So I'm not dead. Unless you decide to murder me for never updating.

I actually love y'all for the support and faith that I would one day update this story. I felt like crap for letting you guys down so here is the fourth chapter!

(See? Goes to show that reviewing DOES work.)

Oh. And since it's been so long, you've definitely forgotten what happened last time. Sam walks in on his girlfriend getting her stomach slashed open by a demon in Brady's body, and some dude he met on the bus (Dean) is pinned to his wall. Dean can't tell Sam who he is or else his brother's gonna have to start wheelchairing around everywhere. Brady's demon gets away.

Actually, I recommend just rereading the last chapter, possibly all of them since it's just been a reeeaally long time.

Sorry.

Chapter 4: The Introductions

"It's just, I wish you would drop the show and be my brother again. 'Cause... just 'cause."

–Sam to Dean, 'Fresh Blood'

The week following the demon's attack passed at a torturously slow pace for Sam, although it was far from uneventful. It felt like the police had questioned him at least several hundred times as to what had happened. Like how saying a word over and over eventually makes it lose its meaning, every time Sam retold his account, the less it seemed to make sense.

For obvious reasons, he'd had to leave out several parts of the truth. Sam was pretty sure that the whole thing with Brady being possessed by a demon with psychic abilities wouldn't go over too well with the cops. This left numerous holes in Sam's story and the poor police officers involved were all lost and suspicious and just utterly confused. They asked him countless times about Lizzie's mysterious boyfriend, as if Sam was deliberately withholding information from them and if they annoyed him long enough he would give in. They figured that the boyfriend was the key to the whole case, and once they had more information on him, everything would click together.

Sam genuinely had no idea what had happened to Lizzie's boyfriend, who had somehow disappeared during the chaos of the paramedics and police barging into the house. He also was dying to know more about the stranger. The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed that it had been a mere coincidence that the man who had saved Jess was also wearing Dean's necklace.

Sam had long since convinced himself that his big brother was most likely dead, but as of recently he wasn't so sure. He wished that he could describe to the police what had really happened: that the stranger was not the attacker, he was their hero. However, the coroner had examined Brady's corpse and determined that he had died months ago, eliminating Brady as the assailant. This left only the mysterious young man as the culprit.

The coroner was also quite puzzled as to how Brady's corpse was so perfectly preserved without any signs of chemicals or refrigeration, while the police were questioning how it had ended up in the guest bedroom at all. The stranger certainly hadn't carried it in with him on his date.

Lizzie had told the police everything she knew about her boyfriend, but it turned out that just about everything she'd been told had been a lie. She also didn't have any pictures of him, and the police had nothing to go on besides a semi-accurate description of his face.

Besides the police investigation, Sam had to deal with dozens of friends and family trying to comfort him and talk to him about what had happened. His mother was the worst. Sam's father was bad enough, but at least he occasionally took breaks from hovering over him. Meanwhile, it seemed like his mom never dared to leave Sam by himself for even a second anymore, save for when he had to go to the bathroom. Every moment of the day, she was there to rub his back, to ask him how he was doing, to tell him that it was alright to open up.

It had taken a full week for Sam to find a way to wriggle out of his mom's clutches and get a drink. Besides a glass of wine on special occasions, his parents practically never drank and there was absolutely no alcohol in the house. All Sam had really wanted for days was for everybody to just leave him the hell alone and let him get plastered.

Sam chugged down the rest of his beer as he sat alone in a booth at a real dump of a bar. He felt a sharp pang when he thought of the Halloween party he'd gone to with Jess the day before she'd been attacked. She had drunk circles around him and still it was Sam with the pitiful hangover the next day.

Lost in his thoughts of Jess, at first Sam didn't notice the man seating himself down at his table.

"My god, I admire you. How is this only your first visit to the bar since all this crazy crap started happening to you?" chuckled the man. Sam jumped in his seat and looked up. After only two encounters, his voice was already familiar to him.

"Hey, Sammy. How's life been treating you?"

