His hazel eyes widened at the sight of the familiar young woman standing in front of him, shadows playing across her fair face, and choppy blonde hair, her eyes shifted to the demonic black of the possessed. She stood with her hip cocked to the left, her head tilted at an angle, a smirk on her mouth as she let out a small chuckle.

"You have no idea what you are, do you Sammy? God, if only he knew you were the one. I mean, hey, it only took me slipping beneath your skin to realize it," she said, and actually laughed. "The hellfire is almost worth it knowing that I was the first one to find you, and I'm not saying a damn word. I want to see how this plays out. I want to watch how your humanity crumbles around you as you fall apart and remember, and I want to see the look on my father's face when he realizes just how much he fucked up. God, you're beautiful Sammy. Fucking amazing. The things you'll do. Hell, the things you're doing and don't even know about."

"What… What are you talking about?" Sam asked, his voice a frail shadow of the deep, sullen confidence that it usually was.

She smirked. "He wants you more than he should, you know. You've already damned him and you haven't even realized it, because you won't give in. Stupid, stubborn son of a bitch."

Sam shook his head, and she snorted before she replied with a roll of her black eyes. "Dean. He's perfect for you. Won't kill you no matter what you do. Loves you beyond reason, and he wants to fuck you through the wall, the bed, the backseat of that sweet ride of his. Just give in Sammy. It wouldn't be the first of your mortal sins. Not by a long shot, baby."

He watched as she stepped back, melding into the shadows and fading, her laughter echoing behind until he was lost in the darkness, and then he was fighting against the restraints, wrestling to get free. His eyes flew open and suddenly he was looking up into the startled green eyes of his older brother. He swallowed thickly realizing that it had all been a dream and that he was tangled up in the bed sheets and Dean was trying to hold him down and wake him up at the same time.

"Sammy? You okay, dude?" Dean asked, concern and suspicion warring in his eyes.

Sam shoved him away, sat up, and pushed the heels of his hands against his temples, his fingers slipping into his hair as he fought off the headache that lingered with Meg's laughter at the edges of his mind. No, Meg was the body she'd inhabited before his. That wasn't her name, didn't fit her. It was something else…Lir…Liriel.

"Liriel," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Dean felt a jolt of electricity course up his spine and then he was staring at Sam like he'd grown a second head or something. Sam looked down at his arm, searching for the angry brand that Meg…Liriel had used to stay in his body, but the mark was gone, faded. Not even a shadow. He held his arm out for Dean to inspect, his eyes wide, begging his older brother for answers that were just beyond his grasp.

"Sam? Dude, what's goin' on? Where's the mark? It was a brand and now it's gone. How the hell does that happen? That's a bit out of the norm, even for us. And are you okay? Had another vision?"

Sam shook his head violently to try and clear it as he wet his lips with his tongue and then let out a slow breath. "It wasn't like the other visions. Hell, I don't know what it was. Liriel…Meg was there, she was laughing. She told me that I would remember and lose my humanity. Like I'm not even human. Do you think that's what Dad meant when he told you to kill me if you had to? That I was becoming something. Oh God. She knows what I am," he said, his breathing shifting, coming in short, rapid breaths, and then he got to his feet, yelled, screamed her name.

"Liriel!"

Dean's cell phone, wallet, and gun rattled on the nightstand and then the whole room was trembling, the floor shaking violently beneath them. As quickly as it started, it stopped. Sam's breathing was labored and Dean simply stared at him, eyes wide, wondering what in the hell was going on.

They both jumped at the sound of a knock on the door. Dean took his gun from the nightstand and Sam crossed the room. Sam's hand hesitated over the doorknob for a second, then he twisted it and pulled it open.

"Hello, boys," she said, that smirk playful on her lips as she shifted her brown eyes from Sam to Dean, and then added, "Took you long enough, Sammy. You still got pull down there, you know. But being his baby brother has its perks, right?"

She reached out and patted his cheek as she stepped over the salt line and into their room.

"Sam, what the hell man…and Meg?" Dean said, his eyes wide as he stared at his brother and the demon that had just crossed over salt and entered their room.

