Two:

Consciousness finally overpowers the restless sleep that he's fallen into. For a moment he's confused, unsure of where he is, and who he's with. Slowly he stretches his long limbs out, realizing that he's curled up around some cheap, rickety, scarred, wooden chair. He unwinds his tall body, and his eyes slit open. He's surprised to find Dean sitting in a similar chair across from him on the other side of the bed that Jess is on.

There are blankets piled on top of Jessica, and Dean is wiping her brow and cheeks with a moist cloth, gently brushing her blonde hair aside, and looking almost lost in the action. Sam shifts and his joints pop, catching Dean's attention. Dean looks up with a start, shakes his head and gives Sam a small smile.

"I'm sorry, I almost forgot you were there. She's pretty, your girl," Dean says, and gives a nod to Jess, as he continues to wipe the sweat from her face with the cloth.

Sam nods. "Yeah, she's amazing. Probably one of the nicest people I've met around here. Didn't think so when I first met her. She kept running into me and telling me to watch out for all the little people like her because she didn't like being stepped on."

Dean lets out a small laugh. "Guess you really love her, or something."

"She's pretty awesome," Sam says, carefully watching how Dean looks down at Jess. "Why are you asking so many questions?"

Dean shrugs. "Well, it's gonna sound weird."

"Uh huh," Sam says with a nod, and leans forward on his knees. "Why don't you try me? I've got to tell you though, I've heard about a lot of weird things in my time."

"Sure you have Grandpa. You're what? Twenty? I've got a few years and lots of mileage on you, kiddo," Dean says with a wry grin.

"Twenty-two, man, and just let it out. I'm really good at listening."

Dean doesn't know what gets into him, but there's something about Sam. "Dude, I don't want to sound like a chick, all right? No chick-flick moments for me. I don't have it in me."

Sam fixes him with this look, and Dean could almost swear he's seen that look before, the one that says, 'cut the bullshit and spit it out already.'

"Fine, your girl here, she looks a lot like my mom did. Blonde hair, blue eyes, probably doesn't take anybody's shit. I just hated seeing something bad happen to her."

"Did? What happened to your mom?" Sam asks, genuinely curious.

Dean takes in a shaky breath and lets it out slowly. "It was a long time ago, when I was a kid. There was this fire, and she was gone."

"I'm sorry," Sam says, and he means it with every fiber of his being.

Dean shakes his head. "No need to feel sorry for me. Let's just get over my sob story and look after your girl. She should be waking up soon. Her breathing's evened out and she's sweated most of the drugs out of her system."

"She's really okay?" Sam asks, concern evident in his voice.

Before Dean can answer there is a moan from the general direction of the bed, and the covers are being shoved around as Jessica Moore decides to rejoin the land of the living.

"Ugh, where am I?" she asks.

"Welcome back Sleeping Beauty," Dean says, and Jessica stiffens before she sits up in bed and stares around wide-eyed trying to figure out where she is until her wild gaze lands on Sam and she lets out a sigh of relief.

"Guess this means my virtue is still intact," she says with a wince, as she presses the heel of her hand to her temple with a groan. "How much of a confession will I have to make after mass on Sunday, Sam?"

"Nothing too bad, Jess. It wasn't your fault, okay?"

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"Someone slipped you one hell of a mickey and Sam panicked. He wanted to take you to the hospital, but that would have been a lot of paperwork and they couldn't have done any more for you than we did. I'll say this though, that asshole that slipped you blue nitro, well, you're just lucky you had a guy like Sam around," Dean answers, "Especially considering how he won our little game and had me to do with what he wanted last night and we ended up saving your ass."

Dean really doesn't mean to sound bitter, but he's spent all night looking after some girl he hardly knows and staring at Sam, and it's so strange, how damn familiar Sam seems. Dean shakes off the feeling as he realizes that Sam is speaking.

He looks up, watches as Sam shifts to the bed and cradles a crying Jessica in his arms, and Dean feels like he's intruding.

"Hey, Jess, it's okay. It's not like you knew."