The first thing Sam saw was the necklace cord. Hanging from it was the pendant that looked exactly like the one he had given Dean 14 years earlier. Sam's eyes rose ever so slightly to take in his face. Lizzie's boyfriend (although by now, for reputation's sake, Lizzie had probably erased all evidence that she had ever been in a relationship with a supposed criminal) was really good-looking, and Sam could admit this with complete confidence in his sexual preference because it was simply a fact.

The man's eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the edges when he smiled, but not in a way that made him look old. Though sprinkled with several faint scars, his face would otherwise not look out of place on a movie poster. His inky black hair stood in stark contrast with gleaming white teeth, which were themselves perfectly straight, though they were framed by a crooked grin.

Sam's memory of his brother's face had faded over the years, but he was positive his brother had been blonde. The nose, too, was all wrong. The stranger's facial expressions and body language certainly weren't ringing any bells, and Sam's hopes that he had found his long-lost brother were dimmed. He thought the stranger's eyes reminded him of Dean, but after so long it was hard to be sure, especially in the dimly lit bar.

The man never seemed to stop moving, which was something Sam had noticed when they'd met on the bus too. His fingers were always tapping on something, or else fiddling with some kind of object. His head, too, kept tilting from right to left like it couldn't stand staying in one place.

"Let's get one thing straight," Sam began, pointing an accusing finger at the man across from him. Noticing that his hand wasn't quite steady, he vaguely wondered if he was already getting a little drunk. "Nobody calls me Sammy. Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old. It's Sam, okay?"

The man smiled widely at him. "Whatever you say, kiddo," he laughed and started pulling out a box of cigarettes from inside his leather jacket. "Hey, think they'll let me smoke in here?"

"Don't you dare," Sam warned him immediately. "I've got enough to deal with besides worrying about lung cancer." He ignored the man's snort and continued, "So I gave you my name. What's yours?"

The man was still smiling, but his eyes looked skywards, as if he had to think hard about Sam's question. "You can call me Diablo," he told him finally. At Sam's expression he added, "Weird name, I know. But hey, no one really gets to choose what to be called, do they?"

"Jeez," Sam frowned. "You must have been terrible to your mother as a fetus, if she named you after the devil. Please tell me that's just a nickname."

"Please, my mother liked me just fine," Diablo told him. His smile still held, but Sam noticed the twinkling in his eyes had vanished. "You know what's starting to concern me, though? The fact that a demon breaks into your parents' house and psychically slices open your girlfriend, yet here you are asking me if my mommy loved me. I mean, priorities, dude."

Sam was hardly listening. Instead, his eyes were squinted as he once more searched Diablo's face for any sign of his brother. The way he had changed topics so quickly and fluidly reminded Sam of Dean, whenever Sam had asked about their mother.

Sam wanted to ask Diablo the big question, if he was really his older brother. But he was just too terrified of the answer to say it out loud.

Cursing his own cowardice, Sam instead asked, "So do you know why that thing decided to attack Jess?"

"Do you know what that thing was, first of all?"

Diablo's head tilted from right to left every four or five seconds, Sam noticed, and just watching him made his own neck ache. Maybe Diablo had Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder? Perhaps he was just excited, or even nervous. It could also have been something that he did subconsciously, like some animals, to appear more dangerous. Sam found himself analyzing the details of the man in front of him. He was... fascinating, to say the least. Sam had never taken this much interest in a stranger before.

"It was – it was a demon, right?" Sam answered. "I know about monsters and stuff. But I couldn't find a way to kill demons."

Diablo didn't look surprised that Sam knew about the existence of demons.

"Well, that's probably the answer to your question right there," Diablo said. Sam just looked confused, so he continued, "What I mean is, the son of a bitch probably attacked your chick because it was after you. People who know about monsters tend to be a magnet for them. If I were you, I'd either stay real close to my family, or stay real far."

Sam realized something then, and could have slapped himself for not realizing it sooner.

"You're a hunter."

"Yeah, kinda," Diablo shrugged. "Not the usual breed, though." His eyes flickered from Sam to the barkeep, standing at the opposite end of the bar. "Oh hey, I know this guy. Yo, Charlie! Can we get a couple more cold ones here?"