"Salt doesn't work on my kind, Dean. You're in way over your head. Stumbled into the big leagues just like the old man. Johnny Boy had no idea what he was getting into. Should have just stayed out of it. We were only after Sam, even if it did take almost twenty-three years to figure that out. Hell, they still don't know, but I do. God. He'll be so happy, and the war will finally shift in his favor," she said, almost in awe as she turned her gaze back to Sam. "There's just so much power you're packing in that frail little meat sack you call a body. Consider me an ally, but when you remember, I want your protection. I'm as good as dead now. Lazariel has probably gone to my father, told him I'm a traitor. You keep me alive and I'll serve you, faithful and loyal."

Dean snorted. "What the hell is this? Give me one good reason why we shouldn't blast you full of rock salt and send you back to hell where you belong."

"Because I know the truth, and I'm fighting for my freedom. You don't know what it's like. The pain, the agony, all of it, flooding over and over again, sulfur and ash, and poison in every breath, but it can be remade once the war is over. Once he wins and my father is destroyed. Sam is the key to that."

"And we're supposed to trust some demon?" Dean bit out.

Before she could respond Sam cut in. "That's just it, Dean. She's not a demon."

"What the hell? You saw her eyes. Black is a sign of possession, demonic possession, and it wasn't too long ago that she was in your body, making you kill, Sammy," Dean snapped, keeping his gun trained on her, and then something occurred to him. "Why do you still look the same? Like that girl, Meg?"

"I picked her because she looked like my true form. This is how I look, well almost, but it's kind of hard walking around with a pair of wings. Would be nice to stretch em out a little, but gotta keep a low profile, you know?"

"Wings?" Sam asked, his eyes widening and then he rolled his shoulders, discomfort niggling at the muscles there. Obviously his body had taken more of a beating during his possession than he originally thought.

She drew near him, circled him, and traced her fingers along his shoulders, and then she paused at the juncture where the muscles connected from shoulder blades to spine, and poked at the flesh, and it was tender. Her mouth fell open as she let out a noise not unlike disbelief. "It really is you. You've come back to us, finally. After millennia, you've been born again to your original soul, your memories. You'll lead us, and our promised land will return."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean snapped in impatience. Tired of her stupid riddles and games and itching for a reason to pull the trigger.

"Uriel," she said, and Sam stiffened, and he then spun around, looking down at her, and she went down on one knee, bowing before him, tilting her head down in reverence. "It is an honor to call you master."

Dean shook his head in disbelief. This was so far beyond the range of plausible that it just wasn't clicking. The demon that had possessed Sam was now bowing before him like he was some kind of savior, and then she lifted her head. Her eyes wide and black. That was the sign he'd been waiting for, that he could deal with that. He lowered his arm and fired.

The was the sound of ripping cloth and the ruffling sound of feathers and Dean barely had time to duck as the bullet hit something and then went ricocheting back toward him to land in the wall where his head had been only a moment ago. When he looked up he could barely fathom what he was seeing.

Meg, or whoever the hell she was, was standing, and there were two huge, grey-feathered wings sprouting from her back and engulfing her and Sam. She cried out, slumped forward, and blood dripped from where her left wing met her back. Sam caught her and then dragged her toward the bed he'd been sleeping in.

He eased her down on her stomach, and his big hands rubbed her shoulders before his fingers shifted to examine the wound. Her breathing was erratic, her face scrunched in pain, tears slipping down her face as she bit her lip to hold back the whimpers. She'd be thrice damned before she whimpered and whined in front of Dean Winchester. As it was she shifted her gaze to the older Winchester and openly glared malice his way.

Dean swallowed, drew up behind Sam, and looked down at her bare back. The skin was smooth up until where the left wing was clipped where it met her back. Dean still had the gun trained on her, and looked nervously to Sam.

Sam looked up at his brother in annoyance. "Put the damn gun away, Dean."

"She just sprouted feathers, man," Dean replied.

"You start in on the bird brain jokes, and I don't care how much he needs you, I will break you almost to the point beyond repair," Meg hissed and cried out when Sam pressed against the wound that was still seeping blood.

"Get the first aid kit, Dean. She's gonna need stitches."

"You mean we're fixing up the demon? Sammy, we kill things like this, we don't help them. Do you remember what she did in your body? And hell man! She killed Pastor Jim, she killed that Meg girl, she killed Caleb, and who knows how many others! We don't help things like her!"

"We do now!" Sam growled and the room began to tremble around them once again.

Dean looked around the room and then back at his brother. "Fine, but for the record. This is a bad idea."

