A/N: It's been years since I've written - let alone posted - fanfiction of any kind, and this my first for Supernatural. Hopefully I've got the characters' voices correct. As ever, feedback is greatly appreciated!
Supernatural belongs to CW/WB/Kripke/not-me. That should be a given.
Edit (7/4/2015): Realized I should have mentioned that there is dialogue copied straight from the episode. Anything that you recognize doesn't belong to me! Also, fixed some formatting.
Trigger warning: Graphic descriptions of blood and violence on par with the show.
Spoilers: General season 4/5 spoilers are in effect up to 5.12 Swap Meat.
Summary: AU tag to 5.12 Swap Meat. Gary had no idea what he was doing – he had no idea what the consequences were. He was just a kid, wanting an escape. He didn't want... this.
-0-
Gary was in trouble. He didn't need five AP classes and a sky-high SAT score to tell him that. Ropes cut into his arms, tying him to the uncomfortable (and unfortunately sturdy) slightly stained motel chair.
In retrospect, maybe he should have fought Dean Winchester a bit more before getting tied to furniture. The ropes were tight, yes, but they weren't cruelly so. The load was well distributed, so his (wonderfully not-asthmatic) body wouldn't even bruise from this. Dean had been coldly efficient when he knocked his arms aside, holding the wrist with the gun in a vice-like grip while a fist slammed into his face. The blow had been stunning, but Gary suspected Dean had pulled his punch at the last second since nothing felt broken.
Gary would never admit that he had passively sat while Dean dug out ropes and tied him up. He would lie and say that he had been knocked out or something equally debilitating had happened. And if anyone ever learned the truth, well, he would dare them to do better against six feet of solid muscle and fury.
As it was, he was stuck in a chair. His heart was racing. Cold sweat ran down his back and stuck to his arms. He almost wished Dean would turn the gun on him. At least a bullet would be (theoretically) less painful than being torn apart by that guy's bare hands.
Dean Winchester glared down at him, finger viciously stabbing the phone's buttons while he kept the receiver twisted ever-so-slightly towards him so they could both hear Sam's messages.
Sam sounded furious as he hissed short messages in Gary's squeaky, perpetually breaking voice. Some small part of Gary was impressed his voice could sound so menacing. The rest was struggling not to piss his pants. With every recording, Dean grew even more furious. The green eyes that had once shone with camaraderie and joy while with his brother were now daggers stabbing into him.
Thank God glares couldn't kill. He would have been dead a thousand times over.
Oh God this had been a terrible idea.
"Alright pal, either you start talking or I start water boarding," Dean growled, slamming the phone and leaning in low over Gary. Their eyes met and Gary could read the deadly intent shining out. There was no doubt in his mind that this man – Hell's Most Wanted – could and would water board him and sleep well afterwards. This guy could probably do much worse than water boarding. Hell, water boarding might just be the warm up!
Oh my God.
"Please don't hurt me. Please! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" Gary gasped out, diverted his gaze quickly and blinking away sudden moisture. He flinched away and into the chair as best he could.
Something about his begging calmed Dean down. Maybe it was the fact Gary was wearing his brother's face. Maybe Gary hadn't been quite as effective at hiding his tears as he wanted. Whatever it was, Gary heaved an enormous breath of relief when his tormentor backed off and said, in an almost soothing voice, "OK. Hey, pull it together, champ."
"I don't want to die," Gary babbled, knew he was babbling, but was unable to stop himself. It was true, he realized dimly. He didn't like his father's grand Plan for him. He didn't like that his life was set in stone for the rest of eternity and that he didn't get to put a word in otherwise. He didn't like that he would never be a cool kid or strong and confident like the Winchester boys. "I don't want to die!"
"Where's Sam?" Dean demanded, leaning in again. Mercifully, he wasn't nearly as close. Gary quickly began fighting his terror back.
Nope. Still terrifying.
Still likely to die.
Oh God.
"In my – my friend's basement. His – his parents are out of town," Gary answered as quickly and clearly as possible, words stumbling and tumbling out in a barely coherent jumble.
