Hell's Greatest Weapon

Chapter 2: A Winchester Reunion

5pm. Sam is sitting on yourcouch, his chest entirely bare while the blood-covered shirts you managed toavoid shredding spun in the washer after having been soaked in cold water for acouple hours; there was a stiff silence that sat between the two of you as Samcaught his breath from speaking so much and you tried to let his words settlein your mind.

You had heard of it, theMark of Cain, and you had seen what it had done to Cain from the very beginning; what you did not know, however, was that the mark was contagious, that it could be passed on.

That a human could be influenced.

There was a lot to catch up on with the youngest Winchester, who now sat on your couch after having been silent for five years; from the apocalypse that you were so very aware of up until present day, it was no surprise to you that it took hours for Sam to confess everything.  Hell, leviathans,     heavenly drama, Metatron.

The last bit was no surprise to you, of course, because you had heard thousands of years’ worth of horror stories about the blasted angel with a tongue of gold but a heart of the coldest steel.  From the beginning of time, your father told you, he was trying to find a way to raise the ranks, to get into God’s good graces. And apparently it worked since he became the royal bitch, but don’t let his stories trick you, Y/N.

“I know we didn’t end off on a good note,” Sam cleared his throat as his eyes slowly elevated until they met yours, and the silent pleading on his features was enough to melt your heart.  “And I know that you’ve already done more than I could ever have expected, but if you’re willing…” He shook his head and grabbed his right hand in his left, squeezing softly.  “I could use your help.”

“Tracking Dean?”

“He’s a demon, Y/N.  I thought that was your specialty.”

“It was,” you nodded, but then shook your head. “But I have successfully gotten myself out of everything that has to do with hell or heaven or angels or demons for the first time in…” you scoffed. “It doesn’t matter.  Have you asked Cas?”

“He’s not much help.”

You nodded and felt your hand go up to rub your mouth, a nervous habit that you had kicked since last coming topside; it was almost as though the Winchesters brought this out in you, and you immediately put your hand back down at the thought.  After only a few hours, your behavior was already being influenced by the man sitting on the couch in front of you, and that idea did not sit well with you.

“You must really be desperate.”

“What makes you say that?”

You look up at Sam with raised eyebrows and an incredulous look on your face, nearly willing him to think and understand where you were coming from.  As if the unreal telepathy actually worked, Sam’s expression changed and he silently showed “oh,” before nodding, then smiling and tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah, I suppose I see what you mean.  But we can talk about that, later.”

“You act like I just stole a cookie or something, Sam.”

“Later, Y/N.” Sam’s voice was abnormally stern as he said this and his eyes widened slightly with the words. “I’m going to assume you’re going to apologize, but we don’t have time for that.”

“Well he’s fine, Sam, you know that.” Sam was silent, the likes of which caused your hand to flip through your hair, which was now considerably shorter than it was since Sam had seen you.  Another nervous habit.  You put your hand back on your lap.  “He’s still Dean, he can take care of himself.”