Whisper in a Graveyard

Abby Ebon

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, neither have I written any of the episodes (though I would like to)…

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Beware What Hand A Trickster Plays"

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

…Previously…

He didn't feel evil – he didn't want to kill anyone, being a demon, he supposed, hadn't come with a realization that after death there was anything profound. He didn't know if there was a god – though, obviously there were other – more powerful – demons out there, he didn't know if a fallen angel led them.

What Sam did know was that he was kind of hungry – for pizza, likely meat lovers with an extra handful of olives.

"Dean, it's been a long night…let's just get something to eat." Sam pleaded, tired of his skin tingling – prickling like needles – inside the demonic trap of a circle. Dean merely nodded and before he could walk to the edge of the circle and wipe it clean, Sam had already walked out of it.

Dean's gaze caught his own. There was something uncomfortably like fear in his brother's gaze.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"…Sam." There was a warning in his bothers voice, a bit of a command left over from when he had been looking out only for himself. There was fear there too. Sam glanced away, all at once hating him self - and the tension coated fear that would, he felt, might always be there.

"Don't, Dean, just…don't." It was a plea, for Dean to just let things go the way they were. He didn't like having the sort of wary intensity directed toward him. He was tired, and oddly hungry. The fact that he had a demon in his head was secondary. First was that he was some kind of "primal" demon, specially made by demon blood, and woken to the fact when his brother was dying in his arms.

He did not think he'd forgive Ruby that anytime soon, whatever answers she offered.

"Order a pizza would you, Dean? I'm starving." Sam asked, knowing it was the right sort of thing - the normal thing - to say when Dean chuckled. His brother shook his head, even as he walked over to the phone. It was grounded, as whenever they got a chance to stay in a hotel Dean never trusted anything that didn't have a line connecting it to a jack; no matter that he let Sam have his laptop and little "gadgets".

"You weren't the one resurrected from the dead." Dean muttered, though Sam knew he was meant to hear the words, soft as they were. Sam couldn't help but smile. They were both pretending things weren't as bad as it seemed, in that way it was at least reassuring to take the comfort offered.

'I'm sorry Sam…' Ruby whispered into his mind, so soft he could almost not hear her – it was as if that was what she hoped – that he wouldn't hear he next words, 'it won't help…the hunger…' A headache shaped suddenly behind his eyes, as if seeking to blind him. With a fear, he realized what it was.

His hunger had intensified. He was more then starving – he was dying, and it was painful.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Ah… Sammy? Pizza is here." He'd never heard his brother so hesitant. Still, at least Dean was speaking to him – albeit, though the bathroom door. Sam tried to be positive about it. He couldn't find it in himself to be positive about much – he had a blistering headache - the lights in the bathroom were off, and he only flinched a little when the window placed directly across from the mirror caught headlights from people coming and going in the hotel parking lot.

His muscles were beginning to ache, and when he had raised his hand, his fingers had been trembling. Whatever was going on, his nerves were beginning to become affected. Sam wondered if this was what it was like to be a druggy. Or to be addicted to something then cut off without warning. It hurt. It felt like dying.

'You aren't dying Sam…just give into the hunger – feed…' That was another thing – Ruby, he had a demon riding inside his head, usually that would mean possession – but, apparently, he was still human. Or not, he was a demon – only a special kind of demon. One that could resurrect the dead; play host to a demon advisor – and got really horrible headaches and shakes when they didn't "feed" on something their natures were inclined to.

Sam had a breaking point – he was close to it. He didn't know what he "needed" – he didn't want to think of what sort of thing his darker nature might demand he "feed" on. Rose couldn't even tell him. Sam sighed softly against the porcelain of the tub he was huddled in. He was fully clothed, but at least he had something cool to rest his forehead against.

"Fantastic." Sam murmured softly, he didn't know if Dean could hear him or not.

"Sam…are you going to come out of the bathroom, or not?" Apparently not, Sam groaned under his breath. He was sore all over; Dean was – if not outright afraid of him, wary – which hurt him like the knife in him had just been pushed in a little deeper then twisted. Sam didn't know what he would do, if he left the bathroom – eat? Eat what – the pizza – or if he started with pizza, would he be able to stop himself from meeting the need he was craving and feeding off it? What would Dean think of him then? Worse – what would Dean do?

"How 'bout not." Sam growled out a little louder, the words coming out flat.