"Parents?" Dean asked, momentarily derailed, face twisted in confusion. Gary nodded, helpless against this monster's fury. "How old are you?"
"Seventeen," Gary replied, proud that his voice was relatively steady. Dean's face went straight to disbelief, eyes raking over his brother's stolen body before returning to meet Gary's eyes.
"Seventeen?" he repeated. Gary nodded quickly, almost hearing the "God damnit" that went unvoiced immediately afterward. Part of him relaxed. If this guy was worried about his age, maybe he could yet escape from this alive and unscathed.
Whatever Dean was going to say was cut off as the enormous man went flying across the room. Gary flinched as he slammed into the dresser, shattering the mirror before collapsing onto the carpet. Movement caught his eye and he turned to see Nora – sweet, lovely Nora – pick her way across the motel room.
His heart sang in relief at her familiar face. How on earth she and Trevor knew he needed help like that, he wasn't about to ask. Maybe God had heard his prayers?
"Nora?" he asked, smile tugging at his lips.
"Not at the moment," she drawled, eyes turning pitch black as she drew closer, squatting down until they were at eye level. Gary felt his face turn bloodless as his jaw dropped.
Demon.
Nora was possessed by a demon.
Oh God.
"Now let's get you out of there, huh?" she asked sweetly, rising and making her way behind him. Gary twisted in his seat, uncomfortable with not-Nora out of his vision. Something – everything – about her sent chills up and down his spine. She didn't walk, he realized, she strutted. Each of her words were stretched seductively, curling and twisting in the air to cling to his skin like cigarette smoke. He vaguely wondered if he would ever be able to wash the feel of those words off.
The demon made quick work of Dean's knot, Nora's nimble fingers picking at the fibers until the whole thing unraveled. "Boy, you earned your dessert tonight, kiddo," the demon crooned as she worked. "Tell me, what is it you want?" she asked. "Anything," she added with a curve of the lips.
"Anything?" Gary asked, surprised, as he tugged the slack ropes off.
"Anything," the demon agreed, twisting around his still seated form to squat down in front of him again. "Lay it on me," she invited, smirk still looking so wrong on Nora's face.
All thoughts of the night's terrors evaporated at the demon's promise. A thought struck and Gary stood to his full borrowed height, enjoying the feel of towering over a room.
I could have this all the time, he realized.
"I want to be a witch," Gary stated confidently. "For real," he added, realizing his little body-swap spell technically counted as witchcraft. "And really powerful," he finished, because what was the point of being anything if you weren't good at it?
The demon hummed in agreement, smirk shifting into more of a sinister smile. "Good choice," she praised, voice dripping with approval. "I get it," she simpered, turning away to begin slowly slinking towards Dean. "No daddy, no MIT. No Plan. You get to be big and strong and no one can tell you what to do anymore," she said, whipping around to face Gary again. She paused, a caricature of thought stealing across her face for a second before it was gone. "There's just one small formality first."
Gary tilted his head in silent askance, tempted and willing to ignore the tiny voice saying this was a bad idea. God, if she wasn't offering everything he ever wanted. And didn't he deserve this? He had found the spell book, drugged this behemoth of a body, performed the ritual, and captured Dean Winchester. There must be a reward. And damned if he was going to back out now.
"You gotta meet the boss," the demon answered with a small sympathetic smile.
"The boss?"
The demon hummed again before answering. "You know – Your Satanic Majesty, or whatever the kids are calling it these days," she said with a half shrug and flirty wink.
"The Devil?" Gary asked, stunned. Like, honest-to-God Devil? Horns and pitchfork and red skin and all?
"Mm-hmm," the demon agreed with a short nod, as if speaking to The Devil himself was commonplace. And who knows? Maybe it is, for powerful witches who capture Hell's Most Wanted. "It'll be easy. He's just gonna ask you one little question, and all you gotta do is say 'yes,'" she assured, reaching out to rest one palm along his shoulder. Gary turned to stare at that point of contact before turning and catching Nora's eyes.
