Devilc's Den 2.0

Title: Introductio in Analysin Daemonium Infinitorum pt 11
Fandom: SPN-FNL
Pairing: Sam/Tim (Sam/Tim/Dean in a few places)
Rating: Adult (Here there be smut!)
Length: 50k words

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten

Author's Note: This is the cleaned up master version of a story I began writing for MiniNano back in November 2007. Sam Winchester is racing against time to save his brother Dean's life, and he's got Tim Riggins along for the ride ... and a bit more. ;)

The plan was to finish it and post it before the end of S3 of SPN and S2 FNL -- obviously that didn't happen.

Thank you to tartysuz and ixchel55 for their swift beta.

Legalese: SPN and FNL are copyright their respective copyright holders. This work is a labor of whatiffery, not a labor of lucre.




"What the hell kind of demon is that, Sam?" Tim whispered, awestruck as he watched their quarry cut through a lot overgrown with ragweed and kudzu.

"It's not a demon at all, Tim," Dean said almost gleefully. "My last Hunt, and at least we'll be taking on some big game -- that's a shapeshifter, a 'doppelganger' as the Germans call them. They're about as dangerous as it gets. Sneaky as all hell.

"One of them framed me for murder once, so, I've got a special kind of a mad-on for them." Dean's grin had a manic intensity to it, but it faded as he turned towards Sam. "Why so glum, Sammy? You look like the bottom dropped out."

"I thought it was a demon," Sam mumbled.

"Yeah, and what is it with you and demons lately?" Dean thumped out a tattoo on the Impala's steering wheel. "I've never seen somebody so hot and bothered to find one." Pause. "Outside of Dad, I mean."

Sam pressed his mouth shut and turned away.

"It doesn't matter why," Tim said, finally breaking the silence. "It's here. We're here. How do we deal with it?"

Dean's eyes sparkled. "These things are incredibly devious and dangerous, Tim. But they've got some weaknesses, too. Time to find a hotel room and give you a crash course in Shapeshifter 101."

Because we've aced Shapeshifter 102, woo-hoo, Sam thought bitterly as he buried his head in his hands.

"Jeez, Sammy --" Dean began, but Tim cut him off.

"Leave it, Dean." Soft. Quiet.

"C'mon, Tim, you've seen how --"

"You keep picking at him like a scab."

"Tim?" Dean's expression was incredulous.

"I'm serious, Dean," Tim replied in a steely voice, barely above a whisper, that Sam had never heard him use before.

Dean whipped around in his seat, and Sam could see the anger flashing bright in his eyes. He and Tim were going to go at it, for reals, in the next five seconds. "It's demon blood, Dean! Okay?!" Sam blurted before he could stop himself. "I wanted to bag a demon so I could get some blood, get my gifts back online --"

"And what, save me?" Dean shouted back, throwing his hands up. "It doesn't work that way. I can't --"

"Shut up! Jesus!" Tim roared, startling the both of them in to silence. "Do you think Sam's just going to throw in the damn towel, Dean?" Rage made Tim's eyes as hard and bright as agates. "I've had people throw in the towel on me, and you say it, Dean, you say that you want Sam to, but believe me, you don't want it for reals. Ever.

"So, both of you, shut up. We've got a doppelbanger or whatever it's called to kill. Let's get on it and we can sort the rest out after."

Tim pulled Sam aside when Dean stepped into the bathroom of their hotel and whispered in his ear, "After we kill this thing, I'll help you hog-tie Dean and then we'll drive straight through to Bobby's."

Sam hugged him so tight he could feel ribs creak.

~oo(0)oo~

Two days later, Dean started hearing the barking. "Kind of ups our timetable on dispatching this thing."

"Maybe we should --" Sam began

Dean cut him off. "Maybe my ass, Sam. We've got a duty to -- we've got a job here and we've got to finish it."

"But, if this thing is so dangerous, how good a job are you doing to do if you're getting spooked by barking?" Tim asked. "I mean, it's not like blocking out the roar of a crowd."

"What are you getting at?" Dean didn't bother to keep the edge out of his voice.

Sam cleared his throat. "Maybe you should ride shotgun on this one, Dean. Back us up."

"In a car that's hexed every way from Sunday," Dean muttered.

"That's one way of looking at it." Tim crossed his arms and his jaw took on a mule stubborn set. "But I'm not doing this Hunt any other way. Besides, if something goes wrong, it's good to have an experienced Hunter in reserve to pull my JV ass out of trouble."

Dean snorted. "You're hardly, JV, not after what you've seen and done this past year."

"Okay, second string then."

"We do it Tim's way, or not at all," Sam said, clapping his hand on Tim's shoulder.