"Come on, Sam, tell me what's going on here. Maybe I can help." Sam was tempted to let his head hit the cool porcelain. Then again, his head ached enough without trying to get a concussion.

"Help? Dean – I've got a headache, that's it, alright?" Sam tried to keep his voice even, and was not quite sure he succeeded. He closed his eyes, on top of the pain – he was tired. He felt distanced from everything around him, as if it was a dream. He was glad for that, because it kept him from feeling the horrible sharpness of his hunger. Like this, he could ignore it – at least for a little while. At least until he decided what to do.

"Whatever you say man." Something in his tone had given him away. Dean wasn't going away, no matter what he said. A part of him – the part that had admired his older brother growing up – was glad for that. Still, it was both aggravating and annoying having his big brother shove into whatever was the matter with him, especially when he felt like this.

That he would do the same for Dean in a heartbeat didn't really matter to him at the moment.

"Come on, Sam, just open the door – take a few slices…feel a little more human again, huh, what do you say?" Dean was almost whining, but the pleading tone was obvious. Sam knew he was worried; it made him feel guilty for being so annoyed with Dean's worry.

"Eloquent as always, Dean." Sam said it just loud enough for Dean to hear as he shifted to sit upright in the tub. He knew Dean – no matter how freaked out – wasn't going away. Dean was still his big brother.

"Sam, open the damn door." Dean had that hard edge to his voice that Sam knew meant he wasn't going to have it any other way but his way. With a sigh, Sam stood up and swung his leg over the tall edge of the tub; making a little effort to smooth his shirt down as he opened the door, glowering only a little.

"Fine, fine, happy now?" Sam was glad that Dean had made an effort – had listened – because the lights in the hotel were off – all but a desk light. At least there was no glare of light to halo his brother after opening the door to the bedroom part of the hotel room.

"Aw, Sam, you know I'm just delighted to see your sorry face." Dean teased lightly, shoving a plate of still warm pizza into his hands.

"Shut it, Dean." Sam grumbled softly, not really meaning his words, eyeing it – smelling it – he hated to admit that even to himself, he was not hungry for the offering of pizza in his hands. It just did not appeal. Dean noticed his staring at it.

"Eat it – will you? You're the one that said to order it." Dean fidgeted a little nervously with his words; Sam had noticed that all his favorite toppings were present and accounted for. Sam knew it would be useless to comment on it – to thank Dean for that detail – all he really had to do was to take a bite. So he would.

"Hmm, pizza..." It appealed to him as much as raw sewage would. It was wrong – disgusting – it did nothing to fill him. Despite himself, his expression gave him away.

"What's wrong?" Sam didn't want to say it. He didn't want to admit that food, maybe even liquids, didn't fuel him - …that his biology was this changed. It worried him. Dean was right to have let him see that moment of terror as Sam – walking with a demon riding him – had stepped out of the circle as if it was nothing. For the most part, Ruby was silent – observing. Sam could handle that.

"It…tastes….a little off." Sam had made the mistake of glancing to see Dean's features – he hadn't intended to answer – now he knew he had to.

"It tasted fine to me." Dean admitted softly, eyes looking Sam up and down as if to really see him to gain better insight.

"Forget it. I'm going to bed." Sam mumbled, careful this time not to look Dean in the face. He tried not to make a too big of a deal about putting the plate of pizza back next to the box. He'd only taken one bite. He felt as if he hadn't eaten anything all day. He remembered his earlier thoughts –he was starving – dying because he would not feed his hunger – his need.

Sam didn't even know what it was.

"Alright, sure, whatever you say…I'll be up for a few more hours, that alright with you?" Dean was being sarcastic – attempting to be aloof. Sam knew he was only glad that he'd managed to get Sam out of the bathroom –Sam would be sleeping in a proper bed where Dean could keep an eye on him. It was what Sam would do for Dean, if the situation was reversed.

"It's just fine, Dean."

It still didn't help that it was hellishly annoying.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Dean didn't know what to think. He wasn't sure where he stood. John had hammered it into his head at an early age – the lessons. There was no grey area. There was Dean – and there were those he was supposed to protect. Sam had been the first among those precious people he was to protect.

Dean wasn't letting him go now – just because Sam was something a little more then human. He was still Sam. He wasn't any more of a stranger then when Dean had first found him, tucked in bed on a college campus. He was Dean's little brother.

