Fic: Until Proven Innocent (Part 2) Adult
Series: Lost Legacies (Sentinel School)
Title: Until Proven Innocent
Fandoms: Prison Break, Sentinel, Supernatural (though Sentinel is only obliquely referenced)
Pairing: Dean/Michael
Summary: Dean finds a kindred soul in his Guide, but circumstances complicate matters.
I'm sure this mangles all sorts of timelines, but it's set in the brief period in season 2 Prison Break when Michael leaves Sucra, but hasn't met up with Linc yet. For Supernatural it's also season 2, some time after the bank job but before the finale.
Thanks as always to Moon, who makes me clarify my rather convoluted thoughts.
Part 1
Michael started awake barely two hours after he’d managed to drift off. Images of Mahone leading the Hunt as he chased Michael down and a hawk wheeling overhead faded as Michael took in his surroundings.
Clothes and papers were strewn haphazardly about and Michael wondered if it was a natural habit or something borne from living in motel rooms. His fingers twitched as he fought the urge to neaten things up. He’d never dealt well with untidiness or chaos. Both of which accompanied Dean in droves.
Dean was sitting at the table with the chair at an angle that allowed him to watch the two sleeping men and the door. He glanced briefly at Michael before going back to cleaning his guns.
Michael tossed off the blankets and climbed out of bed. He was too tense to even think about going back to sleep. He grabbed his clothes from the day before and headed to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later he stepped out wearing only his jeans.
“You got an extra shirt?” he asked softly, not willing to wake Sam. Dean looked up again and froze. It took Michael a moment to realise that his tattoos were all on show. He narrowed his eyes but refused to break eye contact, though Dean’s expression wasn’t the blatantly staring one he usually got. There was heat there and the shadow of something Michael couldn’t identify. Dean cleared his throat and blanked his expression.
“In the bag,” he said with a jerk of his head. Michael nodded and rummaged through the bag and took the first top he found. He pulled it on, trying to ignore the fact that Dean’s shirt on his skin made him prickle with awareness and that he was reminded of the man with every breath, as Dean’s smell settled around him.
To make it worse, he was forced to distract himself from the strangely erotic sight of Dean disassembling and cleaning his guns by looking over the ammunition. The first thing he noticed was that none of them were typical. The second, that not all of them were entirely metal. One shell was filled with what seemed to be some sort of salt.
“What do you do with this stuff?” Michael asked curiously, gesturing to the array of weapons.
“I hunt ghosts, demons and supernatural creatures,” Dean answered bluntly, looking challengingly at Michael. The last time that question had come up he’d been too invested in the other person, it was far better to get it out of the way first. Michael simply nodded and Dean couldn’t help but feel a little offended at how easily Michael had taken the news, despite that being something approaching the reaction he’d wanted.
“I tell you I hunt ghosts and all you do is nod?” Dean asked. Michael smiled a little at Dean’s affronted tone and shrugged. After being chased by the Wild Hunt as Dean had called it, Michael was willing to believe that there were people who hunted those sorts of things.
Dean’s eyes raked over Michael once more before he came to a decision. He reached for one his knives, flipped it over so that he was holding the blade and offered it to Michael. He then handed Michael a whetstone.
“I could use some help,” he offered. Michael settled in the chair opposite Dean, sure that Dean had just given him an astonishing show of trust. He immediately got to work. He’d recently had a lot of experience sharpening the edges of things that weren’t nearly as well made as the blade he’d been entrusted with. They looked at each other for a moment, sharing an understanding.
“You said you were innocent,” Michael finally ventured, trying to learn a little more about the man he was obviously going to be spending some time with. He had no way of fighting the Hunt and these two clearly knew something about how to do that. “What do they think you did?”
“Bank robbery,” Dean answered with a smirk that faded quickly, “credit card fraud, breaking and entering, theft, grave desecration… murder. Some of those crimes I actually committed.”
There was something fragile in Dean’s expression as he listed his crimes, something brittle and broken. Michael thought about Linc and the front he’d put up in prison. He thought about himself and the lengths he’d gone to to ensure Linc’s freedom. He wondered if his expression was the same. It had been so long since he’d even thought about looking in a mirror. He hadn’t looked like himself for so long that he was afraid he wouldn’t recognise himself. Michael wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He didn’t know Dean well enough to know what he needed.
“Grave desecration,” Michael volunteered finally, “that’s an interesting one.”
Dean snorted, and the brittle expression disappeared like it had never been there, but Michael knew it had, knew that it was still there just below the surface, like everything else about Dean. Michael didn’t know Dean well, but he knew enough to think that Dean was like liquid; the way he moved, the way he slipped through shades of meaning, and especially the way his eyes didn’t always mean what his mouth said.
“Comes with the hunting.”
“How did you start hunting?” Michael asked. It seemed a strange sort of business to fall into.
“There’s this demon,” Dean said as he absently rubbed his chest. “It killed my mom. So now we’re hunting it.”
They were silent for a long while, Dean determinedly not thinking about his mother, or his father’s response to that loss. Michael’s thoughts drifted to losing his own mother, and ultimately Linc as well. There really wasn’t anything he could say that could come close to consoling something like that.
“I could never go back,” Michael said suddenly, just as surprised as Dean that he’d offered anything of himself.
“To prison?”
“To being like everyone else,” Michael corrected. He could go back to prison and survive. He knew he could because it was the only time in his life that he’d felt alive, that he’d felt real and whole. He’d sometimes been lost and terrified and hurt, but he’d been more himself than he’d ever been before. What he couldn’t go back to was the hollow mask of expectation and sophistication that he’d never even realised he’d been wearing.
