"Out of the frying pan and into the fire."
-Meaning to go from a bad situation into a worse one.
This expression, a proverb in many languages, was first recorded in English in 1528
Dean, with his heart still jackhammering in his chest and his mouth as dry as cotton, dug in his jacket pocket for his cell phone.
He needed to call Sam. Now.
Barely seeing the park he was standing in, ignoring the people around him, Dean pressed his brother's number on Speed Dial and waited for Sam to answer.
He waited and waited and waited…
Dean sighed soundlessly as his brother's pre-recorded voice asked him to leave his message and after a moment of debate, ended the call without speaking.
The hunter gripped his cell phone tightly in his hand and stared around at his surroundings, taking in the sight of the average men, women and children enjoying the park, unaware of how close all of them came to destruction at the hands of an evil older than time itself.
Taking a deep breath in an attempt to get a hold of himself, Dean hit Speed Dial again and waited for his brother to answer.
The cell phone rang and rang and rang…
Where the hell are you, Sam? Dean wondered as he shoved his phone back into his pocket.
Maybe his brother was being all moody because Dean had not taken his earlier call.
Yeah, the older Winchester believed that.
Raking a hand through his short-cropped hair, the hunter decided that if Sam wouldn't- or couldn't- answer his phone, he'd just have to head back to the Bunker and talk to him face-to-face.
Crossing the street, Dean made his way back to where he'd parked the Impala, still trying to wrap his head around what had happened with Amara.
He knew that the Darkness was strong, so much so in fact that eons ago, God had needed the help of one of His angels to keep her contained. Dean had no idea exactly if Amara could be killed- all of his attempts at dispatching the bitch had so far failed- but if he had to take a guess at what might actually put an end to the Darkness, a full-scale assault by the entire host of Heaven may as well do the trick.
If that was so and Amara was gone, then Sam could forget about this stupid crusade he was on to talk to the Devil. They could celebrate, have a few laughs at how they had worried about the Darkness, knock back a few beers and set their sights other matters.
W
As Dean drove he tried to get ahold of his brother again… and again… and again. Each time holding his breath, as he waited but to no avail. Sam wasn't answering. Finally the older sibling a message to call him right away. Dean turned on the radio and jacked the volume to its highest level when the Grateful Dead's 'St. Stephen' came on.
W
Parking the Impala in front of the Bunker, Dean hesitated exiting.
Sam hadn't called him back and now as the older Winchester sat in the classic Chevy, the only sound his own breathing and the tick of cooling metal, Dean felt a sliver of unease creep down his spine and his skin crawled with gooseflesh.
Opening the car door, Dean climbed out into the warm late-afternoon sunshine. Birds chirped merrily in the trees surrounding the Bunker and off in the distance a dog barked but Dean ignored the sounds.
His boots crunched on gravel as he walked quickly towards the door, anxiety increasing his heartbeat and making his mouth taste of metal.
Unlocking the door and shoving it open, Dean stepped inside; not even registering how quiet the interior was before he was calling out.
"SAM!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the cavernous underground building, "Hey! SAM!"
Dean stepped down the stairs and peered around the main room, noting the tables still covered with books from his and Sam's research.
"Sam! Where are you?" Dean left the main room and headed down the hallway that led to the bedrooms. He unabashedly opened the door to his brother's room, only to find it empty.
"Sammy!" Dean called out again, this time using his brother's nickname, as though that would send his sibling running out from wherever he was hiding.
The elder Winchester bypassed his own bedroom and headed back into the main room, this time taking the hallway that led to the large kitchen. Again, there was no sign of his brother.
The dungeon! Dean thought and smiled, relieved and embarrassed by his own foolishness. Of course, Sam was probably down in the dungeon with Rowena; that's why he hadn't heard him calling his name.
The hunter took yet another long corridor and was led to a staircase that cut even deeper into the earth, the staircase that led to the dungeons.
"Sammy, didn't you hear me yelling at you? And where's your phone? I've been calling and calling…" Dean's words died in his throat as he pushed open the dungeon door and found the room deserted, the table and shackles still in place, the Codex missing.
"Sam?" the hunter said, turning around in a confused circle.