She looks up at him with a tear stained face and says, "He was a pretty face, that's all I saw and he could have hurt me. Oh my God, Sam. How could I have been so stupid?"

"You're not stupid. You're one of the smartest people I know," Sam says in reassurance.

"Please. You're the one with a 4.0 GPA," she replies through a watery smile.

Dean clears his throat, and they both look up at him, and Jessica runs her tongue across her lips and says, "Thank you, for helping me. You really didn't have to."

"It's what I do. I help people, even when they think they don't need it. So how about I take you two home, and maybe we'll stop by a McDonald's on the way. I need some coffee. It's way too damn early," Dean offers.

Jessica pushes her hair back behind her ears and gives a little nod. "Yeah, I think that sounds good."

Sam nods in agreement, and he gets up. He then helps Jess to her feet and steadies her. She's a bit dizzy and grabs at her stomach first thing. Dean's over in a flash with the trashcan, and not too soon as Jessica's nausea overwhelms her and bile fills the trashcan. Sam holds her hair away from her face and rubs her back and Dean's surprised at the flash of jealousy and buries it quickly.

"We're definitely taking the trashcan with us, because no one pukes in my car," Dean says, as Jessica continues to wretch and Sam shoots him one hell of a glare.

It doesn't take them long to load up in Dean's car. Dean behind the wheel, Jess sitting in the middle leaning against Sam, and again Dean feels a slight stab of jealousy. Jessica's eyes are closed, and every now and then a whimper escapes her throat, as Sam gives Dean directions to Jessica's building.

They don't stop at McDonald's. Dean pulls up in front of the building, and Sam gets out of the car, and helps Jess. Dean gets out of the car, he walks around, helps Sam get Jess out and then he steps back, leans against his car and lets out a sigh before he says, "Hey, make sure your girl drinks a lot of water. No juice, no pain meds. Hell, not even vitamins, not for a couple of days at least. Also try to get her to eat something dry, it'll help settle her stomach, but nothing too salty or she'll be puking again."

Sam gives a nod in Dean's direction and a little wave. Dean gives a little nod of his own in response, pushes away from the Impala and walks around his car, slips behind the wheel, turns the engine over and drives away.

Sam pauses at the door, Jessica leaning heavily against him, nearly a dead weight, as he watches Dean drive off and feels a little regret over Dean leaving so quickly. Still Jess is sick, and depending on him. He takes her key and helps her inside. He gathers her in his arms and carries her up to the second landing, walks down the hallway, sets her down on her feet, takes her key, opens the door for her, and then carries her to her bedroom. Once she's settled in bed, he goes to shut and lock the door and then he comes back with a glass of water for her, only to find her snuggled against her pillow sound asleep.

Sam sets the glass of water down on her small bedside table, notices the picture of him and her, arms wrapped around each other and smiling. It was only taken a few months back, after they got their results back from last semester's finals. It was a really good day.

He pushes her hair back from her face and smiles down at her. She's still pale, dark circles ringing her eyes, but she looks peaceful while she sleeps. He picks up her phone, and steps out of her bedroom. He takes a seat on her couch as he dials a familiar number.

Two rings later and a familiar voice comes on the line, "Hello."

"Jim," Sam says, and his voice sounds so tight and small even to his ears, and he knows he's probably going to make Pastor Jim worry.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

"Last night I met him."

"Who?"

"The man in my dreams, the one with the green eyes and that voice. He's real, and I don't' know what could have happened last night. I don't know where my head was. Then Jess got sick, somebody drugged her and he helped me take care of her, made sure she was okay."

He hears a sharp intake of breath on the line, and he wonders if Jim's opinion of him has changed now. "Sam, nothing changes who you are or what you mean to me. You're my son, the one God blessed me with when I never thought I would know the joy of being a father. I'm always going to be proud of you, and sometimes the best way to make a difference is beyond the politics of the church."

"You never thought my choice to join the priesthood was a good one," Sam says with a dry, cynical laugh, and he wishes that he could see Jim's face.

"It's not about what I think, it's about what you felt and believed in when you made that decision, but life changes, and people change. It's okay if you leave the church, it's allowed Sam. Churches are full of politics. God could care less about such foolishness. Your part in what's coming is greater than you can imagine, Samuel, and I'm sure you'll see that soon."

