Familial Relations chp 5 - R - 2/2
Title: Familial Relations
Chapter: V. Blood Kin
Fandom:"Supernatural"/Devour crossover
Disclaimer: Not my characters excepting the ones I thought up. Just for fun.
Warnings: pedophilia, child abuse, rape, underage whoring, AU after “Shadow,” spoilers for season one and Devour
Pairings: various het; slash(pedophilia) in the past
Rating: R for language and an assortment of other things(take a look at the warnings. I think you’ll understand.)
Wordcount: total--11690
Point of view: third
Notes: My knowledge of geography(including that of my own country) leaves much to be desired.
Chapter I: " Rapture"
Chapter II: "Bloodcall"
Chapter III: " Crystalline"
Chapter IV: " Genetic Codes"
Part 1
At a quarter till one, they sent him back to the office. He hadn’t participated much in the discussion, just listened. The words flew quickly as they offered and discarded suggestions.
Michael asked at one point why the demon revealed stuff to them, shared details from Sam’s dream.
“It was playing,” Sam explained. “Cat and mouse. Dangling hope in your face and then yanking it away.”
“But why?” Michael winced when he realized he sounded like some spoiled kid.
“For fun,” Dean said and Sam continued with, “It’s what demons do.”
So now Michael had to wait. They’d ward Michael and Asher’s room, and room ten, for sure. Then the rest of the hotel to the best of their ability.
“Don’t worry,” Dean told him before he left. “We’ll get the bitch.”
Michael didn’t ask him to promise. He knew that Dean couldn’t.
As he closed the door behind him, he heard Sam ask, “Should we call Dad?” He didn’t stay to hear the answer.
Mom returned at five after one. Michael hadn’t come up with any excuse, any explanation for skipping school and going to sleep. If he said he’d felt sick, Mom would ask why he didn’t tell her. If he said he’d been tired, she’d ask why he hadn’t slept the night before. He’d never cut school. Ever. He’d always been responsible, refrained from causing trouble.
He hoped that would work in his favor.
Michael went to the front office and heard the tail-end of Mom and Abigail’s conversation.
“… till January,” Mom was saying. “Then they’ll buy it out.”
“For a good price, right?” Abigail asked as Michael walked in.
“Yeah,” Mom answered and then caught sight of him. First she smiled and then her eyes narrowed.
Abigail followed Mom’s gaze and nodded. “I’ll go see if the computer guy is on his way.” She left on Mom’s “Okay.”
Michael shuffled his way to her, head low. “Hi, Momma,” he said softly, lifting his eyes for a second before ducking his head again.
Mom put her hand under his chin and raised his head. He met her eyes then looked past her. “Michael,” she said, “look at me.” She waited until he obeyed before continuing. “Baby, what happened yesterday?”
He licked his lips, searching for words but nothing came. He stared up into her eyes and felt shame-he’d never disappointed her before. Never.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” he finally told her, soft and sincere. “I was just… I felt really bad and I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Michael.” Her voice was even and kind. She didn’t believe him but she wasn’t exploding. Now he felt even worse.
When he didn’t elaborate, Mom sighed. “Alright, Michael. Go to your room. I’ll see you at dinner.”
He nodded silently and her hand dropped. He turned and shuffled out, down the hall to his and Asher’s room. Her hurt at being lied to and disappointment in his behavior followed.
Michael wanted to rush back in, to be scooped up in her arms, to spill everything and let Momma handle it. But he couldn’t do that. Mom couldn’t handle it, and she’d kill herself trying. Dean and Sam and Jake were able, though. And if they failed-then no one could succeed.
You could end all this, you know, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. It sounded an awful lot like him and he shook his head, trying to shut it up. C’mon, Michael. If you say yes, Mom and Ash’ll both be fine, for the rest of their lives. You’ll have the strength to take care of them till they die. All it takes is one word. Just… one… word.
Michael threw himself on his bed and pulled a pillow over his head. If he ignored the voice, the lying voice that sounded like him, it’d go away. It had to go away.
Sam told him that all demons could do was talk. That the next move was his. The voice could talk and talk, but Michael would not respond, not with anything but silence.
Finally, with drying tears on his cheeks and a pillow pulled tight on his head, Michael drifted into an uneasy sleep.
When he dreamed, though he had no memory of it upon waking, it was of blood and fire and a sharp silver knife.
-
Dinner was quiet. Asher chattered on about digimon and Michael ate his hot dogs silently. Mom listened to Ash and asked questions whenever he paused. Her disappointment beat at Michael and it stung. If Asher noticed the strain between them, he didn’t let on. Michael was glad.
Michael stood after he finished and picked up his plate, softly put it in the sink. He turned back to face the table, looked at Mom. “May I be excused?” he asked.
She nodded but said nothing. When he passed behind Ash, he ruffled his little brother’s hair.
-
Michael waited until Ash was settled in bed and Mom left for her date. He faked sleep when Mom kissed his brow and whispered, “I love you.” He lay still, breathing evenly, and moved only when the door closed behind her. He slipped out from beneath the covers, out of bed, and padded over to the window, watched Mom drive away.
Once she was out of the parking lot, headed down the road, he left his room and hurried to room ten, barefoot and pulling on a sweatshirt. He slipped the spare key into the lock and turned; the door opened with a soft click and he slid between it and the doorway, pulled it closed behind him.
Michael froze when he felt a cold blade against his neck. “It’s me,” he whispered. “Michael.”
The blade was taken away and the light flicked on; Dean stood next to him, in boxers and a shirt, the dagger held in his fist. “Don’t sneak into a room like a thief in the night, ‘kay, kiddo?” Dean asked gruffly.
Eyes on the knife, Michael swallowed and nodded, shoving down fear. Then he looked around and noticed they were alone. “Where’s Sam and Jake?”
“We’ve been working in shifts,” Dean answered, walking back to the bed and sliding the knife under the pillow. “It’s my turn to rest. Jake took my Impala and went to the library; Sam’s warding the south edge of the property.”
“Library’s closed,” Michael observed. Dean smirked but said nothing. “Oh,” Michael realized. “Right.”
“Michael.” Dean’s voice was serious as he sank onto the bed. “Why are you here?”
“Are you really gonna help us out of the goodness of your heart?” Michael’s voice was just as serious and he met Dean’s eyes straight on. He stayed by the door, poised to flee at any second.
“Oh,” Dean said and for a second he looked old, world-weary and worn. “Michael.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Is that what the demon meant? Someone hurt you?” Dean’s voice deepened, developed a razor-edge. His eyes, when he looked back at Michael, were cold, demanding. “Who was it?”
Michael shivered and backed up a step, hit the door. “He’s gone,” Michael hurried to say. “For a while now.”
“What did he do?”
Looking at Dean’s face, Michael couldn’t lie. Any mask he pulled on would crumble beneath Dean’s gaze. So Michael told the truth. The naked, unvarnished truth. The first time he ever said the words aloud, they flowed without pause, tumbling and tripping over each other, and his voice trembled beneath their weight. But he spoke until he had no more words, until he could look away and try his façade again. His words hung between them, his tale of Cole and pain. The fury beat uselessly inside him and he closed his eyes, trying to contain himself.
“Michael,” Dean said, voice low and gentle. “It wasn’t your fault. And you’re not weak. You’re nowhere near the vicinity of weak. You’re strong and brave.” Michael couldn’t look away from Dean’s eyes, couldn’t do anything but listen. The words hovered around him, seeped into his skin, settled in his blood. “Do you hear me, Michael? You’re not weak. And you’re not guilty. Only that son of a bitch is guilty here. And one day, if he hasn’t already, he will pay in full. Do you understand?”
