faye_dartmouth | Devastation and Reform 1/15 (Reply)

Title: Devastation and Reform

Summary: The boys take on a string of mysterious maulings in Arizona but it seems like destiny may be catching up with them. Set late Season 2.

A/N: I started this fic over a year ago but I kept writing some, then putting it off in favor of other fics. When the dumb thing finally got to be over 50,000 words long, I figured I should probably just knuckle down and finish this thing, regardless of how I felt about. It's not my favorite piece of writing, nor is it likely my best, but hopefully it won't be too utterly horrific. I wanted to get it out before they resolved the FBI storyline, since this fic largely deals with that. So though it won't all be posted before Thursday's ep, just know I wrote all of this before seeing it, so it will become quite obviously AU in a few days anyway. Other things to keep in mind: it's set late S2, so small references for everything up until AHBL1. Also, this starts out slow, but hopefully you'll stick with me as I take a trip into exposition.

A/N2: Much thanks goes to Tyranusfan for the beta, because I know he spent a lot of time on it. Also thanks to Rachelly who says she's never beta'ed before, but it's hard to believe because she's quite good at it. And thanks goes to sendintheclowns who has been with me literally every step of the way. She is a huge reason this got written, so all complaints can be sent to her :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. No jokes.

-o-

I feel like I was born
To devastation and reform
Destroying everything I loved
And the worst part is
I pull my heart out, reconstruct
And in the end it's nothing but
The shell of what I had when I first started

-from Devastation and Reform by Relient K

-o-

Chapter One

Dean had always preferred to look at the world in shades of black and white. It was easier that way. Things were good or things were evil. There was no in between. They wasted what was evil. They protected what was good. It was normal, for them. It wasn't easy, but it was comfortable in a familiar way. He knew enough to know it shouldn't be, but he didn't care enough to stop himself from relishing that comfort.

Well, for most of his life anyway. Then, Sam had to go off to school, Dad had to die, and to top that off, John had to dump one hell of a burden on him.

You have to save your brother. If you can't save him...you may have to kill him.

Now it was all gray. Varying shades of gray that made him want to puke his guts out at the ambiguity of it all.

He glanced at his brother. Sam was zonked on the bed next to him, rolled onto his stomach with his arms wrapped under his pillow.

All those shades of gray and Sam was right in the middle of it.

On the bright side, at least Sam was getting some sleep. The kid seemed to be in full-on melodrama mode lately, paranoid about cops and the Demon and saving every person on the face of the earth--except, of course, himself. Typical Winchester blindness. At this rate, Sam really was going to burn an ulcer into his stomach, which wouldn't do either of them any good when trying to head all this off.

The only reprieve, it seemed, came when Sam slept. Sure, sometimes there were nightmares, but that was a risk Dean was willing to take for the sheer possibility of seeing his kid brother's features not stuck in a perpetual brood. Sam needed the blissful unawareness whenever he could get it.

So did Dean for that matter. Looking out for Sam and the world that seemed out to get them both was wearing.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean looked back at the TV set. The volume was on low and the program was some late night talk show that Dean had no real interest in. But, he just wasn't tired. He had his own share of crap to mull over. Sam wasn't the only one who was screwed at the present moment; Dean just knew how to hide it better, but it didn't mean his list of things to worry about wasn't pretty long.

Things like their most recent run in with the law. Things like their father's legacy. Things like the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Things like Sam asking him to kill him.

Dean sighed. He'd be better off asleep. He was working his way to an ulcer too.

Life had gotten complicated, that much was certain. It wasn't like things had ever been easy, but he'd always taken solitude in the simplicity of killing evil. Maybe that was why Dad and Sam had never gotten along—Sam liked to mud that simplicity up. All his questions, all his need to know why made things complicated, and more complexity was not something they had ever really needed, no matter how right Sam may have been.

Well, at least one thing was still simple. His brother was still his brother. Sam would never go dark side, no matter what their dad said, no matter what Sam doubted. Sam would stay pure. Dean was sure of that. Their dad could doubt it, but Dean wouldn't let himself.

Too bad he wasn't sure they could stay clear of the law, or keep themselves safe from the demon.

He turned off the TV, plunging the room into comforting darkness. It didn't matter. In the end, all that mattered was staying safe, staying clean, saving people, and saving Sam.

The rest would sort itself out.

-o-

Morning came too early for Sam. His sleep was strained at best these days, heavy and sporadic. He seemed to resist it as long as he could, until his body simply shut down on him and he was as good as dead to the world.