The barkeeper was older by maybe a decade. He had the face of someone who had seen a lot of fights. That is, he didn't have a visible square inch of skin that wasn't unblemished by some kind of scar. Each stood out blaringly on his tanned skin, like a hundred tiny rivers carved deep into his face. When the other customers asked for drinks, he would comply, but only with a frightening scowl that made them keep a safe distance from him.

Yet Charlie looked positively terrified of the man Sam was with. In Sam's eyes, Diablo looked tough, but the three or four scars on his face held no match against the dozens of manmade lines on Charlie's face.

Then again, maybe it was the fact that Diablo had fewer scars that made him more of a threat.

Charlie came over to their table slowly, as if trying to delay their encounter. Sam wondered what in the world had made him so terrified of the man in front of him.

"Here you go, Diablo," Charlie grunted, not looking the man in the eye. "Need anything else?"

"Nah, I've got to drive all day tomorrow," Diablo replied with a huge grin. "Wanna share a drink? I won't be back in town for a while."

Sam honestly thought Charlie was going to wet himself. The expression looked so out of place on him.

"I, uh, I've got a lot of customers. Busy time right now, sorry," Charlie said quickly. It was almost one o'clock a.m. on a Monday and there were only about half a dozen people total in the place including the three of them.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Diablo said. "God, go clean your counters, or whatever."

Charlie practically ran back to do just that. Diablo casually handed Sam his drink as if nothing had just happened.

"So, um, anyways," Sam said, trying to pretend that the last few seconds had not just happened. "Do you know what happened to the demon that possessed Brady?"

"Your friend, right?" Diablo shrugged one shoulder as he drained half his bottle in a single gulp. Sam watched him in amazement. "I don't got a clue. What I do know is that you and your little family and your girlfriend – if she's still alive, anyway – won't be safe until that demon's boss is dead."

Sam swallowed. "Jess is... Well, she's actually in a coma right now, but she's alive and stable. Thanks to you, the demon didn't get the chance to finish his job." His hands were shaking and he clenched his beer tighter to still them. "See, Jess and I were at my mom's birthday party just across the street. Jess was feeling sick so she went back to my house early. I was just dropping in to check on her, and then I open the door and Lizzie's jumping around wailing into the phone for the cops and I'm hearing men yelling in Jess's bedroom and the lights are flickering and I'm wondering if this is all really happening or if my alcohol tolerance just sucks that much."

This earned him a light chuckle from Diablo, whose laugh was a lot less sinister than his smile. It lasted for only a quick moment, but Sam could have sworn for one second that he could see the flicker of the ghost of his older brother flashing across Diablo's face.

Almost immediately afterwards he wondered if he was just seeing what he wanted to see.

"Point is," Sam continued, "I wouldn't have made it in time. You saved Jess's life. So, uh... I owe you. Like, a lot."

"Ha! Hunting things is just part of my business, kid. But don't worry your posh little head, I'll take care of the big bad demon for you. You don't owe me shit. It's that demon that's gonna pay."

"I'm coming with you," Sam said immediately. "I'm going to help you kill that demon." As soon as he said it, Sam had no idea where that statement had come from. He hadn't planned to bring it up at all, though he'd certainly been thinking about it for the past few days. Still, as soon as the words came out of his mouth, Sam knew that he meant it a hundred percent.

Diablo blinked, and for half a second he actually looked like he was caught off guard. He recovered quickly and snorted.

"Oh, okay, yeah, sure. While we're at it, why don't we go over to the local kindergarten and recruit some of them? The more the merrier, right?"

"Is that a no?"

"That's a 'what the actual hell do you think, dumbass?'"

"I think you're my brother," Sam blurted out.

For the first time during the course of their conversation, Diablo became completely still. He scanned Sam's face as if trying to tell whether or not he was being serious.

"Interesting. Explain," Diablo said with an even voice. His face revealed nothing.

Sam wasn't quite sure how to start. He was suddenly feeling quite nervous. "Well, see, my older brother and I were separated when we were kids. And we both knew about monsters and demons and the like. And you've got his, uh, his necklace. And he would've been about your age." Sam's mouth was dry. He waited for a response, any kind of response, from the other man. He cleared his throat, feeling a little foolish now. "Uh, yeah, that's it."

