Title: Fight Another Day
Rating: R
Summary: Written for sd_lks with the prompt Future fic, tattoo/branding
Author's Notes: This is the first thing I've written and completed in over two years, and it was written in a span of 45 minutes. Title was originallyThis Hell, So Mundane
Warnings: Spoilers for all aired episodes, allusions to self-harm
It's been a month. Lucifer's been following Sam around, no reprieve, for a goddamn month. He's sitting in the corner of the motel room, casually sipping a beer, while Dean's on a dinner run. Food runs are pretty much the only time that Dean leaves Sam alone anymore, since he returned two weeks ago to find that Sam had dislocated two fingers on his left hand in an attempt to make Lucifer disappear when he found that using the old scar on the same hand was no longer effective. Bobby had figured that Sam's mind had built up a tolerance to the pain, and Dean had forced them to take a short break from hunting while Sam was dealing with Lucifer permanently lurking in the corners.
Sam thinks Dean's been gone longer than usual, but it's hard to tell. Most of Sam's energy is focused on ignoring Lucifer, sitting in the corner, silently sipping his beer, and watching Sam. Always watching Sam.
The door clicks open, and Sam's hand immediately flies to the table, fingers scrabbling for the gun Dean confiscated a week ago. Lucifer polishes off his beer and tosses the can to the far corner of the motel room. Dean steps into the room, locking the door behind him. He's carrying the requisite bag of takeout in one hand and a long brown box in the other hand.
"Hey," he greets, sitting down beside Sam. Sam keeps his gaze on Dean with some determination, doing his best to ignore Lucifer's presence on the other side of the table.
"Hey," Sam says. Dean takes Sam's hand, rubbing his thumb gently over the scar on Sam's palm. It's no longer effective as a weapon against the Lucifer of his brain, but Dean seems to sense that the gesture is still a small comfort to his brother. Sam curls his fingers around Dean's hand. A year ago, Dean would have balked at such a girly display as handholding, especially between two dudes, but Sam knows that Dean, like him, takes every opportunity to remind himself that his brother's still there and not locked away, whether it be in Hell or inside his own mind.
"Is he still…" Dean trails off, having no need to finish the thought. Sam avoids Dean's eyes as he nods in response. It always breaks a small part of him when he looks into Dean's despairing gaze when he answers the question. Dean asks every day. His asking has become habitual, but he never expects the answer to change.
"What's in the box?" Sam asks to distract his brother.
Dean offers up a small, grim smile. "Do you trust me, Sam?"
Once, Sam would have scoffed, laughed off the question, because Dean was his brother, and pretty much the only one he did trust, completely, but, after everything they've been through, Dean deserves a real, honest answer. Sam meets Dean's eyes, letting him read everything he is and isn't saying. "Of course I do," Sam says softly, squeezing Dean's hand to accentuate his words.
Dean opens the box and pulls out the object that lies within. At first, Sam thinks it's a fire poker, but then he gets a good look at it.
It's a branding iron.
The brand at the end is similar to the anti-possession tattoos Sam and Dean have been sporting since Sam was possessed by Meg a lifetime ago.
"What's that for?" Sam asks, although a part of him already knows.
"The hand thing isn't working anymore," Dean replies, "so I figured, instead of letting you fuck yourself up more than you already have-"
"You'll do it for me?" Sam interrupts, smirking.
Dean grimaces, but doesn't argue. Sam holds out his arm, the same one that bears the scar from Meg's binding lock. Dean heats up the brand until it glows a fiery glow, using the motel's stove, and presses it to Sam's arm without so much as a warning.
It hurts.
Sam grits his teeth at the pain, biting his lip to muffle the scream that wants to erupt. Sam stays focused on Dean, but he can see Lucifer flickering out of existence in the corner of his eye, and their eyes meet at the last minute.
I won, Sam's eyes say triumphantly. Lucifer disappears, and Dean removes the brand, dousing it in a pot of water to cool it off and avoid inadvertently setting fire to the motel room. Dean returns to Sam's side and gently brushes his lips against the burning mark, his lips acting like a balm against the wound.
"Is he gone?" he asks.
Sam nods. "Thank you," he whispers. Dean leans forward and brushes his lips against Sam's.
And Sam knows Lucifer will be back.
And he knows that Dean fight him off.
And that's enough for Sam to keep fighting on another day.