Michael nodded, tears building behind his eyes. He blinked, trying to stave them off; he’d cried too much in the past few days, more than he ever had before in his entire life. He refused to cry again. He had to be tough, unflappable. Mom and Asher’s lives depended on it.
“How do you know?” Michael asked. “What if I sent some kind of signal, told him I wanted it?” He’d wondered that from the beginning, terrified he’d somehow led Cole on.
Dean’s eyes darkened slightly. “Did you want it, Michael? Did you enjoy it?”
Michael shook his head and harshly wiped his eyes. “None of it,” he said, voice shaky.
“When I was twelve,” Dean told him, “I sought out men like Cole. Dad’d been injured, hurt real bad; he couldn’t work or hunt for months. I stole what I could, but it wasn’t enough. So I began selling instead.” He almost smiled and looked away from Michael, down at his hands. He reached back and grabbed the knife, started tossing it from hand to hand. “It wasn’t till I was fifteen, though, that a man took what he wanted without paying. I crawled back to our apartment of the month, wondering when I’d feel clean again, when it’d stop hurting.” Dean paused and sighed, raising the knife and turning it. The light hit the blade and Dean ran his finger along the edge. “Dad was on a hunt and I told Sam I’d got in a fight with a dozen seniors. After a few days, I’d healed enough to go hunting. I tracked the bastard down.” Now Dean did smile. It was a slow smile, satisfied-the cat that killed the canary, stuffed it, and mounted it on the wall. “He never hurt anyone else.”
“When did… when’d you stop?” Michael found the courage to ask.
“I was eighteen. I’d perfected pool and poker and picking pockets. It just…” Dean trailed off. “Just wasn’t worth it anymore.”
Michael pushed off the door and lightly settled on the foot of the bed. He didn’t look away from the knife flying through the air, from one of Dean’s hands to the other.
“We’re going to help you, Michael, ‘cause it’s what we do. The demon after you, she’s one we’ve met before. I thought we’d killed her, but apparently we didn’t. Now, though,” and he paused, putting knife down. “Now, we have Jake and all of his knowledge. Now we’re startin’ to understand just what we are and what we can do. And we’ll help you, Mike, because there’s nothing else we can do.” Dean reached out and ruffled his hair. “We don’t want payment. We don’t expect payment. We rarely get paid. We learned to live with it a long time ago.” Dean smiled again but this time it was kind and warm and Michael had to smile back.
“Now,” Dean asked, “was that all?”
“No,” Michael responded. “You ever read Shane?”
-
Sam came back roughly an hour after Michael convinced Dean to read Shane aloud. He’d fetched the slim novel from his room and checked on Asher, then gone back to room ten. Dean settled against the headboard and Michael curled up beside him. Shane was tiny in Dean’s hands and his voice gave life to the words. Michael listened avidly, and the rise and fall of Dean’s voice lulled Michael almost to sleep.
The door opened softly and Dean shifted, jostling Michael gently. He wasn’t truly awake and couldn’t really make out what Dean said, but he did recognize Sam’s voice. Dean’s voice rumbled and Michael felt arms beneath his knees and back, felt himself lifted. He turned into the strong chest and settled himself.
“I’ll be back, Sammy,” Dean said, his voice filling Michael’s senses. “I just gotta put kiddo in his bed.”
Michael couldn’t hear Sam’s answer and he slipped into sleep to the lullaby of Dean’s heartbeat.
-
He woke up cold and shivering. He knew it was just after four in the morning, knew Asher slumbered safely in the other bed, and knew he’d never see Mom again if he didn’t move swiftly.
Michael didn’t know how he knew, but he was certain beyond all doubt. Had never been so sure of anything in his life.
He could go tell Dean, but what if the demons wanted him to do that? What if it was a trap? Or what if-what if going to hunters got Mom killed?
So Michael pulled on his jeans and a shirt, laced his tennis shoes tight, softly brushed his hand through Asher’s hair, whispered, “I love you, little brother,” and kissed Asher’s forehead.
He stole through their living quarters like a ghost and grabbed five knives from the kitchen. He wasn’t sure he what he could do against demons, but the knowledge fluttered just out of reach. And the power hummed in his blood; he could almost hear it singing through his veins. He doubted he’d live out the night as Michael Springs. His body might survive till tomorrow, but his soul, the stuff that made him Michael… to save Mom and Ash, he’d sacrifice it all.
At the door of the hotel, he paused, glanced back in the direction of his room. “I love you, Ash,” he whispered again. Then he stepped into the night.
-
Later, much later, Michael tried to remember the feeling. He traveled constantly south, one step after another, across lots and roads and yards. He walked around buildings, hopped or climbed fences, following the tug of something he couldn’t really label but called Mom.
The knives burned in his pockets and he tried not to think. He’d never moved so quickly before; he wasn’t growing tired. He could hear Mom’s voice in his head, her whispered I love you. It had been goodbye, goodnight-but not literal, he’d thought. Not her final goodbye.
Right before the sun crossed the horizon, he paused at the edge of a lot. An old warehouse he’d never seen before loomed menacingly from the earth. If he stepped onto the property, it could never be undone. He could never go back.
A part of him feared he wouldn’t want to go back. Wouldn’t want to be with Mom and Asher after-whatever was gonna happen happened.
He was so focused on the future and his worries that he didn’t notice the figures ghosting up behind him till a hand landed on his shoulder.
He jumped and clamped his hand across his mouth to keep from crying out. Michael spun around and felt the person-man, a part of him knew-go flying back. It was still dark enough that he couldn’t see the guy’s face, but he heard the ‘oomph’ and recognized the voice.
“Dean?”
“Hiya, kiddo,” Dean responded and half-chuckled. “Guess we know what your ability is now.”
The taller of the two other man-shapes leaned down and offered Dean his hand. Michael turned back to look at the warehouse.
“They have my mom in there,” he said. “I have to get her out.”
“How do you know?” Sam asked.
Dean crouched next to Michael. “You were gonna rescue her alone? You know how to exorcize demons and counter the forces of darkness?”
Michael lowered his head and examined the dirt, reaching down to trail his fingers through it. “No,” he whispered. “But I can’t not do something.” He wanted to curl up and cry, let them handle it, but he couldn’t do that. It was his fault Mom had been taken. So he had to fix the situation.
“We called our dad,” Dean told him softly. “He’s summoned the troops. If we wait a few days, they’ll be here. We’ll have an army of hunters.”
Jake, his voice a pale echo of Dean’s, spoke. “We can’t wait a few days.” He crouched on Michael’s other side. “If Joanna is going to be saved, we have to move before midnight.”
“What the hell is going on?” Michael demanded. “Why me? Why Ash? What is so special about us?”
Sam sighed. Michael didn’t turn to look, just listened as Sam explained, “To create me-and others like me-a demon infected human women. So I have abilities because of that. It’s not natural and the cost of using power my body isn’t built for is pain. Every time I use them-on purpose or not-is a migraine.” Sam knelt down on Dean’s other side. “But Dean-he wasn’t mutated by the demon. His powers are innate, inborn. Like yours. Like Asher’s. We don’t know why or what it means, don’t know how you three were picked. I was changed of human meddling, and Jake-well, he was born gifted because of another way entirely. But you were born without any outside forces at all, from what we can tell.”