Diablo didn't say a word for a while, just frowned at the table as his right hand fiddled with the fingers on his left hand.

And then, so quietly that Sam couldn't even hear him properly, Diablo murmured something indistinguishable. Sam thought he might have been cussing to himself.

"Uh, sorry? I didn't quite catch –"

"I'm not your brother. Sorry for the disappointment." Diablo took another long sip from his bottle. "Bought the amulet off a Russian merchant, it's supposed to keep away ghouls, or something. I've never had a little brother, or any other kind of family. If I ever had parents, they certainly wouldn't have been the type to live in a mansion. Also, that would mean that I dated my own sister. And quite frankly, incest is totally not my thing."

Diablo didn't blink once. Sam felt like there was something he was missing; something unspoken that Diablo was soundlessly shouting at him with those eyes, practically begging for him to understand. But whatever it was, it wasn't reaching Sam, and Diablo's gaze dropped back down to his beer just before the situation became uncomfortable.

Sam straightened up and squared his shoulders. "I still want to come with you," he said resolutely. "I have to protect my family."

Diablo's nostrils flared, the only physical indication of how pissed he was probably becoming. Although Sam was scared he was about get a left hook to the face, he still refused to back down.

Then Diablo grinned, and that was somehow scarier than getting beaten up.

"I think we need a third party's opinion on the matter," Diablo said. He jerked his head towards the bartender. "Charlie! Over here. Now."

Sam noticed how Charlie immediately froze in the middle of cleaning the counter. Charlie made his way towards them with the speed of someone making their way through quicksand.

"Hey, come on," Sam protested. "I get it, okay? People are scared of you. Charlie's busy right now, you don't have to call him over."

Diablo ignored him. Of course.

Charlie had stopped a few feet away from their table, just out of arm's reach. He had a strained smile on his scarred face. Diablo beckoned him closer with a flick of his index finger, and like magic, Charlie was instantly at his side.

"Alright, Sammy, I'm sure you've realized by now that this man has quite the impressive scar-to-face ratio." Diablo gestured to Charlie's general face area. If Charlie was insulted, he didn't react in the slightest. "Now, Charlie, we're gonna do a little show-and-tell for my friend here. I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them honestly. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. How many scars do you have on your face there, Charlie?" Diablo flashed him an encouraging smile and Charlie shuddered.

"...71." To Charlie's credit, his voice was steady despite his obvious anxiety.

"That's right," Diablo confirmed. "I took special care to make sure none of the gashes touched each other or connected. Simpler for you to count afterwards. It's a task easier said than done, that's for sure. Especially with all the messy blood you had on your face."

Sam, not sure if the implication was serious or not, managed to look away from Charlie's face for the first time to study Diablo's. Again, Diablo blatantly ignored him.

Charlie looked like he had no clue whether or not he was meant to give Diablo an apology, but Diablo continued without asking for one.

"So, Charlie," Diablo said, voice dripping with mock curiosity. "Did it hurt much? When I did this to you, I mean."

Charlie didn't even hesitate this time.

"It did, Diablo."

As soon as he had said it, Charlie's eyes widened at his own impertinence and his mouth slammed shut. Diablo, however, looked pleased with the answer. He chuckled lightly, like Charlie had just told him a funny joke.

"Don't sweat it, man. Some of us are just pussies and there's nothing wrong with that –"

Sam cut him off. "Shut up."

Charlie cringed at Sam's bluntness and his eyes darted to Diablo, as if expecting him to carve up Sam right then and there. Diablo wasn't angry; in fact, he wasn't even slightly annoyed. His toothy grin only grew.

"Really sorry to bother you, Charlie," Sam said, glaring dead straight into Diablo's eyes. "Now if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to speak with Diablo privately, please."

Charlie looked at Diablo for confirmation.

"Yeah, you can go now, Charlie. Vas-y. Adios. Thanks for the help." Diablo waved him off like he was shooing a fly.

Charlie inclined his head jerkily before hastening back to his counter much more quickly than he had come. Sam stared wordlessly after him.