Everything he could ever want and the power to make it happen.
Yes.
"Okay," he said in a rush, before the pit of terror he had only barely suppressed with the demon's rescue grew into cold feet.
The demon smiled a real, genuine smile. It was beautiful in a wrong sort of way, lighting up Nora's face before the demon twisted away to stalk towards Sam's canvas bag. She dug around, hissing at some of the contents, before pulling out a dented brass bowl and gleaming knife. She caught his eyes, smirking, and quickly made her way to Dean.
Dean. How could he have forgotten the massive man? He was beginning to stir, and Gary winced at the force the demon must have used to knock him out for so long. The demon knelt down next to his form, fingering the knife, before viciously slashing across his throat.
Gary squeaked in horror as blood sprayed from the gaping wound. The bowl was there immediately, Nora – the demon – moving the gasping corpse so the blood flowed into the bowl. Almost reverently, the bloody bowl was pulled away and Dean was allowed to flop back, dead.
Oh God.
But this was everything he wanted, right?
The demon glanced up for one second, and Gary was struck by how accurate the school goths were about demons and their black and red pictures. The shadows and the blood slowly dripping off Nora's face was its own kind of nightmare. She was chanting something in Latin, and part of Gary barely recognized it as an invocation to Lucifer. The rest of him was caught staring at the blood running down the rim of the bowl to join the pool at Nora's feet.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The invocation was complete, or Gary assumed it was because he could understand Nora's words a lot better in his haze. "I have Sam Winchester here. He wants to say something to you," she murmured to the bowl.
Drip.
Drip.
If there was any reply, Gary missed it. He wasn't sure what he expected or how long it would take for the Devil to finish making deals with every half-baked Satanist in the world, but he wasn't sure he could remain standing for much longer. He stumbled back and landed heavily on the wood chair.
There was something uncomfortable digging into his seat.
It's the ropes. He was sitting on ropes, tossed carelessly onto the seat cushion.
Huh.
Drip.
Nora glanced up, probably to offer some reassurance, when the door opened.
Gary wasn't sure what he expected the Devil to look like, but it wasn't this. Actually, no. He did know what he expected the Devil to look like. And it wasn't human.
The Devil entered casually, as if he was a neighbor popping in for a cup of sugar. His hands were hanging limp by his sides, as if he didn't quite know what to do with them, and he walked with deliberate ease, like a linebacker picking his way through toddlers. His face was pale, but that only helped highlight the brilliant blue eyes that immediately fixated on the corpse slowly bleeding out on the once-tan carpet. This didn't look like Evil incarnate.
The pale face twisted into a look of disappointment and fury.
His head whipped around to glare at Nora, and Gary felt his heart stutter in his chest. The fury on that face could (would?) end a world.
Oh God.
Then the expression was gone, wiped clean like it was never there. "My Lord," Nora greeted, bowing her head before her master. "The Winchester brothers."
Gary wished he had the presence of mind to curse the demon as the Devil turned his attention towards him. Dean's fury had nothing on the Devil. The Devil had barely moved – hadn't really done anything yet – and Gary was seeing his life flash before his eyes. His parents. His sister. The book. (That damned book.) His first bicycle. Trevor and Nora. He swallowed nervously.
"You're not Sam," the Devil commented mildly, hooking his hands in front of his slightly pudgy stomach and letting his forearms bounce against his front. Gary wondered if the Devil was looking for confirmation. Whether that was true or not was irrelevant. He couldn't get his voice to work. He thought he made a sound that was vaguely agreement.
Oh God. He would pick the one guy who has the Devil gunning for him as his body swap target.
"You said you had Sam," the Devil continued, turning his head just enough to catch Nora in the side of his eye.
"N-no, my Lord. I-I meant that I ha-have his meat suit," she stuttered, terror stealing across her face. The Devil sighed a short, soft grunt of disappointment before catching Gary's eye and offering an expression of look-what-I-have-to-deal-with. Then the Devil twisted, one of his hands reaching up to thrust through Nora's chest and explode out the other side.
