A/N – This kind of grew and grew, and I'm still not quite done with it. So apologies to delanach for the lateness. Anti-Santa is distraught.
Sam's alive, just like that, and his first thought isn't of his brother.
So yes, excuse him please because it's night, Sam's cold and grass is pricking against his bare skin. Every inch of him is tingling, nearly painful but not quite, like champagne is bubbling through his veins.
So it's weird, is all. Because the last thing Sam can remember flowing under his skin was fire. Boiling pain rushing with every beat of his heart, eyes melting, dripping down his face like tears -
It stops.
"Godamnit, Sam. Seriously."
He turns to the voice, the tingling intensifying in his neck for a terrifying, joyous moment, and looks at the person with him in the cold and the dark.
Tiny, blond, innocent. She can't be more than seventeen, and everything about her screams weak and fragile. She's looking at him, eyes round and dark, two black voids threatening to swallow him. He shivers, primal fear, and thinks maybe not so innocent.
"Come on, Sam. Get it the fuck together!"
Sam flinches, disoriented and scared and there's a hole in his brain.
The girl tugs at his shoulders, surprisingly strong, hauls him up. She's babbling the whole time, gotta get away, Sam, not safe, come on, and she's scared, scared for Sam, and suddenly he's so frightened he might cry.
Sam struggles weakly with the monster masquerading as a girl, throws his head back and they both stumble. She shakes him, furious, so quick and vicious it makes him gasp. They still for a moment after, the girl staring at Sam like she's ashamed, so he turns away and gazes at the dark canopy above.
The moon offers just a sliver of light, sideways smile, mocking him and just like that he remembers Dean.
He must have said his brother's name aloud, because the girl – no, she's a fucking demon – scoffs.
"Jesus, that didn't take long," and sounds more annoyed than anything else.
Sam's still weak, drained from his return to the land of flesh and blood (and can't think about that too much, because there's the hole, and Sam doesn't want to stumble down that particular well) but he's not making the mistake of trusting a demon ever again. He owes Dean that much.
Sam pushes against her with all his strength, which turns out to be laughable. She swats at him.
"Look, Sam, I get it, okay? You're scared, confused and I'm a demon. But you need to follow me now, because you are naked, weak and unbelievably stupid."
Sam responds by slapping her, and he thinks they're both a little surprised by the move. He feels like apologizing.
The demon ducks and loops Sam's arm around her petite shoulders, then straightens a bit and looks him in the eye.
"Are you done with the bitch moves, Sammy? Because I'm trying to save your life. Fucking again."
Sam leans heavily on her, and the two of them begin limping efficiently across the field. Tired as he is, it isn't more than a few yards before Sam is panting. But apparently being out of breath isn't enough to keep him quiet.
"So am I going to find out what's going on?" he manages, and the demon frowns.
"You shouldn't be talking."
He must make a face though, because she reluctantly continues.
"I'll fill you in when we get to the car," she offers, and Sam agrees by giving her silence.
It still seems like forever until they get over the hill, though, Sam's legs trembling while he tries very hard to hide his exhaustion from the demon. There's a car, and Sam can't say anything more of it than it's compact and a dark color.
Turns out his knowledge of automobiles doesn't extend beyond the exterior of the Impala.
The demon opens the door and piles him into the car, and the fact that he's naked abruptly overwhelms him. Something about the way the interior feels against his bare ass. It's embarrassing.
Sam's twisted away from the driver's side and huddled over himself when the demon enters, and she sneers at him.
"Buckle up," she says, and that is it.
"Fuck you! I'm naked," and somehow it's just too ridiculous.
But the demon shrugs out of her jacket and tosses it at Sam, and she can't possibly think this is going to fit him, then points at his lap.
It's still not enough, not even close to being enough, but it allows him to straighten up and buckle his seatbelt. And it's like the click is magic, because the car starts and they're off.
Glitter from the jacket sticks to Sam's skin, and jesus, what else is this shit getting on?
What would Dean say about Sam's dick being covered in sparkling gold?
Sam probably shouldn't care what Dean might think of his dick, so he maneuvers himself and the jacket so he can face the demon.