Dean headed outside and returned a moment later with the first aid kit. He handed it over to Sam. He rummaged through it until he came across the alcohol, needle, and thread. He doused the needle and thread in the alcohol, threaded it and looked down at her back. He looked imploringly at Dean, and Dean rolled his eyes before he got some gauze from the kit, doused it in alcohol and began to clean the wound with it.

She hissed and jolted at the burning of the alcohol, and bit her lip as Sam began to stitch the wound up. Once he was finished she pushed up with her arms and slowly got to her feet. She crossed her arms over her bare chest and looked down at the tattered remains of her white shirt on the floor. She glared at Dean, giving her wings an experimental flutter, and her wingspan was impressive as she spread them, they almost spread from wall to wall in the room. She winced a little and her left wing drooped and twitched.

"You fucking shot me after I pledged my loyalty to your brother! What the hell is wrong with you?" she snarled.

"You're a demon. Generally hunters kill evil sonsabitches like you. Call it a matter of principle," Dean growled in return, and then asked, "So what kind of demon are you, anyway? I haven't heard of any that can sprout wings like yours."

"It's because I'm not a demon you asshole! I'm a Fallen! Demons are below my kind! Angels can possess humans just as easily as demons can, however, they are forbidden to do so."

"Liriel," Sam said quietly, testing the name on his tongue.

She looked up, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth as her eyes softened and she reached up, her fingers tracing down Sam's jaw, and she felt Dean's jealous gaze burning into her back.

"You'll remember soon, and then you'll be one of us again. I thought all those stupid prophecies were just old stories to give hope and then tear us down again. God, I never thought you were real. Azazel… He brags about how he destroyed you, but there was a story about one of the last to fall. Kyriel. She fell for you, to save you, her death led to your being reborn. Her love for your brother led to this."

"Azazel? Your father?" Sam asked, and his eyes brightened for a moment, but it was fleeting, the knowledge just beyond his grasp.

"If you could call him that," she replied.

"Okay, enough of the fairy tales. We gotta figure out what in the hell we're gonna do with you!" Dean snapped. "Since killing you isn't an option right now, but I swear, anything funny…"

"How about I take Sammy's bed and you two share," she suggested, her brown eyes flashing black for a moment as her smile turned almost feral. "But first I think I'd like a shirt. It's kind of cold in here."

Dean's eyes were drawn reluctantly to her perky breasts, and he noticed immediately that her nipples were hard. She smirked at him as she drew her wings close into her back, and they slipped through her skin. She winced, her expression one of pain mixed with pleasure as the wings retracted beneath her shoulder blades until all that was left were two long, angry vertical parallel scars and the black stitches.

Sam pulled off his hoodie and held it out to her. She took it and put it on, the shirt coming down to her knees. She wet her lips and gave him a little nod. "Thanks."

"No problem," he said, and then he shifted his gaze to Dean, who was watching their interaction intently and then he swallowed thickly.

How was he supposed to share a bed with Dean? Meg-Liriel, smirked at him knowingly as she spoke so softly that only Sam could hear her. "What's a little incest if you're already condemned, Sammy? Live a little. He'll bite if you ask him real nice. Trust me, he looks like a biter."

Sam flushed bright red, and Dean wondered what in the hell that bitch had said to his brother. He then swallowed as he felt that familiar heat stirring in his belly. He couldn't have that if he was gonna have to share a bed with Sam. Bad enough he had to worry about being smothered by Sam's giant ass, but popping wood with his giant of a brother taking up most of the bed? So. Not. Cool.

----------

John struggled to keeps his eyes firmly shut. He struggled against the spiked shackles and felt fresh blood trickling down his hands, and he grunted, his head thrown back, and his neck strained with pain and tension.

"Open your eyes, Johnny Boy. You signed up for this, might as well enjoy it," the yellow-eyed demon said, with a chuckle peppering his tone.

John's eyes flew open and he glared hatefully into the yellow eyes of the demon and spat at the creature. "Fuck you," he bit out.

"Now, John, I'm just trying to be hospitable. A little easy conversation never killed anyone. At least I don't think it has. There's always a time for firsts though. Hmmm, where was I? Pleasant conversation. You know that's not my strong point. Not too many people down here to talk to, but I'll make an effort for you. How about we talk about your family John? Your boys. There's something special," the demon spoke, his yellow eyes glittering as John struggled against his bonds again, and he considered using the spiked ankle shackles incase John actually managed to find away out of the chair his hands were bound behind.