Diablo flashed Sam a grin that had suddenly become frigid. "Listen, kid. You got no clue what you're getting into. I'm not your long-lost big brother who cuddled you to sleep at night. I'm not some misunderstood anti-hero. You won't be travelling with Han Solo. I carved up that guy's face because he knocked my booze out of my hand and I was in a pissy mood. I will take down anyone and anything that gets in my way, including you. So my suggestion to you," Diablo's smile melted into a look of grim apathy before continuing, "is that you get the hell out of my face before you get yourself hurt. Kid."

With that, Diablo slapped two hundred dollar bills down on the table and stood up. He turned to leave, but Sam's hand shot out and latched onto his jacket. Sam stood too, and he realized for the first time that he was taller than Diablo.

"This demon put my girlfriend in a coma. It killed my biological mother," Sam said through gritted teeth, clenching the leather even tighter in his hands. "I get what you were trying to prove just now. You're not my brother, I get it. And I don't care." Diablo yanked himself out of Sam's grip as if flinching away, but met his gaze steadily. "I need to hunt this asshole down and you're my best chance of doing that. You don't care about me? That's just fine. I don't need another person keeping things from me or leaving me behind to protect me. I'm sick of waiting. I've been waiting my whole life for others to come back for me, and you know what? Someone finally did. He nearly murdered my girlfriend."

Diablo was a stone. "You really prepared to abandon your girlfriend, your mansion, your family? You're going to just throw that life away?" Sam couldn't get any kind of read on Diablo's empty expression.

Sam stuck his chin out. He wasn't going to let guilt stop him from doing the right thing. "I'm not throwing it away. I'm protecting it."

"And you're gonna do that with or without me, huh?"

"Pretty much. But I figure my chances are higher with you." Sam frowned. "You know, the fact that I think I'll survive longer by travelling with a psychopathic murderer is kind of frightening."

Diablo blinked, then rolled his eyes. "God, not only are you desperate, you're pathetic too."

Diablo looked Sam up and down, lingering on Sam's biceps and abdomen. And then, without warning, Diablo threw a punch towards Sam's head.

Sam had been taking self-defence classes all his life, not to mention archery and fencing. Knowing what kind of monsters lurked in the dark was great motivation for staying in peak fighting condition. Because of this, he was able to block Diablo's fist just before it connected with his face.

Their sudden movements had caught the attention of the bar's few customers, who all looked towards the bartender as if expecting him to do something about it. Charlie busied himself with stocking his drink straws.

"Good, you can fight," Diablo commented, relaxing his stance like nothing had just happened. "Okay. Fine."

"Fine? So..."

"Gas is pricey. If we're heading the same way, might as well carpool." Diablo raised an eyebrow at Sam's gaping mouth. "Though I may just take back that offer if you keep up the codfish impression. We're leaving," Diablo pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, flipped it open, then snapped it shut again, "in two hours, at 3 am sharp. I've got a dinner appointment tomorrow in South Dakota."

Sam finally managed to recover. "Okay. Wait, wait. South Dakota? That's like... halfway across the country."

"Which is why you need to get all your rich-boy stuff packed within two hours, kid."

"I'm ready to go right now," Sam said.

It was Diablo's turn to look surprised, though he didn't let the expression last long. "Seriously? You don't need anything? Not even going to make some half-assed excuse to your family? I don't want them to send the cops after us or nothing, you know. Not that it'd be anything new for me, but it can be a bit of a pain in the ass."

"No," Sam said. He suddenly seemed to be fascinated with the floor. "I'll call them from the road once we're in the next state. I love them, but there's no way they're going to let me leave if I stop by to say goodbye." Sam took a deep breath. "And this was a really spur-of-the-moment decision. I'm not sure if I'd even want to leave with you if I got to see them."

"I'm just saying, this is a dangerous job. You might not get to see them again. Them or your girlfriend."

"Well, it's just one more reason to not get killed then, isn't it?" Sam looked up again, now smiling a bit. "I have to be back by the time Jess wakes up. And I won't be dying anytime soon without a proper goodbye to my family."

Sam could almost see the exact moment when Diablo seemed to remember who he was. His posture suddenly slackened and his neck became restless once more, rolling from side to side. His smirk returned, but in turn something behind his eyes died.