"You've always said that, Jim," Sam replies. "How can you believe in me so much?"

"I helped raise you boy, and I believe in you," Jim says, and Sam closes his eyes as he hears the note of emotion in Pastor Jim's voice, and then Jim is clearing his throat and Sam knows something is up.

"Anything new with you?" he asks in concern.

"Not so much me. I got a call from an old friend of mine. Bobby out in South Dakota. He said he sent someone your way."

"Why would he do that?"

"Seems that a friend of his came across some interesting reading and was looking for an expert to tell him what it all means. He's looking for a demon, and Bobby apparently told him you're an expert on the subject. He'll probably show up in the next couple of days. I just thought you should know," Jim says, and then adds, "Don't you have class soon?"

"It's Saturday, I'm free from class. I'm supposed to be back at the church, greeting walk-ins and working the confessional. I'm going to call Father Laramie and tell him I have an emergency. Jess needs someone here with her. She's still pretty sick," Sam says.

"And is he still giving you a hard time?" Jim asks.

"It's Father Laramie. What do you think?"

"Point well made. I think I'll let you get back to taking care of your friend, Sam, and don't worry, you'll find your way, that purpose in life that you've always looked for. It's right around the corner waiting for you. You just have to be ready when it comes, okay?"

"Sure thing. I'll call you later, Jim, and let everyone know I miss 'em."

"I always do, Sam, I always do, now go on. We'll talk more later."

Sam hangs up, and his heart feels a little lighter in his chest. Pastor Jim's always known the right things to say to ease his mind.

----------

He's pretty sure that his father would be lecturing him from here to kingdom come, but never in his life has Dean wanted to strangle a nun. At least not until now. To say that the first church on his list, St. Albert the Great Church, is devoid of Samuels and decent, kind nuns would be a gross understatement. At least now he knows where the notorious nuns at Catholic schools are recruited. Still the comfort he'd get from strangling the nun won't bring him any closer to finding this Father Samuel Murphy.

The next church he crosses off of his list is a little friendlier toward him, and it is at Our Lady of the Rosary Church that Dean gets a tip in the direction of finding this Father Samuel Murphy. Sister Mary Harper is a big help, and almost makes up for his previous encounter with a nun.

"Yes, I know Father Samuel Murphy. He's a very good man, despite how Father Laramie talks about him. I'm sure he's on campus now, you know, at Stanford. He's got that Theological Mythology course."

Dean thanks her profusely and heads out the door. It isn't long before the Impala's engine is purring and he's heading for the college campus. He parks quickly, gets out of the car, stops a couple of cute girls, flirts for a moment and then asks them where he can find the Theological Mythology classroom. They give him an odd look but point him on his way.

He takes off in the general direction that the pretty redhead with the big tits pointed. He finds himself on his ass shortly there after, and when he looks up with a glare it quickly shifts to a grin. He shakes his head as he takes the large hand offered to him, and Sam is helping him to his feet.

"Christ Sam, where the hell do you come from? You just pop up out of nowhere, how can someone your size do that?" Dean asks, and he figures that finding this Father Murphy can wait a little longer since he's practically run into Sam.

Sam grins at him and reshoulders his backpack. "Man, where were you off to in such a hurry?"

Dean shrugs. "No where that can't wait. What do you say to a drink?"

"Sure, there's this great café around the corner, serves the best mocha latte in town."

"Okay, coffee's good too," Dean replies.

There's not much talk between them until they're sitting at a small table toward the back of the café, Sam with a mocha latte with more whip cream and caramel and chocolate than Dean thinks is decent, and Dean with his plain cup of joe, two sugars, and black and made just right, because he's NOT a chick when it comes to real coffee. Of course Sam takes the slight in stride and simply tells Dean he doesn't know what he's missing.

"So, how are things between you and your girl? Jess doing all right since the other night?" Dean asks.

Sam smiles and nods. "She's sworn off drinking for a while, and you're officially her hero. I mean you're all she can talk about, even though she hardly knows you, but apparently she's very good at describing your…physical attributes in very good detail."