"Where's Dean?" he demands, and it's like he has a one track mind when it comes to his brother. Ran away from his family more than once to keep from getting dragged in too deep with them, and now he can't remember the last time some part of him wasn't always thinking about Dean. There's a place in his brain that's constantly projecting a one-word distress signal.
Dean, Dean, Dean.
"You're welcome, Sammy," she responds, poster child for sarcasm. Sam thinks she might actually be a little hurt.
Still.
"Don't call me that," he snips, and barely restrains himself from commanding her to take him to Dean again. He's naked in more ways than one right now. Without weapons, he's at her mercy, but he thinks he'd kill himself before heeding a demon again. There's no way in hell he's traveling down that particular road of betrayal once more.
What he needs now is to escape, get to his brother, because the last thing Sam clearly remembers is that shitty room in Detroit. And Lucifer.
So Sam has to find out what's happened, and if his brother (onlyfamilyonlyoneleft) is alive.
The demon keeps obsessively checking the car's mirrors, nervous little tics that upset Sam.
"What's going on? Who's after us?"
"Nothing, for now. So, what's the last thing you remember?"
She doesn't take her eyes off the road, and for that Sam is grateful. He couldn't take the inky coldness of a demon's gaze right now, and might try something stupid if he saw the eyes of the innocent girl that had been hijacked.
Light zips across their skin as the car speeds down the road, and Sam allows silence to reign for a moment while he decides what to tell her. The truth?
Why not. Sam's going to kill her soon, anyways, or die trying.
"Meeting Lucifer. Detroit," Sam replies tersely, and she nods, relieved. Self-satisfied smile adorns her face.
"Good, good. Worked then," the demon murmurs, and she's not talking to Sam.
"What worked?" Sam asks, because everything about this smacks of evil. Witchcraft. Sam knows nothing good ever comes from deals or spells.
He's beginning to suspect that either something went very wrong with the plan, or they accomplished it perfectly.
In which case Sam should be dead and stuck with Lucifer for eternity. But he here's now and waking up naked in a field with a demon for a savior makes Sam think Dean did something monumentally idiotic.
Which, okay, Dean is Dean and probably yeah because his brother is foolish to the extreme.
What if Lucifer escaped as well?
Damnit, he told Dean to leave it alone.
"What did he do?" Sam asks, quiet, and the demon turns to him, eyebrows quirking down in a parody of confusion. Her eyes are brown now, pretty with the white circling dark irises. The sudden evidence of another girl's life destroyed enrages Sam, and he repeats himself, louder and more curt.
"What makes you think he did anything?" and it's something that she doesn't even ask who 'he' is.
"So, what, a demon drags me from Lucifer's prison out of the goodness of her heart?"
"You know, you could dial down the bitch a bit and turn up the grateful. I saved you from the pit, Sam, so how about we be a little more trusting, yeah?"
Black explodes in her eyes, reverting to demon form.
"Humanity owes me. Big time," she bites out, hands tightening on the wheel.
"Who are you?" Because he ought to to know the name of man's savior.
There's a bitter perkiness to her as she turns to face him, tilting her head and smirking.
"Don't recognize me, Sam?"
Like it's some kind of joke between them, or about this whole situation, and Sam can't even begin to bank his anger.
Something slams onto the roof of the car, and they careen out of control for a blistering eternity before she rights the wheel. If it had been Dean driving, Sam would have quipped about his brother's lack of skills or some other immature bullshit. Instead he grips the sides of his seat and tries to swallow his terror.
Because there is something that probably wants to kill them on the top of their moving vehicle.
there's some thing on the wing
"Shit," she curses, and there's the sound of heavy footsteps from the roof. Sam grips the jacket more snugly in his lap and can't remember the last time he felt this completely helpless.
"Seatbelt?"
Sam nods, wants to insult her because wasn't she there just minutes ago and looking straight at his junk when he buckled in, and instead grabs the door handle. Ridiculous.
She slams on the brakes, and whatever was hitching a ride catapults away from the car. The high beams showcase an inert shadow lying on the road before them, and if Sam had any sort of weapon he would be performing a double tap right now.
The demon must be thinking the same thing, because she reverses for a bit before throwing the car back into drive and slamming on the gas. It feels like going over a springy speed bump.
