Log in

10 December 2014 @ 07:14 pm
Army of Cain (Darkness Is Coming) - Blood Ties - Chapter 2  

Author: silver ruffian
Category: Twisted Dark AU
Characters: Demon Dean, Sam, Morgan Le Fay, Camille, Castiel, Hannah, Crowley
Pairings: Demon Dean/Morgan Le Fay/Camille
Rating: R
Summary: Demon Dean encounters legendary Fae sorceress Morgan Le Fay one fateful night. She gives Dean the ability to duplicate himself. Later Dean falls victim to Sam's containment and summoning spell. Which Dean is which? The captured one undergoing the blood cure, or the one leading the others in the assault against Sam, Castiel, Hannah and the other angels in the bunker?

Chapter 2 – not your knight in shining armor

Pleasure Palace Lounge
Winfield, Texas
The next night

Dean Winchester nursed his beer and was careful not to stare directly at the two females at the next table. He saw through their glamour better that way. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards in a slight smile.

The illusion they cast confused and intrigued the human males in the bar. The ones who got up their courage and came over to flirt were quickly sent packing by a growl from the short one and a baneful stare from the taller one. The last dude, big, burly, red-faced, apparently thought he was God's gift to women and that they would succumb to his charms soon enough. He hovered around them like a hopeful, annoying puppy and then pulled out a chair and took a seat without even asking their permission.
Shorty tensed up like she wanted to leap over the table at him. The other one gently placed a hand on her companion's arm, and the smaller one restrained herself. Red was too full of himself to notice.

"Did it hurt when you two fell from Heaven?" Red leered.

Dean rolled his eyes. Heaven didn't have a damn thing to do with this. If dumbass could see them for what they really were he'd run out screaming into the night.

Shorty wasn't human. She looked like a cute little thing with a cap of honey blonde hair, tie-dyed belly shirt and painted on jeans. Underneath the illusion her face constantly shifted. One moment she was bald, the next moment hair exploded from her scalp. Jet black and bone straight, then auburn red and wavy. Tawny blonde fur pushed its way out all over her body, only to disappear and smooth out into iridescent green reptile scales. Her pert upturned nose formed into a bird's beak once moment, then flattened into a dog's blunt muzzle the next. She blinked hazel, green, grey, blue, gold, then silver. Her muscles were in constant motion, resetting themselves on a whim, flat chested one moment, busty the next.

The taller one was centuries old and didn't look a day over 30. Her human illusion was of a tall, dark-haired woman with shoulder length hair, painted on jeans and a rose colored tee shirt. Her real look was more stable and deceptively human. Underneath it all she wore a long, dark blue velvet dress. Low cut. Nice rack. She was striking: long wavy hair, smooth skin, dark eyes. Her soft full lips were medium purple, a delicious shade that would probably taste like some exotic fruit.

They were Fae.

The Mark of Cain stirred restlessly underneath Dean's skin. It was bored.

And so was he.

Dean picked up his beer mug. The taller Fae cast a wary glance his way, and her eyes widened when he stood up and headed directly for their table. The shorter one froze, deer in headlights, as Dean stopped and stood between them.

"Good to see you, baby," Dean drawled. He bent down and brushed his lips against the curve of the dark haired one's face. Her glamour tickled his skin.

"And you bought your friend! Hey, sweetie." Dean kissed the the shell of Shorty's left ear just as she shifted into a rather comely leopard woman. Her whiskers twitched when Dean touched her.

Red's eyes bulged. His face became even redder. Dean straightened up and smiled at him. That bright, feral smile promised severe pain. Broken bones.

The ER or the morgue. Your choice, pal.

Red's social skills might have been piss poor but apparently he had a finely tuned sense of self-preservation. He kept his face carefully blank as he stood up and headed towards the bar without a backwards glance.

Dean walked around and slid onto the chair. "Ladies! What can I do you out of tonight?"

"How dare you!" the 'shifter growled.

Shorty's upper lip curled back, revealing sharp white eyeteeth. Her fingernails grew long, black and curved. The dark haired Fae murmured "Hush now. Be still." She placed her hand over her companion's left hand and the change stopped and reversed itself. Their accents weren't the usual down home twang that was found in these parts.

"I dare," Dean replied. He made himself comfortable, sat back in his chair and drank before setting his mug on the table. This was insolent and downright disrespectful. Just the way he liked it.

"It's a small world, y'know? Who'da thought a Fae heavy hitter and her running buddy would end up here in Bumfuck, Texas. In a dive like this, out in the middle of nowhere." He spread his arms wide, smiling. "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world you two had to walk into mine."

If they recognized the pop culture reference to Casablanca they gave no sign.

He didn't even wait for a response.