The last hunt had been time consuming, but not altogether stressful. Just another evil thing to kill in a long list of many, and sometimes Sam had to admit, it seemed like no matter how many hunts they went on, they were barely making a dent.

He sighed, casting a sideways glance at his brother.

Dean was still asleep, mouth parted slightly, his breathing heavy and escaping his lips in small hisses. At least one of them could rest easy.

The sun was out, peaking around the edges of the blinds, and the clock on the nightstand (remove space) read 6:12. He knew this was an off day, some time to recuperate, and Dean would be asleep for hours yet.

Sam wanted to go back to sleep. His body seemed to crave it, but he knew it was a lost cause. His mind would never cooperate.

There wasn’t much to do in a motel room, he knew that from experience, and he didn’t really want to wake Dean up with the TV.

He eyed his laptop, which sat innocently on the table.

He sighed. Surfing the web always led to research, whether he intended it or not. It was just second nature to peruse his usual sites, to check the latest news stories. They needed a new hunt anyway. Staying in one place wouldn’t help them accomplish much of anything except drive each other crazy.

It was inevitable, after all. Living in tight quarters with anyone was enough to produce friction from time to time. He'd learned that much with Jess, and she had been clean and well-mannered, unlike his current roommate. He loved his brother, there was no denying that, but when he really thought about it, they had totally different temperaments. They always had. Dean had been messy and easy-going; there were never any problems for Dean. Sam was more uptight and organized; he couldn't concentrate in a dump and he needed a schedule to keep him on track. Dean preferred TV and potato chips; Sam often opted for a book and a piece of fruit whenever one happened to be available (which was not common)

Still, with all the conflict, they still worked well together. They complemented each other, and even Sam could appreciate that. But it didn't mean that Sam didn't want to get out of this motel before tensions rose over who needed to do the dishes.

As he stood, his stomach grumbled and he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. Some food and coffee might be the first order of business if he wanted to be at all sociable when Dean finally did drag himself out of bed.

He showered and got dressed silently, slipping out the door without disturbing Dean . At the nearby gas station, he picked up a few doughnuts and two cups of coffee, munching on a glazed doughnut and taking the rest for his brother. He snagged a newspaper as he checked out, smiling at the sleepy-eyed kid behind the counter, who in turn barely acknowledged his presence.

On his walk back, he shoved the last of the doughnut in his mouth while scanning the headlines out of habit. Most were irrelevant tidbits of local or national news. There were reports on the war and politics, all important things to the world, Sam supposed, but nothing that the Winchesters ever worried about. Demons and ghosts would be there no matter what countries were at war or who was in office. They couldn’t be distracted by such things without getting an unnecessary headache. In another life, Sam would have cared--a lot. In this one, he just didn't have the energy. He was too busy making sure he didn't become the anti-Christto worry about a nuclear power in the Middle East.

Then he saw it. Nothing but a small blurb in national news section. Sam couldn’t help but grin as he read it. Maybe today wasn't going to be a day off, after all.

-o-

Sam was quiet when he opened the front door, and was surprised to find it a pointless gesture. Dean was leaned back against the headboard, flipping channels.

"I hope you brought breakfast, you early morning freak," Dean griped, barely even sparing his brother a glance.

"Nice to see you too, sunshine," Sam said, tossing the bag of remaining doughnuts at his brother. Dean was many wonderful things, but a morning person was not one of them.

Dean glared at Sam before opening the bag and inspecting its contents. "You better have jelly filled in here."

"At the bottom," Sam said absently, scanning the article again. "Cherry."

"No apple fritters?" Dean asked gruffly.

"Someone's grumpy today," Sam muttered.

Dean just blinked. "Seriously, no apple fritters?"

"Nope, but I think I found a case for us."

Dean extracted a doughnut, sniffed it before taking a large bite. Mouth still full, he said, "Aren’t you a productive one this morning?"

Sam ignored him. "We've got a rash of mysterious maulings," Sam said, tossing the paper at Dean. "All within the same ten mile radius in western Arizona. Medical examiner says it looks like the victims were attacked by some kind of large cat."

"So? Maybe it's an actual cat. They have cats in Arizona, don't they?" Dean asked, scanning the headline. "Maybe it's not our kind of thing."

Sam shrugged. "They've all occurred in town, and there's been no evidence that an animal was there at all—no tracks, no fur, no droppings," he explained, ignoring his brother's smirk at the last part. "The victims had nothing in common except location, but other than that, they don't appear to have known each other, no common friends, nothing. The cops are saying it's mysterious, but trying to keep it from looking like a serial killer. The rest of town's not so sure, though."