Dean's mouth tightened, and then he blew air up through his bangs. "You guys are mean, teaming up against me like this."

Sam allowed himself a tiny smile.

~oo(0)oo~

The vision came in the middle of the night, in the middle of a dream about eating at an IHOP, of all things ... the restaurant full of bright light and honey-colored wood shifted, folded, … away went pancakes and whipped cream and in its place came a filth-caked room, with peeling, faded greenish wallpaper and --

(please Jesus, NO)

-- Dean, shotgun in hand, taking aim at two Tims.

Sam woke, shaking, with a splitting headache. His jelly legs somehow managed to get him to the bathroom without giving out. He even got most of the puke into the toilet bowl.

Shit.

Well, Ruby was right about that. It didn't work the way he had hoped. Because it wasn't like he could protect Dean from the Astral Plane, and visions that came only in the middle of dreams? Even less useful than his gift had been the first time out.

Yeah. Shit.

He sat on the toilet and leaned his head against the cool porcelain of the sink, and waited for the throbbing to ease.

~oo(0)oo~

"You look like shit, so I got you an extra cup," Tim said as he came in with a four pack of coffee. "You look like you can use it."

"I had a dream," Sam groaned.

"Yeah, well, so did I." Dean smirked as he popped the lid off and began dumping creamer and sugar in. "Lemme guess, yours did not star hot chicks straight out of Girls Gone Wild."

Tim rolled his eyes as he set both cups and a few creamers in front of Sam. "Keep reaching, Dean. You might actually find the funny."

"It felt sort of like a vision," Sam said as he stirred in cream and sugar. After he took a huge gulp, he continued, "It was about this thing we're Hunting. About you and Tim."

Dean swallowed hard, the mockery gone from his eyes. "Tell me about it, Sammy. And don't leave anything out."

"Well, it might be nothing ..." But even Sam could hear the lack of conviction in his voice.

"It might be nothing, but it can't hurt to tell us," Dean said matter of factly. He drank his coffee and muttered something about "black sunshine" under his breath before he looked back at Sam, gaze expectant.

Sam sucked in a deep breath and said, "Okay, it went like this ..."

~oo(0)oo~

Head throbbing and ears ringing, Sam gingerly cracked an eye open and got a vague impression of a dirty room with mottled green wallpaper. He shut it again and swallowed hard against the nausea rising in his throat, the results of a mixture of dread and his injuries. The rag in his mouth made it painfully dry and it felt as if he would gag on his tongue for a moment. The stench of rotting meat and mildew that permeated the room didn't help to settle his stomach, either. Sam shifted slightly in his chair, trying to wiggle his hands, his feet, but the world seemed to spin as he moved, and without warning, the chair shifted, one leg shorter than the other, and his head lolled violently to the side because of his limp-noodle neck, and yellow and orange, the pain crackled in jagged lines behind his eyes, and his stomach lurched sickeningly in response, then, mercifully, everything faded to black.

He swam back into consciousness just in time to see two Tims facing off against each other -- the real Tim having slipped his bonds at some point in the last few minutes.

Sam's stomach clenched and curdled with renewed horror. Dean would come through that door in just a few moments and level his shotgun ....

The Tims barely took their eyes off each other as one of them drew a knife -- a wicked serrated one with a serpentine curve to the blade, the knife Dean had given to Tim. But in the next breath the other Tim dashed Sam's hopes by reaching back and drawing the same kind of knife.

The door flew open, and the sound, coupled with the awful knowledge of what that meant, hit Sam like a fist to the stomach. He retched violently behind the gag, stomach clenching so hard that vomit dribbled from his nose, choking, eyes shooting tears of pain at the acid burn of it, while Dean strode in ... and leveled his shotgun.

(Oh no, ohgod, ohplease no, not Tim.) Sam's stomach heaved yet again, sending a second flood of nearly pure acid into his throat and sinuses.

Dean's eyes rabbited between the two Tims before he shot the Tim the right, sending him flying into the wall in a spatter of blood and flesh.

The remaining Tim and Dean flew across the room, Tim with his knife in hand, and Dean with a silver letter opener, and set upon the wounded shapeshifter, stabbing and slicing until they were covered in blood and gore and it had stopped twitching.

When they had finished, Sam sagged limply in his chair, tears of both pain and relief rolling down his face, while snot poured from nose, while Tim sawed at his bonds. Throat and sinuses still stinging from the utterly vile stuff he had brought up, Sam croaked hoarsely at Dean, "How did you know? I -I couldn't --" He swallowed painfully.