Dean's mind worked overtime to fit the pieces together: Sam's earlier attempt to call, not answering his phone, the empty Bunker.
"Damn it, Sam," Dean growled as realization dawned on him.
Rowena must have figured out how to get Sam in contact with Lucifer without actually having to go back into the Cage and once he'd failed to answer his phone, his brother had decided to go ahead with the plan.
"You were going to wait for me!" Dean snarled, angry that his brother had gone to try and get the Devil's help without him.
Grabbing his phone from his pocket, the elder Winchester tried his brother again. Receiving the same result as before.
"Why do you get these hare-brained ideas?" Dean sighed his anger drying up only to be replaced by his earlier anxiety.
Dean didn't care if it was God or fucking Mickey Mouse sending his brother visions, he wasn't supposed to do anything by himself, with only Crowley and Rowena as backup.
Since Sam wasn't answering his phone, Dean opted to give the King of Hell himself a call. In any case, he'd at least be able to tell Dean why his brother hadn't been returning his calls.
The hunter keyed in Crowley's number and pressed the phone against his head so tightly his ear began to ache.
The phone rang once, twice, and was answered. Dean's shoulders sagged as tension he hadn't known he'd been harbouring eased.
"Dean," Crowley began with his usual smarmy attitude, "How nice of you to call and check up on me."
"Why isn't Sam answering his phone? Where is he? I told him to wait to do anything and he promised! He promised!" the hunter ground out, a vein throbbing in his forehead.
"Well," the demon king said almost cautiously, if Dean didn't know any better, "There is a good reason why Moose hasn't been answering his phone but before I explain, I'd-"
"Tell me where my Goddamned brother is, Crowley!" Dean shouted into the phone, that old anxiety sneaking up on him and twining around him like a corrupt vine.
As the elder Winchester waited for a response, he heard a woman's voice in the background mutter something like, "Well, he's got one part right."
"Rowena!" Dean snapped, realizing Crowley had him on speakerphone, "Where's Sam? Is he with you?"
"We had a wee bit of a problem-" the witch began but Dean interrupted again.
"What kind of problem? Where. Is. Sam. Is he safe?"
"Might as well not prolong the inevitable," he heard Crowley mumble.
"No, Squirrel, your brother isn't with us."
Dean didn't know what to think about that and anxiety tightened its grip on him.
"Did it work? Did Sam talk to Lucifer?" Maybe the deed was already done and his brother was Topside again, following up with whatever the Devil had told him.
But without a car? An insidious voice spoke in Dean's head.
"Oh aye, it worked," Rowena spoke up again, "For a time."
"A time? What does that mean? Crowley, talk to me!" Dean implored, irritated with Rowena's vague answers.
"The spell did work," the demon said, "She wasn't wrong. It allowed your brother to speak with Lucifer without letting the angel out."
The hunter held his breath, waiting for Crowley to continue.
"But, something went wrong," the demon said after a slight hesitation, "We don't exactly know what happened-"
"What went wrong? Sam's okay though, right? You all got away?" Dean asked, hating that news of his brother's safety was hinging on the demon king's words.
"We got away," Rowena assured him, "Your brother-"
Now Crowley interrupted; maybe to prevent his mother from being the one to tell Dean about Sam's condition or perhaps believing that it might be easier to handle if it came from him.
"Sam's in the Cage."
"The spell worked," Rowena was saying, "I know I did everything right. But somehow it stopped and Lucifer was able to drag Sam into the Cage with him."
Even though Dean could hear the witch talking, her words meant nothing to him, all he could hear were those four awful words repeating over and over again in his head: Sam's in the Cage, Sam's in the Cage, Sam's in the Cage.
"No," Dean whispered, his mind dredging up memories of those terrible months when his brother had been Soulless, a violent shell of his former self, and then Death's rescue of his soul and construction of a wall to keep the horrible things that had happened to him in Hell at bay and then Cas tearing apart said wall and Sam's descent into madness.
"No," the hunter repeated, "Not again. This can't be happening. Not again."
"It is happening again, Love," Rowena spoke, her voice tainted with mock sympathy.
"You left him," Dean realized, "You left him there! By himself!"
"What were we supposed to do?" Crowley asked, "We didn't know if we'd end up in there with Moose as well!"