“Normal’s overrated anyway,” Dean said with a quick grin. Michael found himself smiling back. “How did you know about the Hunt disappearing at sunrise, anyway?”
Michael looked uncomfortable. He hated feeling out of his depth. The Hunt made him distinctly uncomfortable, not because it was after him, though that was part of it, but because he didn’t know how to deal with it.
“They chased me last night, but faded in the morning.”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up.
“You faced the Hunt and survived?” There was a trace of admiration in his voice that made Michael duck his head. “That blade should be sharp enough. This one could use some work,” Dean continued as he picked up another knife and handed it to Michael. Their fingers brushed and lingered. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but snatched his hand away as Sam shifted in his sleep. Both men avoided eye contact.
-----
Sam had gone to get coffee and breakfast once the sun had risen and then disappeared off to the library. Dean and Michael had stayed in because the police and the FBI would undoubtedly be looking for them. Two escaped felons in one afternoon was hardly good PR. It may not be the same town, but likely all towns in the vicinity were on the lookout, and they couldn’t take the risk. None of them had slept well and Sam, at least, had a lot ahead of him today. There was little Dean and Michael could do stuck in a motel room.
Once Sam had left something in the dynamic had changed, though both men tried to ignore it for their own reasons. Dean and Michael had spent most of the morning watching TV or neatening things up respectively. Dean had tried napping, but had been unsuccessful. Finally he’d taken to pacing.
Michael had been acutely aware of Dean’s presence the entire time. Prison had made that sort of awareness necessary, but this was different. Dean made Michael aware of himself, and his responses to others, in a way that Michael was usually able to tune out.
“I hate waiting,” Dean growled as he spun and walked the room once more.
“Dean,” Michael murmured, from where he leaned against the wall. Dean stopped in his tracks and turned to face Michael. “There isn’t anything we can do but wait for your brother to get back.”
“I know,” Dean said, dropping his eyes from Michael’s face. He caught sight of a sliver of tattoo showing above the collar of the shirt Michael wore. Dean reached out, much as he’d wanted to do the night before, and brushed his fingertips over it. Michael seemed to tense and shiver at the same time. Dean raised his eyes to meet Michael’s once more.
Michael remained still, staring into Dean’s eyes, as Dean’s hands dropped to Michael’s waist. There was something in Dean’s eyes that stilled Michael’s breath, something dark and shadowed and heartbreakingly understanding.
“This is how you broke you brother out of prison, isn’t it?” Dean asked.
Michael nodded, surprised when Dean’s lips pressed against his. A hand in the small of his back pulled him closer and Michael relented after a moment, allowing the warmth and safety he seemed to feel around Dean to infuse him.
Dean tugged at the bottom of Michael’s shirt, pulling it over his head. Michael complied, not entirely sure why. Fingers began to trace the lines of his tattoos almost reverentially.
Michael moaned softly, slowly relaxing as Dean continued to explore his tattoos. Michael’s skin burned in the wake of Dean’s fingertips. His breath hitched when those nimble fingers brushed a nipple, and he opened eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed to see Dean smirking.
“So rescuing my brother turns you on?” Michael wondered idly. Dean grinned and stepped into Michael’s space. He raised a hand to cup Michael’s head and brought them together in a kiss that quickly deepened and left them breathless.
“Just what it says about you,” Dean said as he pulled Michael into another kiss. He edged them over to one of the beds. Michael stopped when his knees hit the side.
He knew all the reasons this wasn’t a good idea, chief among them the fact that they were being hunted by both humans and the supernatural, and the fact that casual sex was something he just did not do, but there was something about Dean that made it all seem irrelevant. He’d never met anyone who could silence the constant barrage of thoughts running through his mind and he wasn’t sure yet if that was a good thing or not. Making a decision, Michael sat on the bed and edged further on. With a grin, Dean followed.
Dean’s expression faded to something gentle and almost reverent. He hesitated, hands at the button of Michael’s jeans. He looked up, as though asking permission, and Michael knew this was something he had to give consciously, not something he could simply acquiesce to. He reached out and pulled Dean into a kiss, pouring more of himself into it than he’d ever given anyone.
Michael’s mind stilled until there weren’t any of the thoughts of plans and consequences that he was never fully able to let go. His world narrowed to Dean; the shift of defined muscles under his hands, the scratch of stubble against his skin, and the weight of Dean’s body on his. Until even that didn’t matter and all that was left was slow and hot and slick.
-----
Michael woke to find Dean enveloping him. One arm was tucked under the pillow, probably gripping the knife Dean had hidden there when he was trying to nap, while the other was wrapped around Michael, hand resting above his heart. Dean’s face was pressed into the back of Michael’s neck. It was something that should have set him on edge, but he only felt safe and relaxed.
Michael knew the moment Dean woke up as he stretched extensively before pressing his lips to the back of Michael’s neck and settling back into his original position.
“Afternoon, Sunshine,” Dean murmured, fingers running absently along Michael’s chest. Michael stifled a groan and shifted so that he was lying on his back.
“Your brother will be back soon and we need to get cleaned up.”
“Want some company in the shower?” Dean asked. Michael didn’t need to see Dean’s expression to know he was smirking.
-----
“Dean?” Sam called as he pushed open the door with his foot. It was late afternoon and he knew firsthand how annoying a bored Dean could be. He hadn’t liked to leave Dean with Scofield, there was just something about the guy that set Sam on edge, but one of them had needed to do the research. Dean’s wanted status had rather limited the options.
“Mm,” Dean said, snatching one of the coffees Sam was carrying. He towelled his hair with the other hand.
“Are you only just getting up?” Sam asked with a sigh. Dean paused, glancing back towards the bathroom.
“Yeah.”