Michael closed his eyes, reaching out for Mom. He felt her, knew she was unhurt. Scared and pissed but not wounded. His eyes flickered open as sunlight bathed the ground before them. “What do we do?”
-
The plan, such as it was, sucked. There were too many variables, too many what-ifs and could-bes. But it was all that they had.
Dean and Sam would march straight in, guns blazing. They’d be the distraction. Jake would sneak around back, find another way in. And Michael would stay hidden where he was, safe outside.
“The plan sucks,” Michael muttered as they crept toward the warehouse. “Like, a lot.” Dean glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. Michael sank back onto his heels and grumbled, complained quietly about men who annoyingly take over and won’t let others help. He waited until all three were out of sight, waited until he heard gunshots and yelling, waited until he felt someone coming up behind him.
Inside him, something snapped and snarled, straining to be free. It beat wings of fire and flame against bars of disbelief-and won. He’d used the power without knowing how, but now the knowledge flooded through him.
A hand fell on his shoulder and then flew off. He leisurely stood and turned, looked at the man and saw the demon inside him.
“Well, Mikey,” the demon said with the man’s mouth, “looks like we underestimated you.” His hand swung out; Michael felt something slap at him. He leaned into it and felt the power flow around him.
“You’re the guy Mom had a date with,” Michael realized. “You set her up.”
NotJames smiled. “Guilty as charged.” His eyes flicked from Michael’s gaze down his body and back up. “My sister was right about you. You are a delightfully obstinate boy. I’ll have fun breaking you.”
Cole’s memory leapt into Michael’s mind, how helpless he’d been, how terrified. His control on the power slipped and NotJames pounced, grabbed Michael’s face and neck, squeezed his windpipe. Michael fought, beat at NotJames with ineffectual fists, and tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.
Michael? he heard from a faraway place. Michael!
He tried to say “Ash?” but his lips and tongue couldn’t form the word. Everything flickered and darkened, and he heard Asher scream his name. But he was just too tired to respond.
Suddenly light bloomed behind his eyes and they flew open. NotJames’ face was full of fear and his hands let go of Michael, he backed away, shaky and trembling. “It’s not possible,” he said. “It’s not possible.”
You hurt my brother, Asher’s voice snarled. The words echoed in the wind, burned-NotJames screamed, his head flew back, and black smoke billowed out of his mouth. It filled the air around him and tried to stream away, but Michael reached for and grabbed it with invisible hands, held it there.
James, free of the demon, fell to the ground in a dead faint.
Ash? Michael asked. How…?
We’re brothers. Friends, right?
Michael nodded, keeping a tight grip on the demonsmoke. We are.
You needed help. I could feel the bad lady with black eyes taking you away. So I helped.
Michael smiled, trying to send his love and pride and gratitude through the link. Thank you, Ash, he said. Thank you.
He felt Asher pull away, felt him falling back into sleep. Michael glared up at the demonsmoke, beating uselessly against his hold on it. Chain it there, Dean whispered in the back of his mind. Jake’ll deal with it.
So Michael did. He closed his eyes and imagined a chain of light, bright and glowing like a star. Once he had a good visual, he opened his eyes and examined the demonsmoke. He picked a portion at random and reached out, used his invisible hands to grab it. He affixed the lightchain around it, bound it tight, wove the demonsmoke through the link of lightchain.
He could hear the demonsmoke screaming, but he ignored it. He could feel exhaustion crawling up his spine, but he shoved it back. He wasn’t finished yet; no telling how many Notpeople full of demonsmoke were still in the warehouse.
So he stumbled toward the building. Strength pulsed through him, sent by Asher, and he straightened, lengthened his stride, let anger and love fill him. The doors blew open before him and he saw Sam battling with the blond Notwoman, the air churning around them. Two men lay on the ground, unconscious or dead, he didn’t know. Mom was tied up in a corner, hair messy and eyes wide. Dean was in the middle of a-Michael paused and had to laugh. A swordfight. Dean was having a swordfight with some demon-possessed person. And he was doing good. Very good.
But where was-Jake. Jake had his hands on a young man about his age. NotGuy was bucking, trying to throw him off, but Jake held on, tenaciously, and finally NotGuy collapsed. Smoke billowed from his mouth and Jake smiled, that smile Dean had the night before, the smile of the cat that killed the canary. He reached with one hand towards the demonsmoke and splayed the fingers, said something Michael couldn’t hear. The demonsmoke turned blood-red and Jake’s eyes glowed pale amber. The smoke faded away and Jake hit his knees, panting.
Michael turned back to Dean, who lunged forward and grabbed NotGuy’s neck, flung him around and threw him into a wall. “Jake,” he called, and wearily Jake rose to his feet. Jake stumbled the few dozen feet to where Dean held NotGuy at bay. Dean supported Jake with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and kept the blade to NotGuy’s neck. Jake reached forward, placed both hands on NotGuy’s terrified face, and the same events played out.
Then Jake collapsed. Dean fell with him, caught him, cradled his face with his hands. “Jake?” he said, almost panicked. “Jake?”
“Oh, poor boys,” blond Notwoman said. Michael jerked around, saw Sam on the ground by her feet, saw her eyes blacker than coal. “So strong, and yet?” she continued, “Not quite strong enough.”
She gestured with her right hand; Dean and Jake flew apart, into separate walls. Jake hung limply but Dean struggled, cursing and growling.
“Meg,” he snarled, “I’m gonna kill you.”
“Oh,” NotMeg laughed, “that’d be a neat trick.” She smiled brightly at him before turning her attention to Michael. She held out a hand and he lifted off the ground, gently flew to her.
His eyes found Mom’s and her struggling increased.
“Joanna,” NotMeg said musingly, “you have two amazingly gifted sons. My father was most shocked to learn of them. Power such as theirs should only exist in those my father has touched.”
Michael landed in front of her and she caressed his face. “Like Sammy over there,” she confided in him. “He’da had powers no matter what Daddy did. Daddy just changed it slightly, made it hurt. Pleasure is always better if tinted by pain.” She spun away from him and pranced over to Jake. “Right, Jakie?” she cooed, lifting his head.
His eyes blinked open. Michael glanced over at Dean, who was drooping, eyes drifting shut.
Michael smiled.
Jake’s eyes were pale amber and his hands touched NotMeg’s face. She shrieked and smoke billowed from her mouth. “Bitch,” Jake snarled, sounding exactly like Dean. “You arrogant, murdering bitch.”
Meg hit the floor with a thump and didn’t move. Jake smirked up at the demonsmoke. “I’d tell you to burn in hell,” Jake laughed, “but there won’t be enough left to send back.”
The light pulsed in his eyes and surrounded the demonsmoke, seeped into it, turning it blood-red. Unlike the other two Michael witnessed, this demonsmoke didn’t dissipate. It shuddered and screamed and something sang on the air. Jake nodded and the something crescendoed-the demonsmoke exploded and was gone.
Jake fell like a puppet whose strings were cut. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. Dean remained still, passed out against the wall. Sam was breathing shallowly,, barely conscious; Michael quickly hurried to Mom. He reached out, just to be sure… and felt only her. “Momma,” he sobbed, scrambling to untie her hands. “Momma.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “Baby,” she whispered. “Oh, Michael.”
-
By noon, they were all safely back at the hotel. Mom gave the cops an anonymous tip about five people in an old warehouse at the edge of town. Once Jake roused himself enough, he dealt with Michael’s demonsmoke.