Dean didn't know why he expected anything from the demon but Crowley's admission that he and Rowena had turned tail and ran when Sam was in trouble still hurt somehow.
The hunter stared at the dungeon but saw nothing; he felt unusually hot, as though the flames of Hell were licking at him and tears stung his eyes.
"We have to get him out," Dean said, "We have to get Sammy out."
"We don't have to do anything-" Rowena's voice rang in the young man's ears before she was interrupted.
"I'm afraid she's right, Squirrel," Crowley continued in a pompous tone, "You're on your own with this one. I am not poking my nose into the Cage."
"You said it was safe!" Dean snarled, "You said he'd be safe!"
"Everything has its risks," Rowena replied in a simpering tone.
"The only thing I can do for you is to wish you luck," Crowley told Dean, not sounding sincere in the least before he ended the call and the phone went dead in the hunter's hand.
The hunter lowered his arm, feeling as though it belonged to someone else and pried his white fingers away from the cell phone, grinding his teeth together as he did so, fighting his emotions.
He wished this was just a horrible dream and that he'd wake up any second to find his brother safe and sound, bitching at him for being so worried about him. But Dean knew he wasn't in a nightmare though it certainly felt like it. He closed his eyes once again as the threatening tears finally overflowed and seeped down his cheeks silently.
Dean didn't know how long he stood in the Bunker's dungeon, water dripping down his face, and his phone dangling from limp fingers.
Looking up, the hunter wiped his sleeve across his face roughly. Crying wasn't going to help Sam. He needed to think, figure out a way to get his brother back.
Dean slowly made his way out of the dungeon, closing the door softly behind himself and headed up to the main room of the Bunker, thinking.
Cas had been the one to rescue Sam from Hell before, Dean knew, cringing as he recalled his brother's behaviour when he'd been missing his soul.
Death had actually retrieved the younger Winchester's soul after some hard bargaining on Dean's part. Again, the young man cringed; he couldn't go to the Horseman for help now.
Still, he had to try something. Taking up his cell phone again, Dean dialed Castiel's number and prayed the angel would answer.
W
The hunter's head dropped onto the table with dejection. He had no idea where his friend could be but Cas wasn't answering his phone with any more promptness than Sam.
"Where are you, Cas?" Dean muttered, tiredly.
Suddenly the man sat back in his chair and let out an inhuman snarl of anger and fear, raising one clenched fist and swiping the books scattered across the tabletop onto the floor with a mighty crash, dust billowing up from the old tomes.
Dean stood, sliding his chair back with a loud scraping sound and reached up with both hands, fingers grabbing at his short-cropped hair and nails digging into his scalp.
He didn't know what to do. He didn't know whom to call. There was no one else he could turn to for aid.
The thought of his brother back in Lucifer's clutches made Dean sick to his stomach and he kicked himself for not answering his phone when Sam had called earlier. If he had, maybe his brother would have waited and… and what? You would have been there to see Sam pulled right back into Lucifer's waiting arms.
For a moment Dean stared despondently down at the books he'd swept onto the floor before thinking that maybe one of those volumes could hold the key to saving his brother.
Carefully, the elder Winchester stepped over the tumbled books and went into the kitchen, intent on making a large pot of coffee in order to bolster himself for what was certain to be a long night.
W
Dean stared with bloodshot eyes at the words in the book sitting before him at the table. If asked, he would not have believed that an entire week had passed since Crowley had revealed Sam's whereabouts after the younger Winchester had failed to answer his brother's phone calls.
Dean had been a zombie during the past several days; researching, drinking coffee, spurning sleep, eating less and less. With a heavy heart, the hunter lowered his head to the table, using the book he'd just been reading as a pillow, finally giving into his body's cry for rest.
"Hang in there, Sammy," he muttered, already barely conscious as sleep took him in its arms swiftly, "I'm gonna get you out."
The hunter was asleep when Amara entered the Bunker and stood, observing him as he dreamed of fire and blades and sulfur.
SPN
Amara passed into the Men of Letter's headquarters without so much as a pause on the threshold. The wards and spells designed to keep out the supernatural had no affect on her.