There was something beneath the casual tone, but Sam had long ago given up trying to understand his brother’s moods, especially the ones that weren’t on the surface. He had enough trouble dealing with the ones that were.
“Where’s Scofield?” he asked.
“Hmm?” Dean murmured, pretending to be distracted by the TV. Sam sighed again, though he was forced to pause a moment when he saw Michael exit the bathroom. If he hadn’t shaved his head Sam was sure that he’d have been towelling it off too. Sam opened his mouth, looked at Dean as though he’d never seen him before, then snapped it shut. Dean was determinedly ignoring him. That, if nothing else, was enough to confirm Sam’s suspicions.
Sam had to take a moment to push the information to one side to deal with later. There were a whole lot of questions he needed to ask, about Dean and dad and more than ten years of lies, but now was not the time. Sam cleared his throat.
“I think I’ve got something,” Sam said, laying down the papers he’d been carrying. “The victims we were investigating before. I think they’re tied in with the Hunt.”
Dean sipped his coffee and, carefully not looking anywhere in the general area of Scofield, looked at the papers Sam had brought.
“They’re all criminals.”
The Wild Hunt went after those who’d committed some sort of crime, typically something that harmed nature or those favoured by the fairies. It also explained the injuries, and the lack of a cause of death. Elfshot left no trace.
Scofield came to look at the papers then, hand resting casually on Dean’s shoulder as he leaned forward. Dean’s eyes flicked towards Sam then. There was a warning there and beneath that something exposed.
“They’re alleged criminals who were let go. Some of the cases didn’t have enough evidence, some were mistrials and some were declared innocent.”
“But why would the Hunt go after men who weren’t necessarily guilty?” Dean asked.
“It could be like that Reaper. Someone could be controlling it,” Sam suggested. Dean looked a little pale and Sam couldn’t blame him. He seemed to have a bull’s-eye on his back when it came to the heavy hitters of the supernatural world. Even the demon who wanted to convert Sam had a vengeance kick against Dean.
“So we’re dealing with a vigilante?”
“Or a cop,” Michael said, finally speaking up.
Both Sam and Dean felt uncomfortable with that suggestion. They had made a life being on the run from the cops, but they also knew that generally cops were good guys, just a little misguided.
“Now we just have to survive the Hunt long enough to find out who’s behind this,” Dean said. Sam grimaced. There weren’t any stories about anyone surviving a Hunt. Of course, there weren’t any stories about anyone controlling a Hunt either.
“And afterwards?” Michael asked. “What about the Hunt?”
Sam and Dean exchanged looks.
“The Hunt doesn’t generally go after innocent men,” Dean said, as he looked at Michael. Sam couldn’t help but notice the softening around his eyes, the unconscious curve of his mouth. He hadn’t seen Dean like that since Cassie. Immediately Sam felt defensive on Dean’s behalf. “It should stop once what’s controlling it is destroyed. That’s usually a talisman of some sort.”
“Fairies don’t like being manipulated and controlled, so this one will be pissed as hell when it’s free. It should be more concerned with vengeance than with you. Especially since you’re not actually guilty,” Sam added. Michael frowned.
“Should?”
“Fairies aren’t exactly what you’d call predictable,” Dean said with a shrug.
Sam looked out the window at the darkening sky and frowned.
“We’ll have to continue investigating tomorrow.” He went to his bag to get a change of clothes. The library hadn’t had air conditioning and it had been humid as hell. “I’ll take a shower and then first watch,” he told them, ignoring the way that Dean moved into Michael’s space as Sam disappeared into the bathroom.
-----
Michael started awake when Dean shook his shoulder. It was dark, past midnight since Sam seemed to be getting up from the next bed.
“The Hunt’s here,” Dean murmured. He pressed a gun into Michael’s hand. Michael stared at it. He’d held a gun before, even fired one, but he was far from easy with them. Dean seemed to notice his expression. “When the time comes, flick that and squeeze the trigger.” Dean handed him an extra clip as well. “Hold with both hands and aim a little off what you think you should. Recoil will take care of the rest.”
“I thought you said it couldn’t be killed.”
Dean frowned, glancing back over his shoulder. Sam stood facing the door.
“It can’t, but we might be able to slow it down enough to get a bit of a head start.”
“Won’t your protections keep it out?”
“They should,” Dean said as he pressed one gun into the small of his back and checked the clip of another. “But this is the Hunt.”
There was a loud bang and the door shook. Michael scrambled out of bed and stood at Dean’s shoulder as they aimed their weapons at the door. There was another bang and door splintered. Dean glanced briefly at Sam, keeping the majority of his attention on the door.
“The protections are breaking much faster than they should.”
“There’s something else going on,” Sam said.
Dean shifted his stance slightly and Michael was surprised to find Dean standing a little in front of him, guarding him from whatever was coming in the door. He had mixed feelings about that, but mostly he appreciated that someone was willing to put their life on the line for him. That didn’t happen very often.
There was another loud bang and the door flung open, hitting the wall with a resounding crack. In the doorway stood a man. It took Michael a moment to realise that he was one of the cops who chased him on the first night the Hunt found him. Behind him was the ethereal mist and shadowy white-red forms of the Hunt.
“We have to get out of here,” Dean said, edging back, though his eyes never left the man.
“Go, Dean,” Sam told him in a bizarre echo of their father. “Now!”
Dean hated to leave Sam there to deal with the man alone, but Hunt wasn’t after him, and if they stayed the Hunt would too. Sam could deal with one man.
“Michael, bathroom,” Dean ordered. Michael hesitated, but obeyed. Dean was just stepping onto the tile floor when the man smudged the salt barrier. “Out the window.” Michael was already opening the window as far as it would go. He wriggled out and then waited for Dean to follow. They took off into the night.