And there's that second of nausea - existential doom mixed with self-hatred wrecking him - a flicker of humanity telling him this is wrong, wrong, wrong .
It's fleeting. He's still human – but it doesn't get in the way of the job.
"What was that?"
"First member of your welcome back party? Does it really matter what it was?"
Yes, he wants to scream at her, just to be petulant. But he knows that, right now, all that's important is that something wants them dead.
"If I'm going to be any help, you need to tell me what's going on," Sam says. He decides that until he gets a gun and some pants, he's going to play nice. Then he'll gank the demon and find his brother.
If Dean's still alive.
"So you remember Detroit? Saying yes?"
He nods.
"Oh, and just a great idea by the way. Agreeing with the devil," she stops and looks at him, like it's the most foolish thing she's ever heard.
Dean wasn't too keen on the plan, either. And just like Dean, she doesn't offer a better solution.
Sam clears his throat.
"So, what, I managed to trap both of us in the cage? It worked? Then why am I here?"
if his brother did anything reckless
"Just couldn't live without ya, babe," the demon flirts acidly, and makes an abrupt turn that throws Sam against the door.
"Evasive maneuvers," she offers before Sam can ask.
"How long have I been gone?"
She hesitates.
"Four, five months?"
"Months?" Sam chokes. Four (or five) months Dean's been on his own. Cold fear threatens to destroy him, even though he knows he hasn't done anything wrong. The summer he was without Dean was torture, emotional agony that left him open to the machinations of Ruby. It led to his eventual betrayal of Dean.
The desire to find his brother grows.
"Yeah, months. I didn't escape from hell until after all that stuff was over. And then it was a while to track down the supplies I needed to free you."
all that stuff, huh
She spares him a glance. It's almost apologetic, and Sam feels himself thrown worse than when she brought the car to a halt. He flushes, guilty, and while his instincts urge him to trust the demon next to him –at least for now – his loyalty to Dean overrides everything.
Can we trust her, Dean? Am I allowed?
He's suddenly very lost without his brother.
"Lucifer?"
She shrugs dismissively.
"Cooling his heels in the box."
The smile she gives Sam is vicious.
See, there's the crazy part. Dean likes girls giggling, fun and obliging – Sam's the one who goes for the smartass. Dean hated Bela – Sam had dreams about her. Sam gravitates towards strong personalities, those who would use an endearment as a weapon, what do you think, pussywiggles?
Jess could always keep a straight face in a crowd.
He wants to trust this demon, but he simply can't.
"There's ... there's a hole in my memory," Sam says, statement and question.
No hesitation this time.
"Do you want to remember your own personal hell with the devil?"
Sam clenches his fist, then slowly releases the tension.
"Will I always feel it?" he wonders, not sure if she can honestly answer.
"That void in the back of your mind?"
Sam starts.
"It fades, more quickly than you'll think. But the human brain is resilient. You will probably have flashes of your time in the pit for the rest of your life. Varying degrees of strength, too, if God hates you."
The demon winks at Sam, and this time he gets the joke.
"And rest assured, Samuel Winchester, God does hate you."
The banter's familiar, painful.
"So who are you?"
Her fingers dance on the rim for a spell, then she steels her back. Sam tenses.
"You know me, Sam."
They are obviously not on the same page.
"Ruby."
Suddenly they are.
The 'no' he breathes is instinctive, but when he lunges forward it's with all the strength he can harness.
"You bitch!" he growls.
Yet all that strength is useless against Ruby's powers, and he hangs trapped in air, hurling nothing more dangerous than curses.
"Okay, moving fucking vehicle, Sam!" Ruby snaps.
"I don't care! I'll kill you!"
He recognizes the absurdity of the situation.
"Again."
tis but a flesh wound
"Listen to me, Sam. And I can't believe how 'Days of Our Lives' this is going to sound, but – I'm the real Ruby. The other one, the one you killed, she was Lilith's plant. My Mr. Hyde."
Straight face.
"Your evil twin," Sam repeats, and there's a long moment of silence.
"Try again," he snarls, and Sam's tied up but Ruby still flinches.
"Well, I hate to give you the red pill, Sammy, but truth is you don't know what I really look like, do you?"
Sam doesn't.