As she stood on the staircase, watching the elder Winchester sleep, Amara thought about death. Not Death with a capitol 'd', no, the Horseman had been dispatched by Dean himself and in any case, held no interest for her- she was even older than he- but death that all living things in her brother's creation experienced.
Just as her brother, the Darkness was immortal, more than immortal for she had no beginning and no end, just as her only sibling had.
Amara's mouth twisted in a sneer; had those angels really believed that she could be killed? She may be captured, contained, for millennia, but never killed. She would never die. She would never be caught in the fatal snare as rabbits were or the net that gathered fish.
She did not think she would ever understand Dean Winchester's desire to destroy her. They had a bond, and whether he believed it or not, she would not destroy him.
The Darkness casually walked down the staircase and onto the main floor, her eyes never leaving Dean as she did so.
SPN
Call it a hunter's instinct or whatever, Dean sensed he was not alone in the Bunker, even as he slept and quickly rose back towards consciousness. He didn't jolt awake, unfortunately, he had spent too many sleepless nights for that ability but he roused quickly enough. Lifting his head from the table, eyes round and wary, Dean stood from his chair as he caught sight of the intruder.
"You… You're dead," he accused, stammering, "The angels smote the crap out of you."
Amara gave a half-smile, "I cannot be destroyed, Dean, least of all by a raggedy squadron of angels."
The hunter frowned; he would hardly call the entire Host of Heaven a 'raggedy squadron of angels'.
"What do you want?" he asked, eyeing her warily. He hadn't forgotten Amara's earlier promise that everything would eventually become a part of her.
"Are you alone?" she asked, as though she really cared whether Dean was or not. The hunter didn't know why she bothered to ask; he knew she could hold her own, against angels and Sam, so why…
"Sammy's in Hell," he blurted out, "He's in the Cage!"
Amara raised one eyebrow quizzically.
"Lucifer's Cage," Dean explained, "And there's absolutely dick-all about how to spring him."
"Lucifer," the Darkness said softly, drawing the name out as though she hadn't spoken it out loud for a long, long time.
"He's got Sammy," Dean continued, feeling the need to vent to anyone, even Amara, "He's doing God knows what to him."
The hunter felt the familiar sting of tears but he blinked them away; he would not cry in front of Amara.
"What does this have to do with me?" the Darkness asked. She took a couple of steps closer to Dean and the hunter did not retreat.
"Can you…" Dean hesitated, "I mean, would you, bring Sam back? I have no one else who can. I am out of options."
The hunter couldn't believe he was actually asking this of Amara but he couldn't help himself, he had no choice really, if he wanted his brother back; and if any being could waltz into Lucifer's Cage and return Topside unscathed it would be the Darkness.
"Why would I want to save your brother?" Amara asked. She really could have cared less about Samuel Winchester; Amara gave him no more notice than an elephant would notice an ant crawling on the ground before it.
"Because… Because he's my brother," Dean replied, knowing that he wasn't likely to appeal to Amara's better nature, she hated her own brother so she couldn't sympathize.
The Darkness said nothing, her expression unfathomable.
"And… you can get back at Lucifer," Dean suggested, "For helping your brother trap you all those years ago."
Although Amara could just as easily refused Dean's request, he was not happy and she did not like to see him so upset. Besides, the idea that she could finally exact her revenge upon the angel that had helped her brother imprison her did appeal to her.
A slow smile spread across Amara's lips.
"I will return your brother back to you," she told the human, "But you must promise me something if I do this."
Dean nodded, "Whatever you want."
Amara cocked her head to the side, the same way Cas sometimes still did if he was confused.
"You do not even know what I am going to ask," she said and Dean sighed, wiping a hand over his face.
"You must promise you will not try and kill me or stop me," Amara told him.
Dean, to her surprise, didn't look surprised. He pursed his lips, crossed his arms and nodded, "I can do that."
Amara smiled, turning her back to the hunter and began walking back the way she had come.
W
To the Darkness, entering the Devil's prison within Hell was nothing, as easy as a human walking from one room to another in their own house. The same barriers that prevented demons from reaching earth en masse and which held Lucifer captive could not stop her.
Amara appeared in Cage, a vision of sanity in the midst of horror. She only had to wait but a moment before the angel realized he was not alone. The Darkness noted that the celestial being had blood on his hands and that Dean's brother lay on the floor, a crimson pool spreading out from underneath him.