-----
Sam glared at the man who threatened his brother’s life. He covered his worry with a smug smile when the Hunt faded and disappeared into the night. He wasn’t about to let worry for his brother show, it would only put him at a disadvantage.
“They’re criminals,” the man said. “I made it my job to put them away, but it doesn’t change anything. They aren’t punished.”
Sam stared at the man, obviously a cop from his words and the badge on his belt.
“So you’re using the Hunt?”
“My mother told me stories of the Gentry,” the man told him stepping into the room. Sam kept his gun trained on the man, though he was reluctant to use it. It was one thing to shoot some sort of creature, another entirely to shoot a person, especially a cop. “The Hunt goes after the guilty.”
“I can’t let you do this,” Sam said. A glint caught his eye and he noticed a chain wrapped around the man’s wrist. Something hung from it and Sam hoped it was the talisman. If the cop kept the talisman with him then Sam had a chance of stopping him.
Without warning Sam lunged at the man, punching him in the jaw. It didn’t take the man long to recover and go after him in return. Sam blocked the first punch, dodged the second, but the third hit him in the stomach. He coughed, trying to catch his breath. Sam gripped the man’s wrist, blocking the next punch and ripped the chain from his wrist. Attached to the chain was a vial of some dark substance, too dark to just be blood. Sam dropped it to the floor and crushed it with his boot.
-----
Dean and Michael turned into an alley, only to stop short at a brick wall. Dean spun around, taking the gun from the waist of his jeans. He moved in front of Michael, blocking him from harm.
He felt faint when he looked upon the leader of the Hunt. It wasn’t just any Hunt leader, but Arawn himself, one of the death kings of the Otherworld. Dean was half terrified, half in awe when Arawn drew to a halt in the entrance to the alley. There was a sound that might have resembled amusement.
Dean looked into the deep, dark eyes and wondered if this was what Nietzsche meant when he said that if you gaze into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.
You have a great many enemies, little Guardian. Dean didn’t see the mouth move, but the words were clear. He tensed in anticipation. Do not fear, I am not among that number. I must admit a certain curiosity in your ability to avoid the inevitable, but I suppose that is a natural result of my nature. The man seemed to smile, though there was nothing warm or earthly about it. I will be watching you and your shaman with great interest, little Guardian.
With that the Welsh fairy king whistled sharply, calling the dogs off. He nodded once at Dean before turning and disappearing into the darkness. It took some time before the baying of the hounds faded. Dean sagged back against Michael who automatically wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist to support him.
“Shit.”
“Are you alright?” Michael asked, to which the other man nodded. Dean straightened almost immediately, pretending that he hadn’t shown even that small amount of weakness.
“We need to get back to Sam.”
-----
Dean and Michael arrived at the motel just after the Hunt. They watched as it swept into the room, filling the small space with eerie light that spilled out and made it all seem a little unreal. Dean’s breath stopped somewhere in his throat. Sam was still in there.
He stepped forward, not entirely sure what he meant to do. The thought of Arawn still made his knees weak, but Sam was in there with him. Michael dropped a hand on his shoulder and Dean stopped short. Michael wasn’t strong enough to hold him back, not alone, not when Sam was in danger, but there was something about the man that made Dean trust his judgment, possibly even above his own.
The Hunt seeped out of the room more than anything else. Dean could just barely make out a solid shape among the ethereal shadows and flashes of white and red. His hold on the gun grip blanched his knuckles but couldn’t quite disguise the faint tremors. He knew that the Hunt induced fear and that it wasn’t necessarily his own emotion, but that didn’t make it feel any less real. The Hunt disappeared into the night and Dean felt the fear and tension drain out of him.
Dean rushed into the room to see Sam, wide-eyed and a little bloody, but otherwise no worse for wear.
“Dean,” Sam breathed, grinning. “You’re alright.”
“I’m always alright,” Dean said with his own bright grin. Belatedly, he flicked the safety back on his gun and stuck it in the waist of his jeans.
-----
Dean raised a hand to trace Michael’s jaw but dropped it long before it reached its target. He wasn’t good at sentimental and he wasn’t good at goodbyes. He also wasn’t about to give Sam concrete proof of his suspicions.
“If you ever need me just give me a call,” he said with a shameless grin.
Michael smiled, but didn’t make any promises. They were both on the run from law enforcement and they both had their own problems. Dean had hunting and he had the Company to deal with.
“I have to get going,” he said and Dean nodded, glancing back at Sam. Michael held out his hand and Dean shook it, wishing there was another way to express what they weren’t willing to say, to express the affection they had begun to feel for each other that wouldn’t get a chance to become anything more.
Michael nodded once when they parted, and Dean knew that he understood, and got in the rental car. After a moment the car started and drove away. There were times when Dean thought he’d been lying for so long that he’d stopped being real. There was something about the way that Michael focused on him that made him feel solid, like his presence impacted the world. He was going to miss that. Dean rubbed at his eyes tiredly and waited.
“Dean? Since when-“ Sam trailed off.
“What?” Dean snapped. He remembered his father’s initial reaction. No subsequent actions had ever really been able to erase that. That’s why Dean had ignored his interest in men when he could and hidden it when he couldn’t. It had never been much of an issue because there was usually any number of willing females that Dean was plenty attracted to anyway. After their father’s death he hadn’t been interested in anyone, male or female, so it hadn’t been an issue. Still, he knew that Sam would never forgive him for hiding something like that, though he wasn’t entirely sure what business it was of Sam’s.
“Nothing,” Sam muttered, climbing into the passenger seat of the Impala.
Dean wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. He dreaded having to explain himself, but it would have been nice not to have to pretend.