"You're Morgan Le Fay, am I right?" Those dark purple eyes flickered silver. That was all the answer Dean needed. He smirked at Shorty. "And you must be Camille. You're a 'shifter." He pointed from one to the other. "She created you."

"Since you know so much about us, allow me to return the favor, Dean Winchester." Morgan smiled grimly as she leaned forward. The 'shifter trembled, eager to leap forward at Dean. He was pretty sure he;d enjoy it if and when she did. Morgan held on to Camile's hand much like a human holds onto the leash of an animal. "You were a human hunter. The Righteous Man. Michael's Sword. Four years ago my people marked you in Elwood, Indiana."

Dean looked thoughtful as he took a sip of beer. "Not that I give a damn anymore, but why'd did they pick me?"

The Fae shrugged. "My people have an eye for great physical beauty in humans." Morgan's purple gaze wandered over Dean's face, chest and shoulders. She smiled slightly. "You bear the Mark of Cain now. Your hound trueform suits you very well indeed. You're very handsome, even as a demon. That is what I believe you would call the Reader's Digest version. Did I miss anything?"

"That pretty much covers it."

"Good. I also know that you are on the outs with the King of Hell. Are you aware that there are demons prowling around in the woods surrounding this place?"

"Don't con a con man, sweetheart. I know better."

"I don't know what you mean," Morgan said stiffly.

Dean smirked. He leaned forward, both elbows on the table. "Yeah, you do. A month ago the King of Hell approached you with an employment offer. You told Crowley to stick it where the sun don't shine." Dean chuckled. "Now you're being hunted. Sure, there are demons waiting outside, but they're here for you two, not me. They've set up wards in a twenty five mile radius around this place. I'm betting your defensive mojo just isn't what it used to be tonight. You can't 'port out and you'll never make it out on foot."

Camile's shoulders slumped a little. She refused to make eye contact. Morgan was made of sterner stuff. If anything she kept her head raised high and she always looked Dean in the eye.

"I'm on the outs with Crowley, but he still thinks I'm going to come crawling back. You're number one on his shit list right now. He needs to make an example of you two. That's why you came here. You already knew who and what I am. You thought you could convince me to protect you, but you weren't quite sure how to go about it. Maybe trick me into bed like your girl did Arthur. He was your brother, right? The King?" Dean snorted. "Damn, that's kinky."

Camille very pointedly stared at the tabletop. Bringing up what she did to Arthur apparently wasn't something she was too proud of.
"Or maybe we'll have a threesome." Dean shrugged. "Not that I'd have a problem with that, y'understand. It's just sex. But if we do, I'm not gonna protect you afterwards. Not my fight. Not my problem."

"Please," Morgan leaned forward. Her face and body posture softened. "We have need of one such as yourself."

"Lady, I'm not your knight in shining armor."

"But you are a Knight."

Dean scoffed. "Knights are your kink. Yeah, I get that. If you were looking for Sir Lancelot you came to the wrong damn place."

Morgan slowly stretched out her left arm towards Dean, her fingers curved downward. Dean dropped his right hand to his side. He wondered how fast he could pull the First Blade out and whether Fae magic would still work on him. This was going to be interesting.
Instead of a knife or some other weapon Morgan held a fat brown leather pouch. It was a neat trick that no one else in the bar noticed. The pouch was heavy. It clinked as she gently laid it down. "I have gold. Plenty of it, now and later, if you get us to safety."

Dean relaxed. "That's it? That's your pitch?"

"It is all we have."

"Not interested. Keep your money."

The pouch disappeared.

"Very well." Morgan gave Camille's hand a quick, tight squeeze. "Come, little one."

Dean sat back in his chair and watched them leave. As soon as the back door swung shut he stood up with his beer mug and walked out.
The moon overhead resembled a skull. Cold, bleached white bone.

Morgan Le Fay and Camille had already dropped their glamour. Camille was four-legged now, a huge grey wolf that bounded alongside her mistress. Morgan Le Fay fled, her long dress a fluttering shadow darker than the surrounding woods.

Dean couldn't quite place what he was feeling. Restless? Wired? He couldn't tell which. Whatever it was, he didn't like it. Felt too much like a human emotion, something he actively stayed far away from nowadays. The feeling reminded him of Crowley, ironically enough. The King of Rotten and his damn feels. Sam hadn't done him any favors with that partial blood cure.

Guilt? Dean shrugged. Oh hell no. He raised his mug and drained it in one long swallow.

The demon chorus howled and warbled into the dark night air, a high, thin sound that was more suited for the Serengeti Plains than the woods of Texas. The hunt was on
Not my fight, Dean thought. Not my problem.

He shrugged and walked back into the Pleasure Palace.

TBC this week.

Current Mood: refreshedrefreshed
Current Music: Only the voices inside my head