Gary screamed as Nora helplessly gasped. She flailed on the Devil's forearm, skin lighting up with dull red-orange lightning flashes, hands uselessly clutching the arm she was impaled on. The Devil watched the demon die impassively before throwing her off and across the room, the land in a jumbled mass at the foot of a bed.
The Devil sighed again, glancing at the corpse before turning his attention back to Gary. "It's so hard to find good help these days," he said, utterly uncaring about the blood dripping off his fingertips to mingle with Dean's on the carpet. "See, it's not just the vessel I need," he explained, slowly making his way across the room to Gary's chair. Gary pressed deeper into the chair, wishing he could retreat to the motel room wall but knowing it wouldn't help. The Devil came to stop just short of Gary, not leaning in but towering over the almost-adult in such a way that Gary knew exactly how small and insignificant he was even in this behemoth Sam's body.
"Sam and I," he began, eyeing Gary's body in a way that made him feel unclean. "Well, you could say we were made for each other. Destined besties, if you will. And then there's you," he mused, eyeing Gary again. "An interloper. Where is Sam?"
Part of him knew he shouldn't tell. Knew that if the Devil was walking the Earth that this had to be the end of times. Knew that if the Devil was searching for someone, you probably shouldn't tell him where that someone was.
He didn't listen to that part. "H-he's in my friend's basement," he began, before rattling off the address.
The Devil smiled thinly and then he was gone.
The room felt empty without the Devil there. Gary heaved a deep breath, eyes scanning the destruction littering the room. The smashed mirror, the two cooling corpses, the brass bowl laying upended next to Dean's hand. He was miraculously unscathed, and part of him wondered at that. Wondered if he shouldn't leave, promises of power and witchcraft forgotten. He slowly, shakily, rose to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, but the first tentative step seemed promising. He slowly made his way to the door, carefully avoiding the largest puddles on the floor and wincing slightly whenever he felt the carpet squish under his booted toes.
"You aren't leaving, are you?" the Devil asked suddenly, at the same time a voice shouted "Dean!" Gary whipped around to see the Devil standing in the center of the room once more, calm as you please, and his own familiar body rushing to kneel next to Dean's corpse.
"U-uh, um," Gary stuttered, eyes flickering between the Devil and the undeniably odd experience of watching his own body act under someone else's command. Sam-in-Gary was cradling his brother's head, even though the slashed throat made it more than clear that the guy was dead.
"I already told you," Sam stated, glaring at the Devil and barely glancing towards Gary. "The answer will always be 'no.'"
"Oh, Sam," the Devil hummed, turning to the hunter. "It may be 'no' today, but I'm not worried. Our day will come, but not here, I suppose. Not yet," he concluded with a shrug. "Besides, this isn't how it's supposed to go," he said, glancing towards Gary and Sam following his gaze. Sam's expression turned momentarily protective, then apologetic, then determined.
"Stop it," he demanded. "No, whatever you're doing – whatever you're planning – the answer is no. I don't care if I have to kill you in this body, I'll figgin' kill you, you son of a bitch!"
"Sorry, Sam," the Devil said with another shrug, not at all sorry. "I said I wouldn't hurt you, but this," he said, indicating the body swap mess, "just isn't working for me."
Gary felt ice in his veins. He wanted to move – to run and hide and crawl back home for forgiveness and safety even in the wrong body – but he couldn't. His feet were rooted to the ground.
Faster than Gary could see, the Devil was kneeling in front of Sam, shielding the hunter from the teenager's view. Sam started screaming. It was obvious he was trying not to, but it ripped its way past the hunter's iron will. The Devil shifted, and Gary realized with horror that the Devil had shoved his whole forearm up and into Sam's chest cavity. He was slowly pulling it free, Sam's screams petering out as the appendage was removed.