"Just because people are talking, doesn't mean it's our kind of gig."

"So you think that the cops are right? Some cat is randomly coming down into the heart of the city and clawing people, leaving no trace of fur or blood or existence? It just...appears out of thin air?" Sam pushed.

"Cats are stealthy?"

Sam just looked at him, his gaze unwavering in its persistence.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine!" he said. "We'll check it out. But my money's still on the cats."

Sam suppressed a sigh as he gathered his bag. "It's a two-day drive to Arizona," he said. He scooped up the keys on the dresser. "I'll drive."

"Dude," Dean said, his mouth full of cherry filling. "What's got your panties in a bunch this morning. "

With a glower, Sam just looked at him. "It's a case, Dean," he said simply. "You know how it is. Evil doesn't wait for you to eat your breakfast."

It was Dean's turn to glower, but he shoved the rest of the doughnut into his mouth. "Fine," he grumbled. "Let me go to the bathroom at least. I never thought I'd miss the days when you dragged your feet for every hunt."

Sam sighed, plopping down on the bed. "Just trying to keep busy," he said.

"Yeah, well, you keeping busy shouldn't interfere with my breakfast," Dean groused, brushing past Sam to the bathroom.

Sam quirked a grin and shook his head. Sitting still made him feel useless; but a smelly Dean wasn't exactly something that he'd enjoy driving in the afternoon through the southwest. Waiting a half hour was probably worth it, if not for Dean's happiness, for his own.

-o-

Dean liked the hunt, generally. He liked the moral sense of accomplishment it brought, of hunting down evil, of eradicating it. And he liked the structure of it. It was get in, get out, militaristic in a sense without the rigidity that the armed services demanded. Perks and no attachments; guns and violence. And it was all for the greater good.

Dean figured it couldn't get much better.

Not that he liked all hunts. Some were tedious. Some were annoying. Some were too dangerous to enjoy. But at the end of the day, nine times out of ten (well, eight times out of ten), Dean was glad for what he did, the screwed up nature of it and all. He had thoughts of normal—sometimes, and he couldn't deny that occasionally the thought of a steady girl made him pause. But it was easier this way, more exciting, and, in the end, he wasn't ready to settle yet. The only thing that made him want to stop was that Sam might want to, that Sam might be at risk the more they get into this, that Sam may desire something more.

But, big bad Demon aside, Sam liked the hunt more than he let on, Dean was pretty sure of that. Sure, Sam didn't like killing, didn't like the constant movement, the manipulation of people, but Sam enjoyed the back story. He liked figuring it out, outsmarting evil things. He liked to find the twists, the details, putting all the pieces together like a puzzle. It was a geeky thing, Dean supposed, but even Dean could respect it a little.

And Dean could tell Sam liked this hunt. The kid was practically enthralled by the uncertainty of it, by the unknown elements, by the chance to really dig around and find something unusual. Sure, Sam would sigh a lot and look broody, but Dean could tell Sam was eating this one up.

After all, Sam wanted to drive, was tapping his fingers on the wheel, nodding his head in rhythm with the music. All things considered, Dean had nothing to complain about. He wasn't sure he really thought of Sam as happy anymore (maybe ever) but this was about as excited as Sam got, so Dean would sit back, get some sleep, and provide his kid brother with just enough counter-thoughts to keep him pushing forward.

"You need me to take a turn?" Dean asked, still slouched low against the seat.

Sam glanced at him. "No, I'm good. We're about two hours out."

Dean glanced at the clock. "You've been driving for nearly a day straight," Dean said. "I think you need a break."

"You drive for days straight at a time," Sam said absently. "I think I can handle it."

"Yeah, but—"

"But what?" Sam asked, casting a critical eye to his brother.

Dean grinned, leaning back in his seat. "I’m the big brother." It wasn't that Sam wasn't capable or willing, it was just that Sam rarely showed the initiative these days. Dean was usually the one at the wheel--of the car and of their hunts. Sam's newfound tenacity was unexplained, but not entirely unwelcomed.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I’ll wake you when we’re there."

-o-

They got into town just after nine that night, so they checked into a motel room to crash for the night.

The place was dusty looking, the neon sign in front flickering with age, proclaiming their destination as the Desert Oasis.

It was the desert, but the run-down motel wasn't much of an oasis.

But it was air conditioned and it had beds, so Sam figured it was just as good as any other place. Dean seemed to agree, slinging his bag to the floor and looking the place over with a crease in his brow. The decor was faded and aged, the beige walls a neutral backdrop to the crooked paintings of desert landscapes, hanging in sagging metal frames. The bedspreads were starched and stiff, boasting palm trees and sand that probably obscured the wear and stains from years of use.