"So a wisp of black smokes shows up on your doorstep wrapped in a pair of tits, says it's me and you just believe her?"
No.
"She liked french fries," Sam reasons, he thinks.
Ruby looks completely away from the road in order to give Sam a proper sneer.
"Shit, everyone who likes salads must be you."
Sam is a little defeated. His invisible bonds evaporate and Sam slumps against the seat.
"Well, how do I know you're the real Ruby?"
And Jesus, is Sam really going to play this game? No matter what she has done, she is still a demon. Even worse, she might actually be telling the truth. She could be Ruby.
Then there could never be any hope for an alliance. Demon would have been a hard enough sell, but Ruby? Dean would never go for it.
He would never forgive Sam. Not again.
"Why did you save me?"
They turn onto a road where the houses begin to appear closer together. They're descending into the heart of the suburbs.
"Same old song and dance, Sammy – I want to help save humanity."
It makes Sam bone tired to hear it. He just got through paying the price for saving the world the first time. Maybe that normal life doesn't have to be so out of reach.
"Boy king, Sam," Ruby reminds him cheerfully, then misses a dog running across the street by a hair's breadth.
"Bitch!"
"You really think I'm just going to spearhead your little campaign of evil?"
Ruby shows him her teeth.
"That's hurtful propaganda, Sam. On humanity's side, remember?"
Sam twists the wrist on the sleeve of the jacket absently, yellow sparkles coating his hand. It looks like he peed glitter all over himself.
you should probably get that checked out, sammy
"Then, what, you're evil's Benedict? Keeping me from the dark throne?"
Sam slams against his seatbelt, blinding strip of pain where it cuts into him. They're at a stop sign, and Ruby waves jauntily to the young couple in the SUV as they turn to drive in the opposite direction. They're off again.
"What the hell was that?" he complains, and massages the tender skin on his chest.
"Road safety! And what the hell was 'dark throne?' Does this look like Lord of the Rings to you?"
"I'm tired of the games, Ruby," Sam warns.
"Handle the truth, can you? Fine. You have the power, Sam. Enough juice to make a real difference when it comes to saving people, hunting things."
The wording of it gets to him, and he stares at Ruby with narrowed eyes.
"You could have dominion over whatever hell decides to throw at us," she explains, and there's that nearly religious zeal she always used to have when discussing his grand future.
"Look, Sam, Brady was right about one thing – your hell is right here on earth. But you could make it your bitch."
Ruby slows the car and they pull into the driveway of a house, not identical to the other homes on the street but somehow indistinguishable from them nonetheless. Ruby twists to face Sam, and her slick black eyes are near feverish as she looks at him.
"I'll follow you, Sam, against the very hordes of hell, because for some damn reason I think you can hold your own. And I'm not alone."
He's mesmerized.
"But this is our stop, so everyone off the train. We need to get safe before figuring out our next move."
She opens the door and slips out before Sam can protest, and he can't do anything but follow her lead. Which is awkward on all kinds of levels, because the jacket doesn't wrap all the way around Sam's waist. He ends up putting his backside to the house and doing this sideways walk to preserve what's left of his dignity.
Ruby smirks at him as they approach the door.
"Aw, afraid no one will make you a blushing bride if your virtue is sullied?"
Sam grumbles a shut up out of habit, but it's weak.
"Is our next move getting me clothes?" he snipes, and is blown away by how easy it is to fall into old patterns with Ruby. Shakes himself out of it, though, because she's toast as soon as he finds Dean.
They pause at the door, Ruby messing with the lock before opening it and ushering Sam in front of her.
"Ladies first," she offers, and he can't dignify that with a response.
The porch light was off, and it's only darker inside the house. Sam instinctively keeps his back to the wall and edges to what appears to be the kitchen, moonlight pouring in from large windows.
"Sam!" Ruby hisses, anxious, and he looks back to see her standing not two feet in front of the door. As he watches, she tries to take another step, leg hitting an invisible barrier.
Devil's Trap.
He hesitates in going to rescue her – this could be the moment to get rid of Ruby for good, go find his brother – and someone tackles him to the floor.
He thinks he hears Ruby call his name, but it's lost in the scuffle. And Sam is losing because apparently he has the body shyness of a prepubescent girl and handicaps himself by keeping one hand on the jacket. It's his own fault when he gets pinned to the floor, but his attacker's hands stop on Sam's throat, breath away from finishing the job.