Dean would still protect Sam; of that much he was bound and determined to do. It was what he had been raised to do. He wouldn't fail in that – he couldn't. It was too much a part of who Dean was.

Still, facts had to be faced; Sam was somehow part-demon (or a little more then "part"). Sam had – seemingly though sheer force of will – brought Dean back from death. Dean certainly felt alive, he was breathing, thinking, bleeding – even his flesh was healing from the nick of the knife he had given himself to check.

Now, after the fact, Sam was suffering. Dean knew his little brother, when he was hiding things, when he was in pain and didn't want to show it. Dean knew. Sam would – if he knew how much his brother saw threw him – be horrified. Sometimes, Dean wondered if Sam didn't already on some level know. Or if Sam had a way of reading Dean in the same way, Dean certainly wouldn't put it past Sam.

Dean knew that Sam was shaky – that his joints moved stiffly because of pain. That the bathroom had been darkened because of a headache; so far it wasn't any worse then a bad flu – or getting beaten around while on a hunt. Dean worried about it though. He worried that it might get worse.

He worried that, when all was said and done – if Sam would still be Sam by the end of it. Dean glanced to his brother, he was curled toward Dean – his face was open, easy in his sleep. Dean was glad that Sam found some peace in sleep. Dean sighed and settled back in the chair – on the desk was a half a slice of pizza. The rest would be leftovers – Dean found he just wasn't hungry, worry for Sam had stolen his appetite.

He glanced again to Sam.

Half lidded silvery-brown eyes were watching him.

Dean tensed, his mind screaming one word; "demon".

He fought to stay still, to relax – he knew that Sam wasn't awake yet. He was still half asleep. Sam stirred a little, sitting up as if some present aroma had caught his attention, something shifted in the way that he was looking at Dean.

Hungry.

"Are you watching me while I sleep, Dean?" Maybe he'd been wrong on just how aware Sam was of his surroundings. Still, there was something tired – something hazy and not quite Sammy in those silvery brown eyes. Dean was aware – as if he was coming out of sleep himself – of movement. Sam was crawling toward him on hands and knees.

Sam was stretching up from the floor, his arms around Dean's neck. Gently he nuzzled Dean's cheek with his own – inhaling his scent at his neck. Dean wished his mind would work quicker. Things seemed only to slow down more and more. As if he was caught in a spider web. Or he was the deer in the headlights. Or, in some way, prey.

That thought did it – snapping some semblance of sense into his mind. He was thinking.

Speaking…

"Sammy, it isn't like that…"

His brothers tongue flicked over his lips, Sam tilted his head at Dean – watching him – smiling slowly – indulgent.

"Why can't it be…if I want it…if we both want it….?"

Sam moved in closer, and Dean couldn't quite bring himself to move away quickly enough – Sam's lips, warm and demanding pressed against his. Dean tried to make some sound of protest, but Sam stole it away. Instead, breathless and numb and somehow hungry, Dean gave in, groaning a little as Sam flicked his tongue against the sides of his mouth.

Sam growled – possessive – and Dean felt teeth scrape against his lips, he tasted blood. He knew this was going wrong. He was as good as dead if Sam didn't slow down – didn't start thinking. Long fingers dug into his shirt, he felt his arms wrap around the bare skin of his brothers waist.

Dean heard fireworks.

They weren't in his head.

Bright reds and brilliant purples and greens arched into the sky, lighting up the darkened hotel room. Sam jerked away from him, sprawled on the hotel carpet – he looked adorable, puzzled – confused. His eyes were brown, and Dean nearly trembled with relief. Maybe he wouldn't remember. Sam glanced to him, and Dean saw them widen – saw his brother swallow, pale in the sudden multi-colored lights.

Then there was a tapping on the window.

Dean looked to the sound, rather then speaking to his brother, or let Sam have his chance to speak. His eyes narrowed, suspicious; to see someone – or rather something – he wasn't quite surprised by; the Trickster was back to torment.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Note; what can I say? Um, it's been so long that not only have I changed my name from "AbeoUmbra" to "Abby Ebon"; that "BloodyChaosDragonKnight" has changed her name to "Chaos Silk". Yeah, that long.

Oops…? It's funny where time goes when you have the entire story plotted out and you've only got to sit and write the thing out. Very annoying that.