"Rope burns," Dean said calmly. "The real Tim had rope burns from his escape." He looked at the mess on the front of Sam's shirt, his mouth twisting in a wry smile. "Puke out your nose? That's a new one."

"It's not a good one," Sam rasped, taking the bandanna that Dean proffered and wiping his face with it. "Water?"

"Get you some water in a minute, soon as we get back to the Impala."

The instant Tim cut the last tie around his ankles, Sam stood, wobbling on his feet as the room spun a little, and pulled him into a crushing hug, heedless of the mess between them.

"You're shaking," Tim whispered against his shoulder, but his hug back was equally intense and he trembled too. "That's quite a knock you took. You've got a knot the size of Dallas on the side of your head."

Sam smoothed his hands over Tim's hair, kissed his temple. Fuck. He was shaking even worse now, and not just because of the blow to his head. "I thought I was going to lose you," he managed to rasp. "I was so afraid I was going to lose you."

They stood like that for a few moments, hands hungrily roaming, caressing, murmuring, drinking each other in, Sam starting to feel better and stronger with each passing second, until Dean cleared his throat, handed him a bottle of water, and said that they could finish with the touchy feely stuff and help him take care of the body.

Tim flipped him the bird as Sam told him to shut up.

~oo(0)oo~

Before they got in the Impala, Sam pulled Tim aside and said softly, voice still scratchy, "I was as scared of losing you, Tim, as scared as I've ever been scared of losing Dean. You have to believe that. I ... I can't take losing both of you. I can't." His voice broke on the last words.

Tim froze, eyes shuttered over, and when he looked back, his eyes showed an emotion Sam had never seen in them before, a new kind of hope, a new kind of joy; Sam didn't know how to describe it, doubted a word existed for it. Tim said nothing, just stroked his hand through Sam's hair, pecked him gently on the lips, and climbed into his usual seat in the back of the Impala.

~oo(0)oo~

"You don't have to fuss over me," Tim said smiling and shaking his head at Sam as Sam cleaned the chafed and raw places on his wrists with a hot washcloth as a prelude to applying Neosporin. "I should be taking care of you."

"At this point, other than the Tylenol I just took and waiting for my sinuses to stop pouring snot? There's really not a damn thing to do for me. Besides, I want to fuss over you.

"Look," Sam said after a moment, "despite what Dean says about me being all girly, I'm not much for big declarations. But if you want me to say it, I will."

Tim ducked his head, and when his eyes met Sam's again, they glowed honey warm. Tenderly he trailed his finger along the line of Sam's jaw. "I know, Sam. I know," he murmured, voice thick with emotion, barely audible. "Me too."

"It's dangerous, what we do."

Tim simply nodded in reply.

"Okay then." Sam didn't know what else to say. Their eyes met and they both laughed.

"Hallmark moment over?" Tim asked.

"Yes, thank God."

~oo(0)oo~

Out in the room, Dean paced restlessly, starting and jumping several times as Sam and Tim tried to watch the evening news. "I half wish they'd just show up and get it done," he muttered under his breath. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Fuck. Two more days of this shit to put up with."

"Don't wish like that," Sam said.

Tim said nothing. He simply climbed off the bed, grabbed his backpack and started shoving things in.

It took Sam a minute to figure out what Tim was up to, but when he did, he, too, rolled off the bed, grabbed his duffel, and began loading his clothes and gear in. It wasn't until he walked over to his laptop and shut it down that Dean finally spoke up. "What are you guys doing?"

"What does it look like?" Tim replied.

"It looks like you're packing."

Sam snorted. "That would be it. I suggest you start on your stuff."

Dean gaped at them. What ...? Oh, no. Hell no."

Tim looked at Sam, shrugged, and said, "Fine." His own bag done, he grabbed Dean's and reached for a pair of jeans Dean had left lying in the corner.

Dean crossed the room as if shot from a bow. "What are you doing?!" he shouted.

"Packing your crap," Tim replied, low and slow.

"The hell you --"

But Dean never got to finish because Tim hurled the bag at Dean, catching him off guard, and then launched himself immediately after, slamming Dean across the bed and on to the floor behind it.

The sound of a short, violent scuffle, punctuated by a loud groan of pain, followed. By the time Sam reached the two of them -- not that it took him more than two seconds -- Tim had things sorted. Dean lay face down, arm bent painfully back and up, and Tim sat atop him, lips pulled back in a snarl. "Don't you fucking move, Dean. Don't you fucking move. I will break your fucking arm if you move."

Dean closed his eyes, blew out a long breath, and said, "Not break it. Dislocate --" The words broke off in a hiss of pain as Tim bent Dean's arm even more.