"She likes my ass, huh? Can't say I blame her. What about you?" Dean asks, his voice slipping an octave lower in tone as he looks up through his long lashes, his damn mouth slanted in a dangerous smirk.

"Uh, your…um… Well, as far as that goes, I guess it's nice… Uh…"

Dean takes pity on him and lets out a hearty laugh and shakes his head. "Remember to breathe Sammy! I swear I had you goin' there for a minute."

"That was SO not funny, jerk."

"Bitch," Dean replies with a good-natured grin.

They talk for a little while. Long enough to go through a second order of coffee, and then Sam notices the time and groans. Dean cocks his head and offers Sam a ride. Sam looks down at his watch again, a plain, simple Timex with a black leather band. He lets out a sigh and says, "Okay, yeah, thanks."

They head back to the campus where Dean parked the Impala, and once inside Dean slips a tape into the tape deck and Sam bites his tongue, not wanting to seem rude that Dean's technology as far as radios and music are a little outdated, even when he's got Metallica blasting in his ears. Dean pulls to a stop at Jessica's building and Sam blushes a little as Dean looks at him expectantly.

"Um, actually, I live a couple of blocks over, on Waverley Street."

Dean gives him a perplexed look. "You mean you got a girl like Jess and you aren't living together? How long have you known her and what in the hell is wrong with you?"

"I've known Jess for about four years now, and she's an amazing friend, but we know where we stand with each other," Sam replies.

Dean smirks. "So I was right. Batting for the home team? Just a little shy about it?"

"What's with all the questions?" Sam asks.

"Just making idle conversation," Dean replies as he puts the Impala back into gear and heads further down the road. He turns down the third road on his right, Waverley Street, and waits on Sam to point out where he wants him to stop, and Dean's mouth actually falls open when Sam directs him into the parking lot of a church, St. Thomas Aquinas Parish.

"This is me," Sam says with a shy grin, and then he's getting out of the car and shouldering his backpack.

Dean leans across the seat and calls out to him, "Hey, are you for real?"

"Yeah, I've been staying here since I came out to California."

"So you're like some kinda altar boy or somethin'?" Dean asks, confusion evident in his voice.

"If you really want to talk about this, stop back by around seven, and we'll talk. Right now I have to go. I have homework and a few duties to perform. But I'm free after dinner, all right?"

Dean gives a bewildered nod and watches as Sam jogs up the stairs and into the church, in his shabby blue jeans and hoodie. He pulls out of the parking lot and goes on a little drive to clear his head. It's not until he's back at the motel and in his room that he remembers that he's out here looking for somebody to help him decipher his dad's notes and find the yellow-eyed demon before his father goes and gets himself killed.

He paces the length of his room for a while, looks up at the clock, it's barely five and all he can think about is seeing Sam at seven. Then again, Sam lives at the church, maybe he knows this Father Murphy. So seeing Sam again could actually be helpful. Dean smiles at the thought, two birds with one stone, hang out with Sam and maybe find this demon expert too.

--------

There's a fluttering in his stomach that he's trying hard not to think about. He grips either side of the sink and looks into the mirror. Staring back is his clean-shaven face, hair slicked down, combed, carefully parted. He's dressed in the traditional casual wear of his station in life, all black except for his collar, white. He looks the part of a priest, and he can't help but wonder how Dean will take this. If Dean will still flirt with him knowing he's unattainable.

He lets out a sigh, wonders why he's so intent on impressing Dean Winchester. Why he continues to entertain his impure thoughts, especially now that his fantasy has a face. His fantasy exists.

He walks out of the bedroom, looks up at the clock. Five minutes until seven. He takes in a shaky breath. He fidgets, brushes the non-existent wrinkles from his shirt, and paces his bedroom.

When he looks up at the clock he sees that it's a couple of minutes after seven. He swallows thickly, steps out of his room, heads down the corridor, up the stairs, and finally he's reached the inside of the church. He notices Dean sitting in the third pew on the left, and as he approaches Dean looks up, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in surprise.

