Three Days

~~~~~ THREE DAYS: Conclusion ~~~~~


“I'm fine,” Sam says. “I don't need any more rest.”

Serghei shakes his head. “Luthar very clear. You stay here and remain calm. Very important.” He turns to Dean, still smirking. “All is ready, but first, you must be prepared.” He moves toward the open door, gesturing for Dean to accompany him.

“It's cool, Sammy. Do as he says. I've been waiting for a chance to have a nice one-on-one with our favorite alchemist anyway.”

“Dean—”

“Just lay low,” Dean interrupts. “Rest up while you can, okay?” He traces the markings on Sam's forearm.

Sam nods and squeezes Dean's shoulder.

“So much for the afterglow, huh?” Dean flashes his best grin at Serghei as he passes by. “Okay, let's go.”

“Downstairs,” Serghei grunts, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Nice ink work on my brother. I'm not in the market for any tatts, but I could deal with one of your whole body massages, though.” Dean rubs the back of his neck. “I've got one helluva kink back here that I just can't get rid of.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Dean turns around.

Serghei shakes his head, his expression definitely bemused. “Would like that, but no time, little one. A shame, truly.”

“Little—“ Dean takes a step away from Serghei as the big guy's eyes crawl all over his body, from head to toe and back again. “Hoookay, creepy.” He heads for Luthar's lab but a meaty hand clamps onto his shoulder.

“This way.” Serghei turns Dean around, shoving him through the opposite archway.

“Easy, man.” Dean straightens his flannel as his eyes adjust to the relative dimness of what appears to have been some sort of parlor or living room. A low fire crackles in the fireplace on the far wall, and a large oil lamp barely illuminates the top of a sizable round table in the center of the room. Assorted chairs, side tables and a ratty sofa have been shoved against the walls.

“Wait here,” Serghei says, smirking like crazy.

“No problem, Lurch. Carry on.” He watches Serghei amble away before moving toward the large table, which has two chairs placed on opposite sides.

It's the typical kind of drama that he's come to expect from Luthar. The guy's a definite control freak, clearly getting off on the fact that he's got the upper hand in their current situation. There's no reason for all the smoke and mirrors, all the manipulations, even though Sam says that it's probably just part of Luthar's nature.

It all smacks of someone who's not on the up and up.

If the creepo's really been around for hundreds of years, it seems as if he should be a bit more enlightened and easygoing instead of so fucking secretive and paranoid. But power corrupts, and if Luthar's been dodging humanity and hiding out in the boonies for centuries, it could explain a lot.

Not justify it, but explain it, anyway.

It's not too hard to imagine someone who's lived like that to easily forget what it's like to think and act like a regular person. And it follows that if someone were to lose touch with the world and their humanity like that, they'd probably see themselves as not only outside of everything, but superior to it, too.

Now more than ever, Dean's convinced that Luthar has deeply personal reasons for doing whatever he's doing. If that's the case, and curing Sam isn't the priority, then he's gonna have to keep his eyes peeled and be ready for just about anything.

“Shit, Sammy,” he murmurs, pulling out the chair nearest the fireplace and sitting down. He feels the waves of helplessness begin to well up within him, washing away whatever meager bits of positiveness he'd clung to at seeing Sam cleaned up and coherent. And from Sam's awesome blow job.

He closes his eyes, struggling to concentrate, to envision him and Sam in better places, better times.

He takes deep breaths, focusing on the future, on their life after this clusterfuck is over. He's always ribbed Sam about doing shit like this, and how stupid it sounds to try to go to a happy place.

Sure, there's a lot to ignore, like all the crap with Azazel and the army of “special” kids, but just thinking about the good stuff seems to help quash the roiling feelings of despair, so he keeps at it.

And the more he tries, the easier it gets.

He sees both of them back in the Impala, cruising down some two-lane blacktop, Sam busting his eggs about his crappy cassettes. He can see them arguing over which dumpy motel they should stay in next and doing the rock/scissor/paper thing to see who gets the better bed. He can see himself watching Sam try to order the healthiest thing on the menu from whatever greasy spoon they're in; Sam on his laptop while Dean channel surfs; slipping into Sam's bed and holding him tight.

All the good stuff that makes up for the crap.

The stuff that makes life worth living.

