlers.

Will stepped in closer, nudged at Sam with his snout. Sam pulled his hand back, fingers dripping with fresh blood and he wanted so badly to-

“Heard you had a pet, Winchester,” the demon said, climbing to his feet. His black eyes gleamed in the night.

Sam whirled to face him.

“You really should’ve house-trained him. Now we’re gonna have to put him down.”

“Stay away from him,” Sam said, rage pounding in his ears.

“I’ll think about it...if you ask nicely.”

“I’m not asking,” Sam said. He reached out with his power, grabbed hold of the demon’s corrupted soul and burnt it to a crisp in one smooth motion. The empty body crumpled to the ground, head landing with a muffled thud on the earth.

Will gave a grunt of approval, and nudged Sam again, more insistently. His antlers brushed against Sam’s cheek and he marveled at how soft they felt.

Using his power had sated Sam’s hunger somewhat, or rather, it had stoked a different need that balanced the aching thirst in his gut. But there was still a demonic presence nearby-growing stronger and closer with every passing second. A whole cluster. Sam’s thoughts warred in his mind, the intensifying need for blood urging him to run towards the hellish mass, while what little was left of his rational mind told him to flee. He was strong, but whatever was headed towards them was stronger, much stronger, and he had to keep Will safe.

But the hunger grew, and Sam knew at that moment with horrifying certainty that he wasn’t strong enough, not the way he needed to be. He was going to give in, and when he did, Will would be left to his own defenses. Sam wouldn’t be able to protect him, and if something happened to him…

His rising panic gave him a flash of clarity. “Will, you have to go,” he said, hoping Will could even understand him in his current state.

The demonic mass was coming closer. Sam could sense them; there were so many-too many-dozens and dozens, and at the speed they were going they’d be here any minute. “Get out of here!” Sam pleaded, shoving at Will’s side. Will staggered, snuffled once, but stood his ground. “Please, Will,” Sam’s voice wavered. “One of us has to make it through this intact. You’re gonna have to pull me back.”

Will took a few steps, like he was considering.

“Go, hide somewhere safe. I’ll find you. I swear.” Sam doubled over as the demons came within full range of his senses. He could feel his eyes shift, his vision coated with a grey haze. “Run!” he shouted.

And then, finally, Will ran, disappearing between the dense trees.

Sam turned back to the highway, expecting a roiling smoky cloud, a disembodied mass of demons racing towards him at inhuman speeds. But instead, there was an oversized, armored black SUV. It stopped ten feet away from him, and the door opened.

The hunger inside him grew to a fevered pitch, and Sam’s eyes locked on the demons stepping out of the car. Two, three, four demons who took positions on either side of the door, standing guard while the SUV extended a lift, lowering a wheelchair to the ground. In the wheelchair sat an old, withered man, with gnarled hands. The roiling mass of demons was trapped inside of the old man, Sam realized with a mix of fascination and physically painful disappointment. Part of him-the part that already given in completely to the hunger-was furious that his feast had been cut down to four. Unless, of course, he could figure out a way to feed on what was inside of the Horseman. Inside of Famine.

He took an unsteady step forward, and Famine’s demons blocked his path, arms raised and ready to fight.

“Stop!” Famine shouted. “Nobody lays a finger on this sweet boy.” He smiled at Sam, yellowed teeth gleaming. “Sam, did you enjoy the snacks I sent you?”

“You sent?” Sam asked, understanding sinking in.

“Don’t worry, you’ll never die from drinking too much. You’re the exception that proves the rule, just like Satan wanted you to be.” Famine smiled and lifted his spindly arms, gesturing at his guards. “So, have at them. Cut their throats.”

And oh, how Sam wanted to. But if he did, he’d be lost for good. He could feel himself on the precipice-riding the crest of a wave with the bottom threatening to give way. If he took this step, if he fed now, deep in Famine’s thrall, then he would become exactly what Lucifer wanted. He’d be nothing but his addiction, nothing but the need for more, and eventually he’d say yes to the Devil just to make the agony stop. So he swallowed down the pooling saliva in his mouth, reached out a hand and grabbed hold of the guards with his power, pulling them all out of their hosts. With the demonic cloud pooled at Sam’s feet, the empty human shells collapsed. Sam took a breath, looked Famine dead in the eyes, and gritted out, “No.”