Sam folded his arms, closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep.
Title: Until Proven Innocent
Fandoms: Prison Break, Sentinel, Supernatural (though Sentinel is only obliquely referenced)
Pairing: Dean/Michael
Summary: Dean finds a kindred soul in his Guide, but circumstances complicate matters.
I'm sure this mangles all sorts of timelines, but it's set in the brief period in season 2 Prison Break when Michael leaves Sucra, but hasn't met up with Linc yet. For Supernatural it's also season 2, some time after the bank job but before the finale.
Thanks as always to Moon, who makes me clarify my rather convoluted thoughts.
Part 1
Michael started awake barely two hours after he’d managed to drift off. Images of Mahone leading the Hunt as he chased Michael down and a hawk wheeling overhead faded as Michael took in his surroundings.
Clothes and papers were strewn haphazardly about and Michael wondered if it was a natural habit or something borne from living in motel rooms. His fingers twitched as he fought the urge to neaten things up. He’d never dealt well with untidiness or chaos. Both of which accompanied Dean in droves.
Dean was sitting at the table with the chair at an angle that allowed him to watch the two sleeping men and the door. He glanced briefly at Michael before going back to cleaning his guns.
Michael tossed off the blankets and climbed out of bed. He was too tense to even think about going back to sleep. He grabbed his clothes from the day before and headed to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later he stepped out wearing only his jeans.
“You got an extra shirt?” he asked softly, not willing to wake Sam. Dean looked up again and froze. It took Michael a moment to realise that his tattoos were all on show. He narrowed his eyes but refused to break eye contact, though Dean’s expression wasn’t the blatantly staring one he usually got. There was heat there and the shadow of something Michael couldn’t identify. Dean cleared his throat and blanked his expression.
“In the bag,” he said with a jerk of his head. Michael nodded and rummaged through the bag and took the first top he found. He pulled it on, trying to ignore the fact that Dean’s shirt on his skin made him prickle with awareness and that he was reminded of the man with every breath, as Dean’s smell settled around him.
To make it worse, he was forced to distract himself from the strangely erotic sight of Dean disassembling and cleaning his guns by looking over the ammunition. The first thing he noticed was that none of them were typical. The second, that not all of them were entirely metal. One shell was filled with what seemed to be some sort of salt.
“What do you do with this stuff?” Michael asked curiously, gesturing to the array of weapons.
“I hunt ghosts, demons and supernatural creatures,” Dean answered bluntly, looking challengingly at Michael. The last time that question had come up he’d been too invested in the other person, it was far better to get it out of the way first. Michael simply nodded and Dean couldn’t help but feel a little offended at how easily Michael had taken the news, despite that being something approaching the reaction he’d wanted.
“I tell you I hunt ghosts and all you do is nod?” Dean asked. Michael smiled a little at Dean’s affronted tone and shrugged. After being chased by the Wild Hunt as Dean had called it, Michael was willing to believe that there were people who hunted those sorts of things.
Dean’s eyes raked over Michael once more before he came to a decision. He reached for one his knives, flipped it over so that he was holding the blade and offered it to Michael. He then handed Michael a whetstone.
“I could use some help,” he offered. Michael settled in the chair opposite Dean, sure that Dean had just given him an astonishing show of trust. He immediately got to work. He’d recently had a lot of experience sharpening the edges of things that weren’t nearly as well made as the blade he’d been entrusted with. They looked at each other for a moment, sharing an understanding.
“You said you were innocent,” Michael finally ventured, trying to learn a little more about the man he was obviously going to be spending some time with. He had no way of fighting the Hunt and these two clearly knew something about how to do that. “What do they think you did?”
“Bank robbery,” Dean answered with a smirk that faded quickly, “credit card fraud, breaking and entering, theft, grave desecration… murder. Some of those crimes I actually committed.”
There was something fragile in Dean’s expression as he listed his crimes, something brittle and broken. Michael thought about Linc and the front he’d put up in prison. He thought about himself and the lengths he’d gone to to ensure Linc’s freedom. He wondered if his expression was the same. It had been so long since he’d even thought about looking in a mirror. He hadn’t looked like himself for so long that he was afraid he wouldn’t recognise himself. Michael wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He didn’t know Dean well enough to know what he needed.
“Grave desecration,” Michael volunteered finally, “that’s an interesting one.”
Dean snorted, and the brittle expression disappeared like it had never been there, but Michael knew it had, knew that it was still there just below the surface, like everything else about Dean. Michael didn’t know Dean well, but he knew enough to think that Dean was like liquid; the way he moved, the way he slipped through shades of meaning, and especially the way his eyes didn’t always mean what his mouth said.
“Comes with the hunting.”
“How did you start hunting?” Michael asked. It seemed a strange sort of business to fall into.
“There’s this demon,” Dean said as he absently rubbed his chest. “It killed my mom. So now we’re hunting it.”
They were silent for a long while, Dean determinedly not thinking about his mother, or his father’s response to that loss. Michael’s thoughts drifted to losing his own mother, and ultimately Linc as well. There really wasn’t anything he could say that could come close to consoling something like that.
“I could never go back,” Michael said suddenly, just as surprised as Dean that he’d offered anything of himself.
“To prison?”
“To being like everyone else,” Michael corrected. He could go back to prison and survive. He knew he could because it was the only time in his life that he’d felt alive, that he’d felt real and whole. He’d sometimes been lost and terrified and hurt, but he’d been more himself than he’d ever been before. What he couldn’t go back to was the hollow mask of expectation and sophistication that he’d never even realised he’d been wearing.
“Normal’s overrated anyway,” Dean said with a quick grin. Michael found himself smiling back. “How did you know about the Hunt disappearing at sunrise, anyway?”