Finally Sam reaches him and with a faint blush coloring his face, he gives a nod toward the main doors. Dean follows him, and once they are outside Dean snorts and says, "You've got to be kidding me, right? This is some huge joke, right Sam?"

Sam scratches the back of his head, looking kind of sheepish, and then he holds his hand out for Dean to shake as he says, "Maybe I should properly introduce myself. I'm Father Samuel Murphy of the St. Thomas Aquinas Parish."

Dean shakes his head a little at that, not sure he's heard correctly. "Did you say Father Samuel Murphy?"

"Yeah," Sam replies, and then sighs. "This doesn't change anything does it? I mean… I… I don't really know what I mean."

"That's kinda obvious. So what's the deal with Stanford? I mean if you're teaching a course why not wear the whole priest get up, or do you just get off on making complete fools out of strangers?" Dean snaps, wondering why he's so angry.

"I wear normal clothes so I don't distract the other students, and I'm a student, not a professor. I'm studying theology and dabbling in law."

"You're the guy I've been looking for. The demon expert right?" Dean asks, almost like he's just come to realize who Sam is.

Sam bites his bottom lip and than says, "Yeah, that would be me. It's not that widely known. The church doesn't approve of my field of interests. They claim it's archaic and puts the church in a negative light. You're who Jim told me was coming. Bobby told you where to find me."

"I can't believe a priest lied to me. Ain't that against some priestly code or somethin'?"

"I didn't lie, and you know what? Can we change the subject here? What do you have on this demon you're trying to find?" Sam asks.

"It's back at my room at the motel. And on the way there we're gonna stop for burgers and beer because we have a hell of a lot to talk about," Dean snaps.

Dean's already halfway through his burger by the time they reach the motel. He pulls up across from his room, and sitting with his back against the door of Dean's room is a kid probably fourteen, fifteen years old, dirty blonde hair hanging in his face, gawky, tall, and gangly, but he's pale and dark circles ring his eyes, and that's when Dean and Sam know something is up.

They get out of the car slowly, Dean swallowing the last of his hamburger as he walks up to the kid, a flask of holy water in his hand and at the ready. He waves Sam back as he offers the kid a hand up and then says, "Christo." Apparently Dean is satisfied with the look of confusion the kid gives him and then says, "Lookin' for somebody?"

The kid takes in a shaky breath and lets it out slowly. "Yeah, I'm looking for two guys, Dean and Sam. He said I could find you here."

"Who did?" Dean asks, and he gives a cursory look around.

"The thing that's inside my kid brother. My mom tried approaching the church a couple of weeks ago when he started talking crazy and his eyes went black. They told her to take him to a shrink. He's gotten worse. Right now he's tied to the bed, and my mom washed the sheets and the ropes in holy water, that's how he can't move, and she has salt poured around his bed. It laughs at us, a horrible sound that ain't right coming outta Luke's mouth. The thing wants Dean and Sam, told me where I could find them, and he promised he'd let Luke go once he talked to Dean and Sam. That's you right? Dean and Sam?"

He swallows thickly as Dean nods and says, "Yeah, I'm Dean Winchester, and the priest behind me is Sam. Now do you come with a name?"

The kid nods. "Yeah I'm Mark McCain. So you going to help him? Please?"

"Go wait in the car kid, I gotta get somethin' and then you can give us directions, okay?" Dean says.

The kid heads over to the Impala and gets in the backseat, and Sam wonders how the kid can be so trusting, wonders what the kid was talking about with black eyes and a thing inside of his brother. Could he be talking about possession? A real possession? He's studied the concept of possession in theory, but if this is real, well, he's not sure if he's ready for this.

"Do you think he meant possession?" Sam asks in awe as he follows Dean into the room.

Dean snorts. "Yeah, big time. Now see that bag over in the corner, get it for me, and you can bless water right? I mean I can in a pinch, but having someone sanctioned by the church for back-up can't hurt."

Sam picks up the bag and watches Dean take an old, beaten up notebook out of the drawer of the small bedside table. Dean holds the book up with a smile. "All you need to know about exorcisms in a pinch. You up on your Latin, Father Sam?"