Michael and Mom crawled into bed with Asher, cradled him between them. Mom left a note for Abigail to run things for the day.
Dean, Sam, and Jake all stumbled to room ten, clinging to each other to stay upright. Dean swore they’d explain everything to Mom after everyone had rested.
So Michael let himself fall to sleep, but something still needled at him. In hindsight he realized it was obvious. But right then? It was still all so new.
-
When Michael woke up at just after eight in the evening, he was alone in bed. He got up and walked to the kitchen, where Mom and Asher were, along with Dean, Jake, and Sam.
“Coffee or hot chocolate?” Mom asked brightly.
Michael sank into the chair next to Asher and leaned into his little brother. “Chocolate,” he decided.
Dean nodded to him. “You did good, kiddo,” Dean told him. “I’m proud of you.”
Happiness suffused him and the smile almost broke his face. Mom set a mug in front of him and he wrapped his hands around it, linked his fingers.
Something was nagging at him. He couldn’t quite make it out but something was very, very wrong.
Dean and Sam and Jake explained everything to Mom-or rather, the parts she needed to know. Michael tried to focus on the feeling of wrongness, to pin it down.
Asher kept leaning into him, warm and real and safe and alive. Kept offering comfort and strength and hope-
“No,” Michael moaned, shoving the mug away and sagging down onto the table. The hot chocolate splattered out, burning his arms but he didn’t care. The four adults turned to face him, bewildered. “No,” Michael whispered over and over. “No no no no no no…”
Asher pushed back his chair and stood. Michael didn’t look up but he heard Dean’s exclamation and Mom’s gasp.
“Yes,” his little brother’s voice laughed. “Jake,” NotAsher continued softly, “ you killed my children. Two of my sons and my youngest daughter.”
“They went after people I cared about,” Jake snarled, the words biting. “They signed their own death warrants.”
The sound of flesh hitting wood and Dean yelled, “Hey!” Michael flinched but still didn’t raise his head. He couldn’t bear to see.
Mom was crying now, sobbing and pleading. Soon though, Michael knew, she’d get angry. But she couldn’t do anything. Dean and Sam and Jake-they were all tapped out. They’d need at least a week’s rest to recharge. Only at their strongest could they defeat the thing in Asher’s body. They were too weak.
And the room changed. Michael felt the shift and he raised his head. A man stood in the doorway, looking rough and grizzled. Dangerous. He held a gun in his hand; it was old, Michael could tell. But well cared for.
“Dad?” Dean whispered at the same time NotAsher asked, “Now, where did that come from?”
“Get out of the boy,” Dean’s father commanded, voice low.
“Or what, Johnny?” NotAsher asked, turning to face him fully. Michael saw his eyes-yellow. Golden. “You gonna shoot this body? He just turned eight. He wants to be an astronaut someday. He loves to draw.” NotAsher laughed and Mom sobbed, sagged down. Sam caught her and wrapped his arms around her, started whispering in her ear.
Michael prayed they had a plan. He prayed fervently and sincerely-and John’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Dean stood, stepped between the gun and NotAsher. His back to his father, his eyes meeting NotAsher’s golden gaze, he said softly, “Take me instead.”
NotAsher smiled. “You’d do that? You know Johnny will pull the trigger, no matter the form. He’s hated me for too long.”
And something niggled the back of Michael’s mind. If the demonsmoke hopped bodies, for one moment, probably less than a heartbeat, it’d be free, out in the air.
Michael’s eyes flew to Jake, who was wide awake. But Jake was looking over NotAsher’s head, at Dean.
NotAsher threw back his head and gasped; demonsmoke poured forth, more than any Michael had seen before.
Dean’s eyes pulsed amber and Michael sprang to Asher’s side, caught him as he fell. Mom lunged to them, pulled them both into her arms, and Dean’s voice, chanting some language Michael didn’t know, was all he could hear.
And then silence. Silence louder than anything in the history of ever. Asher trembled in his grip and Mom’s arms were tight around them both, and Dean sighed, sank down to his knees. Sam fell beside him, pulled his brother against him. Jake crawled over to them and Sam held him, too.
“What the fuck,” John growled, “just happened?”
“It’s over,” Sam said, lowering his head to rest his chin on Dean. “It’s over, Dad.”
And Michael pulled Asher closer, swore deep in his soul that nothing would hurt Asher ever again. Nothing. Ever. Again.
-
Michael crawled into his bed about ten minutes after The Demon died. Mom and Asher crawled in beside him, Asher in the middle. They slept for a week and a half. Mom got up sometimes, to see how things were going; the rest of the hunters arrived at some point and most then dispersed, since the fight was over.
Jake, Sam, and Dean also slept that time. John took care of them and settled the bill with Mom.
When Michael finally rolled out of bed, the power hummed in his blood. He could feel Asher-wholewarmsafe-and Dean-protectivesafebroken-and Jake-powerfulsafebroken-and Sam-dangeroussafewhole-. He could feel others, like Mom and John, but knew they couldn’t do anything. John was a hunter and he could kill-but not them. Not the one’s whose blood san to Michael’s soul.
Michael showered, washed his hair three times, scrubbed every inch of his skin. He let the water beat down on him, cleansing him, washing away the feel of NotMeg’s hand, the stink of demonsmoke in Asher.
Michael threw himself out of the shower and knelt over the toilet, vomited up only bile.
After, he toweled off and put on boxers, an old T-shirt. He crawled back into bed beside Asher and pulled Ash close, silently cried into his hair.
It’s okay, Mikey, Asher told him, snuggling deeper into Michael’s embrace. I promise. We’re safe now.
-
Michael waited until Ash decided he was ready to rejoin the world. Nine days after Dean destroyed The Demon, they left their room together, united and hungry. Michael walked just a little in front of Asher, ready to defend him against anything.
Mom was in the kitchen with Dean and a black man. Her face lit up and she hurried over, gave them both hugs. “I love you,” she whispered, kissing Asher then Michael. “I love you so much.”
Asher smiled at her and kissed her cheek. “I love you, too, Momma.” He walked around her and hopped up into a chair.
“Want pop-tarts?” Dean asked and Asher nodded eagerly.
Michael fell onto the chair next to him and Dean gave them both strawberry pop-tarts.
“This is Gordon Walker,” Dean introduced the black guy. “He’s a friend of Dad’s.”
Walker nodded and stood. “I’m gonna go see if Ellen needs anything.” He smiled at Mom before leaving.
Dean shrugged, looking at Mom, and then focused on Asher. “So, kiddo,” he said, “you like to draw?”
-
Dean, Jake, and Sam left on a Friday, a month after they arrived.
Michael watched them drive away sadly. Mom patted his shoulder and ruffled his hair, murmured, “Everything’ll be fine, baby,” and went back to her life, running the motel-until January, at least.
Jake promised her that the dark would leave them alone now, and she was content to believe it.
But Michael knew. Asher, standing beside him, knew it, too.
Neither of them told Mom. They stood outside in the light rain until the Impala was out of sight and the sun set. Michael could practically feel the storm brewing, smell it in the air. In his blood, the power hummed, sang, called to him-
He could almost feel the noose around his neck, coarse and tight.
The Impala vanished down the road and everything was just getting started.
“They’ll be back,” Asher said aloud, smiling up at him. “Don’t worry, Mike.”
Michael threaded his fingers through Asher’s hair. “I know, kiddo,” he answered and led the way inside.