"And if you think you can buck me off and get it back in place before I knock your ass to the floor again? You've got another thing coming, because I will fucking lay you out," Tim hissed, low and deadly.

"Uncle," Dean said with total ill grace.

Tim eased up on Dean's arm but did not release him. To Sam he said, "Get the cuffs."

Dean's eyes flew open in shock. "You ... you're really doing this!" His voice had gone squeaky with indignation, and if the situation weren't so dire, Sam would have laughed at him.

"Yup." Tim said. "So you're going to listen.

"See, part of me says a man's got a right to make up his own mind, know when to throw in the towel. Hell, I've thrown in the towel a lot of times. I've had it thrown in for me a lot of times. In Dillon, some things just aren't meant for a Riggins, and I learned that quick.

"Didn't mean I stopped trying, though. Because a lot of times when people want you to quit, they're being wrong, or selfish, or an asshole.

"Now, I get that you can't give in on this, Dean. Get that if you try to save yourself, Sam dies. But right now, this isn't about you, it's about Sam. Sam's never going to give up on you, and it's killing him even though he knows why you can't choose to fight.

"And there's something else. Sam's never going to give up on me. Never. I get that now. So, I'm never going to give up on him, and that means I'm not going to give up on you.

"But you don't have to fight us, Dean. The deal was that you couldn't break the deal or try to break the deal. There's nothing in there about Sam or me or anybody else trying to find a way to save you.

"So here's what's going to happen, you are going to get up and get in that car. And you are going to do nothing all the way to Bobby's, and when we get there you are going to do nothing except what we tell you to do.

"And if you don't do nothing, me and Sam will make you and you will not like that. Because see if we don't stuff you in the fucking trunk." Tim took a deep breath. "Now, I'm going to get up, and one way or another, you're going in the car? Clear?"

Dean slowly got to his feet, eyes still watery from pain, glassy with rage.

"Get in the car, Dean," Sam whispered. "Get your bag and get in the car."

Dean gave a long, shuddering groan of frustration. "I can't fucking believe you got the upper hand on me, Tim."

Tim smiled wickedly and his eyes blazed with pride. "Coach Taylor always said, 'Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose' and he was right about that." Pause. "Now, get in the fucking car."

~oo(0)oo~

To Sam's surprise, Tim barred him from the driver's seat. "You took quite a blow to the head, Sam. I'm driving. It's not safe if you do."

Dean grumbled something from his place in the back seat, but Sam couldn't make it out.

"Tim --"

"I'll make you, Sam. I mean it. You get some sleep and then you can spell me."

With a deep sigh, Sam handed the keys to Tim and climbed in the passenger side.

"You are so pussy whipped." Dean smirked at him.

Tim adjusted the rear view mirror so that Dean could see his eyes. "Want a second helping, Dean?"

~oo(0)oo~

Sam woke in the chilly dark at a rest stop in ... Kentucky. He rubbed blearily at his eyes. The last thing he remembered was the drone of the engine and Van Halen's first album just outside of the Atlanta Metro ring.

Dimly, through the glass, he heard Dean laugh about the fact that as a baby, Sam had always fallen asleep in the car and wouldn't fall asleep in a motel room until he was about two.

Tim laughed and said that as a small kid, he always used to get carsick.

Dean held out his hand. "Dude, I'll take the wheel."

"Nothing doing, Dean."

"Tim." Dean's voice rose in warning.

Tim crossed his arms and glared at Dean. "I'm not letting you do anything that that ... thing might take as you breaking the deal or trying to help yourself."

Dean tsched, exasperated. "Tim!"

"I will throw these keys, Dean Winchester," Tim spoke calmly, enunciating each word. "Now go get Sam so we can get some coffee in him and he can take his turn."

Dean gave a heavy, petulant sigh. "You really are a pain in the ass sometimes."

Tim stretched and smiled. "I learned from the master."

~oo(0)oo~

Tim made a show of graciously letting Dean ride shotgun. Sam suspected it was because he wanted the back seat to sprawl across, because he fell asleep about five minutes after they left the rest stop.

"I made him pull over because he was about to fall asleep. Told him I needed to pee."

Sam mmmnd then said, "Good thinking, but you're still not driving."

They rode in silence but for the thrum of the engine and the sound of the air rushing by until Sam said, "Dean, why don't you get some sleep?"

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and raked his fingers through his hair. "Can't, Sammy. They're baying."

Sam increased their speed another 10 mph. Hopefully not enough to attract the attention of an overzealous member of law enforcement, but hopefully enough to buy them a few more ticks of the clock.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim spelled him shortly after dawn at a rest stop in ... fuck, he didn't even know. Still too early to call Bobby, though.