----------

The drive to Saratoga takes about forty-five minutes through mid-day traffic. The kid is sitting in the back, quietly staring out of the window, Sam's riding shotgun and Dean is behind the wheel, humming "Enter Sandman" and tapping against the steering wheel. Every now and then he spares a glance at Sam through his peripheral vision, and wonders how someone like Sam could become a priest. Then of course he feels a stirring in his loins as he imagines yanking off that little white collar and giving Sam the biggest hickey ever. He runs his tongue across his lips at the thought and misses a beat in his humming, which makes Sam turn to him with a questioning look. It doesn't slip past Dean when Sam shifts a little like he's uncomfortable, and that's enough to make him smirk and continue on with his humming.

Dean looks around, finding himself in a slightly rundown residential area, and says, "Okay kid, directions would be nice about now."

Mark looks up and tells Dean to take a left at the stop sign, go down two blocks, make a right, and it's the white house with the red door and red shutters. Dean nods and follows the kid's directions, spares another small glance in Sam's direction, and sees that Sam is pouring over his notebook. Sam is fidgeting a little, his lips moving as he reads and within a few minutes they are pulling up into the cracked driveway of the small white house with the red door and shutters.

A woman steps out of the door, long dark hair trailing down her back in a messy ponytail, dark circles beneath her eyes, she looks exhausted and worried sick, and she stumbles down the three steps of the porch as Mark runs up to her and she pulls him into a hug and rains kisses on his face as he pulls back and says, "I found 'em, Mom. They're here to help Luke. Just like the thing said, I found 'em."

"Don't you ever do that again! I had no idea where you were, and with Luke… I… I can't lose you too Mark," she says, her tone bordering on hysterical as she clings to him.

"I did this for Luke. He's not gone Mom, he's still in there, and that thing told me to bring him these two guys and he would let Luke go," Mark replies.

"And where did you have to go? How did you get there?" she asks him, her eyes watery as she pulls back to look him in the face.

"Palo Alto. I walked some and did a little hitchhiking. But that doesn't matter," he replies, as her eyes widen in shock, but before she can say anything else to him, Dean approaches her.

"Hello ma'am, we're here to see if we can help your kid. Can you lead the way?" he asks.

Her dark eyes snap and spark at him, as she looks him up and down. "How could you help my son?"

He snorts. "Looks can be deceiving lady. I'm here for the kid, and if what Mark said is true then you know a little something about the things that go bump in the night. Sheets and rope washed in holy water? That's pretty smart thinkin'. I'm guessing you have a salt ring around his bed too?"

"So it wanted a hunter? Ain't bad enough I lost my husband to that life, but now a demon finds a way into my son to get to another hunter," she spits, and then narrows her eyes. "So you must be one of the Winchesters."

Dean gives her a look of confusion. "I'm Dean, and him over there is Sam, he's a priest. Now are we gonna go see this kid of yours?"

She swallows thickly and nods as she heads back toward the house, Dean follows her, and can feel Sam at his back a moment later as they wonder down the hall and to the second door on the right, where a line of salt has been poured. She opens the door for them, and Dean steps across the line, careful not to break it, and Sam does the same.

The door slams shut behind them in gust of air, and they can hear the kid's mom beating her fists against the door, wanting to be let in. The kid on the bed looks up, a smirk twisting his young lips. He can't be much older than nine or ten. Dean's gut rolls in disgust at the thing inside the poor kid. It's low, even for a demon, to possess a child.

"Why damn my soul, if it's not Dean Winchester and Father Sammy in the flesh, finally come together," it says in the child's voice, and when it blinks its eyes are solid black, soulless. "I guarantee this throws a monkey wrench into all of his carefully drawn plans, he's a cocky son of a bitch anyway. Always has been. Bout time something was done about that, and I'm looking at the solution right now before me."