Michael looked uncomfortable. He hated feeling out of his depth. The Hunt made him distinctly uncomfortable, not because it was after him, though that was part of it, but because he didn’t know how to deal with it.
“They chased me last night, but faded in the morning.”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up.
“You faced the Hunt and survived?” There was a trace of admiration in his voice that made Michael duck his head. “That blade should be sharp enough. This one could use some work,” Dean continued as he picked up another knife and handed it to Michael. Their fingers brushed and lingered. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but snatched his hand away as Sam shifted in his sleep. Both men avoided eye contact.
-----
Sam had gone to get coffee and breakfast once the sun had risen and then disappeared off to the library. Dean and Michael had stayed in because the police and the FBI would undoubtedly be looking for them. Two escaped felons in one afternoon was hardly good PR. It may not be the same town, but likely all towns in the vicinity were on the lookout, and they couldn’t take the risk. None of them had slept well and Sam, at least, had a lot ahead of him today. There was little Dean and Michael could do stuck in a motel room.
Once Sam had left something in the dynamic had changed, though both men tried to ignore it for their own reasons. Dean and Michael had spent most of the morning watching TV or neatening things up respectively. Dean had tried napping, but had been unsuccessful. Finally he’d taken to pacing.
Michael had been acutely aware of Dean’s presence the entire time. Prison had made that sort of awareness necessary, but this was different. Dean made Michael aware of himself, and his responses to others, in a way that Michael was usually able to tune out.
“I hate waiting,” Dean growled as he spun and walked the room once more.
“Dean,” Michael murmured, from where he leaned against the wall. Dean stopped in his tracks and turned to face Michael. “There isn’t anything we can do but wait for your brother to get back.”
“I know,” Dean said, dropping his eyes from Michael’s face. He caught sight of a sliver of tattoo showing above the collar of the shirt Michael wore. Dean reached out, much as he’d wanted to do the night before, and brushed his fingertips over it. Michael seemed to tense and shiver at the same time. Dean raised his eyes to meet Michael’s once more.
Michael remained still, staring into Dean’s eyes, as Dean’s hands dropped to Michael’s waist. There was something in Dean’s eyes that stilled Michael’s breath, something dark and shadowed and heartbreakingly understanding.
“This is how you broke you brother out of prison, isn’t it?” Dean asked.
Michael nodded, surprised when Dean’s lips pressed against his. A hand in the small of his back pulled him closer and Michael relented after a moment, allowing the warmth and safety he seemed to feel around Dean to infuse him.
Dean tugged at the bottom of Michael’s shirt, pulling it over his head. Michael complied, not entirely sure why. Fingers began to trace the lines of his tattoos almost reverentially.
Michael moaned softly, slowly relaxing as Dean continued to explore his tattoos. Michael’s skin burned in the wake of Dean’s fingertips. His breath hitched when those nimble fingers brushed a nipple, and he opened eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed to see Dean smirking.
“So rescuing my brother turns you on?” Michael wondered idly. Dean grinned and stepped into Michael’s space. He raised a hand to cup Michael’s head and brought them together in a kiss that quickly deepened and left them breathless.
“Just what it says about you,” Dean said as he pulled Michael into another kiss. He edged them over to one of the beds. Michael stopped when his knees hit the side.
He knew all the reasons this wasn’t a good idea, chief among them the fact that they were being hunted by both humans and the supernatural, and the fact that casual sex was something he just did not do, but there was something about Dean that made it all seem irrelevant. He’d never met anyone who could silence the constant barrage of thoughts running through his mind and he wasn’t sure yet if that was a good thing or not. Making a decision, Michael sat on the bed and edged further on. With a grin, Dean followed.
Dean’s expression faded to something gentle and almost reverent. He hesitated, hands at the button of Michael’s jeans. He looked up, as though asking permission, and Michael knew this was something he had to give consciously, not something he could simply acquiesce to. He reached out and pulled Dean into a kiss, pouring more of himself into it than he’d ever given anyone.
Michael’s mind stilled until there weren’t any of the thoughts of plans and consequences that he was never fully able to let go. His world narrowed to Dean; the shift of defined muscles under his hands, the scratch of stubble against his skin, and the weight of Dean’s body on his. Until even that didn’t matter and all that was left was slow and hot and slick.
-----
Michael woke to find Dean enveloping him. One arm was tucked under the pillow, probably gripping the knife Dean had hidden there when he was trying to nap, while the other was wrapped around Michael, hand resting above his heart. Dean’s face was pressed into the back of Michael’s neck. It was something that should have set him on edge, but he only felt safe and relaxed.
Michael knew the moment Dean woke up as he stretched extensively before pressing his lips to the back of Michael’s neck and settling back into his original position.
“Afternoon, Sunshine,” Dean murmured, fingers running absently along Michael’s chest. Michael stifled a groan and shifted so that he was lying on his back.
“Your brother will be back soon and we need to get cleaned up.”
“Want some company in the shower?” Dean asked. Michael didn’t need to see Dean’s expression to know he was smirking.
-----
“Dean?” Sam called as he pushed open the door with his foot. It was late afternoon and he knew firsthand how annoying a bored Dean could be. He hadn’t liked to leave Dean with Scofield, there was just something about the guy that set Sam on edge, but one of them had needed to do the research. Dean’s wanted status had rather limited the options.
“Mm,” Dean said, snatching one of the coffees Sam was carrying. He towelled his hair with the other hand.
“Are you only just getting up?” Sam asked with a sigh. Dean paused, glancing back towards the bathroom.
“Yeah.”