Dean relaxes, the feelings of hopelessness shoved back down and contained once again. There just might be something to this happy place stuff, although he'll never admit it to Sam.

A guy's gotta have one or two little secrets.

He blows out a deep breath and opens his eyes to find Trini glowering down at him.

“Hmpf.” She plops a bucket down on the floor and reaches over to turn up the flame on the oil lamp.

“Nice to see you too, chuckles.” He watches as she retrieves two bottles from the bucket, slamming one down before him and placing the second in front of the empty chair. She fishes about in the pocket of her over sized sweater and drops a bottle opener on the tabletop. She jerks her head to the bottle in front of Dean and lumbers from the room.

“Gotta love service with a smile.” Dean examines the brown bottle, turning the label toward the lamp. “Bürger, huh? Fancy, too. Any port in a storm.” He pries of the bottle cap, flicking it into the fireplace and pushing the torn foil away from the mouth of the bottle. The beer's ice cold, and pretty damn good. He checks the bucket, noting that ten more bottles rest on ice. “Awesome.” He upturns the bottle, swallowing more of the brew.

“I see you find the local beer acceptable.”

Dean looks over to see Luthar in the archway, hands on hips, the flickering light from the fire illuminating his R.E.M. T-shirt.

“It's not bad.” Dean takes another swig as Luthar sits and opens his own bottle. “I like a little variety in most things.”

Luthar nods, swallowing a healthy portion of his own Bürger. “It is indeed the spice of life, yes?” He sets his bottle down, turning it slowly on the table top. “I apologize for interrupting your time with Sam, but it is vital that he be as rested as possible before we continue with the process.”

Dean stares at Luthar, past the outwardly warm expression, behind the sympathetic tone. Luthar's eyes flash with shards of light captured from the flames of the oil lamp and fireplace. It's the face of someone very good at putting up fronts, someone well-versed at sounding sincere. An act, a façade. It's a pretty good front, but Dean can see right through it. He maintains his gaze, but Luthar doesn't falter a bit...the guy's good.

“Don't worry about it. And Sammy didn't break a sweat, so he's good.” He watches as Luthar nods knowingly. “But Lurch could use a bit of a refresher course on knockin' before entering a room.” He finishes his beer, sliding the empty aside. “But I guess it's hard to get good help these days.” He leans down toward the ice bucket. “May I?”

“Of course. Help yourself, Dean.” Luthar waits until Dean's opened his fresh Bürger before continuing. “It is most difficult, indeed, to locate suitable companions. What Serghei lacks in basic manners, he more than makes up for with other desirable skills.”

“Like his inkwork.”

“Indeed. And he is loyal to a fault, which is a quality I value above all else.” He tips the bottle to his lips. “I'm sure you can appreciate that.”

Dean pops the cap of his second bottle, sending it into the fire. “Yeah, I can. But then again, who wouldn't want to follow you around? If this pad is any indication of where you normally crash, you must be beatin' prospective candidates off with a stick.”

“I like you, Dean, really I do,” Luthar replies through a laugh. “My existence necessitates extreme caution in regards to soliciting companions, a process in which I engage in only rarely. When I do identify a suitable candidate, it is only after extensive observation that I make first contact. After many years, my instincts are seldom incorrect.”

“Trini and Bar Guy made the cut. Lucky them.” Dean pulls a face as he sips his beer, watching for any change in Luthar's expression.

“Trini has served well for nearly forty years. And while Serghei has been with me for only a short while, I have every reason to believe that he shall prove to be as suitable...and satisfying...as Trini has been. Despite the infinitely lengthy road I've traveled, all that I've seen and accomplished, I still have certain needs that must be satisfied.”

Dean notes a negligible twinge of Luthar's forged smile. He's somewhat creeped out by the way Luthar refers to his cohorts, almost like they're pets. And something tells him that they're far more than that, too. Apparently Luthar doesn't care where he sticks his dick. But then neither does Dean, so he's not really one to talk, either.

They're edging into serious Too Much Information territory, and what he really wants to discuss is Sam and this super secret process.

“But enough of my companions and I. You have many questions. You may ask me anything, and I shall answer as truthfully as I can.”

Finally, Q & A time. He's interested to see how forthcoming the little creepo is actually going to be.