Dean looks over at Sam. "Open the book to the Roman Ritual. Just read it, I'll do the hard part," he says, and then he reaches in his duffel bag, pulls out a flask, sage, and a lighter. He opens the flask and splashes the boy on the bed. Steam rises from his flesh and a deep, rumbling cackle, unnatural coming from a child so young, rumbles from the boys lips, and it blinks again and the boy's eyes glow a bright amber color. For a moment Dean thinks he recognizes what is inside of the boy, but the color is too dark to be the yellow-eyed demon of his past.

"You're right, Dean. I'm not him. I'm of a higher order, and right now, I'm playing along, because I can, because I want to. This little ritual of yours, it won't even faze me. I have known the heavens, spoken one on one with God. I chose my place, chose to fall. I am not some lesser demon. I am a fallen. I leave this boy when I choose, so I suggest you two listen," it says, and then shifts it's gaze to Sam.

"Deus, et Pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi, invoco nomen sanctum tuum, et clementiam tuam supplex exposco…"

The demon laughs. "A priest marked by a devil in infancy, how quaint. Do your worst, Father Sam, but first, entertain me, because we may have a long night ahead of us, or we may not, it depends on how soon the two of you choose to listen to me."

Dean's eyes widen. He's never seen a demon react to the Rites of Exorcism with such nonchalance. Almost like the thing is taunting them to do their worst, knowing it won't be good enough to get it out of the boy.

The demon turns to look at Dean, it's eyes flashing with mirth. "I see you're beginning to catch on, hunter. Your father has taught you well, but your gut always knows, that gift of yours lying with a silver tongue and yet always able to read the truth in others with a glance, knowing if they're lying to you. You get that from your mother," it says tauntingly. "Pretty Mary Winchester, a good, strong woman. It was a shame what he did to her, cutting her open, burning her alive as she bled to death. What do you remember of that night Dean? Do you remember the infant in your arms? Your father picking the both of you up, running from the house as the nursery exploded. What happened to your baby brother? Did Daddy convince you that he didn't exist? Even now you don't believe your father, and you wonder every night if your baby brother is still even alive."

Dean falters a little and stares at the possessed boy on the bed. His legs give way beneath him and he lands on his knees. Sam falters in his reading, drops the book to the floor and goes to Dean's side.

"You can't listen to it Dean. It lies, it's what the devil does," Sam says, and a spark shoots up his spine as he wraps an arm around Dean's shoulder, and heat coils in his belly at being so close, wanting so much.

A chuckle from the bed catches both men's attention and they look up. "It couldn't have worked out any better if you'd known each other your whole lives," it says, and then cocks its head at Sam, "Those must be some dreams you've been having lately. How you question your faith, the church. Deep down you wonder if you made the right choice in joining the clergy. You wonder if you did it out of obligation to your foster father, or maybe it's because you've been running with hellfire lapping at your ankles your whole life. Your damnation and saving grace is in this very room with you right now Father Samuel. Is it the eyes or the lips? Perhaps the ass? The whole package has to be better than just those dreams. You want something you hardly even have a name for. Let me let you in on a little secret, Father Sammy. He wants it just as badly. It gets so tired and lonely on those hunts, doesn't it Dean? Thinking about taking on a partner, have been ever since you tried so hard to win that pool game to take him back to your motel room. Before he told you he was priest, and how is that working out for you?"

"Shut up," Dean growls out as he jerks away from Sam and stumbles to his feet. He grabs up the flask and splashes some on the demon's face. He laughs and says, "Ahh, nice and hot, just like home. Do you have any idea of who you are dealing with, who your father wants to go up against?"

Dean glares down at the possessed boy. "Like you would give any straight answers!"

The demon tugs at the ropes binding his wrists, the ropes fray and snap and it sits up and glares at Dean, it's eyes burning bright and golden, blazing with hellfire. "I don't like the thought of losing my kingdom. I've had command over my eighty legions for eons, ever since the Heavens were divided in civil war, and I chose the side of freedom, of choice. The thing you humans got from Jehovah and squander. I fought for it, and fell for it. I've made my home in ash, sulfur, and blood, and a lesser fallen would dare take from me what I fought and killed for. I was Lucifer's second, one of the seven Satans, a prince of Hell. I am Lord Belial, and I will not see my kingdom fall, and my legions turned against me. You will stop Azazel. You will find your brother and know him in the flesh, know him with your heart, and will deny him not. You are just as damned as he is. Damned from the moment Azazel marked him, but you have the opportunity now to make allies. Both of you."