"Alright then." Diablo's emotionless mask was impossible to read once more. "Come on, let's stop standing here like a couple of lost flagpoles. There're demonic bastards out there waiting to be killed."

Diablo sauntered away and out of the bar. Sam didn't follow right away and stared at Diablo's retreating back, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

He didn't stand there for long. A second passed before Sam sprinted out the bar after the man with cold eyes and a dead smile.

00000

Nameless Road

Anderson, California

May 2nd, 1994

"You know," the crossroads demon sighed, "I'm going to get fired for this, now that I think about it. And when it comes to Hell, being fired becomes quite a literal term. I mean, to most demons, I'm going to be their hero for doing this to you." Without looking up at her, Dean knew her head would be tilting incessantly from left to right, as it had been doing all night. She was a fidgeter, that was for sure. For hours, her long, manicured nails had been drumming against the rock she'd been sitting on.

A few feet away, 15-year-old Dean Winchester let out yet another animalistic wail. He was long past trying to hide his pain from the demon. He'd run out of tears a few hours ago, and his tortured sobs sounded closer to retching. Two of his mutilated fingers lay near the demon's sleek black stilettos, drenched in now-browning blood.

The crossroads demon paid no attention to him and continued, "But although I'm going to be idolized by most of Hell, my boss – the King of Crossroads himself – has the unfortunate case of stick up his ass. He most likely won't be too happy that I didn't get your soul. So once you've finished up here, I'm thinking of quitting the business."

Dean didn't look up at her, instead taking careful aim at his middle finger, connected to the rest of his hand only by a ragged hinge of bloodied flesh. He raised the rock – now dyed a dark red – with his other hand, and though it trembled uncontrollably, he managed to hit his intended target.

Dean couldn't help it; he wailed once more. But he was so close. Dean struck that last dangling piece of skin another time, then another time, then once more with the stone, until he could finally pull his hand away and the last finger stayed there on the ground.

He was done. Dean had finally done it. He was free to leave. But God, his hand was just in so much agony and he found that he couldn't bring himself to stand. Every little movement he made multiplied his suffering a hundredfold. The sun was starting to rise and Dean could start to see his blood everywhere, all over his clothes, his hands, staining the ground. Little pieces of his flesh and his bone were scattered randomly around him and that didn't even make him feel sick anymore.

"Oh, good, you're finished," the demon said with her creepy crooked smile. "Honestly, Dean, I had a blast tonight, and I thank you for that. You're a natural-born entertainer, you are. But as I was saying, I'm resigning from the job as of now. From now on, it's just straight up stirring chaos and wreaking havoc on the lives of humans. Screw the deals and contracts, it's about time that I get to have some fun."

Dean didn't respond. He was preoccupied with wrapping up his hand with a shred of his shirt, but the cloth rubbing against his wounds was almost too much for him to handle. Dean had blacked out a few times already during the last few hours, and the demon had had to wake him up. He'd rather not have to put himself in such a vulnerable position again, and he fought the need for his body to shut down.

The demon approached him slowly, her red lips curled upwards and her swaggering gait making her look unsteady on her feat. "My body is great, you know," she said to the boy at her feet. "It's super sexy, which is totally my style. But she's not very strong, nor is she very fast."

Dean finally looked up, and though his eyes were clouded with pain, he could catch the hungry look the demon was giving him. He instinctively curled away from her before flinching in pain from the movement.

"Does it hurt, Dean?" the demon said softly. "I can make it go away. Not just that kind of pain, either. If you join me, you won't have to worry about Sammy or Daddy anymore. No more stalking Sam from cold shadows, or running away from hunters, or watching your dad wither behind bars. You'll never feel pain again," the demon's voice gained a cold tone, "and in return you'll learn how to enjoy inflicting it on others."

Dean tried to scramble to his feet without using his hands, but all the jostling incited another pained howling noise that he just couldn't hold back.