"Leave my boys out of this!"

"But isn't that why you called me? You wanted to keep that oldest one of yours alive. You don't even know what you've done, John. He's impure, hell bound for the things that go on in his mind. He's gonna drag Sammy down right with him, unless Sammy remembers why he's up there. Seems your boys share a very special bond. Do you know what Dean fantasizes about? Why he could never bring himself to kill your precious second born?"

John squeezed his eyes shut focusing on anything but the demon's laughter, trying to drudge up the memories of his wife or the boys, anything that would take him away if only for a moment. Then he felt the sharp, burning breath of the demon against his ear, and a tongue licked the inner shell of his ear.

He shivered in disgust, bile rising in the back of his throat, and then he choked as the demon spoke, "Dean jerks himself off to the thought of Sam's sweet mouth wrapped firm around his cock. He sleeps with countless strangers only to cry out Sam's name as he comes. He's wanted Sammy for years, every since Sam was fourteen. It's only a matter of time before he forgets about you, about why he shouldn't be fucking Sam, and then he'll seduce Sam. Your eldest, he has quite a bedside manner, I've heard. Sam's already tainted, marked to join me when I finally decide to call him, but for now I'll just enjoy the show, watch him tear himself apart over the guilt and the obligation he feels to give Dean the one thing that he wants."

John sagged back against the chair, struggling to breathe in the poisonous, sulfur filled air, tears spilling down his ash and bloodstained face as the demon's words sank in.

"You're lying," he managed weakly.

The demon only laughed. "I don't have to lie when the truth is so delicious. You had to have noticed all those longing looks Dean has given Sam over the years."

John swallowed thickly and turned his head to the side, angry and ashamed that the demon that destroyed his family was seeing him like this. Was actually breaking him.

The demon drew close, his human fingers gripping John's chin firmly as he turned the bound man to face him, and John gasped, actually seeing the demon in it's true form for the first time. His face was angular, handsome though tainted with evil, his eyes glowed yellow the way they always did, his hair was closely cropped like Dean's but a brilliant, blazing gold color, and then John heard the fluttering of feathers.

The demon pulled back, wings flexing from his shoulder blades and John stared at the grey wings that had ample splashes of red on them. He swallowed thickly, and then realized exactly what he was dealing with. Not a demon, but something he'd never believed in until now. He was looking at a Fallen.

"Like what you see, John? Impressed yet?" he asked.

John simply gaped, unable to really fathom anything beyond the feathered wings sprouting from the creature's back. The demon approached him again, but before he could touch John a shadow slipped from the wall and took human form, a pale young girl around the age of ten with bright red hair and black eyes. She was wearing a simple black dress.

Her eyes darted to John before she quietly addressed the yellow-eyed Fallen. The Fallen's eyes burned to black in his anger and he turned away, words from an ancient tongue falling from his lips as the girl moved forward and removed the shackles from John's wrists. She then took his hand and began to lead him.

He followed her through a door he hadn't noticed before, and she led him down a cavern, it was mostly pitch black save for the torches along the walls. She stopped at an ornately carved ebony door. She pushed the door open and stepped aside as she gave John a nod to indicate that he was to enter alone.

John braced himself as he entered the room, wondering what was awaiting him. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened and he just stared at the man sitting on the huge throne made from bones and ebony.

The man stood, and John noticed immediately how tall he was, Sam's height easily, and approached him, black iridescent wings flaring behind him. He cocked his head to the side and his eyebrows rose in a gesture that John was familiar with, but it couldn't be. John blinked and the man stared down at him steadily, his golden eyes shifting, and then he grabbed John's injured wrists and looked at them.

His golden eyes flashed black in anger, and then his thumbs glided over the wrists and John watched in fascination as the wounds healed before his very eyes. He took in a deep breath and the man let his wrists go. John rubbed them for a moment and then lifted his right hand tentatively and stroked the man's jaw.

The man simply stood, his gaze unwavering as he looked straight into John's wide eyes.

"Sammy?" John asked softly.

The man shook his head. John noticed the differences now, this man's hair was longer than Sam's, his skin paler, his eyes held more knowledge, and he had wings.