There was something beneath the casual tone, but Sam had long ago given up trying to understand his brother’s moods, especially the ones that weren’t on the surface. He had enough trouble dealing with the ones that were.
“Where’s Scofield?” he asked.
“Hmm?” Dean murmured, pretending to be distracted by the TV. Sam sighed again, though he was forced to pause a moment when he saw Michael exit the bathroom. If he hadn’t shaved his head Sam was sure that he’d have been towelling it off too. Sam opened his mouth, looked at Dean as though he’d never seen him before, then snapped it shut. Dean was determinedly ignoring him. That, if nothing else, was enough to confirm Sam’s suspicions.
Sam had to take a moment to push the information to one side to deal with later. There were a whole lot of questions he needed to ask, about Dean and dad and more than ten years of lies, but now was not the time. Sam cleared his throat.
“I think I’ve got something,” Sam said, laying down the papers he’d been carrying. “The victims we were investigating before. I think they’re tied in with the Hunt.”
Dean sipped his coffee and, carefully not looking anywhere in the general area of Scofield, looked at the papers Sam had brought.
“They’re all criminals.”
The Wild Hunt went after those who’d committed some sort of crime, typically something that harmed nature or those favoured by the fairies. It also explained the injuries, and the lack of a cause of death. Elfshot left no trace.
Scofield came to look at the papers then, hand resting casually on Dean’s shoulder as he leaned forward. Dean’s eyes flicked towards Sam then. There was a warning there and beneath that something exposed.
“They’re alleged criminals who were let go. Some of the cases didn’t have enough evidence, some were mistrials and some were declared innocent.”
“But why would the Hunt go after men who weren’t necessarily guilty?” Dean asked.
“It could be like that Reaper. Someone could be controlling it,” Sam suggested. Dean looked a little pale and Sam couldn’t blame him. He seemed to have a bull’s-eye on his back when it came to the heavy hitters of the supernatural world. Even the demon who wanted to convert Sam had a vengeance kick against Dean.
“So we’re dealing with a vigilante?”
“Or a cop,” Michael said, finally speaking up.
Both Sam and Dean felt uncomfortable with that suggestion. They had made a life being on the run from the cops, but they also knew that generally cops were good guys, just a little misguided.
“Now we just have to survive the Hunt long enough to find out who’s behind this,” Dean said. Sam grimaced. There weren’t any stories about anyone surviving a Hunt. Of course, there weren’t any stories about anyone controlling a Hunt either.
“And afterwards?” Michael asked. “What about the Hunt?”
Sam and Dean exchanged looks.
“The Hunt doesn’t generally go after innocent men,” Dean said, as he looked at Michael. Sam couldn’t help but notice the softening around his eyes, the unconscious curve of his mouth. He hadn’t seen Dean like that since Cassie. Immediately Sam felt defensive on Dean’s behalf. “It should stop once what’s controlling it is destroyed. That’s usually a talisman of some sort.”
“Fairies don’t like being manipulated and controlled, so this one will be pissed as hell when it’s free. It should be more concerned with vengeance than with you. Especially since you’re not actually guilty,” Sam added. Michael frowned.
“Should?”
“Fairies aren’t exactly what you’d call predictable,” Dean said with a shrug.
Sam looked out the window at the darkening sky and frowned.
“We’ll have to continue investigating tomorrow.” He went to his bag to get a change of clothes. The library hadn’t had air conditioning and it had been humid as hell. “I’ll take a shower and then first watch,” he told them, ignoring the way that Dean moved into Michael’s space as Sam disappeared into the bathroom.
-----
Michael started awake when Dean shook his shoulder. It was dark, past midnight since Sam seemed to be getting up from the next bed.
“The Hunt’s here,” Dean murmured. He pressed a gun into Michael’s hand. Michael stared at it. He’d held a gun before, even fired one, but he was far from easy with them. Dean seemed to notice his expression. “When the time comes, flick that and squeeze the trigger.” Dean handed him an extra clip as well. “Hold with both hands and aim a little off what you think you should. Recoil will take care of the rest.”
“I thought you said it couldn’t be killed.”
Dean frowned, glancing back over his shoulder. Sam stood facing the door.
“It can’t, but we might be able to slow it down enough to get a bit of a head start.”
“Won’t your protections keep it out?”
“They should,” Dean said as he pressed one gun into the small of his back and checked the clip of another. “But this is the Hunt.”
There was a loud bang and the door shook. Michael scrambled out of bed and stood at Dean’s shoulder as they aimed their weapons at the door. There was another bang and door splintered. Dean glanced briefly at Sam, keeping the majority of his attention on the door.
“The protections are breaking much faster than they should.”
“There’s something else going on,” Sam said.
Dean shifted his stance slightly and Michael was surprised to find Dean standing a little in front of him, guarding him from whatever was coming in the door. He had mixed feelings about that, but mostly he appreciated that someone was willing to put their life on the line for him. That didn’t happen very often.
There was another loud bang and the door flung open, hitting the wall with a resounding crack. In the doorway stood a man. It took Michael a moment to realise that he was one of the cops who chased him on the first night the Hunt found him. Behind him was the ethereal mist and shadowy white-red forms of the Hunt.
“We have to get out of here,” Dean said, edging back, though his eyes never left the man.
“Go, Dean,” Sam told him in a bizarre echo of their father. “Now!”
Dean hated to leave Sam there to deal with the man alone, but Hunt wasn’t after him, and if they stayed the Hunt would too. Sam could deal with one man.
“Michael, bathroom,” Dean ordered. Michael hesitated, but obeyed. Dean was just stepping onto the tile floor when the man smudged the salt barrier. “Out the window.” Michael was already opening the window as far as it would go. He wriggled out and then waited for Dean to follow. They took off into the night.