-
When he slept that night, Michael dreamed of a sharp silver knife and Asher’s life bleeding out onto his hands.
continued in "In The Genes"
Chapter: V. Blood Kin
Fandom:"Supernatural"/Devour crossover
Disclaimer: Not my characters excepting the ones I thought up. Just for fun.
Warnings: pedophilia, child abuse, rape, underage whoring, AU after “Shadow,” spoilers for season one and Devour
Pairings: various het; slash(pedophilia) in the past
Rating: R for language and an assortment of other things(take a look at the warnings. I think you’ll understand.)
Wordcount: total--11690
Point of view: third
Notes: My knowledge of geography(including that of my own country) leaves much to be desired.
Chapter I: " Rapture"
Chapter II: "Bloodcall"
Chapter III: " Crystalline"
Chapter IV: " Genetic Codes"
Part 1
At a quarter till one, they sent him back to the office. He hadn’t participated much in the discussion, just listened. The words flew quickly as they offered and discarded suggestions.
Michael asked at one point why the demon revealed stuff to them, shared details from Sam’s dream.
“It was playing,” Sam explained. “Cat and mouse. Dangling hope in your face and then yanking it away.”
“But why?” Michael winced when he realized he sounded like some spoiled kid.
“For fun,” Dean said and Sam continued with, “It’s what demons do.”
So now Michael had to wait. They’d ward Michael and Asher’s room, and room ten, for sure. Then the rest of the hotel to the best of their ability.
“Don’t worry,” Dean told him before he left. “We’ll get the bitch.”
Michael didn’t ask him to promise. He knew that Dean couldn’t.
As he closed the door behind him, he heard Sam ask, “Should we call Dad?” He didn’t stay to hear the answer.
Mom returned at five after one. Michael hadn’t come up with any excuse, any explanation for skipping school and going to sleep. If he said he’d felt sick, Mom would ask why he didn’t tell her. If he said he’d been tired, she’d ask why he hadn’t slept the night before. He’d never cut school. Ever. He’d always been responsible, refrained from causing trouble.
He hoped that would work in his favor.
Michael went to the front office and heard the tail-end of Mom and Abigail’s conversation.
“… till January,” Mom was saying. “Then they’ll buy it out.”
“For a good price, right?” Abigail asked as Michael walked in.
“Yeah,” Mom answered and then caught sight of him. First she smiled and then her eyes narrowed.
Abigail followed Mom’s gaze and nodded. “I’ll go see if the computer guy is on his way.” She left on Mom’s “Okay.”
Michael shuffled his way to her, head low. “Hi, Momma,” he said softly, lifting his eyes for a second before ducking his head again.
Mom put her hand under his chin and raised his head. He met her eyes then looked past her. “Michael,” she said, “look at me.” She waited until he obeyed before continuing. “Baby, what happened yesterday?”
He licked his lips, searching for words but nothing came. He stared up into her eyes and felt shame-he’d never disappointed her before. Never.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” he finally told her, soft and sincere. “I was just… I felt really bad and I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Michael.” Her voice was even and kind. She didn’t believe him but she wasn’t exploding. Now he felt even worse.
When he didn’t elaborate, Mom sighed. “Alright, Michael. Go to your room. I’ll see you at dinner.”
He nodded silently and her hand dropped. He turned and shuffled out, down the hall to his and Asher’s room. Her hurt at being lied to and disappointment in his behavior followed.
Michael wanted to rush back in, to be scooped up in her arms, to spill everything and let Momma handle it. But he couldn’t do that. Mom couldn’t handle it, and she’d kill herself trying. Dean and Sam and Jake were able, though. And if they failed-then no one could succeed.
You could end all this, you know, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. It sounded an awful lot like him and he shook his head, trying to shut it up. C’mon, Michael. If you say yes, Mom and Ash’ll both be fine, for the rest of their lives. You’ll have the strength to take care of them till they die. All it takes is one word. Just… one… word.
Michael threw himself on his bed and pulled a pillow over his head. If he ignored the voice, the lying voice that sounded like him, it’d go away. It had to go away.
Sam told him that all demons could do was talk. That the next move was his. The voice could talk and talk, but Michael would not respond, not with anything but silence.
Finally, with drying tears on his cheeks and a pillow pulled tight on his head, Michael drifted into an uneasy sleep.
When he dreamed, though he had no memory of it upon waking, it was of blood and fire and a sharp silver knife.
-
Dinner was quiet. Asher chattered on about digimon and Michael ate his hot dogs silently. Mom listened to Ash and asked questions whenever he paused. Her disappointment beat at Michael and it stung. If Asher noticed the strain between them, he didn’t let on. Michael was glad.
Michael stood after he finished and picked up his plate, softly put it in the sink. He turned back to face the table, looked at Mom. “May I be excused?” he asked.
She nodded but said nothing. When he passed behind Ash, he ruffled his little brother’s hair.
-
Michael waited until Ash was settled in bed and Mom left for her date. He faked sleep when Mom kissed his brow and whispered, “I love you.” He lay still, breathing evenly, and moved only when the door closed behind her. He slipped out from beneath the covers, out of bed, and padded over to the window, watched Mom drive away.
Once she was out of the parking lot, headed down the road, he left his room and hurried to room ten, barefoot and pulling on a sweatshirt. He slipped the spare key into the lock and turned; the door opened with a soft click and he slid between it and the doorway, pulled it closed behind him.
Michael froze when he felt a cold blade against his neck. “It’s me,” he whispered. “Michael.”
The blade was taken away and the light flicked on; Dean stood next to him, in boxers and a shirt, the dagger held in his fist. “Don’t sneak into a room like a thief in the night, ‘kay, kiddo?” Dean asked gruffly.
Eyes on the knife, Michael swallowed and nodded, shoving down fear. Then he looked around and noticed they were alone. “Where’s Sam and Jake?”
“We’ve been working in shifts,” Dean answered, walking back to the bed and sliding the knife under the pillow. “It’s my turn to rest. Jake took my Impala and went to the library; Sam’s warding the south edge of the property.”
“Library’s closed,” Michael observed. Dean smirked but said nothing. “Oh,” Michael realized. “Right.”
“Michael.” Dean’s voice was serious as he sank onto the bed. “Why are you here?”
“Are you really gonna help us out of the goodness of your heart?” Michael’s voice was just as serious and he met Dean’s eyes straight on. He stayed by the door, poised to flee at any second.
“Oh,” Dean said and for a second he looked old, world-weary and worn. “Michael.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Is that what the demon meant? Someone hurt you?” Dean’s voice deepened, developed a razor-edge. His eyes, when he looked back at Michael, were cold, demanding. “Who was it?”
Michael shivered and backed up a step, hit the door. “He’s gone,” Michael hurried to say. “For a while now.”
“What did he do?”
Looking at Dean’s face, Michael couldn’t lie. Any mask he pulled on would crumble beneath Dean’s gaze. So Michael told the truth. The naked, unvarnished truth. The first time he ever said the words aloud, they flowed without pause, tumbling and tripping over each other, and his voice trembled beneath their weight. But he spoke until he had no more words, until he could look away and try his façade again. His words hung between them, his tale of Cole and pain. The fury beat uselessly inside him and he closed his eyes, trying to contain himself.
“Michael,” Dean said, voice low and gentle. “It wasn’t your fault. And you’re not weak. You’re nowhere near the vicinity of weak. You’re strong and brave.” Michael couldn’t look away from Dean’s eyes, couldn’t do anything but listen. The words hovered around him, seeped into his skin, settled in his blood. “Do you hear me, Michael? You’re not weak. And you’re not guilty. Only that son of a bitch is guilty here. And one day, if he hasn’t already, he will pay in full. Do you understand?”