The man folded his wings in against his back and then spoke, his voice deep and clear, and almost soothing in its ability to seduce. "He dared touch and mark and hurt what is mine. Azazel has always thought himself above my rule, but you are mine by rights. And you're quite a catch, John Winchester. You've hunted many of my subjects, though why I don't quite understand. You have the mark of one of us in your aura. Strange how the light and shadow melds around you, the mark of the fallen and the mark of the blessed coiling about you perfectly. You are a man who has walked both paths."

"Who are you?" John asked shakily.

The man laughed, and John felt his stomach coil and churn because it was Sammy's laugh that fell from this strange creature's lips, and this creature looked so much like his youngest son that it hurt and he wondered if this was just some illusion.

"No, John. This is my true form. It is merely coincidence that your youngest son resembles me. And you may call me Luc, if you must put a name to me. Or Lucifer, whichever you prefer."

"Lucifer?" John asked in shock.

The man smirked at him, and John knew without a doubt that this was not Sam.

"Yes, and this is my domain. Some forget their place, like Azazel. I did him a favor in helping to save your oldest son. I was the one who healed Dean. Azazel deals in death. He can delay it, but he cannot heal. I was also the one you pledged your soul to when you called Azazel to save your son's life."

He smiled knowingly at the expression on John's face. "You mean after everything you've seen, you still didn't believe in me? You probably don't even believe in Jehovah. He exists, just in a higher plane. He's mostly forgotten about your kind. He leaves the playing field to his Angels and to the Fallen now. Welcome to hell, John Winchester. It's not as unwelcoming as you think."

John shook himself and watched as Lucifer, the Fallen with his youngest son's face, turned and walked away from him, leaving him free to wander on his own. He wondered if maybe the relief he was feeling would be short lived considering he was now at the mercy of the very Devil himself.

----------

There was a crick in his neck, his left arm was asleep, something was smothering him, and there was another something poking into his side. Dean stiffened and slowly turned his head. His eyes widened as he came nose to nose with Sam. He tried to wiggle away, but that only served to make Sam pull him in closer, tightening his hold, and then Sam was rubbing against his side, a slow, lazy dry hump, and damn if Dean's cock wasn't finding that all kinds of interesting.

With a groan he shifted away from Sam, but Sam just moved along with him, those hips rolling against Dean's side steadily, and picking up a little rhythm. Dean's hand was moving of its own accord, slipping down his body and into his boxers, and he began to move with Sam's rhythm, figuring what the hell. He could always deny it later.

Sam's arms tightened as he rolled over onto his side and hauled Dean back against him. Dean grunted and bit his lower lip to keep from making too much noise as Sam rolled his hips against Dean's ass, and Dean's hand worked faster in his boxers, up and down his length, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock and tracing the vein along the underside of his shaft.

Sam's movements against him were getting faster, more desperate and Dean groaned, feeling the tension growing in his own body until it finally snapped and he cried out, "Sammy!"

His body shuddered as his release filled his boxers and covered his hand, and then he felt Sam stiffen against his back, that large, long body shuddering, and Sam's face was pressed against his neck, his teeth biting down firmly, possessively. Dean was breathing heavily as Sam pulled back and then rolled out of the bed like he'd been burned.

Dean rolled over, looking up at his little brother, as Sam began to pace, running his hands through his hair, breathing like he'd just run a marathon, and when Dean spared a glance lower he noticed the wetness in Sam's sweat pants. Oh hell, this was getting awkward.

"So did I miss anything?" came Meg's voice from the other bed, and Dean shot her a glare that would have killed a normal person.

All she did was smirk back at him.

"God Dean," Sam said, a kicked puppy whine in his voice as he turned his gaze down to the floor. "Man, I'm so sorry. Oh God."

Sam ran to the bathroom, slammed the door, and the sounds of retching could be heard even over the shower. Christ, what a mess.

"Aww, trouble in paradise, stud? And nice bite mark. I called you for the biter, not Sammy boy," she said with a sly grin.

Dean slipped out of bed and ground his teeth as she got a good look at his messy boxers and laughed. He spun around to face her, anger burning in his eyes as he reached for the gun in his duffel and aimed it at her. "I'm still not above shooting you. Stupid, mouthy bitch."

"You know, I don't get that. Why does everyone pull a damn gun on me all the time? I'm really tired of getting shot. First time's an adventure, but it gets old fast. Put the damn gun away, I'm not gonna do anything to you," she snapped.