"Sam?"
It's Dean.
Everything freezes.
Time ceases to exist as something struggles to right itself within Sam. Heat from his brother's body seeps into his bones, and he shivers hard, once. The sudden reunion has him paralyzed.
Dean seems no better, face carved from marble mere inches from Sam's. They share the same air, and Sam thinks he might actually suffocate from his brother's presence.
Dean says his name again, silent this time as his mouth works around Sammy.
It breaks the spell, and something clicks into place in Sam's chest.
"Dean," he murmurs, amazed and kind of wrecked, the feeling nothing new when it comes to his brother.
Dean's face is open, eyes wide and vulnerable as he stares at Sam. Hunger in his gaze as it sweeps over Sam's face, desperation and hope and an unnerving amount of madness.
Then a steel wall comes crashing down, and Dean's eyes are as cold and flinty as a demon's. Suspicious.
"I don't know who you are, but you're going to wish you'd never crawled out of your pit," Dean growls, and it leaves Sam feeling shaky, wondering at the nearly breathless tone of his voice.
"It's me, man," he manages, and swallows hard under Dean's harsh inspection. Green eyes dart to Sam's throat, greedy and heated and nearing insanity.
"It's true. It's Sam," Ruby chimes in, and Sam could have told her she would be exactly zero help.
But Dean sideswipes him again.
"Ruby?"
Without Dean's eyes pinning him down, Sam feels freer, stronger. As his brother gapes at Ruby (and Sam will just have to figure that one out later), Sam uses the opportunity to press his advantage and flip Dean over.
It's not impressive, not really, because Dean is just lying there, staring at Sam likes he's got the key to salvation. Sam's grip is lax and he has a crazy thought that maybe he's dying again.
"It's him, Dean," Ruby continues, ruining the – whatever it was that makes Sam slow and stupid around his brother sometimes – and they both jerk their heads in her direction.
"It worked," she says, and she's talking to Dean, to his brother, who hates demons and Ruby most of all.
As much as that throws him off, the look Dean gives him makes Sam even more unhinged. There's dawning hope in Dean's eyes, and it feels very close to being worshiped. Makes Sam humble.
This. This is right about the moment that they would haul each other in for a hug, painful claps on the back a searing devotion. But no, the scene is all set wrong, because Sam is straddling Dean and he's naked.
Sam springs off his brother, nearly comedic in the way he hurriedly covers his groin.
Dean stands, more slowly and dignified, and he can't keep his eyes from Sam.
"I thought I told you never to come here," and Sam is crushed and drowning before he realizes that though Dean is looking at him, he's talking to Ruby.
"Special circumstances," she shoots back. Dean huffs, flushing as he finally turns away from Sam.
"What did you do?" Dean demands, and kneels in front of Ruby. He lifts up the edge of the rug, revealing the hidden drawing. There's no hesitation as he uses his thumbnail to scratch an opening for Ruby to escape.
She steps back out the door and into the night.
"Don't worry – nothing we didn't discuss. He's back and better than ever and Lucifer's down a playmate," Ruby breezes, laying out the facts like she didn't just give Lucifer and Death a big middle finger to the face. What happened tonight, Sam's return, would have consequences.
Dean doesn't seem too happy about it either.
"Look, he's here now. Nothing to be done. You can decide what to do with him, I'm just the delivery gal dropping off the package."
Dean frowns, grips the door frame as he steps closer to Ruby.
"Now, wait -"
"Sorry, Dean. Gotta rally the troops. General's back in town and all."
She disappears.
Somehow her absence makes them both awkward. Dean closes the door, gaze darting from Sam to the floor but always back to Sam, like it's inevitable. Destiny.
"Sam," he starts, and Sam wants to say yes, anything even though he doesn't know to what, but Dean pulls himself together.
"We should, uh, talk upstairs. My room," Sam nods, yes of course this is all perfectly normal, and trails his brother up the steps.
The room is small, impersonal and bare except for a lone AC/DC poster.
Dean catches Sam looking at it.
"Ben, uh, Ben put that up there one of the times I was gone."