Michael nodded, tears building behind his eyes. He blinked, trying to stave them off; he’d cried too much in the past few days, more than he ever had before in his entire life. He refused to cry again. He had to be tough, unflappable. Mom and Asher’s lives depended on it.
“How do you know?” Michael asked. “What if I sent some kind of signal, told him I wanted it?” He’d wondered that from the beginning, terrified he’d somehow led Cole on.
Dean’s eyes darkened slightly. “Did you want it, Michael? Did you enjoy it?”
Michael shook his head and harshly wiped his eyes. “None of it,” he said, voice shaky.
“When I was twelve,” Dean told him, “I sought out men like Cole. Dad’d been injured, hurt real bad; he couldn’t work or hunt for months. I stole what I could, but it wasn’t enough. So I began selling instead.” He almost smiled and looked away from Michael, down at his hands. He reached back and grabbed the knife, started tossing it from hand to hand. “It wasn’t till I was fifteen, though, that a man took what he wanted without paying. I crawled back to our apartment of the month, wondering when I’d feel clean again, when it’d stop hurting.” Dean paused and sighed, raising the knife and turning it. The light hit the blade and Dean ran his finger along the edge. “Dad was on a hunt and I told Sam I’d got in a fight with a dozen seniors. After a few days, I’d healed enough to go hunting. I tracked the bastard down.” Now Dean did smile. It was a slow smile, satisfied-the cat that killed the canary, stuffed it, and mounted it on the wall. “He never hurt anyone else.”
“When did… when’d you stop?” Michael found the courage to ask.
“I was eighteen. I’d perfected pool and poker and picking pockets. It just…” Dean trailed off. “Just wasn’t worth it anymore.”
Michael pushed off the door and lightly settled on the foot of the bed. He didn’t look away from the knife flying through the air, from one of Dean’s hands to the other.
“We’re going to help you, Michael, ‘cause it’s what we do. The demon after you, she’s one we’ve met before. I thought we’d killed her, but apparently we didn’t. Now, though,” and he paused, putting knife down. “Now, we have Jake and all of his knowledge. Now we’re startin’ to understand just what we are and what we can do. And we’ll help you, Mike, because there’s nothing else we can do.” Dean reached out and ruffled his hair. “We don’t want payment. We don’t expect payment. We rarely get paid. We learned to live with it a long time ago.” Dean smiled again but this time it was kind and warm and Michael had to smile back.
“Now,” Dean asked, “was that all?”
“No,” Michael responded. “You ever read Shane?”
-
Sam came back roughly an hour after Michael convinced Dean to read Shane aloud. He’d fetched the slim novel from his room and checked on Asher, then gone back to room ten. Dean settled against the headboard and Michael curled up beside him. Shane was tiny in Dean’s hands and his voice gave life to the words. Michael listened avidly, and the rise and fall of Dean’s voice lulled Michael almost to sleep.
The door opened softly and Dean shifted, jostling Michael gently. He wasn’t truly awake and couldn’t really make out what Dean said, but he did recognize Sam’s voice. Dean’s voice rumbled and Michael felt arms beneath his knees and back, felt himself lifted. He turned into the strong chest and settled himself.
“I’ll be back, Sammy,” Dean said, his voice filling Michael’s senses. “I just gotta put kiddo in his bed.”
Michael couldn’t hear Sam’s answer and he slipped into sleep to the lullaby of Dean’s heartbeat.
-
He woke up cold and shivering. He knew it was just after four in the morning, knew Asher slumbered safely in the other bed, and knew he’d never see Mom again if he didn’t move swiftly.
Michael didn’t know how he knew, but he was certain beyond all doubt. Had never been so sure of anything in his life.
He could go tell Dean, but what if the demons wanted him to do that? What if it was a trap? Or what if-what if going to hunters got Mom killed?
So Michael pulled on his jeans and a shirt, laced his tennis shoes tight, softly brushed his hand through Asher’s hair, whispered, “I love you, little brother,” and kissed Asher’s forehead.
He stole through their living quarters like a ghost and grabbed five knives from the kitchen. He wasn’t sure he what he could do against demons, but the knowledge fluttered just out of reach. And the power hummed in his blood; he could almost hear it singing through his veins. He doubted he’d live out the night as Michael Springs. His body might survive till tomorrow, but his soul, the stuff that made him Michael… to save Mom and Ash, he’d sacrifice it all.
At the door of the hotel, he paused, glanced back in the direction of his room. “I love you, Ash,” he whispered again. Then he stepped into the night.
-
Later, much later, Michael tried to remember the feeling. He traveled constantly south, one step after another, across lots and roads and yards. He walked around buildings, hopped or climbed fences, following the tug of something he couldn’t really label but called Mom.
The knives burned in his pockets and he tried not to think. He’d never moved so quickly before; he wasn’t growing tired. He could hear Mom’s voice in his head, her whispered I love you. It had been goodbye, goodnight-but not literal, he’d thought. Not her final goodbye.
Right before the sun crossed the horizon, he paused at the edge of a lot. An old warehouse he’d never seen before loomed menacingly from the earth. If he stepped onto the property, it could never be undone. He could never go back.
A part of him feared he wouldn’t want to go back. Wouldn’t want to be with Mom and Asher after-whatever was gonna happen happened.
He was so focused on the future and his worries that he didn’t notice the figures ghosting up behind him till a hand landed on his shoulder.
He jumped and clamped his hand across his mouth to keep from crying out. Michael spun around and felt the person-man, a part of him knew-go flying back. It was still dark enough that he couldn’t see the guy’s face, but he heard the ‘oomph’ and recognized the voice.
“Dean?”
“Hiya, kiddo,” Dean responded and half-chuckled. “Guess we know what your ability is now.”
The taller of the two other man-shapes leaned down and offered Dean his hand. Michael turned back to look at the warehouse.
“They have my mom in there,” he said. “I have to get her out.”
“How do you know?” Sam asked.
Dean crouched next to Michael. “You were gonna rescue her alone? You know how to exorcize demons and counter the forces of darkness?”
Michael lowered his head and examined the dirt, reaching down to trail his fingers through it. “No,” he whispered. “But I can’t not do something.” He wanted to curl up and cry, let them handle it, but he couldn’t do that. It was his fault Mom had been taken. So he had to fix the situation.
“We called our dad,” Dean told him softly. “He’s summoned the troops. If we wait a few days, they’ll be here. We’ll have an army of hunters.”
Jake, his voice a pale echo of Dean’s, spoke. “We can’t wait a few days.” He crouched on Michael’s other side. “If Joanna is going to be saved, we have to move before midnight.”
“What the hell is going on?” Michael demanded. “Why me? Why Ash? What is so special about us?”
Sam sighed. Michael didn’t turn to look, just listened as Sam explained, “To create me-and others like me-a demon infected human women. So I have abilities because of that. It’s not natural and the cost of using power my body isn’t built for is pain. Every time I use them-on purpose or not-is a migraine.” Sam knelt down on Dean’s other side. “But Dean-he wasn’t mutated by the demon. His powers are innate, inborn. Like yours. Like Asher’s. We don’t know why or what it means, don’t know how you three were picked. I was changed of human meddling, and Jake-well, he was born gifted because of another way entirely. But you were born without any outside forces at all, from what we can tell.”