Lucifer's eyes widened as he recognized Amara and instead of becoming enraged- as he once might have, eons ago- he smiled like a welcoming houseguest.
"I didn't think I'd be seeing you here so soon," he said, flicking his hands, the blood vanishing as though it had never been there, and stood, arms crossed over his chest, feet planted shoulder-width apart.
"Lucifer," Amara said once again, "Your name means 'bringer of light' but you are as dark as me."
The angel smirked, "I guess I have you to thank for that."
Amara gazed at Lucifer with a haughty expression, "I do not torture my brother's creations. I bring them peace."
The angel snorted in derision. The sound seemed to flick a switch in Amara and she began moving forward, "You helped my brother entomb me. You followed His command without any hesitation. You stupid, simple creature."
Lucifer opened his mouth, perhaps to argue with Amara, but the Darkness moved with speed that astonished even the angel.
Amara stood right in front of the angel, her hands on either side of his face, her own mouth open slightly as though preparing for a kiss.
Lucifer, realizing he was in danger, struggled against Amara's hold but he was not strong enough. The Darkness pressed her mouth against his and consumed his soul as she had consumed so many others.
As soon as the angel's soul entered the Darkness, his body collapsed, useless.
Amara then turned her attention on the younger Winchester.
Sam lay, as he had been when she had first seen him, though no longer surrounded by blood. He did not look well, Amara noted, though she was not an expert in such things.
The young man's hair was plastered to his head with sweat, his skin a troubling grey colour, his eyes hidden beneath purple-bruised lids, his breathing shallow and irregular.
Stepping forward, Amara reached out and touched the human's head, instantly bringing the young man back with her to the Bunker where Dean waited.
SPN
Dean didn't know what to do. All he could do was wait and it was just killing him.
A part of him wondered if Amara had just left him and gone on her merry way, after all, she had no ties to Sam so why would she care enough to save him. But another part of the hunter realized that she had nothing to lose by rescuing his brother.
Either way, the hunter boiled with adrenaline as he anxiously waited for Amara's return- because he didn't want to think about the latter.
He had just shuffled into the main room with a mug brimming with strong, black coffee- because if Amara did bring Sam back, he sure as Hell wasn't going to get much sleep for the next few days- when the door to the Bunker opened to reveal the Darkness carrying the younger Winchester in a fireman's carry, belying her inhuman strength.
"Sam!" Dean cried out at the sight of his brother and rushed forward, sloshing coffee over the rim of the mug and onto the table as he slammed the drink down in his haste to reach his sibling.
Amara walked down the steps before depositing the human onto the floor like a sack of potatoes. She watched, half amused, half disgusted as Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother, brushing his hair back from his brow and murmuring to him.
"Sammy," Dean whispered, feeling tears in his eyes again, "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…"
He took in his brother's unhealthy complexion, sweat-matted hair and uneven breathing and felt his heart clench. He wondered if Sam had been like this when Cas had resurrected him from Hell the first time.
With one hand Dean moved Sam's bangs away from his brow, checking his temperature as he did so, while his other hand sought his brother's, gripping the appendage tightly, thumb rubbing his sibling's knuckles comfortingly.
He didn't even notice that Amara was no longer in the Bunker with them.
"Sammy," he called quietly, "Sammy, can you open your eyes? Can you wake up? C'mon man, wake up, please."
Dean leaned over his brother, his heart in his throat as he continued to cajole and coax, assuring Sam that he was all right, that he was safe, that nothing was going to hurt him and, most importantly, that he open his eyes.
"I know you can do it," Dean continued, using the same tone as he had done when helping Sam to learn to ride a bike, to shoot a gun, to drive the Impala, "I know you can. C'mon Sammy, for your big brother. Open your eyes."
Slowly, almost as though the effort was too much and the act painful, Sam Winchester opened his eyes.
Dean smiled and squeezed his sibling's hand as he looked into Sam's hazel eyes.
Author's Note:
I wanted to write this much sooner but never got around to it. I guess posting the day before the new episode is scheduled to air isn't too bad (looks embarrassed).
Please let me know what you think!