Dean crashed hard on one of the beds, groping for the remote as he stretched out. "Dude, this place better have cable," he muttered.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Sam deposited his own back on the table near the windows, plunking down in one of the stiff chairs flanking it. "Sometimes it amazes me that you have any brain left at all," Sam countered, pulling his laptop free from the bag.

Dean grunted as he flipped the TV on. "Still got enough brains to figure out how to get you to do all the hard work," Dean said smugly.

At that, Sam glowered and turned his full attention to opening his laptop. "At least one of us will be ready to start this hunt tomorrow."

"I'll be ready," Dean assured him, pausing at a channel. "Well rested and ready to laugh at you when this turns out to be nothing more than an over-active housecat."

"Jerk," Sam muttered.

Chortling, Dean just shook his head. "You know you love me," he said.

"What makes you so sure?"

"I'm the older brother," Dean said with confidence. "Pissing you off is my job. Keeps you in line."

Sam opened the internet browser and scoffed. "So what's my job then?"

"To worry and be annoying, mostly," Dean said. "And you do it so well."

Sam ignored his brother, offering him nothing more than a jaundiced flick of his eyes. There was some truth to Dean's statement, even if it was said in jest. One of them had to worry—about everything. About the Demon, about what happened to their dad, about what was going to happen to Sam. Dean seemed ready to sum it up with a trite reassurance or a bland joke, but Sam didn't have that luxury. It was his destiny, his fate that was on the line, and it scared Sam more than he knew how to explain that he might not be able to fight that. So it was his job to face up to it now, be wary of it, in case the worst should happen.

He just hoped that someday Dean wouldn't have to face it either.

Not that Dean ever seemed to think about that. Since Dean had told him the truth about their father's last words, Dean's resolve had been steadfast. Steadfastly blind. Sam couldn't explain why he felt so nervous--things were catching up with them, building up. His visions, the Demon's plans, the number of kids like him who went evil, who ended up dead. There was something wrong with all it, and Dean's reassurances weren't enough. They weren't enough to keep Sam from getting himself possessed. They weren't enough to stop the Demon from doing whatever it wanted, whenever it wanted. True, it had been months since his last vision, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the darkness building.

Throwing in Hendrickson and their whole interaction with the FBI didn't make things much easier. No, the Winchester brother were wanted men, both by humans and by demons, and no matter how good Dean was, Sam couldn't help but worry that his brother wouldn't be enough. Or worse, that Dean would be another casualty in the war.

There was nothing to be done, though. They had no leads on the Demon, either from Ash or from his visions. All Sam could do was wait. But that didn't mean he had to be idle. If he couldn't stop the Demon, he'd stop what he could. Do anything he could. He didn't know why it helped--why saving people meant something to him now--but it was all he had left to cling to. All he had left to distract both of them from Sam's destiny.

Swallowing his uncertainty, Sam turned his focus back to the hunt at hand. That was one thing he could do that was useful, and he was certainly going to take advantage of it.

-o-

For all of Sam's good intentions, the kid zonked out over the laptop about an hour after checking in. The sight was quite amusing--Sam slack-jawed and drooling, his head down on his arm, which was spread long across the table. He'd wake Sam up in a little bit, when it would be too late for Sam to argue about staying up, but for now Dean would let him rest. He was, after all, the big brother.

Content, he let his own mind drift while watching the TV with the volume low. There wasn't much on, and the motel didn't get much in the way of interesting channels (not even a single movie channel with all of its late night perks), so he paused on a few Seinfield reruns and caught the end of the news.

He was getting sleepy himself when the news program caught his eye. The news anchor was nothing to look at--her makeup was heavy and she seemed far too fond of hairspray--but it wasn't her looks he was interested in.

The picture on the screen showed desolate factory, bleak against an empty, gray sky. Flashing lights still lit the scene with swashes of red and blue, and there was a gurney being pushed toward a waiting van, the body bag clearly visible.

Dean straightened, watching closely as the anchor droned. "...the body was discovered by the night watchman at the company. The police are still investigating this incident, but initial reports suggest that the victim was found mauled to death. This is the fifth such incident, and police are still considering these to be homicide investigations..."

Shaking his head, Dean glanced at his brother. "Maybe you were onto something after all," he said. Looking back at the screen, he frowned. Supernatural or serial killer, it was picking up its pace; making this case not only important, but dangerous.

With a sigh, he turned of the TV. Leaning back against his pillows, he let his eyes drift close. "You sure know how to pick them, little brother."