Sam whispered to him that Dean had been hearing hounds baying off and on all night.

Tim thought for a moment and asked, "Should we even be letting him out of the car?"

"I can totally hear you two talking, and yes, you should let me out of the car, because I need to pee from time to time." Dean said as he came back from the restroom. "And they won't come for me before it's time. They can't. There are rules and things."

Tim blew a raspberry at him. "Like you've never pissed in a cup."

Actually, they both had. Plenty of times. It had been one of the staples of their childhood, especially when Dad had been eager to make time.

"But what if I got to take a shit, too?"

"We'll get you some astronaut diapers," Sam replied.

Dean chortled sourly. "This isn't the time to be making jokes."

"I'm not."

Dean glared back and was about to say something else, but Tim cleared his throat. "I'm not quite so sure I like the look of those guys over there."

Sam and Dean turned their heads in time to see one of men flick his eyes to black.

Shit.

Ass crack of dawn be damned. Sam whipped out his phone and called Bobby.

"I've got an idea," Tim said to Dean, but before Sam could tell both of them to shut up, the phone picked up.

"Bobby --" Sam began as he watched Tim and Dean burst from the car, "We've got problems."

"Such as?"

"Well, for starters," he said as he watched Tim and Dean run towards the three possessed guys sitting at the table, "Tim and Dean are up to something, and I have no idea what."

A paused followed and then Bobby said querulously, "And?"

"They're whooping and laughing like loons and running around the table in opposite directions and, sprinkling something ... shit! They've got salt cans in their hands!" He sighed heavily. "I think they're trying to salt the demons in."

"What?"

"We're at a rest stop. I think it's Iowa. There are three demons sitting on a table not far from us."

Bobby chortled. "Probably not going to much more than piss them off."

Sam groaned and flipped the bird in the general direction of the bewildered looking demons. "Probably not."

Tim and Dean stormed back towards him, still laughing, shouting at him to get his ass in the car and drive.

"I'll call you when I get a moment, I think I'm about to be hitting the road." He said and hung up the phone. And only then did he realize he'd forgotten to tell Bobby about Dean and the hellhounds.

Fuck.

~oo(0)oo~

Sam let Dean and Tim celebrate for about 30 seconds before he cut them off. "So, what happens when those demons jump body, now that you've pissed them off?"

A long pause followed.

"We ... we didn't think about that," Tim said.

"No you didn't think!" Sam snapped and wished he could pull the word back as soon as he saw Tim's flinch.

"Oh, shut up, Sam," Dean replied.

"Now they're gunning for us --"

"They were gunning for us anyways, Sam. All we did was confirm that we've got to keep our eyes peeled."

"But -- oh, fuck it." His hands clenched in a death grip on the wheel.

Yeah, it was a stupid thing for them to do, but Dean was right, too. Since the demons were looking for them anyway why not put some mud in their eyes? And maybe it got those demons out of those people before too much damage got done.

Maybe.

In the back seat, Tim scrunched into the back corner, tucking his knees up under his chin. He stared silently, vacantly, out the window.

Fuck.

"I'm sorry," Sam said two hours later after he couldn't take the silence any longer. "Look. I'm just -- we're all on edge."

"Hit the brakes," Tim said.

"What?"

"Hit the brakes, slow down. There's a truck over on the frontage road. It's been driving there an awful long time, despite two chances to get on the highway, and I'm not sure I like that."

Fuck!

~oo(0)oo~

Sam sucked in a deep breath, took his foot off the gas and gently tapped the brakes until he had the needle pegged on 55.

The truck zoomed on.

"Doesn't prove anything," Dean grumbled, wincing violently at a sound only he heard.

"If we catch up to it, we'll know for sure we've got an ... escort," Tim replied with a calm that Sam envied.

"Yeah, so?"

Tim pasted a sweet smile on his face and said, very solemnly, "Knowing is half the battle."

Sam held back a snicker.

"Yeah, well, you're not G.I. Joe," Dean snapped.

"And this demon isn't Cobra Commander."

Even Dean had to smile at that one.

Brief levity aside, Sam kept an eye glued to the rear view mirror. A few times he thought they might have had a tail, but it turned out to be nothing. He hoped.

Unless of course, they were working in shifts, but it wasn't like demons to be that organized or subtle, not unless they had somebody extremely powerful over them.

Then again, the Crossroads Demon had hinted that the lien holder wasn't an ordinary demon. His stomach churning sourly at the notion -- spiking every time Dean flinched, or Tim's mouth drew in to a hard, tight line -- Sam kept the needle pegged at a steady 80.

---

Part Twelve