“I noticed that the fog from the last night is creepin' around outside.”

Luthar barely arches the corner of one eyebrow.

“I was wonderin' if you were gonna shine a little light on it to send it on its way, or maybe it's here because of you.”

“The Spiritele Suparat are naturally drawn to supernatural beings, or those with special powers. Your brother is like a magnet, and the roving spirits simply cannot stay away. He is especially vexing to them, as he is immune to their draining abilities. In concert with some simple wards, I am able to create a sphere of safety around this house.”

“Sam's not a supernatural being.”

“Semantics. But you cannot deny that he is special, Dean. I know of Sam's ability to foresee certain events. Future events that involve other special children. Or demons.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean shifts in his seat. It's really getting on his nerves that with every question creepo answers, he creates a few more. It's a giant puzzle that keeps on getting bigger. “So Sam's a bit different. But he's no monster. All that matters is that this process of yours works without harming or changing him.”

Any more than he already is, he muses.

Luthar actually begins to say something but stops himself. He pauses for many moments before answering. “I have compensated for Sam's condition. The process is sound.”

“You don't sound so sure.”

“Nothing is absolute, Dean.”

“No warranties expressed or implied, huh? Always gotta cover your own ass first.”

“You remind me of an skeptic I knew long ago, who desired to be taught the entirety of the world's wisdom while standing on one foot. I am beginning to believe that you will find fault with anything I say. No matter. I see now that I set my expectations too high in regards to your ability to exercise logic and reason.”

Dean chuckles at the surreality of it all. Now creepo's quoting Star Trek.

“My logic is uncertain where Sam is concerned,” he deadpans.

“Touché.” Luthar hefts his beer bottle and takes a deep swallow from it.

Dean returns the gesture. “Now that we've established that we're both Trek geeks, I'd like to know what your real motivation is here. You're not going through all this trouble just to repay a favor.”

Another pause from Luthar, who averts Dean's gaze and stares into the dying flames for a few moments. “You are correct,” he replies softly. “While I take my obligations very seriously, I cannot hide that in this case, I am driven by far more than simply satisfying a debt owed to Bobby Singer.” He looks up, his eyes superbright. “I have survived the vast span of years because there is a constant, one thing that inspires me. A need, no...a hunger...for knowledge. A ravenous desire to learn and know as much as possible. This drive is responsible for my initial interest in Alchemy, and my subsequent mastery of it. While successfully executing the process and restoring your brother will be extremely satisfying, the knowledge gained from the entire exercise is, ultimately, far more valuable in of itself.”

The room is silent until a log pops loudly from the hearth. Dean studies Luthar, whose expression is glacial. Dean involuntarily shudders, realizing what a bug under a scientist's microscope must feel like.

“So, with the help of a philosopher's stone, you've managed to create this “elixir of life”, among other things, which has allowed you to prolong your life indefinitely. To cheat death.” He notes one of Luthar's eyebrows lifts up slightly.

“Not nearly as simple as that, but yes, I have. The term “philosopher's stone” should not be taken literally in this context, and there are many combinations that result in the ability to continually transmute oneself.”

“How old are you, then?” Dean swigs his Bürger, never taking his eyes from Luthar.

“My chronological age is irrelevant to the task at hand.”

“The symbols Bar Guy inked on Sam are Cyrillic, right?”

“Very early Cyrillic. A transitional variant between Greek uncial script and the earliest ustav manuscript alphabet that saw its widest use between the fourth and sixth centuries. Most of the augmented ligatures were lost or modified as the alphabet evolved over time. The ancient variant applied to Sam's skin contains many lost characters, powerful characters that purify, protect and calm.”

Dean instantly wishes Sam could hear all this. It sounds legit, but ancient languages aren't his strong suit. “And the ink will help you to separate this Wolf and somehow extract it from Sam.”

Luthar taps his temple with his beer bottle. “Very good. In essence, yes. Separating the Wolf is child's play. Removing it, however, is another matter indeed.”

“Yeah, because it's never been done. I know, because we tried severing the bloodline, and it didn't work.”