Michael closed his eyes, reaching out for Mom. He felt her, knew she was unhurt. Scared and pissed but not wounded. His eyes flickered open as sunlight bathed the ground before them. “What do we do?”
-
The plan, such as it was, sucked. There were too many variables, too many what-ifs and could-bes. But it was all that they had.
Dean and Sam would march straight in, guns blazing. They’d be the distraction. Jake would sneak around back, find another way in. And Michael would stay hidden where he was, safe outside.
“The plan sucks,” Michael muttered as they crept toward the warehouse. “Like, a lot.” Dean glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. Michael sank back onto his heels and grumbled, complained quietly about men who annoyingly take over and won’t let others help. He waited until all three were out of sight, waited until he heard gunshots and yelling, waited until he felt someone coming up behind him.
Inside him, something snapped and snarled, straining to be free. It beat wings of fire and flame against bars of disbelief-and won. He’d used the power without knowing how, but now the knowledge flooded through him.
A hand fell on his shoulder and then flew off. He leisurely stood and turned, looked at the man and saw the demon inside him.
“Well, Mikey,” the demon said with the man’s mouth, “looks like we underestimated you.” His hand swung out; Michael felt something slap at him. He leaned into it and felt the power flow around him.
“You’re the guy Mom had a date with,” Michael realized. “You set her up.”
NotJames smiled. “Guilty as charged.” His eyes flicked from Michael’s gaze down his body and back up. “My sister was right about you. You are a delightfully obstinate boy. I’ll have fun breaking you.”
Cole’s memory leapt into Michael’s mind, how helpless he’d been, how terrified. His control on the power slipped and NotJames pounced, grabbed Michael’s face and neck, squeezed his windpipe. Michael fought, beat at NotJames with ineffectual fists, and tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.
Michael? he heard from a faraway place. Michael!
He tried to say “Ash?” but his lips and tongue couldn’t form the word. Everything flickered and darkened, and he heard Asher scream his name. But he was just too tired to respond.
Suddenly light bloomed behind his eyes and they flew open. NotJames’ face was full of fear and his hands let go of Michael, he backed away, shaky and trembling. “It’s not possible,” he said. “It’s not possible.”
You hurt my brother, Asher’s voice snarled. The words echoed in the wind, burned-NotJames screamed, his head flew back, and black smoke billowed out of his mouth. It filled the air around him and tried to stream away, but Michael reached for and grabbed it with invisible hands, held it there.
James, free of the demon, fell to the ground in a dead faint.
Ash? Michael asked. How…?
We’re brothers. Friends, right?
Michael nodded, keeping a tight grip on the demonsmoke. We are.
You needed help. I could feel the bad lady with black eyes taking you away. So I helped.
Michael smiled, trying to send his love and pride and gratitude through the link. Thank you, Ash, he said. Thank you.
He felt Asher pull away, felt him falling back into sleep. Michael glared up at the demonsmoke, beating uselessly against his hold on it. Chain it there, Dean whispered in the back of his mind. Jake’ll deal with it.
So Michael did. He closed his eyes and imagined a chain of light, bright and glowing like a star. Once he had a good visual, he opened his eyes and examined the demonsmoke. He picked a portion at random and reached out, used his invisible hands to grab it. He affixed the lightchain around it, bound it tight, wove the demonsmoke through the link of lightchain.
He could hear the demonsmoke screaming, but he ignored it. He could feel exhaustion crawling up his spine, but he shoved it back. He wasn’t finished yet; no telling how many Notpeople full of demonsmoke were still in the warehouse.
So he stumbled toward the building. Strength pulsed through him, sent by Asher, and he straightened, lengthened his stride, let anger and love fill him. The doors blew open before him and he saw Sam battling with the blond Notwoman, the air churning around them. Two men lay on the ground, unconscious or dead, he didn’t know. Mom was tied up in a corner, hair messy and eyes wide. Dean was in the middle of a-Michael paused and had to laugh. A swordfight. Dean was having a swordfight with some demon-possessed person. And he was doing good. Very good.
But where was-Jake. Jake had his hands on a young man about his age. NotGuy was bucking, trying to throw him off, but Jake held on, tenaciously, and finally NotGuy collapsed. Smoke billowed from his mouth and Jake smiled, that smile Dean had the night before, the smile of the cat that killed the canary. He reached with one hand towards the demonsmoke and splayed the fingers, said something Michael couldn’t hear. The demonsmoke turned blood-red and Jake’s eyes glowed pale amber. The smoke faded away and Jake hit his knees, panting.
Michael turned back to Dean, who lunged forward and grabbed NotGuy’s neck, flung him around and threw him into a wall. “Jake,” he called, and wearily Jake rose to his feet. Jake stumbled the few dozen feet to where Dean held NotGuy at bay. Dean supported Jake with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and kept the blade to NotGuy’s neck. Jake reached forward, placed both hands on NotGuy’s terrified face, and the same events played out.
Then Jake collapsed. Dean fell with him, caught him, cradled his face with his hands. “Jake?” he said, almost panicked. “Jake?”
“Oh, poor boys,” blond Notwoman said. Michael jerked around, saw Sam on the ground by her feet, saw her eyes blacker than coal. “So strong, and yet?” she continued, “Not quite strong enough.”
She gestured with her right hand; Dean and Jake flew apart, into separate walls. Jake hung limply but Dean struggled, cursing and growling.
“Meg,” he snarled, “I’m gonna kill you.”
“Oh,” NotMeg laughed, “that’d be a neat trick.” She smiled brightly at him before turning her attention to Michael. She held out a hand and he lifted off the ground, gently flew to her.
His eyes found Mom’s and her struggling increased.
“Joanna,” NotMeg said musingly, “you have two amazingly gifted sons. My father was most shocked to learn of them. Power such as theirs should only exist in those my father has touched.”
Michael landed in front of her and she caressed his face. “Like Sammy over there,” she confided in him. “He’da had powers no matter what Daddy did. Daddy just changed it slightly, made it hurt. Pleasure is always better if tinted by pain.” She spun away from him and pranced over to Jake. “Right, Jakie?” she cooed, lifting his head.
His eyes blinked open. Michael glanced over at Dean, who was drooping, eyes drifting shut.
Michael smiled.
Jake’s eyes were pale amber and his hands touched NotMeg’s face. She shrieked and smoke billowed from her mouth. “Bitch,” Jake snarled, sounding exactly like Dean. “You arrogant, murdering bitch.”
Meg hit the floor with a thump and didn’t move. Jake smirked up at the demonsmoke. “I’d tell you to burn in hell,” Jake laughed, “but there won’t be enough left to send back.”
The light pulsed in his eyes and surrounded the demonsmoke, seeped into it, turning it blood-red. Unlike the other two Michael witnessed, this demonsmoke didn’t dissipate. It shuddered and screamed and something sang on the air. Jake nodded and the something crescendoed-the demonsmoke exploded and was gone.
Jake fell like a puppet whose strings were cut. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. Dean remained still, passed out against the wall. Sam was breathing shallowly,, barely conscious; Michael quickly hurried to Mom. He reached out, just to be sure… and felt only her. “Momma,” he sobbed, scrambling to untie her hands. “Momma.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “Baby,” she whispered. “Oh, Michael.”
-
By noon, they were all safely back at the hotel. Mom gave the cops an anonymous tip about five people in an old warehouse at the edge of town. Once Jake roused himself enough, he dealt with Michael’s demonsmoke.
Michael and Mom crawled into bed with Asher, cradled him between them. Mom left a note for Abigail to run things for the day.