Brilliant white light spilled into the room as the Devil freed his hand from Gary's now-empty body, and the teenager could only gaze in awe at the veritable sun the Devil held carefully cradled in his palm. It hurt to look at, the light sneaking past the Devil's back illuminating the ratty motel room and burning Gary's eyes.
The Devil seemed pleased to hold this supernova in his hands, absolutely hypnotized by the sensation of holding what Gary could only guess was a human soul. But if that was Sam's soul, then...
The Devil slowly (reluctantly?) turned his face away from Sam's soul to glance at Gary. He rose just as slowly, moving both hands to cup the soul close to his chest, as if Gary were unworthy of seeing even the reflection of that soul's light off the Devil's shirt. Gary had a split second to swallow in fear, maybe begin stuttering a "Yes" in vague hopes that the Devil would stop if he heard that magic word the demon was so sure he would want to hear, before the Devil was in front of him and he was screaming.
Pain. Unimaginable pain. It wasn't just the dull throb of something blunt piercing skin and muscle and bone, though that was there too. It was more like fire and ice engulfing his whole body, burning him to the smallest hair follicle while freezing him so cold his blood seemed to boil. Blackness crept up in his vision, and Gary welcomed it. Maybe, in the dark, it wouldn't hurt so badly.
Maybe, in the dark, the nightmare would end.
-0-
Lucifer spared one last forlorn glance at Sam's beautiful soul. It was brilliant and perfect, shining with all the grace and glory of Heaven and Earth packed into a grapefruit-sized package. Of all of these flawed humans, the Father had managed to make one absolutely perfect, and Lucifer was honored to hold it in his hand. It felt right. It felt like a piece of himself made small and human instead of large and angelic.
But he wasn't allowed to keep it, even if this little light could fill all his cracks and he could be made whole again. That wasn't how the rules worked. If he wanted Sam's soul (and oh, how he wanted Sam's soul and body and heart and mind and everything that made Sam Sam), he needed consent. He needed Sam to agree.
He needed Sam alive and healthy in his own body.
The fallen angel reluctantly turned his attention to the empty vessel just beginning to stir in front of him. With deep regret, he carefully pushed Sam's soul back into his chest, through the same channel he had plunged his other hand mere seconds ago. Sam's body seized, limbs straining against nothing as Lucifer used his Grace to burn off the remains of the spell that had allowed for the two souls to swap bodies in the first place.
The world seemed dimmer without Sam's soul warming his palm, but seeing his vessel's eyes snap open and watching him heave in gasps of air almost made it worthwhile. Lucifer leaned back, allowing Sam a few moments to reorient himself to his proper body and register the situation.
"I'll see you later," Lucifer commented idly, barely able to drag his eyes off Sam long enough to eye the other soul he held.
"Wait," Sam gasped, glancing around the room. "What about Dean? And Gary?"
Lucifer turned to glance at the two bodies sprawled across the floor. Gary, if that was the moron's name, was beginning to stir. Dean... The angel slowly rose and approached the corpse. Two fingers reached down and barely brushed the man's temple, the angel watching with great care as his throat sealed up and blood appeared to replace the mass soaking his boots. Any one of his brothers or sisters could have – and eventually would have – done this themselves, but it hardly cost him anything to do such a small favor for his Sam. His older brother's vessel began to breathe once more.
"He's sleeping. He'll awaken once I'm gone," Lucifer promised. "As for Gary," he trailed off, glancing at the disfigured lump of white and grey that was this dark arts dabbler's soul. Admittedly, this soul's disfigurement had more to do with Lucifer's lack of care during its extraction than its unfortunate fate as a human. "I can't let him live, Sam. Not after what he did. I hope you understand."
He didn't look to see what Sam's expression was as he squeezed his fingers into a fist and felt the soul crush into a fine mist. When he opened his hand again, the remains of Gary's soul fell limply into Hell. Frankly, he didn't think the tattered remains would survive a day (topside).
"Until next time, Sam," Lucifer stated with a slight quirk of his lips.
And Sam was left alone with a confused, soulless Gary and confused, angry Dean.