Dean lowered the gun and shook his head, then he sat down on the bed he'd shared with Sam, tempted to lay back down in it, and bury his face in Sam's pillow, just because, dammit. He brought the butt of the gun up to his forehead and heaved a sigh, wondering just how much worse things could get.

He jumped and pulled the safety on the gun when he felt a weight settle next to him and a slender arm slip around his shoulders.

"Don't fucking touch me," he snarled and tried to pull away, but then the flutter of feathers surrounded him and her right hand was like a vice on his jaw as she turned him to face her.

"It might be a sin to want him, but believe me, when he wins our war, Hell will be a paradise again. It will be the fallen Eden that it once was," she said, and she snorted with a laugh at his suspicious gaze. "I'm in this for me. Killing's fun if it gets you somewhere, but even things like me get tired of it. I've been under my Daddy's thumb for centuries, now I'm free, and I've got your baby brother to thank for that. He brought me out of the darkest pit last night. I'm not saying I'm an angel, at least not a good one, but I'm good for laughs and kicks, and the best part? I'm already damned. So it's not like I'll judge you. Just keep the firearms pointed away from me and I'll do what I can to serve your brother even if that means putting up with your bitchy ass."

"I still don't trust you," he ground out.

"Can't have your cake and eat it too," she said with a shrug as she withdrew her wings, and they slid back beneath Sam's hoodie, and she stood up. "And by the way, that was a hot little show you put on. If you're looking for some three-way action…" she finished off that last bit a sway in her hips and a wink.

"Sorry, I don't fuck around with hell spawn."

She snorted. "Oh yes you do. You just don't know it yet."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean, Meg? Liriel? Whoever the hell you are!"

"Oh you'll see," she said with a chuckle and then began to rummage through his duffel. "You can call me Meg, and I'm gonna be borrowing some of your things until we get me some clothes, because Sammy's clothes kinda swallow me, and I got a figure to show off. Don't ya think?"

She struck a pose and Dean couldn't help staring at her. "Your tits are kinda small, but you've got a nice ass."

She lifted a brow at him. "You were staring pretty hard last night for my tits to be small."

He shrugged. "You had wings."

"Your eyes were on my chest."

Dean set the gun on the bedside table and scratched the back of his head. He didn't have a comeback for that one.

He was still struggling to say something when Sam came out of the shower, steam following him like a cloud. He was in nothing but a towel, which wasn't that unusual, but Dean's mouth had gone dry, and Sam was blushing as he made a dash for his duffel. He was going to try and make a run for the bathroom again, but Meg beat him to it.

Sam kicked the door, and she laughed. He then turned to Dean and ran his tongue nervously across his lips.

"So…" he began.

"Yeah," Dean said, standing up and reaching for his jeans on the floor. "I think I'm gonna go out for some coffee and doughnuts. You want your usual creamy and just this side of sacrilege?"

"Sounds good," Sam replied with a stiff nod.

Dean quickly pulled a shirt on and his jacket and headed out the door. Once he was safely in the driver's seat of the Impala he slapped the steering and cursed. He then quickly slipped out of his jeans, removed his boxers and slipped back into his jeans. Going commando was better than having his dick stuck to his boxers all day with dried cum. He wiped his hands on a clean part of the underwear before tossing them in the back, and cranking up his baby.

He headed down the road until he came to a Krispy Kreme.

----------

When she came out of the bathroom she was all smiles, with a belt holding up Dean's jeans, and an old, faded Metallica shirt knotted at her midriff to show off a little skin. She looked down at him and shook her head with a knowing smirk. She sat on the bed she'd slept in and sighed.

"This is so fucking weird. I mean I'm free, and for once I'm not running off and killing things. What did you do to me while I was inside you Sam? You fucked me over big time. I feel so different. And he can't call me anymore. That's the best part," she said with an absent smile.

Sam looked up then, shadows in his eyes. "You made me kill. You used my body to kill, to hurt my brother, to taunt Jo. What the hell am I thinking? Why trust you?"

She stood and went straight for Dean's duffel. She pulled out a knife and then brought it over to Sam. She knelt in front of him, holding the knife up submissively. "Mark me, and I can never betray you. Claim me as one of yours and I will serve you to my dying breath if it should ever come to that. Mark me as a soldier of Uriel, Sam. One cut, and then trace it with your finger and I'll be branded yours. Seems fair since I tried to mark you."