"I'll take good care of your meatsuit, Dean, I promise," the demon cooed almost lovingly. "I want us to be together for a long, long time." She closed the distance between herself and the boy and grabbed both sides of his thin face with a single hand. "You're my trophy, Dean. Everyone knows the Winchesters are the best. And having beaten them, don't I deserve a prize?"

Her long, spider-like fingers pinched his cheeks even harder just as Dean spotted his abandoned anti-possession charm, still lying on the dirt out of arm's reach. Crap, he'd forgotten to put it back on after making the deal.

Dean made one more last-ditch attempt to wrench himself from the demon's grasp. With a forceful yank of his head, Dean managed to rip free from her clutches and he immediately dove for the glint of silver that would protect him from being possessed.

The demon thrust her foot, pointy-toed shoe and all, right into Dean's gut. Dean didn't even have enough energy to let out an actual grunt from the sharp blow, though his right hand instinctively fell to his injured stomach. Still, he somehow managed to not slow down in his pursuit and continued reaching for the charm with his other hand.

His speed caught the demon by surprise, who had expected him to be curled up on the ground, crippled in pain. Because of this, Dean actually managed to reach the charm with his left hand. He was so close to folding his fingers around it and being home-free –

Fingers. Shit.

The second he tried to close nonexistent fingers around the small silver coin, his three mangled, bloody stubs twitched in an effort to move and another burst of pain shot through his entire hand, so intense that this time Dean had to draw back and curl in on himself.

The crossroads demon didn't look upset in the slightest. If anything, she looked even more gleeful.

"Oh, yes," she said, leaning over the shuddering ball of a boy. "Dean, you are just perfect. I get the feeling that you and I are going to have a great future together."

"No," Dean whimpered. "No, no, no, no..."

Black smoke jammed itself down his throat and the crossroads demon's old vessel fell to the ground with a soft thump, either passed out or dead.

Dean's body stopped shaking at once. He straightened up, stood up for the first time in hours, and stretched himself out. Except Dean couldn't control any of this. He was aware of it all, able to feel every movement and breath he took, but the poisonous dark presence enshrouding him was the one in charge. He could feel it engulfing him, trying to suffocate his soul, and it was a struggle for Dean to even remain conscious.

"Well, would you look at that," his own voice spoke out loud, though each word was dragged out just a bit too long for it to sound exactly like him. "You're still awake in there, are you, Dean? My, you really are a fighter. Speaking of which, great body you've got here. A little malnourished from living on the streets, it feels like, but otherwise you seem to have kept it in tiptop condition. I mean, besides the recently damaged property."

The crossroads demon lifted the left hand, still wrapped clumsily in cloth, cold now from the wet blood soaking it.

It was the most frightening thing Dean had ever experienced, feeling his own mouth and tongue and arm move, but unable to do anything to control it. Dean gave it all his effort, he really did, but he couldn't so much as make his own toe twitch.

"Don't worry, darling, I'll let you keep watching," the demon assured Dean in his own voice. "We'll be able to enjoy my retirement together. And trust me, kid, you haven't lived until you've dismembered a child in front of their mother. In fact, that's a lovely idea, I think that's the first thing we're going to do together." The demon clapped Dean's hands together. There was no pain from his mutilated hand anymore, though Dean obviously felt no gratitude towards the demon for this. "Well, let's not dawdle around here all day. There're mortal bastards out there waiting to be killed."

I'm sorry, I honestly tried writing several different versions of this chapter, and this version (the sixth one, if you were wondering) was the least awful. Also, I'm really bad at remembering to write things. I forgot that "Corruption & Innocence" existed for about a year. My bad?

But then I get awesome reviews reminding me that I once uploaded a fanfic to this account so thanks for that!

When will the next chapter come? Not too sure, to be honest. For those of you who are new, this fic was last updated August 31st, 2011. Today is November 22, 2013. I have never completed a fanfic on my other accounts. I have severe commitment issues. Hopefully it won't take another two years for an update. It probably won't. But I'm very unpredictable with this kind of thing. Sometimes it'll be done in a few days. Sometimes...

well

you know.

Anywho, if you're still reading this fic, leave a review so I know if there's anyone to continue this story for. Anonymous reviews will always be accepted, so even if you have no account let me know if you'd like to see another chapter please :)