"Ben? Like, Lisa and Ben?"
Something coils tight and vicious in Sam's chest.
no right, no right, it's your own fault
"Dean?" a woman's voice calls, sleepy with just the slightest bit of tense fear.
That must be Lisa, her name summoning her up like a spell.
Dean shoots Sam an apologetic look, promises to be right back and slips out of the room. Sam immediately searches the dresser, feels himself again after he throws on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. They're both a little tight, but it's like he's donned armor. Still, he's frustrated when he sits on the bed to wait for Dean.
All of Ruby's talk must have been getting under his skin, because he's disappointed Dean is with Lisa, and he shouldn't be. At all. His brother deserves every iota of happiness he can find, and Sam is the one who pushed him to this outcome anyways. He can't pull Dean into another dangerous stint to save the world, Boy King or not.
Dean is gone just long enough for Sam to spiral into a dark place, but the shy smile his brother offers when he reappears makes Sam's heart flutter. It's a dopey grin, one of Dean's rare ones, and it makes him look drunk or stoned. Like relief at Sam's return has drugged him.
"Had to fill in Lisa, then patch up the trap," he offers, like he needed an excuse to leave Sam alone. Sam nods to make them both happy, and hears himself say, "I should have known."
Dean cocks his head to the side. Like a damn dog.
"About you and Ruby. She knew things, like about Brady, and she, I don't know, kind of talked like you. Gave me the whole bit about 'saving people, hunting things' and everything."
Dean's answering smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, but there's none of the cold hatred Sam expected to see when he mentioned Ruby. It's disorienting, thinking about fake Ruby keeping him alive through the summer of Dean's death and the genuine Ruby doing the same for Dean. Cyclical and disturbing.
"Me and Lisa,we, we're not -" Dean blurts, and Sam is mortified.
"No, that's fine, you don't need to explain -"
"I do."
It shuts Sam up.
"I'm sorry, because I tried, Sam. I did. But the domestic bliss bullshit? Not for me."
It pleases Sam when it really shouldn't.
"So I've kinda fortified this place to be a supernatural Fort Knox. Second only to Bobby's place," Dean explains, proud, "and they keep a spare room for me when I need it."
So not Ruby, then, holding Dean together. Sam's absurdly grateful to Lisa and her son all of a sudden, thankful that they knew exactly how to handle Dean. Knew not to push. It couldn't have been easy for them, can't be easy for Lisa now with Sam here and a demon as a recent house guest. Good people, worth saving.
"You're still in the family business?"
Dean shrugs, like no big deal, but it is, and they both know it.
"It's been chaos since we took care of Lucifer. Been fighting with some hunters, others."
Others. Like Ruby.
"Castiel? Bobby?" Sam questions, and Dean's grin is genuine now.
"Bobby's holed up at his place, as usual. Got himself a professor lady friend," while Dean's leer is almost too dirty for Sam to laugh.
"Cas is out of commission most of the time, trying to settle things upstairs. He depends on me and Ruby doing a lot of grunt work down here, the slave driver." He's fond, though, and Sam is floating because they did it, Lucifer's gone and they all made it out to the other side. Surprise.
"But you and Ruby? That can't have been – I mean, you and her -"
It's uncomfortable, and it really does defy words.
Dean's not joking now, not when he looks so seriously at Sam.
"Yeah, it wasn't. Still isn't. But this ..."
He reaches forward, reverent, and trails his fingers alongside the outside of Sam's hand. It's quick, but lances Sam all the way to his toes.
"Might settle some scores," he finishes gruffly.
Sam wants to lean forward and touch Dean's face, so he talks instead.
"Okay, but you can't buy into this 'boy king' stuff," Sam argues, and he doesn't really believe it and wouldn't have even brought it up except he needs to fill the charged space between him and Dean with words instead of -
He's not going down that road.
Except Dean is buying the punchline.
"Cas thinks there's something to it," he says cautiously, and Sam thinks Dean can't actually be serious.
"Dean, no," and Sam's reply is automatic, lifeless. He just can't believe his brother would want him to go down that path again, to drink demon blood...
"No blood, you wannabe Dracula. Cas thinks you could do all you used to with the right power source."
And Sam can still not believe this.