Famine’s lips curved downwards, in disappointed annoyance. “Then I’ll have them,” He rasped and lifted a clawed hand, funneling the demons up from the ground and into his open mouth.

Sam nearly smiled with relief. He’d hoped Famine would take the bait, and he hoped that his theory was right. He raised his arm again, turning his power on Famine.

“I’m a Horseman, Sam. Your power doesn’t work on me,” the old man said, a drop of spittle on his lips.

“No. But it will work on them.” Sam said, focusing on the demons inside of Famine-the ones he’d just consumed, and the rest of them.

Famine let out a strangled moan, and fought Sam’s will, but Sam pulled harder, using every ounce of his power, dragging the demonic mass out. The resistance was immense, like trying to keep a freight-train from pulling away with little more than a white-knuckled grip. Blood gushed from Sam’s nose, his head felt like it was about to split open. And then Famine cried out, and the roiling cloud of black exploded out of him, the half-digested demonic essence dissipating into the night sky.



##

“Whatever you are, you’re lying,” Bella said. She’d been arguing with the voice for a good ten minutes now, despite how ludicrous it felt. She knew, logically, that she had to be imagining it-it was just another terrible side-effect of her condition-perhaps she’d grown a brain tumor to go along with the lung cancer. It couldn’t be real, it couldn’t be. But she’d prayed, and now an angel was talking to her. Madness or divinity or something else entirely.

“I have no reason to lie. But I understand you need convincing. It’s a perfectly normal, human reaction. Let me prove that I am who I say I am.”

“Okay, prove it.”

“Go to the kitchen. Turn on one of your burners.”

Bella took the stairs down quietly, not wanting to pull Jack into her delusion. She crossed the kitchen tiles to the stove, stood in front of it. She’d insisted on gas burners, preferred the heat over the electric. “Are you going to tell me to stick my hand in the flame?”

“Yes.”

Bella gripped the dial of the gas burner and paused. “This is how madness starts,” she muttered to herself as she turned the dial. “With immolation.”

“Fire cannot touch me, nor you, while you are under my protection.”

Bella hated that she trusted this voice. But there was something about it-something so true, so absolute, so holy that she listened. She believed. With trembling fingers, she reached out towards the flames, closed her eyes...and felt nothing.

Expecting to see that the flame had died, she opened her eyes, but no, it was still going, her hand was covered in fire. Shocked, she yanked her arm back, stared at the inside of her palm, but her skin wasn’t blistering, wasn’t charred or singed or even hot-it was completely untouched. Astonished, she stuck her hand in again, deep into the flame, and the fire flowed around her fingers as she spread them, parting like a miniature Red Sea. Bella gasped, eyes tearing with relief, shock and joy.

“Do you believe now?”

“Yes,” Bella said, voice cracking. Memories came unbidden-of her mother’s hand on her shoulder as they stood in the church pews during mass, and that feeling of elation, hope and certainty that someone was watching over them. “Yes, I believe.”

“Then what is your answer?”

“Yes,” she said again, more firmly. And the kitchen filled with an all-encompassing, unearthly light as the archangel Michael entered her.

##

The night air whipped past Will as he ran, hooves flying over road and grass alike. He ran for miles, weaving in and out of trees, thoughts panicked and wild. He knew he had to get away, knew he had to run from something terrible, though he couldn’t remember what.

There was a scent in the air, and another and another, familiar and friendly and something he missed, so ran faster, until his hooves tore up chunks of earth. He broke out of the woods and ran across an open field towards what looked like stables.

As he neared, he heard barking, excited and constant. A pack of dogs ran towards him, ran with him, guiding him inside the empty wooden building. One of the horses inside neighed at his approach, but soon drifted back to sleep like the others.

Will found an unclaimed pile of hay near where the dogs were settling in, and dropped to his knees, exhausted. His limbs shortened and widened, and the antlers retracted back inside of him, folding into his ribs along with the feathery down.

The night air carried another familiar, even more calming scent in through the open doors.

Sam stumbled through the door of the stables, catching himself on the frame. “Will…” he rasped, crossing the hay-strewn floor he dropped to his knees, and the dogs nearest him backed away, retreating to safety behind Will.

“It’s okay,” Will said to Sam, to the dogs. “We’re okay.” There was far too much blood staining Sam’s mouth, chin and shirt. Too much to be his. “You stopped them?”