Dean, Sam, and Jake all stumbled to room ten, clinging to each other to stay upright. Dean swore they’d explain everything to Mom after everyone had rested.
So Michael let himself fall to sleep, but something still needled at him. In hindsight he realized it was obvious. But right then? It was still all so new.
-
When Michael woke up at just after eight in the evening, he was alone in bed. He got up and walked to the kitchen, where Mom and Asher were, along with Dean, Jake, and Sam.
“Coffee or hot chocolate?” Mom asked brightly.
Michael sank into the chair next to Asher and leaned into his little brother. “Chocolate,” he decided.
Dean nodded to him. “You did good, kiddo,” Dean told him. “I’m proud of you.”
Happiness suffused him and the smile almost broke his face. Mom set a mug in front of him and he wrapped his hands around it, linked his fingers.
Something was nagging at him. He couldn’t quite make it out but something was very, very wrong.
Dean and Sam and Jake explained everything to Mom-or rather, the parts she needed to know. Michael tried to focus on the feeling of wrongness, to pin it down.
Asher kept leaning into him, warm and real and safe and alive. Kept offering comfort and strength and hope-
“No,” Michael moaned, shoving the mug away and sagging down onto the table. The hot chocolate splattered out, burning his arms but he didn’t care. The four adults turned to face him, bewildered. “No,” Michael whispered over and over. “No no no no no no…”
Asher pushed back his chair and stood. Michael didn’t look up but he heard Dean’s exclamation and Mom’s gasp.
“Yes,” his little brother’s voice laughed. “Jake,” NotAsher continued softly, “ you killed my children. Two of my sons and my youngest daughter.”
“They went after people I cared about,” Jake snarled, the words biting. “They signed their own death warrants.”
The sound of flesh hitting wood and Dean yelled, “Hey!” Michael flinched but still didn’t raise his head. He couldn’t bear to see.
Mom was crying now, sobbing and pleading. Soon though, Michael knew, she’d get angry. But she couldn’t do anything. Dean and Sam and Jake-they were all tapped out. They’d need at least a week’s rest to recharge. Only at their strongest could they defeat the thing in Asher’s body. They were too weak.
And the room changed. Michael felt the shift and he raised his head. A man stood in the doorway, looking rough and grizzled. Dangerous. He held a gun in his hand; it was old, Michael could tell. But well cared for.
“Dad?” Dean whispered at the same time NotAsher asked, “Now, where did that come from?”
“Get out of the boy,” Dean’s father commanded, voice low.
“Or what, Johnny?” NotAsher asked, turning to face him fully. Michael saw his eyes-yellow. Golden. “You gonna shoot this body? He just turned eight. He wants to be an astronaut someday. He loves to draw.” NotAsher laughed and Mom sobbed, sagged down. Sam caught her and wrapped his arms around her, started whispering in her ear.
Michael prayed they had a plan. He prayed fervently and sincerely-and John’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Dean stood, stepped between the gun and NotAsher. His back to his father, his eyes meeting NotAsher’s golden gaze, he said softly, “Take me instead.”
NotAsher smiled. “You’d do that? You know Johnny will pull the trigger, no matter the form. He’s hated me for too long.”
And something niggled the back of Michael’s mind. If the demonsmoke hopped bodies, for one moment, probably less than a heartbeat, it’d be free, out in the air.
Michael’s eyes flew to Jake, who was wide awake. But Jake was looking over NotAsher’s head, at Dean.
NotAsher threw back his head and gasped; demonsmoke poured forth, more than any Michael had seen before.
Dean’s eyes pulsed amber and Michael sprang to Asher’s side, caught him as he fell. Mom lunged to them, pulled them both into her arms, and Dean’s voice, chanting some language Michael didn’t know, was all he could hear.
And then silence. Silence louder than anything in the history of ever. Asher trembled in his grip and Mom’s arms were tight around them both, and Dean sighed, sank down to his knees. Sam fell beside him, pulled his brother against him. Jake crawled over to them and Sam held him, too.
“What the fuck,” John growled, “just happened?”
“It’s over,” Sam said, lowering his head to rest his chin on Dean. “It’s over, Dad.”
And Michael pulled Asher closer, swore deep in his soul that nothing would hurt Asher ever again. Nothing. Ever. Again.
-
Michael crawled into his bed about ten minutes after The Demon died. Mom and Asher crawled in beside him, Asher in the middle. They slept for a week and a half. Mom got up sometimes, to see how things were going; the rest of the hunters arrived at some point and most then dispersed, since the fight was over.
Jake, Sam, and Dean also slept that time. John took care of them and settled the bill with Mom.
When Michael finally rolled out of bed, the power hummed in his blood. He could feel Asher-wholewarmsafe-and Dean-protectivesafebroken-and Jake-powerfulsafebroken-and Sam-dangeroussafewhole-. He could feel others, like Mom and John, but knew they couldn’t do anything. John was a hunter and he could kill-but not them. Not the one’s whose blood san to Michael’s soul.
Michael showered, washed his hair three times, scrubbed every inch of his skin. He let the water beat down on him, cleansing him, washing away the feel of NotMeg’s hand, the stink of demonsmoke in Asher.
Michael threw himself out of the shower and knelt over the toilet, vomited up only bile.
After, he toweled off and put on boxers, an old T-shirt. He crawled back into bed beside Asher and pulled Ash close, silently cried into his hair.
It’s okay, Mikey, Asher told him, snuggling deeper into Michael’s embrace. I promise. We’re safe now.
-
Michael waited until Ash decided he was ready to rejoin the world. Nine days after Dean destroyed The Demon, they left their room together, united and hungry. Michael walked just a little in front of Asher, ready to defend him against anything.
Mom was in the kitchen with Dean and a black man. Her face lit up and she hurried over, gave them both hugs. “I love you,” she whispered, kissing Asher then Michael. “I love you so much.”
Asher smiled at her and kissed her cheek. “I love you, too, Momma.” He walked around her and hopped up into a chair.
“Want pop-tarts?” Dean asked and Asher nodded eagerly.
Michael fell onto the chair next to him and Dean gave them both strawberry pop-tarts.
“This is Gordon Walker,” Dean introduced the black guy. “He’s a friend of Dad’s.”
Walker nodded and stood. “I’m gonna go see if Ellen needs anything.” He smiled at Mom before leaving.
Dean shrugged, looking at Mom, and then focused on Asher. “So, kiddo,” he said, “you like to draw?”
-
Dean, Jake, and Sam left on a Friday, a month after they arrived.
Michael watched them drive away sadly. Mom patted his shoulder and ruffled his hair, murmured, “Everything’ll be fine, baby,” and went back to her life, running the motel-until January, at least.
Jake promised her that the dark would leave them alone now, and she was content to believe it.
But Michael knew. Asher, standing beside him, knew it, too.
Neither of them told Mom. They stood outside in the light rain until the Impala was out of sight and the sun set. Michael could practically feel the storm brewing, smell it in the air. In his blood, the power hummed, sang, called to him-
He could almost feel the noose around his neck, coarse and tight.
The Impala vanished down the road and everything was just getting started.
“They’ll be back,” Asher said aloud, smiling up at him. “Don’t worry, Mike.”
Michael threaded his fingers through Asher’s hair. “I know, kiddo,” he answered and led the way inside.
-
When he slept that night, Michael dreamed of a sharp silver knife and Asher’s life bleeding out onto his hands.
continued in "In The Genes"