“I am aware of your failure with the woman named Madison. Sam has provided me with much insight into her case. I firmly believe that the failure to destroy her Wolf is that she had undergone the Change more than once, rendering a simple elimination of her lycan Maker ineffective. This severing of the bloodline has been successful in some isolated cases, but once the body has undergone a Change, Wolf and human are so intertwined that it is virtually impossible to separate them again, even with my advanced methods.”

“So it's like we thought from the get go. If Sam's to be cured, it's got to be done before he Changes tonight.”

Luthar nods and opens another beer. “Absolutely.”

“And what about all the other methods to cure lycanthropy? All bogus?”

“Not entirely. Some shapeshifters have been able to transform themselves into human/wolf hybrids. The legends of a werewolf belt or skin, both dependent upon sorcery, are well rooted in alchemistic texts, and I have personally observed one magician who was adept enough to manage transformations at will.”

Dean's dad had mentioned the legend of magicians fashioning skins or belts to allow them to change; maybe that's how shapeshifters had actually come into being. “What about loup garou lore and their theory about drawing blood from the infected and keeping it a secret?”

“I am well aware of the loup garou. Indeed, I consorted with them for many decades, both here in Romania and abroad. Unlike most, the loup garou feel that it is an honor to undergo the Change. They celebrate it, and have managed to exist to this day, mostly due to extremely strict rules concerning hunting and procreation. The ritual to which you refer, the covert drawing of blood and the keeping of that secret for a span of time, usually one hundred and one days, is said to have been used successfully on rare occasions when a loup garou desired to leave the pack and live life as a normal human. I have never observed this phenomenon, yet I believe that the blood does indeed play a major role in the Change.”

Again, Luthar's explanation more or less held with the passages he'd read in their dad's journal. “How about cluing me in to this new and improved process of yours.” Dean empties his second beer, debates for only a moment and then opens another.

“You understand the basic tenets of alchemy, then?”

Dean nods. “Yup. Separation into base elements. Recombination of those elements into something new.”

“Excellent. Where nearly all 'cures' for lycanthropy fail lies with their inability to recognize that the lycan presence, or Wolf as it were, is at first an alien intruder, a separate entity. By outwitting the host's immune system, the lycan entity insinuates itself into the host, generally taking a minimum of thirty days to accomplish assimilation. Hence, a transformation on the next full moon. Prior to the first Change, I theorize that there are two distinct entities within the infected host, not yet merged, but constantly working to that end. Despite the advanced state of Sam's mutation, I am certain that I can completely separate the two, isolating the lycan from the human.”

“But the second phase of any alchemistic process involves recombining the separated elements into a new substance.”

“Quite right. And here is where I floundered for some time. Devising a method to remove the separated lycan from the host while ensuring that the host body remains in tact proved difficult, even for me.”

“But you can do it.”

“Yes. The lycan entity can be removed from Sam, at which point it must be destroyed.”

“Works for me.”

“Yet once I'd solved that problem, another reared its head.”

“And just how ugly is this head?”

“Marginally, I suppose.” Luthar stares into the fireplace. “A cardinal rule of our existence dictates that the balance must be maintained. One cannot create something from nothing. As you might say, there are no free rides.” He swallows some more beer. “Conversely, if something is subtracted, something must be added to balance the equation, to restore equilibrium. And in our case, something must be added to Sam to fill the space left behind by the excised lycan entity. Please understand that I am describing an infinitely complex process in the simplest of terms.”

“Thanks,” Dean mutters, slumping in his chair.

Trini stomps in, glaring at Dean as she walks over to bend down over Luthar. The two converse in hushed Romanian, Trini eying Dean all the while. Trini nods as they finish, disappearing through a doorway behind Luthar.

“Which brings us to your role in the process.”

Dean pushes himself away from the table and stands to face the fireplace. “I can't wait to hear this.” Luthar's chair scrapes across the floorboards.

“But this is the best part.”

More creaks as Luthar stands and moves toward him.

“You get to be the hero, Dean.”

He feels Luthar's hand squeeze his shoulder.

“Your blood will restore Sam.”


~~~~~ *** ~~~~~~


“Oh man, this sucks.”

“There is nothing to fear,” Luthar calls out from across the lab. “Aside from her formidable skills as a server, Trini is also incredibly adept with needles.”

“That's what I'm worried about,” Dean says as Trini taps his inner elbow to bring up an artery.

“Sit back, relax,” Trini growls, swabbing alcohol on Dean's skin. “Do not squirm, or I miss.”

“Great.”

“You feel small prick.”

“Not usually,” Dean replies, looking away from Trini and focusing on Luthar's preparations on the other side of the room. He's not at all queasy about blood, as long as its someone else's. And when it is his, like when Sam's stitching his latest monster injury, there's usually a bottle of Jack nearby to fuzz his brain.

“Done. Stay still. Squeeze this.” Trini pushes a rubber ball into his left hand. “Hmpf.” With a scowl, she moves off to assist Serghei with the examination table.

“Thanks, Nurse Diesel.” Dean watches as his blood fills a large glass bottle. “Not sure I can fill this thing. Or if I should, after all the beer.”

Luthar bends over Dean's shoulder to examine Trini's work. “You will fill about half of the bottle. Two pints, more or less, is all I require of you. And the alcohol in your bloodstream is of no consequence.”

“Two pints? That's a lot, isn't it?”

“A bit more than one might donate, but well within safety limits.” Luthar slips a bottle of Bürger into Dean's free hand. “Make yourself comfortable.” He sends a stream of terse Romanian in Serghei's direction. Serghei nods and clomps upstairs, presumably to fetch Sam.

“I don't donate blood. Not voluntarily, anyway. And I'd really like to stay frosty.”

“Not necessary. And not advisable, I'm afraid. After giving so much blood, it is best for you to remain still and allow me to do my work.”

“I'm still a little hazy on this whole blood thing,” Dean says, already feeling a bit woozy. “I'm not sure that Sam and I are even compatible.”

“I have verified that you are both type O positive. And I require untainted blood to infuse into Sam's system after I have removed the lycan entity.”

“So you're gonna trap the Wolf thing in a quart of Sam's blood.”

Luthar squats at Dean's chair. “That is essentially it.” He adjusts Dean's arm slightly. “I shall supplement your blood with the appropriate amount of plasma to compensate for the larger amount removed from your brother.”

“At which point you nuke the jar full of lycan? Sounds shady to me.”

“Who's the alchemist here?”

Dean waves his bottle of beer. “Shouldn't I have orange juice instead?”

“You are most humorous,” Luthar replies through a chuckle.

“More like nine kinds of fuckin' crazy.” Dean squirms in the totally uncomfortable chair, barely believing that he's allowed himself to just go with the flow, to become essentially helpless and completely dependent on Luthar and his dynamic duo. He wonders if Bobby or his dad had ever done such a thing. If they had, they sure as hell hadn't mentioned it. He stares at the ice cold bottle of beer for a moment before taking a deep swallow of the amber liquid. He's in mid-gulp as Serghei lumbers into the lab, one of Sam's arms draped across Serghei's broad shoulders.

“Sammy!” Dean nearly jumps from his chair before he recalls the needle stuck in his arm.

Sam gazes across the room, clearly dazed. He eventually finds Dean in the gloom and a crooked smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Hey, Dean.” He stumbles, but Serghei catches him easily.

“What's wrong with him?” Dean slams his beer bottle to the floor and as he reaches for the needle, he feels a sharp stab of pain to his neck. “Fuck.”

A firm hand grasps his head, holding it in place as a creeping warmth spreads through his body.

“What the—“

The pain ends as the syringe is withdrawn from his neck and Trini releases him. Dean's head lolls as he tries to look up at Trini, who smiles and pats his head.

“Relax.”

“You fucking bastard,” Dean says, his body nearly numb and heavy. “I knew I shouldn't have trusted you.”

Luthar barks out orders in Romanian as Serghei and Trini arrange Sam on the exam table. “Forgive me Dean, but I thought it best that you stay still during the process. I could not have you disturbing me at a critical point. You may remain and observe, but I warn you that any verbal outbursts will result in your removal from the lab.”

Dean attempts to move, but it's as if he's been removed from his body. He can move his eyes and neck slightly, but that's it. “Dammit.”

“Don't worry, Dean,” Sam calls out dreamily. “It's gonna be fine.”

Serghei and Trini complete binding Sam to the table. Trini prepares to draw blood while Serghei wheels over a cart covered with bottles and syringes.

Luthar leans close to Dean, his lips nearly touching Dean's ear. “Please do not struggle or interrupt what is about to transpire. Rarely has one been so privileged as you, Dean. Very few have actually observed me as I ply my trade.” He licks the shell of Dean's ear. “I truly wish we could have established a better connection. A shame, really, as I'm sure that intimate relations would have been mutually beneficial.” He removes the needle and bandages Dean's arm. “Quiet, now.”

Dean watches as Serghei lights several candles on a nearby table. Luthar carries the jar of his blood to Trini, who prepares it for infusion to Sam. Luthar then closes his eyes, his lips moving silently. After a few moments, he drinks from several of the jars on the tables. He then bends over Sam, who nods his head in response. Luthar lifts Sam's head, enabling him to drink from several of the jars; Serghei then straps Sam's head securely to the table.

Dean's head aches as if he's sliding into the worst hangover ever. His vision blurs as Luthar chants, Sam repeats them, and Serghei traces the sigils inked on Sam's chest with Dean's drawn blood. Trini begins to drain blood from Sam as Luthar chants louder and faster.

Dean can no longer move his head, his gaze locked on Luthar and Sam.

Sam's body jerks against the restraints; he's yelling now too, but Dean can't understand what he's saying. Luthar continues chanting, almost shouting now, his hands hovering above Sam's chest while Trini struggles to keep the needle in Sam's arm.

Sam screams again and again, each one louder, deeper, more guttural. His eyes are wild, the muscles in his neck thick cords as he strains against the bindings. Luthar's hands move so fast, it's harder and harder to see them clearly.

Luthar chants, Sam screams, and the air in the room grows heavy. The candles flicker as a gust of chill wind rushes into the lab.

Dean can't be sure, but Luthar's hands almost appear to glow now. He can barely make out anything clearly anymore, his own head swimming, growing progressively fuzzy in concert with the increasingly buffeting wind. It almost looks like the blood drawn from Sammy is glowing, too, a faint, burning read, pulsing like a heartbeat.

A burst of wind slams into Luthar, who then brings both fists down onto Sam's chest, over and over. Sam writhes on the table as the wind blasts all of them still harder, extinguishing the candles and wiping most of the worktables clean.

But still Luthar continues his chants, and now Dean's certain that the alchemist is also glowing, an odd outline of faint golden light that looks like a cheesy special effect from a low budget sci-fi movie.

Dean's stomach flip flops as the room turns sideways; out of the corner of his eye, he sees Serghei carrying something large, almost like...a body. Serghei drops the body...no, not a body, as the guy moves and Dean can barely hear his groans over the rushing winds, chanting and clatter of broken glass.

Dean can barely keep his eyes open any longer, and he feels like he's going to puke. Sam's stopped screaming, but Luthar's yelling louder than ever. Then Dean feels the cold, that same cold he'd felt back at the inn. His feet go numb, and he instinctively tries to move, to get up, to run...

Thin tendrils of mist curl around Luthar, entwining his body to the waist. The voices of the mist seem to join Luthar's, a terrible chorus rising higher and higher, steadily approaching some impossible crescendo.

It's too loud, and it's also getting too bright. Dean squints to keep staring at Luthar, to desperately see what's going on, to see what's happening with Sam.

But the sound and light overwhelm him, and he tumbles into the abyss...


~~~~~ *** ~~~~~~


Luthar mops his sweaty brow, pushing back the limp strands of his hair. He lays a hand on Sam's forehead, nodding to Trini. “Very good. You know what needs to be done.”

She nods, carefully stepping her way out of the ruined lab.

“Is the other properly restrained and sedated?” Luthar asks Serghei, never taking his eyes from Sam.

“Yes. All is as you wish.”

“Good. Assist Trini.” Luthar re-lights the candles and Serghei nods, clomping away.

Luthar waves a hand and the mist recoils, swiftly retreating through the destroyed front door and back outside. He pries open one of Sam's eyes, peering into it deeply. Satisfied, he checks Sam's pulse and the bandage on his arm one last time. He moves over to Dean, who's still unconscious in his chair. He examines Dean as he did Sam, finding all to be satisfactory.

“Nice job.”

Luthar looks up at the shadow standing in the archway to the lab. “All went relatively well. Your assistance, however, was invaluable.” He stands as the shadow steps into the lab.

“I have a vested interest in Sam's survival. He's the front runner right now, and I couldn't let some werewolf bitch screw up my plans.”

“I understand completely. I'm pleased to have been able to serve.”

The shadow steps closer, its eyes blazing yellow. “Yeah, it was great working with you again, too, Luthar. So, is it as I'd hoped in regards to Sam's blood? Were you able to completely remove the lycan elements while retaining the other desired qualities?”

“Yes. His blood make-up is as it was before the infection. I have retained a quantity of Sam's restored blood, per our agreement.”

“I hope it will come in handy,” Azazel replies.

“It will, indeed.” Luthar gestures to Dean. “Are you absolutely certain that you wish this one to remain alive? I could certainly make use of him in my work. He's delectable.”

Azazel lays a hand on Dean's head. “He is that. But he has a role to play, so for now, he gets a pass.” He turns to the third unconscious body, prone on one of the nearby worktables. “This one is still alive? It must be destroyed before—“

Luthar holds up a hand. “Yes, I know, but I felt it far too easy to destroy it myself.” He looks down at Dean. “Wouldn't it be far more interesting to have this one perform the deed?”

Azazel chuckles. “Oh, that's just too perfect. Man, I do like your style.”

Luthar steps closer. “And now, the issue of my payment.”

“Right, right. Let's get this over with. I've got to get to Bucharest in time to catch the red-eye to New York. I really, really hate flying.” Azazel places his hand on Luthar's forehead.

“Thank you,” Luthar murmurs.

“Don't mention it.”


~~~~~ *** ~~~~~~


”Dean. Wake up.”

Dean's eyes fly open to immediately squeeze shut again. Pain spikes through his head, his arms and legs stiff and heavy. “Holy shit,” he murmurs, cracking open one eye.

It takes him a moment to regain his bearings and to focus on the ruins of Luthar's lab. Faint morning light filters in through the now un-boarded windows.

“Your head will clear momentarily. Remain still for a few more minutes before trying to stand.” Luthar steps into Dean's field of vision, smiling broadly.

Dean blinks, chancing to open both eyes. Luthar looks different somehow, cleaner, neater. Radiant, almost. His Queensrÿche t-shirt clings tightly to his shoulders and chest.

Dean breathes deeply, leaning forward and placing his head in both hands. He feels totally strung out, his head pounding. He leans back, the feeling in his limbs surging to some semblance of normalcy. “Some show last night.”

“All went well.”

“Sam? Sammy?”

“We were successful.” Luthar gestures toward the exam table. “Look.”

Dean turns his head too swiftly. “Shit.” He makes to stand, and Luthar quickly steps in to assist. With the alchemist's help, he stumbles to Sam's side, laying a hand on Sam's forehead. “Hey, wavy gravy.”

“He will sleep for a few more hours. The process was extremely taxing, as you can imagine.”

Dean watches his brother for many long moments, noting his deep, even breathing. Sam looks good, peaceful. He's surprised to see that nearly all of Sam's excess body hair is gone, and Serghei's inkwork has faded considerably. “Damn, bro.”

“I assure you Sam's Wolf was successfully removed. He is as he was before the attack.”

“Yeah? He'd better be okay.” Dean whirls around, his body feeling much better but his head still fuzzy. “'Cause if he isn't, I'll end you.”

Luthar chuckles, shaking his head. “I should think a 'thank you' to be in order, but it appears that the simple satisfaction of a job well done shall have to be sufficient to sustain me.” He picks up a large duffel and slings it over a shoulder. “I remained to ensure that you had awakened without any ill effects. Your personal items are packed in the trunk of your rental car. Once Sam awakens, I would strongly suggest that you leave the area before nightfall.”

“You're a real person, man.”

“You will find some bread and bottled water in the sitting room, should you desire it.”

“You know I'm not gonna leave a good review about this place, right? Your hospitality sucks.” Dean leans on a worktable. “Who the hell is that?” He moves across the room, where someone is laid out on another worktable. He'd thought that he'd seen Serghei carrying a body last night, and here was confirmation of it. Dean gives the guy a once over, and it's clear that he's alive, relatively unmarked and definitely unconscious. “Well?”

“I thought I was clear, Dean,” Luthar drawls. “The lycan entity, once removed from Sam, had to be placed in another vessel. This is the balance that I spoke of.”

“You infected an innocent person?” Dean stares at the guy, who can't be more than twenty-five. “You never said a god damn word about anything like this.”

“A minor omission on my part.” Luthar steps toward Dean, his expression maddeningly apologetic. “I made the decision to not tell you of this, as I was quite certain that you would initially refuse. And we simply did not have the time for any more of your agonizing and hand-wringing.”

“Unbelievable. So now this guy's gonna change.”

“Yes. Tonight, as a matter of fact. But he won't have the chance. Because you will destroy him.” Luthar fishes around in his duffel, extracting Dean's Glock and tossing it to him.

Dean snags his gun easily. “You're fucking kidding me. I don't even know this guy.”

“I fail to see the significance. You're a Hunter. He's a monster. He will kill. So do what you always do, Dean. If it's of any help, Eugen is a most unsavory character.”

“You do it. You're the hot shit alchemist. Give him a shot of something.”

Luthar shakes his head. “I respectfully decline. Honestly, I feel that I have done more than enough to save Sam. Besides, your completion of the final part of the process will certainly satisfy your pathological need to be in control. To be the hero.”

“You're a total piece of shit,” Dean growls, flipping off the safety and pointing the gun at Luthar. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't pull the trigger.”

Luthar approaches Dean until the muzzle of the gun presses against the center of his chest. “Most odd, I must say. I save your brother's life, and you threaten to murder me? I am not a cold-blooded killer, Dean. I preserve life, I save life. If anyone in this room fits the definition of monster, it is you.”

Dean's hand trembles as he tries to keep the Glock steady. Luthar's eyes drill into his skull, and he averts his gaze. “Son of a bitch.” His arm falls limply to his side and he flicks the safety back on.

Luthar chuckles again. “Before I take my leave, there is one further morsel of information that I must share.” He nods to Eugen, still unconscious. “I strongly suggest that you do not consider allowing him to live. Push away any thoughts you may have about locating the loup garou and taking him to them, even though he would be welcomed.” He lays a hand on Eugen's forehead. “Sam's Wolf now resides here. And what you must know is that the Wolf is not happy with the change in venue. The Wolf is completely attuned to Sam, and will do everything in its power to return to its original host. It will not rest until it finds Sam. Ever. So the choice is yours, Dean.”

Dean glances from Sam to Eugen and back again.

“You should have plenty of time to dispose of Eugen's body and leave before Sam awakens. And Sam need never know. What is one more secret, yes?” Luthar nods. “Farewell, Dean.” He turns and strides from the house without another word.

Dean stands in the ruined lab, staring at the shards of broken glass littering the floorboards. A cool gust of wind rustles a swarm of dead leaves into the entryway, and somewhere far off, a bird cries out plaintively.

He glances over his shoulder at Sam, sliding the Glock into the waistband of his jeans.

With a deep breath, Dean moves toward Eugen, scooping him from the table and hoisting him over his shoulder.

He strides out of the house with his burden and into the nearby woods, scanning for a suitable spot for a quick, shallow grave.


~~~~~ fin ~~~~~