Sam nodded miserably and leaned into Will, wrapped his arms around him and lowered them both to the ground.

Will hadn’t realized how cold he was until then. Sam’s hands were hot, his body was radiating pure heat, and instinctively, Will turned his back into it, fitting his body inside the hard curves of Sam’s torso. The tackiness on his own back stuck to Sam’s shirt, but he didn’t care, and neither, it seemed, did Sam.

“How’d you find me?”

Sam moved his hand down to Will’s ankle, thumbed the band there.

“Are you...?” Will cut himself off, realizing the pointlessness of asking. Of course, Sam wasn’t okay. He’d had a bad enough time detoxing after one demon, and considering he’d taken on an actual Horseman of the Apocalypse, he’d had to have had more than one body full of blood. A lot more.

“M‘good,” Sam said, though his slurred voice sounded anything but. He wrapped his arm tighter around Will, and pulled his jacket up over Will’s shoulders. His skin felt hot, warming Will in seconds, and that warmth, along with the strong thrumming of Sam’s heartbeat, lulled Will to sleep.

##

Jack froze mid-step when he heard someone moving in the kitchen. He’d gone for a glass of water. Bella didn’t usually come downstairs again after getting ready for bed, she hadn’t in months. He rolled back his shoulders, ready to apologize for what he’d said earlier. Anger wouldn’t help either of them. He had to be supportive, no matter how much he disagreed with her choices. With a pleasant smile plastered on his face, he rounded the corner into the kitchen.

And found Bella holding her hand over the stove-over a lit burner. Her hand was in the middle of the flame, burning, and she was just standing there.

“Bella!” he shouted, running in. He grabbed her and tried to pull her away from the stove, but she wouldn’t budge. It was like she was made of steel and rooted in place. Panic rising even higher, he grabbed for her wrist. “Your hand!”

She didn’t move at all for a moment, and then shrugged him off, with a simple twitch of the shoulder, sending him flying back with some kind of unseen force. He landed clumsily on his hip, banged his head against the cabinets beneath the sink. Turning towards him, Bella held up her hand, turning it slowly; there wasn’t a mark on it. Not a single blister. “This hand is fine,” she said, in a voice that was hers but wasn’t-the inflection was all wrong and her expression was even more wrong. There was idle curiosity there, and a hint of amusement, and none of it was Bella.

Jack remembered the demon from a year ago, the feeling of losing control over his body and being a prisoner in his own mind. “Whoever you are, get out of my wife.”

The demon, or whatever it was, laughed, full-throated. “The only one who can tell me to leave is her, and she invited me in.”

“What?” Jack could barely think straight. His chest felt tight, his pulse was racing. “Bella, my darling, tell that thing to get out. Whatever it promised, whatever it offered, it’s lying.”

That struck a nerve. Her face distorted into a sneer and the air around them darkened as the kitchen lights dimmed and began to spark. “I do not lie. I have no reason to.” But just as quickly as that rage had come, it dissipated again, and she said, “Though I owe you no explanation, she feels that you deserve one.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Bella was looking back at him. “Jack,” she said, moving closer to him. She reached out that same, miraculous hand, pulled him to standing and cupped his cheek.

Mouth dry, it took Jack a moment before he could speak again. “Are you-are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m better than fine, Jack. I’m healed. I can feel it.”

Jack’s heart thudded even harder in his chest. “The cancer?”

She nodded, and her smile spread until her cheeks began to dimple. “It’s gone. My lungs are clear. I can breathe again. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Nothing hurts.”

“And this-“ Jack bit back his words. “This being healed you?”

Bella nodded. “Yes. Michael healed me.”

“Michael?” Jack swallowed. Not a demon then, assuming it was telling the truth. “Like the archangel?”

“The very one.” She smiled at him, too serenely, a look he’d never seen in all the years he’d known her. Contentment, yes, and unbridled joy, but this went beyond that turn of her mouth and shine in her eyes. There was something emanating from her, something that felt like galaxies collapsing and being reborn and he’d never been a religious man, but in that moment he believed. And he felt his heart begin to break as he understood the weight of it. “Please don’t hurt her,” he said before he could keep the words from slipping out.

“Don’t worry, Jack. This won’t take long,” she said, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. In a flash of light and an unseen buffeting of wings, she vanished.

##

on to chapter 2