"Belial, the demon of lies and guilt," Sam says and stares at the thing in the boy.

Dean cocks his head at the demon and swallows thickly. "You're telling the truth. Why?"

Belial chuckles. "Because, I can tear the both of you apart far worse with the truth, than I could with lies, and we both want the same thing. We want Azazel destroyed, you for what he did to your mother and brother, and how he broke you family apart. Me, because he threatens my seat of power. And besides I like having a front row seat to watch one the greatest hunters in recent years falling. It's funny, the very thing you've always wanted, the thing you crave, love, companionship, something to keep the loneliness at bay, that is the very thing that will condemn you, and you won't give damn. You're on a highway to hell, Dean, you and Father Sammy both. Enjoy the ride boys, and know this, Heaven will deny you and Hell won't welcome you. You bleed, fight, fuck, and exist in this world, waging war, dying and being born again, always here. For this is your plain. This is where you've fallen," Belial says, his eyes glinting and then the boy's head flies back, his mouth opening wide as an explosion of black ash and hellfire erupts from his mouth, burning a black spot into the ceiling as the windows explode and the smoke and ash pour out.

The boy falls back to the bed. He curls up as much as possible with his ankles still bound, trembling and whimpering. Dean and Sam exchange a look of shock, and then Dean's hunter instincts kick in. He quickly salts all the windows. The bedroom door flies open, Mark and his mother run into the room, and sweep the boy up into their arms as he whimpers and cries, clinging to his brother and mother.

Their mother looks up with tears in her eyes and mouths the word "thank you." Dean just gives a nod, not really sure what he's being thanked for since the demon chose to leave, but he figures it's better not to let her know that. He pats Sam on the shoulder and jerks his head toward the door. Their work here is done.

Once in the car they head back toward Palo Alto. There is awkward silence between them for most of the drive and then Dean is pulling up into the parking lot of his motel. He shifts his gaze to Sam, who's adamantly staring ahead.

"Most of what it said tonight, it was true. I want to hear it from you though."

Sam swallows thickly. "Demons lie, and I don't know what you're talking about."

"He wasn't lying," Dean growls, his green eyes darkening in anger as he reaches out, grabs Sam by the shoulders and turns him to face him. "You want me. You dream about me, you probably imagine my mouth around your cock, and how it would feel to have me fill you up. You're burning with the thought right now."

Sam hates how it sounds like an accusation, hates it even more that it's the truth, and he knows that Dean is seeing right through him. Dean jerks Sam forward, and their lips meet in violence that Sam can't help to reciprocate in lashing tongues and snapping teeth, until the anger melts into gentle nips, heavy breathing, discovery and gentle exploration. Sam wants to jerk back, shove Dean away, but that mouth is so intoxicating, and he thinks he can relate to savoring the forbidden fruit of knowledge. Dean is like that damnable apple, he knew that the moment he heard Dean speak at the bar. He can't run from this even if he tried. Heat slips down his spine and pools in his belly, and when they finally break apart Dean looks at him with a dazed expression on his face, and Sam knows this is it, he's going to fall, it's only a matter of time.

Dean takes in a shaky breath, turns the engine over once again, pulls out of the motel's parking lot, and drives toward the St. Thomas Aquinas Parish. Both of them are lost in their own thoughts as Dean pulls up in front of the church, the silence heavy and thick between them. Sam doesn't say a word as he gets out of the car; he just heads toward the double doors of the church. He looks back, and the car is still there at the curve, Dean staring up at him, hunger dark in those green eyes. A moment later there's a screeching of tires and the Impala is gone. Sam hurries up the last of the stairs and slips inside of the church. He walks toward the altar, kneels before the large crucifix, and prays. Prays for forgiveness. A cold slip of air traces along his cheek, and he knows it's already too late for penance, and he's scared down to the marrow of his bones.

Read Chapter Three of Four of TempestQuill's The Road Between Nowhere and Hell