"Battery-powered telekinesis?" Sam says, because it needed to be said. Maybe Sam's return fried Dean's brain. Maybe his death did.
Dean shoots him a look, annoyed, but Sam is, too. So there.
"And you're on board with the powers thing now? What the hell, man."
Dean gets up, walks to the one tiny window.
"Not completely. But if we can help people? Send those motherfuckers back to hell while keeping the civilians intact?"
A warmth expands in Sam's chest, a little floored by the acceptance of his brother. Of Dean's belief that whatever type of wrong Sam is, at least he can use it to help others.
"What would I have to do?"
Dean starts, like he can't believe Sam is even showing an interest. He rubs a hand over his mouth nervously, then rejoins Sam on the bed.
"Ritual," he says, and there's a blush on his neck.
Sam shrugs, nervous but dismissive.
"I trust you," Sam says, and means it.
Dean's pupils are blown wide, and he swallows anxiously.
"Just gotta get you a new charger, Sammy. And nothing burns brighter than a soul," Dean offers, flippant, and Sam gets it.
"Dean," he whispers, because he isn't capable of more. He thinks they must be a whole bucket of crazy to even consider this.
"Cas said, with us, it'll be easier. Connected or something," Dean trails off, and Sam's thinks of soulmates and heaven.
He says his brother's name again, and it does something to Dean, makes him lean toward Sam with gleaming eyes. Then he startles away, gets up and gives Sam a long, assessing look before dropping to one knee and reaching under the bed.
no chick flick moments, sam
The duffel bag Dean retrieves is nondescript and dark, and is a poor substitute for the trunk of the Impala.
"The car?" he hazards, surprised he didn't mention it sooner. Dean pulls out something wrapped in a red cloth, shoves the bag back under the bed and offers Sam a shrug.
"Bobby's. Storage."
Even that must have been difficult.
"Look, Cas said a soul is nothing but energy, a nuclear reactor. If you can safely tap into something like that," Dean stops and lets the possibilities occur to both of them.
"But what if something goes wrong? You get hurt?"
Dean gives him a face, like what's new.
"I'll go first, and you can, you know, see how it's done."
He's nervous, and it infects Sam. Since his return, everything's moved so fast, no time to breathe, and now he's honestly about to dabble in magic to use his brother's soul like a reservoir. He needs to stop this, take a moment to smell the damn roses or something, but then Dean asks Sam to take his shirt off and a dry-mouthed Sam does. Dean tells Sam to lay down and he does that, too. Even manages to barely twitch when Dean settles across Sam's hips with a knife in his hand.
"Sammy," Dean breathes, face twisted with longing.
Sam says nothing, too caught up in the feel of Dean pressing him down and the glint of the knife.
"Gonna," he tries, then leans over and spreads his left palm wide over Sam's chest. Sam hisses, arches into his brother's touch. Feels like Dean is pouring fire under his skin.
Dean explains the rune he's about to carve into Sam's chest, even apologizes the second before the edge of the knife breaks open Sam's skin.
It stings, pleasant and painful. But the sensation takes a backseat to Dean's breath on Sam's neck as he works, the fleeting brushes of Dean's fingers.
It's not a complicated symbol – Sam's actually surprised at the simple nature of it all – and when Dean finishes they're both gasping. Two fish out of water.
Nothing's changed, and Sam's about to remark that he got scratched up for beans, when Dean brings the bloody knife to his lips. Licks a clean line up the blade.
Something wraps around Sam, instantaneous and crushing. He tries to warn Dean, something gone wrong, and barely manages to grip his brother's thighs. It burrows into Sam, agony, rooting around until it finds what it's looking for. Snatches it out of his very being.
Sam screams once, back bowed and tense, before collapsing under his brother.
Sam thinks he must have blacked out, because the next thing he's aware of is Dean stroking his face, calling his name.
And he's worried. Sam can feel it inside his bones.
"It worked?" because Sam feels different, but not really. There's a line running from him to his brother, primeval and binding, but it's comforting.
And this is going to save the world?
"Yeah," Dean assures him, awed. He runs a finger down Sam's chest, feather light, and his gasp echoes Sam's.
"Mine," he says in a daze, and Sam rushes forward, their lips crashing together.
Yours, he thinks.