Her eyes locked with Sam's and she blinked as his eyes actually sparked gold for a moment. He took the knife from her, almost trancelike. He took her left arm, pulled it toward him and pressed the blade in a vertical cut from the inside of her elbow, slicing down about an inch. She hissed and bit her lip to keep from crying out. He then dropped the knife to the floor and leaned forward, his tongue snaking out as it traced along the wound, lapping up the blood bubbling from it. He let her arm go and pulled back, his chin pointed to the ceiling like he was in ecstasy, and when he lowered his head to look at her, his eyes were golden, not the yellow of her father's eyes, but that iridescent golden glow of the very Devil himself.

Her eyes widened as she began to crab walk backwards. She'd known he was a Fallen, had her suspicions about his identity, and yet she'd been skeptical, but this was real. He wasn't just any Fallen, he really was Uriel. He stood to his full height and towered over her.

"You are mine," he said, his voice deep and soft, with an almost musical quality to it. "You will serve me, and only me, and you will protect those I claim. You will protect Dean, he is mine also, and you will value the freedom you are allowed, and no blood is to be spilled unless it is a matter of life or death or I order you to do so. Are we clear on this, Liriel? You've sworn yourself mine and this is our bargain."

She nodded mutely, and then his eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped forward. She caught him, staggering beneath his weight as she managed to shove him back enough so that he landed on the bed he'd shared with Dean.

He was unconscious. That much was obvious when she tried to slap his cheeks and got no response.

"Shit," she snapped and then ran to the bathroom for a cold cloth.

She really swore when she heard the door open, followed by the sound of things being roughly set down on a table and then Dean cursing and trying to wake up Sam. A moment later Dean was storming into the bathroom, anger blazing in his eyes and his hands balled up into fists, itching for a fight.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" he growled.

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't do anything! I made him mark me so that he'd know I was loyal to him. Once I'm marked I belong to him. So that's what he did, then he got all freaky on my ass, and fainted like a girl!" she snapped and then held out her left arm as proof and Dean stared at the mark there.

It was a tattoo, a tribal wing design that flared out with about a two and a half inch wingspan, and within the design was an ornate U and S.

"What does the U and the S mean?" Dean asked.

She shrugged. "Unknown soldier, Uriel's servant. Hell, your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that I'm his. Now how about we wake his big ass up, get something to eat and head out. I'm gettin' cabin fever in this shitty room."

"Fine. And maybe we can find a motel with a magic fingers bed," Dean grumbled as they headed out of the bathroom to wake up Dean.

Meg snickered. "Magic fingers bed? Oh, please tell me you're kidding, right?"

Dean just narrowed his eyes at her before he slapped at Sam's cheeks, and blew in his ear. Sam shivered and came up swinging and Dean barely had enough time to get out of the way. Once Sam had regained his senses he looked around in surprise and asked what had happened.

"Don't know, Sammy. Just get your shit together. We're taking the coffee, the doughnuts, and the bitch on the road. There's a town about a hundred miles South of here with a couple of mysterious deaths, and I'm itchin' to find another magic fingers bed. Even saved up my quarters."

Sam rolled his eyes as he began to pack and within a half hour he was sitting shot gun in the Impala drinking luke warm coffee and munching on a chocolate doughnut with sprinkles while Dean turned up the music to drown out Meg's fawning over the Impala. Dean had already bitched her out about how he was the only one allowed to sweet talk his baby, but Meg was relentless, and Metallica could get really loud, then again, so could Meg.

They were about ten miles away from the town when Dean turned down the music and the sound of Meg moaning in the backseat filled the car. Sam slipped Dean a sideways look. Dean smirked and cocked his head to the back, encouraging Sam to take a look. Sam flushed a bright red as Meg's moaning reached a fever pitch, and then a pair of sticky boxers was tossed up front and landed on Dean's thigh.

He swerved with a curse and glared at her in the rearview mirror.

She smirked as Sam gingerly took the boxers from Dean's thigh and examined them. There was dry cum on the inside, and Sam dropped them in the floorboard immediately and rubbed his fingers against his jeans with an expression of disgust.

She snorted from the back seat. "Take it easy Sammy. Wasn't me. That was all Dean from this morning I think. It was a nice prop for my own needs though."

"Christ! See this is why I was all for shooting her," Dean bit out, and Sam wondered if maybe Dean had been right about the whole Meg/Liriel situation after all.

Read the sequel Evil Angel