-----
Sam glared at the man who threatened his brother’s life. He covered his worry with a smug smile when the Hunt faded and disappeared into the night. He wasn’t about to let worry for his brother show, it would only put him at a disadvantage.
“They’re criminals,” the man said. “I made it my job to put them away, but it doesn’t change anything. They aren’t punished.”
Sam stared at the man, obviously a cop from his words and the badge on his belt.
“So you’re using the Hunt?”
“My mother told me stories of the Gentry,” the man told him stepping into the room. Sam kept his gun trained on the man, though he was reluctant to use it. It was one thing to shoot some sort of creature, another entirely to shoot a person, especially a cop. “The Hunt goes after the guilty.”
“I can’t let you do this,” Sam said. A glint caught his eye and he noticed a chain wrapped around the man’s wrist. Something hung from it and Sam hoped it was the talisman. If the cop kept the talisman with him then Sam had a chance of stopping him.
Without warning Sam lunged at the man, punching him in the jaw. It didn’t take the man long to recover and go after him in return. Sam blocked the first punch, dodged the second, but the third hit him in the stomach. He coughed, trying to catch his breath. Sam gripped the man’s wrist, blocking the next punch and ripped the chain from his wrist. Attached to the chain was a vial of some dark substance, too dark to just be blood. Sam dropped it to the floor and crushed it with his boot.
-----
Dean and Michael turned into an alley, only to stop short at a brick wall. Dean spun around, taking the gun from the waist of his jeans. He moved in front of Michael, blocking him from harm.
He felt faint when he looked upon the leader of the Hunt. It wasn’t just any Hunt leader, but Arawn himself, one of the death kings of the Otherworld. Dean was half terrified, half in awe when Arawn drew to a halt in the entrance to the alley. There was a sound that might have resembled amusement.
Dean looked into the deep, dark eyes and wondered if this was what Nietzsche meant when he said that if you gaze into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.
You have a great many enemies, little Guardian. Dean didn’t see the mouth move, but the words were clear. He tensed in anticipation. Do not fear, I am not among that number. I must admit a certain curiosity in your ability to avoid the inevitable, but I suppose that is a natural result of my nature. The man seemed to smile, though there was nothing warm or earthly about it. I will be watching you and your shaman with great interest, little Guardian.
With that the Welsh fairy king whistled sharply, calling the dogs off. He nodded once at Dean before turning and disappearing into the darkness. It took some time before the baying of the hounds faded. Dean sagged back against Michael who automatically wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist to support him.
“Shit.”
“Are you alright?” Michael asked, to which the other man nodded. Dean straightened almost immediately, pretending that he hadn’t shown even that small amount of weakness.
“We need to get back to Sam.”
-----
Dean and Michael arrived at the motel just after the Hunt. They watched as it swept into the room, filling the small space with eerie light that spilled out and made it all seem a little unreal. Dean’s breath stopped somewhere in his throat. Sam was still in there.
He stepped forward, not entirely sure what he meant to do. The thought of Arawn still made his knees weak, but Sam was in there with him. Michael dropped a hand on his shoulder and Dean stopped short. Michael wasn’t strong enough to hold him back, not alone, not when Sam was in danger, but there was something about the man that made Dean trust his judgment, possibly even above his own.
The Hunt seeped out of the room more than anything else. Dean could just barely make out a solid shape among the ethereal shadows and flashes of white and red. His hold on the gun grip blanched his knuckles but couldn’t quite disguise the faint tremors. He knew that the Hunt induced fear and that it wasn’t necessarily his own emotion, but that didn’t make it feel any less real. The Hunt disappeared into the night and Dean felt the fear and tension drain out of him.
Dean rushed into the room to see Sam, wide-eyed and a little bloody, but otherwise no worse for wear.
“Dean,” Sam breathed, grinning. “You’re alright.”
“I’m always alright,” Dean said with his own bright grin. Belatedly, he flicked the safety back on his gun and stuck it in the waist of his jeans.
-----
Dean raised a hand to trace Michael’s jaw but dropped it long before it reached its target. He wasn’t good at sentimental and he wasn’t good at goodbyes. He also wasn’t about to give Sam concrete proof of his suspicions.
“If you ever need me just give me a call,” he said with a shameless grin.
Michael smiled, but didn’t make any promises. They were both on the run from law enforcement and they both had their own problems. Dean had hunting and he had the Company to deal with.
“I have to get going,” he said and Dean nodded, glancing back at Sam. Michael held out his hand and Dean shook it, wishing there was another way to express what they weren’t willing to say, to express the affection they had begun to feel for each other that wouldn’t get a chance to become anything more.
Michael nodded once when they parted, and Dean knew that he understood, and got in the rental car. After a moment the car started and drove away. There were times when Dean thought he’d been lying for so long that he’d stopped being real. There was something about the way that Michael focused on him that made him feel solid, like his presence impacted the world. He was going to miss that. Dean rubbed at his eyes tiredly and waited.
“Dean? Since when-“ Sam trailed off.
“What?” Dean snapped. He remembered his father’s initial reaction. No subsequent actions had ever really been able to erase that. That’s why Dean had ignored his interest in men when he could and hidden it when he couldn’t. It had never been much of an issue because there was usually any number of willing females that Dean was plenty attracted to anyway. After their father’s death he hadn’t been interested in anyone, male or female, so it hadn’t been an issue. Still, he knew that Sam would never forgive him for hiding something like that, though he wasn’t entirely sure what business it was of Sam’s.
“Nothing,” Sam muttered, climbing into the passenger seat of the Impala.
Dean wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. He dreaded having to explain himself, but it would have been nice not to have to pretend.
Sam folded his arms, closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep.