Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Greendale was a thriving city. 2 million people all crammed into thirty square miles. Largely filled with a young population, many job vacancies, cheap rent, low unemployment, low prisoner numbers, affordable standard of living... anybody's dream, utopian society, right?

Well, there was a reason everything was so cheap... a reason the median age was thirty too... four gangs ruled the city. The Shurleys, The Hunters, The Campbells, and the Demons. At any one time two of these gangs were friends and opposed the other two who were also friends. In the 1920s it was the Shurleys and the Hunters against the Campbells and the Demons. In the '50s it was the Campbells and the Hunters against the Shurleys and the Hunters.

And in present year, 2022, it was nobody against anybody. Everything was neutral, for now, which was good. Whenever an alliance formed, all hell was bound to break loose. 

The gangs themselves didn't employ that many people. The Hunters were the largest gang, by a lot. This was mostly due to the fact that they didn't bother anyone too much and were mostly a reactionary gang- a pseudo police force set up to stop the other three gangs from going nuts. This was, of course, after the Campbells had been set up... to do the exact same thing, but had wound up siding with the Demons.

Twenty-two years ago, Dean Winchester had a mother. Her name was Mary. Blonde hair, kind smile. She would sing him Hey Jude every night and tuck him into bed, make him rice and tomato soup when he was ill. God he missed her. But when he was four, he'd accompanied his father on a fishing trip with his uncle Bobby, and when they'd gotten back she was gone. No note, nothing. It had wrecked his dad. Months later they found her body, dead and deceased, buried in a grave with a Campbell logo on it. Dean's father, who at the time was in training to become the leader of the Hunters, was advised not to do anything. It wouldn't do to start another war over one person's death. Dean wasn't even supposed to know about the Campbell logo, it was something he'd overheard one night when he was eight and he was trying to sneak a bottle of rum out to chug with his friends.

His father had done the diplomatic thing. But when Dean was in charge, he was getting revenge. Fuck the Campbells. They were all going to hell.

"Where we headed, brother?" Benny asked, that Southern drawl of his permeating through the car. Benny'd always had a charming accent, it sounded even better when Dean was bending him over the back seat of the Impala and plowing into him. They weren't in a romantic relationship, not anymore, but man if their friendship didn't have benefits!

"West Greendale, Unit 35, I take it?" Cas snarked.

Cas was a Shurley- or at least, he'd been born one. SHOULD have been born one, was more accurate. The Shurleys were a family based clan, lead by a man-whore called 'Chuck.' Chuck had over thirty-five kids, of which he'd had four with his main wife, Eva. Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, and Gabriel, in that order. The idea with the Shurleys was that once you were of age (18), you were officially indoctrinated into the gang. Castiel had noped the fuck out of the cult- er, gang, and had instead decided to become a Hunter, the first time Dean was ever grateful for a man-whore to have gotten laid (not including himself, of course. Dean had had a wild time in his early twenties and was known all over the country for it).

"You know it."

"Dean, she's not a real psychic- they don't exist!"

"Quit yer whining." Dean rolled his eyes. "Just gonna be twenty minutes. There's a smoothie place right next to it, they do kale." Cas was a vegetarian. Apparently just because you escaped one cult didn't mean you'd escaped another. Dean could NEVER!

"Missouri's real, Cas. She told me about Marla the week before we met."

"Telling a client they'll meet someone attractive is one of the most common plays in any psychic's book. Of course you'll meet someone, there're 7 billion people on earth, 50% of whom are above average looking by the definition of the word 'average.'"

"And yet there's only one 'Marla.'" Dean internally thanked Benny for not revealing the true reason why their gang trusted Missouri so much.

She'd been the one to tell them where to find Mary. 

While John had been in the depths of his depression, she'd been the one to tell him to check the graveyard on Fourth. That was where they'd found her tombstone (Dean hadn't been allowed to look, on account of being just under five).

"What I would like to know is why Dean's going to her anyway?"

"Because my dad told me to, alright? There's signs of a new turf war starting, and things have been uncomfortably quiet for seven years ago, that's never a good sign."

"'Seven?' Bit superstitious now, aren't we Dean?"

"Yeah, well fuck you." Dean rolled his eyes, turning into the parking lot.

And now, for the funniest part of the day: Cas insisting that him and Benny tag along to see Missouri despite 'not believing in psychics.'

"I thought psychics weren't real." Dean taunted his best friend.

"Well if John's convinced a turf war is about to start, how can we be sure it's safe for you to go in alone?"

"Missouri's a psychic, she'd know to hide and warn me if there was danger coming her way."

"Deannn!"

"Dean? Dean Winchester?" A light, joyous voice called from overhead. Missouri descended from her loft, bright fabrics waving about her, beautiful smile on her face, and keen eyes flickering over the three of them as if she were analysing their life stories in the moment. "Ah! And you brought the short grumpy one! Nice to see ya again, Cas!" Dean and Benny both stifled giggles as Cas tersely bowed a greeting to the woman before she turned to Dean. "Come along, I'd be happy to see ya! You fellas can go enjoy those smoothies, Dean and I need to talk about something real quick!"

.

"She said there's a war coming." Dean sipped on the mango and papaya smoothie that Cas had bought for him.

"Okay... then just make it not come." Cas shrugged. "Prove her wrong, don't play into it."

Benny and Dean both ignored their friend and stared at each other. "She said tomorrow... nine o'clock. Something big's gonna happen, she can feel it. She says I'm gonna be involved somehow, and that I need to 'be careful.'" Dean ignored the look Castiel shot him as he said those words. Yes understood that what he was saying was an exact description of what Cas said psychics would do to get you to believe in them- be vague and state a few specificities to capture your attention- but this was different somehow. He trusted her.

"Well that's how you know it's a lie right there. You've never woken up before noon the entire time I've known you." 

"Alright then, chief. Be up by 8:30?"

"Sounds like a date!" They both ignored the exasperated Castiel declaring that he'd be taking the bus home. Grumpy short person syndrome. Shake Dean's head.

Chapter Text

Samuel Wesson was born Samuel Campbell II roughly 22 years ago to his mother, Mary, who died a few months after his birth from a disease. After this, he was raised by his grandfather, Samuel, and his grandmother, Deanna. Naturally, as soon as he hit eighteen (and a half), he fled. He didn't want to be a part of gang life, so he fled to university, far away: Stanford. He'd been about to enter his third year, last year, when his block had caught on fire. His girlfriend hadn't made it. Sam'd been crushed and without direction in his life. He'd wound up moving back to Greendale, figuring it was the least likely place for his family to look for him now that so many years had passed, and had assumed a fake name: Samuel Wesson. They'd all thought he wanted to be a law student, live on the straight and narrow. Nobody would've assumed he'd be working as a tattoo artist while doubling as a bartender in order to pay the bills (tattoo parlours weren't popular unless you were gang affiliated.)

Sam wiped down the bar he'd been tending the previous night- he'd been too tired to fix it up back then, his shift ending at four A.M. when the bar closed. He had a tattoo job right after lunch- a young girl, just turned eighteen, wanted a unicorn rockstar on her arm in remembrance of an old imaginary friend she'd had growing up. Sam could relate, he too had had an imaginary friend growing up: granted, his had been a jolly, fun guy who made him pancakes for breakfast and was a joy to be around, and he'd been able to conceptualise this despite being raised by the Campbells, so clearly Sam was the winner on the imagination front.

The doors of the bar burst open. Sam peeked his head out, "Sorry, we're clo-" his words caught in his mouth.

Gangbangers.

.

Shootout. There'd been a shootout near Michaelson's and 80. Of course Dean volunteered to check it out with Benny. Rumour had it that it was Shurleys vs Demons. Cas volunteered to come along too. John was grateful. He did not trust his eldest. Not with a penny, and definitely not with a case like this. Too impulsive, that one. Good thing Adam existed, so if Dean ever DID do something beyond stupid and, God forbid, get himself killed the Hunters wouldn't be completely without a leader.

Dean parked the Impala right off the end of the street, a good two hours after when the shooting had happened. He smirked at Cas the entire ride, as Cas responded '9:09, not 9:00,' the sulky bitch. 

The gunfire would be clear, Dean knew. The shootout had happened over two hours ago, it was now 11. They were just here to confirm if the rumours were true, because if they were, if another turf war was brewing, they needed to pick an ally and fast. The Campbells were out. John might not've declared war on them for Mary, but they were sure as hell never allying themselves with them.

"Scene looks clear. They either cleaned up well or it's a false alarm." Probably sent by Missouri to keep herself in business, Cas thought to himself.

"No," Benny sniffed the air. "There's something here alright. Smells like... smells like cocaine... probably a drug deal gone wrong." Benny frowned. "Smells like there was a bit of a fire here too. Maybe someone's ditching evidence."

A gunshot rang out. They all jumped, looking for cover before six more rang out. Cas and Benny both made it to the car, Dean just slightly lagging behind them. 

"Ah!" Dean grunted as a bullet hit him in the abdomen, grazing over an area unprotected by his bulletproof vest (always come prepared). In the time it took him to open the door and get in, another one hit him in the hand. Braving the pain, Dean sped out of the street.

"Dude, we gotta get you to a hospital, man." Benny stared, wide-eyed at the amount of blood leaving Dean's hand.

"No time for that." Hospitals always asked too many Goddamned questions. "Pull over." Castiel ordered. "I have a bullet kit in the car." He ignored the looks shot his way by the other two. "We just need to find somewhere with a running water supply and Dean will be okay. There! That bar! Pull over!"

"Have you ever even done 'bullet removal surgery?'" Dean huffed, pain emanating in every crevice of his body. Benny went over to help him into the bar.

"The correct term is 'performed.'"

"It's locked." Benny commented, trying to open the door.

Castiel rolled his eyes. It was like the other two weren't even in a gang or some bullshit like that. He kicked the door open.

Inside was a brown-haired male, tall. Castiel wasted no time. "We need to use your bathroom."

"Anyone after you?" The man asked.

"Not to my knowledge." Castiel shook his head. 

The man cursed. "OK, quickly, then get out." He said the last part with hostility that meant Cas knew the man meant trouble if they did not obey. Not interested in allowing his two companions to stroke their egos with the man once this was over, he ushered them over to the sign with the man and woman symbols on it.

"What a prissy bitch." Benny commented once they were out of earshot.

"Tell me about it." Dean rolled his eyes.

The man reappeared in the bathroom stall suddenly, a wild look in his eyes. "You three need to leave. There are people after you."

"Who?" Gunshots rang out in the bar. It was then that Dean noticed that the man was holding a gun of his own. "Go. Quickly."

"I'll help." Benny got up, but the brown-haired man stopped him. 

"Help your friend. All this noise is gonna attract the cops, you won't want to be here when they show up. GO." The door to the bathroom was kicked in and then Dean saw Benny take out his gun as the stranger and Benny proceeded to shoot the five men attacking them in the chest. Wow, this guy was a good shot... probably a gangbanger himself... but then why would he be all alone? No gangbanger was stupid enough to be in a public area without backup. Who left their house without someone to potentially ID their body? Dean could NEVER.

"Guys, we need to leave, the police will be here any second."

"And you can't just sew up a wound, you need to clean it with rubbing alcohol first." The man tossed them a bottle of Dettol. "Now get."

.

Sam had a fun time explaining to the police how three gang members had broken into the bar and held him at gun point, stealing three bottles of their finest bourbon, before some other gang's members had shown up and had a shootout while Sam hid, waiting for it all to end. What a shame they only had cameras outside the bar and not inside of it (and what a shame Sam was such a big fan of Bourbon). He got a week's paid leave after neglecting to mention to his employer that what he'd experienced had been a typical Tuesday morning in the Campbell household growing up- but with less yelling and less getting told off for being a pansy because he didn't want to take an aim at some jackass criminal's head before breakfast.

Sam retired to his tattoo parlour where his punching bag was set up. He let loose a few rounds before wiping the sweat off of his face and shirting up for his tattoo session with the little girl.

.

"Dean, I heard what happened, are you okay?" Dean's little brother, Adam, asked, running up to him.

"Yeah, just peachy." Dean winced as Adam hugged him.

John and Kate were nothing like John and Mary, but one accidental pregnancy later and Adam was officially part of the family. His mom and him lived on gang property, though Kate and John were never an item.

"What happened down there?" John asked, entering the room with Bobby and Rufus.

"We were scouting around the place, which was empty, Benny mentioned it might've been a drug deal gone wrong, then BAM! Suddenly there were bullets everywhere and I caught a few of them, so we decided to patch me up in the closest bar- we needed running water. Then turns out the guys followed us in there so we shot 'em and ran." John nodded, the events sounded plausible.

"Well, as soon as the bodies are IDed, we'll be headed to war with the perps. Saddle up, men. This is just the beginning." John announced.

.

3 Days Later, no ID on the bodies, they'd all been cremated.

Son. Of. A...

Chapter Text

Despite his father's orders, Dean went back to the site, this time with even more bullet protection. He was decked from head to toe in riot gear, he looked like a special police force member. Dean had never been known for his common sense, and this was definitely not one of his better judgements, but he was vindictive if nothing else and he'd be damned if he wasn't getting revenge for the two holes he got put in him three days prior. He'd gone down to the hospital that'd taken the guys that morning, asking around for anything that might hint at a gang affiliation, but he'd gotten zilch. The problem was that he was too recognisable, the same was true of Benny. Cas- Cas had always been good at blending in, the trouble was getting him to do so. Always such a stick in the mud.

Dean checked around for anything traceable: cigarette butts, empty shell casings, the works. Nothing. He couldn't find a damn thing, it was like the whole place had been scrubbed clean.

.

"Thanks again, Lucifer." Sam nodded to the older blond man sitting opposite from him, up on the counter while Sam cleaned glasses at the bar .

"Anytime, Sugar Pie." He winked. Lucifer was about five years older than Sam. They'd met given that they were both part of the head family of their respective gangs. The Shurleys had needed the Campbells help moving some cargo when Sam was younger, and Chuck had brought Lucifer and Michael over along with him. Michael was... kind of scary. He just sat there and glared a lot. Lucifer was a menace... but he was oddly nice to Sam. In hindsight, that might have been why Michael glared at him so much, rumour had it that the brothers were inseparable and Sam supposed that Michael's animosity towards Sam stemmed from him believing that Sam had been the one to infiltrate Lucifer's head with such thoughts as 'gangs are stupid' and 'I don't want to be in a gang.'

Of course Lucifer's desire to not be in a gang hadn't lasted as long as Sam's had. Lucifer might not be an inner-circle Shurley anymore (he'd had a falling out with Chuck and Michael), but he was still a gangbanger. Gabriel, meanwhile, Lucifer's youngest full-brother, whom Sam had never met, had officially left. He'd faked his death, according to Lucifer, and skidaddled. ''round about the same time you left for Stanford, Sammy.' Lucifer was one of two people who knew that Sam was back. Neither were from his gang. He couldn't help it, he'd always trusted Lucifer, ever since that encounter during their gangs' coalition. It also helped that they'd had a romantic history prior to Sam leaving.

"I let loose a rumour that the five killed were Hunters and that the Campbells did it. Given that the men I IDed were Campbells, that oughta throw everyone into a right mess for a while, long enough to avoid coming here to bother you." Lucifer added. "I also hid some clues around the hospital that point to the Demons in case anyone goes there."

"I don't know what I'd do without you." Seriously, Sam's cover would've been blown if Lucifer hadn't covered for him. If Lucifer hadn't suggested a safe corner of town to pick up work in, where nobody would recognise him.

"No problem, it's fun really. Thank you kiss?" Lucifer smirked, pointing at his cheek. 

Sam rolled his eyes fondly. They weren't in a romantic relationship anymore, hadn't been for a while, but Lucifer still loved to do that thing where he turned his face at the last moment so that Sam was kissing him, and Sam was supposed to act surprised when he did it so he didn't hurt his old friend's feelings. Not that he minded though. Lucifer was still hot as ever. Would probably be a stud till forty, then a DILF after that. 

Sure enough, Sam leaned in and the aforementioned scenario unfolded. Sam moaned into the kiss as Lucifer explored his mouth with his tongue, giving it a deep clean. Lucifer sucked on Sam's bottom lip a bit as he pulled away. "Fuck I missed that mouth of yours. We should get together sometime."

"Absolutely." Empty promises.

"Well, I've gotta get to a meeting with the old man and Michael. See ya, Samshine!"

"By Lucie-lou!" Sam teased with the nickname he knew Lucifer hated more than anything else. He heard the door click shut and got back to work cleaning glasses.

.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Dean had searched every nook and cranny. He'd eventually given up and decided he needed a beer.

He went to the closest place, which of course was the bar that Cas'd tried stitching him up in. He opened the glass door, entering the dingy, dimly-lit, yellow-chrome room, heading over to the mahogany bar in the centre.

Oh look. The same bartender. The man looked at him as he entered and his eyes went comically wide. Still, he seemed to know better than to smart-talk a gang member, especially when all members of his one-person party were alive and well-ready to kick the guy's ass into next Wednesday and steal all the money behind the bar and get him in trouble for two gang-related incidents in the same week. Would probably get a schmuck like him fired.

"Hi, what can I get you?" The man asked, keeping his eyes down so that his bangs just covered them.

"One beer please."

"What kind?"

"Estrella?"

"Ooh, driving are we?"

"Better a car than a gun, am I right? Speaking of, where'd you learn to shoot yours?"

"Wha- I-?"

"Talk." Dean drew his gun on the man. Not the smartest move, but Dean was tired, and angry, and frustrated. Hot-headed people really needed better gun-supervision. "I saw you shoot those men, with deadly accuracy."

"My-my father used to take me shooting on the weekends."

"Bull. You don't get that kind of precision shooting game. You also knew how to treat a bullet-wound."

"I shot myself a lot the first few times we went out."

"Liar. What gang are you in."

"I'm sorry, Mr., I'm not in any gang."

"Bull. Those other guys, they couldn't ID 'em, means you had something to with them."

"Sir, I'm not in a gang." The man repeated.

"What's your name, boy?" Yes, Dean knew he sounded like his father right about now, but he didn't care. He was in a foul mood, and this bartender wasn't helping.

"Sam."

"Sam what?"

"Wesson. Sam Wesson." Sam'd almost said Campbell, Good Lord. Good thing that hundreds of hours of interrogation practice courtesy of both the Campbells and Lucifer had prepared him for something like this.

"'Wesson.'" Dean repeated the name, frowning. He didn't know of any families named 'Wesson.'

"Yeah. I moved here from California last year."

Dean frowned even harder. "Hippie... you shouldn't know how to use a gun at all."

"That's why I moved. All that anti-gun rhetoric." Sam breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed the man lowering his gun. "And what about you? What's your name?"

"If I told you, I'd have to shoot you."

"You were about to."

"Yeah, but I didn't." Dean said defensively. If he had shot Sam without proper provocation, he'd be gunless for a month at least. Boring. "Thanks for the drink." He slammed the five dollars needed to pay for it down and walked off.

"No tip. Classic." Sam rolled his eyes, a testament to how fucked up his childhood was that that was the big disappointment for the night. He turned around and continued to set up. It was nine now, which meant that customers were about to start showing up.

Chapter Text

"Where were you last night?" Cas hissed at Dean as they all sat seated in the gang's main meeting room: The Roadhouse, run by one Ms. Ellen Harvelle. The Winchesters and the Harvelles were close, Dean'd practically grown up with Ellen's daughter, Jo. He considered her a sister, he smiled fondly. SHE of course had a crush on him, not that he could blame her, everyone had a crush on him. Again, he had a: Sex God status that, while largely acquired during his youth, was still valid to the day. Aw, who was he kidding? 26 was still young.

"Sleeping with your wife."

"Haha, very funny." Cas wasn't married, nor did he have a girlfriend. Heck, if Dean didn't know any better, he'd think the guy had a crush on him. "Dean, we're in the middle of a very tense situation right now, you better not have done anything stupid."

Dean thought back to how he'd pointed a gun at that bartender from the previous night. "Nothing too stupid. Just went back to that lot to check for any clues. Came back empty so I grabbed a drink and came home."

"You didn't go back to that bar again, did you?" Dean's silence was all the confession Cas needed. "You stupid, stupid man."

"I had to check. You saw that guy, too familiar with a gun to not be a gangbanger. Not to mention the perps were cremated and no traces linking back to any gangs were found on 'em, even though we know that's bull."

"Yes, and you should be very happy that there were no traces linking back to us at that scene either." Cas reminded him. He paused for a moment. "So... is he...?"

"He says he's not, but I still think it's a load of crap. Says his name is 'Sam Wesson.'"

"Did you check if it's true."

"Not yet."

"What're y'all whisperin' on about?" Benny slid next to them. Benny was... clearly hungover. Dean gave his friend a nod that doubled as a fist-bump. Benny replied in kind. 

"Dean went back to the bar." Castiel groaned. Such a fussy little man.

"Oh, that's nice? You shoot the 'tender?"

"No." Dean replied. "Says he's not gang-affiliated."

"And you BELIEVED him?"

"NO! 'Course not. I'll run a list of cams for the past month in that area, see who he's been dealing with. THEN we can shoot him."

"Clever."

"We're not shooting anyone." Castiel hissed just as John walked in.

"Men. Ladies. We have a situation on our hands." John announced, grimly. Dean winced as he drank in the sight of his father. It was clear that the man hadn't shaved that day. He looked so tired and old, older than usual that was, the man was 50. "2 of our men vanished just off the south side of town last night, and it's not just as. 7 of Shurley's too. 2 Demons found drunk and passed out with guns by Mainsfield and 80. Asmodeus hasn't answered any of our questions, so we've assumed it's him. Either way, Chuck wants war, and we're his allies."

"So we're fighting, dad?" Adam asked from the front row. Dean couldn't be bothered, best that John didn't see him lest Dean discover that there was a reason Cas was so worried about his whereabouts the previous night (hint: John asking where Dean was).

"Not yet. Now we're trying to de-escalate things, but it seems most likely that we will fight. Two of Shurley's dead are members of the Angel squad." The Angel Squad, the one Cas was supposed to have been on on account of being one of Chuck's children. Chuck may not be a very present father to his outer-children, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let someone waltz in and murder his children either, not without answering whatever questions that he and John had most likely sent to Asmodeus. 

"Should we begin assuming guard then?" Dean stood up to ask his father.

"No. Not yet. We've got mercs for that. We've gotta start setting up booby-traps though, keep the Demons at bay." John shifted his gaze to Bobby. "You and Dean can get started on that. I'll head out with Ellen and Jim, see what we can find out about that whole mess, see if there's anything in there to clear the Demons' name." Just hearing that, Dean knew his father knew that it was a lost cause. The Demons were a deplorable gang known for human-trafficking amongst other things, if someone was going to start a gang war Dean had no doubt that it would have been them.

"Roger."

.

Azazel entered the barn where he was due to meet his contact. He was clad in a trench coat, hoping to hide from the night itself. It was very dangerous to be sneaking around behind Asmodeus's back, but what needed to be done needed to be done. Asmodeus had brought the Demons into ruin, and he was not even the true king. Everybody knew that. The true king was one of Noble Blood. Asmodeus was the third in a line of non-nobility to reign over the Demons, the grandson of a 'democratically' elected Emperor chosen to lead them after the death of Satan, their first king.

A blond man with short hair wearing a black leather jacket met him. "I brought the phones you asked for." He handed them to Azazel.

"Excellent. Now hurry on back, don't want anybody getting too suspicious." The man's eyes twinkled, flashing yellow. What could Azazel say, he had the Gift of vision, same as any other gang-psychic.

"Alright there, chief." The man turned and walked away.

Man was he lucky that Azazel was choosing not divulge his name...

Chapter Text

Sam walked back to his apartment which hung just above the bar on a well-deserved break before he had to go tat some more people up. He was carrying groceries from a quick run he'd made that morning.

It was nerve-wracking, constantly having to watch over your shoulder. He wore glasses- a fake pair, but with photochromatic lenses so that when he was in bright spaces he could make an excuse for why nobody could see his eyes. He purposefully walked in bright spaces. Still, his eyes kept a search for any of the regulars: Christian, Gwen, Ava-Marie, John. Christian, he knew, would be heir with Sam gone. If he of all people found Sam alive, there would be calls for Sam's head. He liked to think Gwen would help him hide, he'd always liked her more than any of his other cousins (yes, even during that brief period of time when Lucifer and her had a thing even though he knew Lucifer was just trying to rile him up).

Nobody gang-related ever visited this side of town, but ever since that gang-guy (Sam had looked him up everywhere- nothing!) had shown up on the bar's doorstep, Sam had been paranoid. He wanted to think it was just a freak occurrence, but Sam was smarter than that, usually when gangs started frequenting unfamiliar places it was because a turf war was about to start- and a sick part was kind of hoping that a few certain someones wouldn't make it through this new one.

.

Dean finished rigging the door to the ammo store. They'd already emptied the place and moved it back to the main compound. Next they'd get the bar's bathroom.

"We got anything else after this?" Benny asked.

"Camera set-up." Grunted Bobby, tying up the last rope. Whichever poor soul set their foot through here would have it blown clean off. "With those attacks you boys faced near the town centre, John wants more surveillance in that area. We'll move in the night."

"Which areas are we covering."

"Michaelson's and 80, and the rest of the central town. It'll be useful too, we can have eyes there for the war."

"But there's still no guarantee of a war, is there?" Benny clarified.

"It's all but guaranteed. Asmodeus called John an hour ago and confessed to nothing."

"So Shurley will demand recompense for his sons." Benny finished. "Fuck."

"You got that right. So what? Us and the Shurleys up against the Campbells and the Demons?"

"Looks like." Bobby nodded. "Campbells've been cosying up to them the last half decade, ever since Samuel Campbell and Chuck had that infamous falling out." The Shurleys had accused the Campbells of cheating them out of a cargo deal. Dean 100% believed that. Chuck was a hardass and a manipulator, but he wasn't a liar. Samuel Campbell though? Biggest liar in the land, and his heir, Christian, was no exception either.

"Let's get that bathroom then so we can head out." Dean rattled his keys, signalling for Benny to get into the Impala.

.

Asmodeus sat on his throne, rhythmically tapping his fingers on the ends of the armrests. 

Two of his demons were dead, and several members of the Shurley and Winchester gangs were dead too. The Winchesters and Shurleys were both blaming him, but he'd done nothing wrong. They must want a war. "Abbadon... call Samuel Campbell up. Tell him we've got a situation we need to discuss."

His sister, a fiesty redhead, smiled one of those creepy smiles of hers. "Sure thing, brother."

.

Dean set up a camera in the back alley of a bar. Not the bar with that weirdo bartender (Sam? It was either Sam or Bob or Ben... urgh, he hated common names, they were always so hard to remember), this one was called 'Scooters.' Bobby and Benny were camming up the grocery store nearby. Suddenly, a blond man appeared. He was followed closely by a brunette. He thought he vaguely recognised the blond: Lucifer Shurley, wasn't it? The man drew a gun. 

"What are you doing?" He hissed, glaring at Dean so harshly he automatically took a step back.

"Woah, woah." Dean spread his hands. "We're on the same team, dude."

"I don't know who you are, or what you're doing here-"

"I'm a Hunter!"

Lucifer's eyes widened and he took his shot. Dean dodged the bullet mostly, but it still found its way into his arm. He knocked the gun out of Lucifer's hand and slugged him in the face before making his getaway to the Impala (he had, stupidly, assumed that since the lot was empty that he wouldn't need his gun, and had left it in the Impala). As Dean slid in a bullet hit him in his arm (the same arm as the first bullet). He hightailed it out of that lot. 

Dean didn't know what to do. He was in immense pain, and home territory was too far away. Going to a hospital would come with unnecessary complications and likely law-enforcement interference.  

Buuut... Dean cursed. But he was only four blocks away from that bar.

Dean caved. The guy clearly knew something about bullet-removal, if their first encounter was any indicator.

He walked in through the door, that ungodly bell ringing once more, and faced the startled bartender. "Hey... I'm going to need some help."

.

Sam's eyes widened as McDouche walked into the bar. Again. Bleeding and limping. Again. This isn't the ER, Sam wanted to scold, but he had no time for that given that the last time something like this had happened there'd been a shootout. He didn't think he'd be able to go unnoticed as the survivor of two shootouts. He needed to help the guy while getting him out of here fast.

"We can't stay here. Whoever's chasing you's gonna come." Sam grabbed his jacket, and turned the bar's sign so it said 'closed.' "Come on, let's go."

Chapter Text

"Where are we going?" Dean asked, his lips dry and chapped from the coldness of the night. He hadn't lost much blood, thank God, it seemed that the bullet wounds were superficial. 

"Little shop just two more streets away. Come on, you'll be fine." Sam rolled his eyes. God this dude was heavy.

They made it to the tattoo parlour. Sam unlocked the door and helped Dean in. "Get your shirt off, let's take a look at those wounds."

Dean complied, though both bullets were lodged in his left arm. He felt some relief at the rush of cold air washing over his chest though. Sam disappeared to grab an icepack from his freezer as Dean sat himself up on the tattoo chair.

"Who shot you this time?" Sam asked snarkily, handing Dean an icepack.

"Dunno. Some blond dude with a brunette just outside of Scooters." Sam hadn't been expecting an actual answer, but immediately the hairs on his arm raised. Blond guy? Brunette? Christian and Gwen? Fuck!

"You know 'em?"

"No." Dean lied. He was 99% sure that it had been Lucifer and one of his many, infamous broads. But why would Lucifer shoot him? They were ALLIES. 

"Hold still." Sam took the gauze into his mouth as he removed the first bullet from Dean's arm. Dean winced. It was always painful when a bullet got removed. And yes, Dean knew that this was dangerous- if Sam made a mistake Dean could bleed out and there'd be no way to save him. But Sam removed it like an expert. Sam then cleaned it with some Bourbon he had in this weird freakshop place. Dean winced. Alcohol on a wound hurt. Sam then covered it in cotton and used the gauze he'd been holding between teeth to wrap it up. "Alright. The next one looks deeper... I think you're going to need stitches." He went back to grab his sewing kit.

"You keep a sewing kit in here?" Dean winced, clutching his head with his uninjured arm. He felt a little lightheaded. 

"I keep a sewing kit everywhere." Dean rolled his eyes at the smirk he didn't see. Sam made his way back into Dean's frame of reference. "Alright, time for the other hand. I've got some pain pills on me if you want 'em."

"What kind?"

"The legal kind." Fair. Dean accepted the bar of granola (ew) that Sam handed him, and then took the two white pills he was passed. 

"How do I know I'm not gonna wake up in the back of an alley somewhere with my organs cut out?"

"Trust me, pal. If I'd wanted your organs, I'd've gotten 'em by now." This conversation was getting uncomfortably friendly. Dean didn't fraternize with non-Hunters.

"So. You learn all this from shooting yourself by accident, huh?"

"Shooting my dad too. Good times." Sam began to pull out the last bullet.

"What kind of stuff DID you hunt out in California?"

"Mostly coyotes and bears. My dad worked for the National Parks division. He'd take me along with him and his buddies whenever they got called out to an attack site."

"And what, six-year-old you got off on bear hunting?"

"Har har, no. Just father-son stuff. I take it you're not overly involved with yours."

Who the hell did this guy think he was? Dean gritted his teeth as Sam cut deep into his skin to remove the bullet. "Sorry my dad didn't find it appropriate to shoot animals in front of me, it's almost like he loves me or something."

"At least mine didn't let me join a gang." And here Sam was, bullshitting, but whoever this guy was, if he was going to keep infiltrating Sam's hiding space, Sam's cover story needed to be believable. And if Sam got arguable enough that the guy never wanted to come back, then all the better. For fuck sake, if he'd brought Christian and Gwen to the bar... Sam needed to be more precautious, he reasoned. At least for a few months, just lay-low, maybe even quit bartending. 

"You don't know a thing about my father."

"Nor you about mine." Sam said, shortly. "Lay back, you've lost a fair amount of blood."

"What is this place?"

"Tattoo parlour."

"You're into tattoos?" Dean snorted. "You seem a little too straight and narrow for that."

"I'm a bartender and I own a gun, how's that straight and narrow?"

"Yeah, but like... gangbangers and bikers..."

"I did a tattoo on a little girl last week that'd just survived Leukemia. You don't have a monopoly on them." Sam rolled his eyes.

"You have any tats?"

"A few." Sam's eyes fell on the one right over Dean's chest. A pentagram. Hunter. His blood boiled, but he didn't give away that he recognised it. Sam'd had his gang's one too, but he'd had it removed the second he'd stepped foot in Stanford. It was also a pentagram (The Campbells were the original hunters, after all) but in purple ink as opposed to the man in front of him's black. All he had now were Jess's name on the small of his back and one small 'x' on his inner thigh (his first tattoo, he'd gotten it the night before his eighteenth birthday (Campbell Initiation Day). Lucifer'd done it. He hadn't wanted his gang to be the ones to mark him up first. "Nice tat."

"Thanks. Let's see yours." Of course the Hunter would want to check him for tattoos. He was still convinced that Sam was the member of a gang. Sam removed his shirt and showed him the one of Jess's name on the small of his back. "Thought you said you had 'a few'."

"The other one's in an unmentionable place." Sam gave the man a wink. That got Dean's attention. 

"Almost forgot you were Californian- you seemed normal for all of three seconds."

"Har har, old man. You feeling okay or you need a nap?" Actually, a nap didn't sound too bad. "I've got to get back to the bar. You can rest here, but don't park in front of the bar again, you'll attract gangbangers."

"You've got nothing to fear, you're not in one."

"And I don't want to be forced to join one either," Sam said, deathly serious. "So if you're going to invite yourself into the bar at all hours of the day, fine, but don't park out front." Hmmm, it almost sounded like an invitation from the snarky bartender. "What's your name, anyway? I can't keep calling you 'dude' or 'douchebag' in my head."

"Dean. Dean Smith." 21:00.

Chapter Text

"What happened?" Sam blinked when Lucifer came in the next morning

"Got into a fistfight with a drunkard." Lucifer rolled his eyes. 

"You doing coke again?" 

"Why, you want some?" Lucifer winked.

"We're not going down that road again."

"Aw... coked out Sammy was a cute Sammy." Coked out Sammy was a violent Sammy who'd once attacked both Christian and his grandfather with a knife. He'd been forcibly sent to rehab for that one, but he'd escaped. It was probably one of the reasons nobody had looked for him when he'd run away to Stanford, not even his grandmother. "Minimal amount of coke needed to keep a man alive. How're things going over in here then?"

"Not great." Sam admitted. "Boss's still kinda pissed about that incident from last week, and I take it the upcoming turf war isn't going to make things better?"

"How'd you know about that?"

"I keep an ear in." Sam wiped down the bar. "Who're you siding with?"

"Hunters, obviously."

"Figures." Sam said, bitter.

"Aw, Sammy, you know how I feel about them. It's not going to change because of some turf war." Sam's mother had been raped by a Hunter once, Sam was the product of it. Everybody knew this story. "You need some backup in here? Keep you safe from all... this?"

"Thanks, Lucifer, but it's not a good idea to have gang members around this place, might attract unwanted attention. 'sides, I can handle myself. You know that." Lucifer was, after all, the reason Sam's aim was so good. 

"If you need anything, don't hesitate, because-"

"He who hesitates disintegrates." They both said together. Lucifer smiled at Sam like a puppy- a psycho puppy, but still a puppy. The older man then took his leave.

.

Dean had left Sam's tattoo parlour before midnight hit. He'd texted Bobby and Benny to let them know he was safe. He retrieved the Impala and went back to base to get an ear-chewing from his father.

Benny whistled. "That bar boy sure is good around a bullet. You sure we shouldn't invite 'im over here?"

"I don't think he'd want that. He seems pretty anti-gang."

"Damn pity, ain't it? And he's sure got a nice ass too." Dean blushed at the words. The previous night, when he was drunk and loopy, Sam had shown him the small of his back- had shown him a tattoo on the small of his back... okay, yeah sure, the guy was cute. He was still a security threat though. Dean wasn't buying his 'California Dream' story. No way would someone from California be dumb enough to move to Gangbang-Kansas! And wasn't it so interesting that the kid was stationed squarely in the one area of town not under gang occupation? No way an outsider would know that. Either he was the luckiest guy on the planet or he was bluffing. Dean was determined to find out.

"He's alright looking for a tall guy. Fuck Benny, you into that?"

Benny shrugged. "First time for everything."

"I guess. Where's Cas?"

"Counting up our ammo. Your dad's been pretty clear that you're not allowed anywhere near it."

"What? He thinks it's my fault I keep getting shot? If something's after me wouldn't the sane thing to do be making sure I'm stocked up?"

"I don't make the rules, brother, just enforce 'em. Now get! You smell like a bloodbank- and not the good kind."

.

"Do you have the IDs I asked for?" Azazel asked the blond man in front of him. 

"Here you go, sir. One Mr. Dean Winchester, and one Mr. Samuel Campbell Jr.."  

Chapter Text

Dean sat at the Roadhouse, bitterly nursing a shot of whiskey. Jo was the only other person in the bar, the only other person not currently on the job.

The only other person with an overprotective parent. Even Adam had a job to do.

"They're just doing it because they love us." Jo said through gritted teeth. 

"That's what we're supposed to believe, ain't it? I mean, I'm 26 and you're 20. We're old enough to be out there, more than."

"Where'd you go? To get your bullet out, where'd you go?"

"Cas, Benny and I met this bartender."

"A bartender that just happens to know how to remove a bullet and perform stitches?" Wow, geez, Jo sounded an awful lot like his father had the previous night.

"Says he went hunting a lot as a kid, got used to fixing his own wounds." Dean locked eyes with Jo. They both had a good chuckle over that one.

"You interrogate him yet?"

"Pointed my gun at him, still considering some good old-fashioned waterboarding."

"Alastair's most prized pupil." Jo teased, and even though Dean tried not to let it get to him it still hurt. When he'd first signed up for gang life he'd just wanted to catch rogue gang members from other gangs. That was what Hunters did.

He hadn't planned on getting first-hand torturing lessons courtesy of one Mr. Alastair Wilkinson after being captured by the Demons and held hostage for four months as repayment for a debt he'd incurred playing pool against some demons. He hadn't had the money needed to pay them, and John was disappointed in him to the point of not helping him pay it off. Dean'd had to perform four months of labour for them... that labour was torturing people- other people who had failed to pay their own debts. Dean shuddered. It was a time he never wanted to relive.

He cracked a smile anyway though. He'd always crack a smile for Jo, she was like a little sister to him. He remembered changing her diapers when she was a baby. "Yeah, I guess I could always crack a whip on him if it came down to him." Jo giggled at that. So cute.

"What does your father think about him? I'm guessing you've told him."

"I did. He thinks we should leave him alone. He thinks the kid's suspicious but doesn't seem like a threat." Dean hadn't had much of a choice about whether or not to divulge Sam's info to John, not when news of that first shootout in the bar had broken. "He doesn't even think it's worth a scout."

"Which I take it means that you intend to launch a full-fledged investigation into the poor boy?" 

"Hey, he's got booze, and I like booze."

.

"You know you owe me like $50 for the last time you were in here too." Sam groaned. This was the sixth time he'd run into Dean Smith. It seemed that stitches weren't enough to keep the dirty-blond away. Nor was the buzz of 11PM nightlife.

"Sue me for checking if you were worth whatever pennies you pick up in this place."

"Bartending's a lucrative business. Lots to be made in the way of tips, hint hint." Sam looked at Dean expectantly before continuing to tend. There was a drunk girl on his far right. Sam asked her if she wanted him to call an uber for her, and she accepted. 

"Then why've you got to tat on the side?"

"Saving up for a Harley." 

"Thought you weren't a gangbanger."

"But I am a tatter, and as we established on Tuesday..." Sam shrugged. "Another rum I assume?" 

"Top shelf. I'll clear my tab tonight."

"Why're you here so often anyway? Isn't there a gang war going on? Wouldn't your gang need you?"

"My, aren't you nosy?"

"Let me guess, daddy told you to heel."

Dean grabbed Sam's collar, pulling him down and in. "Thought I told you to watch your mouth on my dad."

"Guess I forgot about your daddy issues." Sam smiled, all teeth. Yeah, he knew it was stupid to provoke a gang member, but:

a) He was itching for a fight. What could he say, he was never known for minding his mouth. And in all honesty it had been a while since he'd been in a fistfight

b) Dean was a Hunter. Hunters didn't harm civillians, or at least they weren't supposed to.

c) God Dean was fun to rile up. Short angry guy, like Lucifer but less scary.

d) Dean was a Hunter. Sam HATED hunters (see (b), everyone knew after all... about Sam's mom... about Sam...)

Sam slipped out of Dean's hold and went to clean a few of the glasses on the counter. Busy night.

"I could shoot you, you know." Dean remarked, nursing his new glass of rum. 

"Then who'd you get to stitch up your wounds?" Sam said it with satisfaction. Back when he was younger he'd gotten quite a few black eyes from screwing with Christian. Dean wasn't half the animal Christian was, but he was still a Hunter. He remembered a particular incident when Christian had somehow managed to shoot himself and Sam had managed to make him angry to the point that Christian had strangled him even with a shot-up arm. Sam turned to a new girl on his far right who ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. Ooh, someone was driving home tonight.

"Ya know, those stitches you did on me the other night were pretty good. You ever go to med school or something?"

"Dated a vet once. Didn't work out."

"Way outta your league?"

"Cheating on her boyfriend with me while her boyfriend was stationed in Afghanistan."

Dean whistled. "How'd ya find out?"

"A fist to the face when he got back." Sam chuckled. He still had a scratch on his back, the tiniest little thing, from where Don had beaten him into a table and he'd had to get stitches. Honestly, fuck Amelia.

"Was she worth it?"

"She was 30, I was 19-going-on-20... so hell yeah. Ever date an older woman?"

"No." Dean snorted. "I don't 'date'. But yeah, had a couple around."

"Mommy issues too?"

"You know, you're really pushing it tonight pal. I've had like four drinks, wouldn't take a lot to set me off." Dean warned.

"Awww... share with the class."

"You know, I really don't think that's any of your business-"

"What? Big, mean Hunter-" 

"I said can it, okay?!" Dean didn't realise how loud he'd just yelled. The entire bar'd gone quiet now, all eyes staring at the crazy-looking guy sitting in Dean's seat. Dean sat back down. "How much for the drinks?"

"Seventy-two dollars." Sam said coolly, his face not betraying the rush of pleasure he'd gotten from being able to wind the man in front of him up so. What could he say? Some habits died hard.

"Here." Dean flung four twenties at Sam and stalked off into the night.

Sam didn't bother calling him a cab.

Chapter Text

"You seem like you're in a good mood." Yeah, because I haven't run into Dean Smith in a week.

"Nice weather. What's your excuse?" Sam asked the blond man in front of him. Lucifer eyed the half-empty whiskey glass sitting on the side of the bar longingly. Sober September, Sam almost felt bad for the poor guy.

"Trade deal went well with the Andersons just outside of town. $9.8 million. The Shurleys are going to be eating well tonight."

"9.8? That's pennies for your gang."

"Every penny counts in a war. More money means more men. Speaking of, you interested?" 

"Haha, nice one."

"At least I didn't kidnap you again."

"That... should not get you half as much credit as it does." Once, when Sam was seventeen, shortly before he was due to officially join the Campbells, Lucifer had devised an armed kidnapping of Sam. It was the sequel to several incidents prior, but those had all been training sessions (Lucifer had always had a special interest in Sam). This one was different though: Sam spent three days being starved and roughened up by guards before being lead out with a bag over his head to Mr. Chuck Shurley himself and, at gunpoint, was then asked whether or not he would be swearing his allegiance to the Shurleys. 

Sam had, for understandable reasons, declined. A grumpy Samuel had come to take him home right after, blaming Sam for the whole ordeal. God was he glad to be disenfranchised. 

"Wasn't a bad time though... that whole hungry-tortured-unwashed look sure suits you." Lucifer purred.

"Alright, I think I'm starting to prefer drunk-Lucifer more than sober-Lucifer." Sam wiggled a bottle of vodka in front of Lucifer's face.

"Nah, I bet Michael on this one. I'm not losing to that glorified peacock."

"You two are talking again?"

"Yeah, kind of have to with the war and everything."

"He say sorry or you?"

"Neither." Michael'd seduced yet another one of Lucifer's girlfriends. Lucifer had beaten the smug bastard into a near pulp. The pair hadn't spoken in a while. This was one of the many reasons why Lucifer didn't live in the Main House anymore.

"Damn, sorry about that." Michael had retaliated over Lucifer's beating of him by ordering him whipped (he was allowed to do so given that he was heir to the Shurleys). Chuck hadn't intervened, Chuck never intervened. Sam saw it as Chuck not wanting to get involved between his kids, Lucifer had always seen it as his father favoring Michael. Regardless, Lucifer still had the lash-marks across his back.

"Well, that's what I get with McDouche in charge..." Sam always felt uneasy when Lucifer made comments about Michael in that vein. It sounded an awful lot like he wanted Michael, er, gone. Comments like that could get Lucifer in trouble... thoughts like that could get Sam in trouble. Aside from that, there was obviously that uncomfortable-feeling aspect that the mere mention of fratricide brought along with it. "Thinking about getting a new tattoo."

"Oh nice. On the collage or somewhere new?" Lucifer had an entire line of tattoos that covered his left side: both his arm and his chest. It wasn't complete yet, still plenty of space for new tattoos, but the idea stood: a tattoo collage. He had flowers, a snake, an apple, a woman (he'd taken the inspiration from the Biblical depictions of Lucifer and what he stood for). He also had a bullet tattoo over where his first bullet had ever lodged (Sam himself had never been shot because he was reckless but not that reckless, but if he were he'd like to think that he'd pick a better cover-tattoo).

"Collage: I'm thinking about adding a bird to the garden."

"Dove?"

"Swallow."

"Sally doing it?" Lucifer's favorite redhead was the artist of every single one of his tattoos bar two. One done by Michael when they were younger and still on good terms- some old weird sigil that was supposed to be good luck in their culture (Enochs). Another that was done by Sam while Lucifer was teaching him: not an actual tattoo, just two stripes  on Lucifer's arm. 'Branches' in the garden. Sam tried not to be jealous at the thought 'Lucifer's favorite redhead.' Again, Lucifer was just a good friend, they'd had their fun and ended it long ago. Slept together thrice since then, but it was purely casual. Still, you know how it is, first love and all...

"I was actually thinking you would do it. Sally's on vacation, won't be back till the end of the month. You know how I hate waiting."

"Uh, yeah. Sure. I've never done a bird before."

"Don't be so modest, Sam. I've seen the paintings you've got in your studio. You'll be just fine." Lucifer was referring to the bird art he'd been drawing recently... which was in his studio above the bar... which Lucifer hadn't been in for months... "Oh, don't give me that face. I'm a member of the gang elite, breaking into your studio's not hard- though I'd actually advise against a biometric lock, just in case you were thinking of one. Little Finger got one two weeks ago and one of the Demons chopped his finger off to gain access. Not pretty." Lucifer shuddered.

"Thanks for the advice, I guess. When do you want to meet up for your tat?"

"Tomorrow? After Lunch?"

"Sounds okay." Even if it wasn't, he'd have made plans. You didn't keep Lucifer waiting. Sam'd known the man long enough to have learnt that.

.

"I want you to get a good look at these men, Dean. Recon's put in a lot of work to find these images." John showed his eldest a collection of photos. Dean recognised three faces among them: Chuck Shurley's, Michael Shurley's, and Lucifer Shurley's. The rest meant nothing to him.

"Who's who?" Dean pushed aside the three he knew.

"That one," John pointed to a dark-skinned male. "That one's Raphael, Shurley's third child with his wife." Dean frowned, but he'd heard of weirder things happening. After all, Lucifer and Michael didn't even have the same hair colour. "Their fourth kid, Gabriel, died years ago so no picture of him. That other one's Hannah. There's also Zachariah," geez, Zach looked older than his father... Dean did not want those genes. "This one here's Samandriel." John continued pointing people out. "They're members of the Shurley group, they're our allies." He swiped the pictures away and brought forth some new ones. "Now this, this is what your friend, Cas, has been working on. You recognise any of 'em, kiddo?"

"No, sir." Dean's eyes raked over the faces. A bald man with a spooky vibe. A man with bushy black hair in a white suit. A woman with violently red hair and a wicked smile. Plenty of other unsavoury creatures.

"Good. These are the Demons."