What happens when plot bunnies attack? This, apparently. Please let me know what you think.
A little one shot. Sam finds a way to help Dean out of his deal. Dean wants no part of it.
Disclaimer: Don't won, just playing, yada yada
Turn About
"Please tell me you're not considering doing this."
Sam turned to his brother with a questioning look, which quickly changed to annoyance when he saw what Dean held in his hand.
"Give me that," he said, trying to keep his voice calm as he reached for the stack of notes.
"No way. What the Hell were you thinking, Sam? You don't think this would be considered 'welching'? I'm not going to do it." Dean was practically shaking with anger.
"Just trust me…"
"No! A protection-against-death spell? It's not going to work, Sam. Forget it!"
"Actually, the spell works just fine. Dean, we only have a month left. It's the best solution I've been able to find--."
"Well I'm not doing it. It's not worth it, Sam. You'll die, don't you get it?"
"I get it, Dean, but--."
"No, Sam. I can't believe you'd even consider this!" Finally Sam raised his voice to match his brother's anger.
"You said you didn't want to go to Hell, and I'm trying to make sure that doesn't happen! I said I'd do anything to get you out of it and I meant it!"
"By what, dying again? I can't live with you dead, Sam! You know that!"
"You're incorrigible," Sam muttered. "Dean--."
"No, and that's final!" Dean turned and stomped out the door, taking the notes with him. After a brief moment of stunned silence, Sam followed. He found Dean at the edge of the hotel parking lot, pouring lighter fluid on the pile of notes.
"What do you think you're doing?" Sam yelled.
"Saving your ass." Dean struck a book of matched and dropped in on the pile. With a soft whumph, the notes caught and blazed up, causing Dean to take a few steps back. He turned to Sam and his expression softened.
"I'm sorry, Sammy. I couldn't let you do that."
"Dean--."
"Still my job, you know." Sam's expression didn't change, and Dean couldn't take the anger in his eyes any longer.
"I need a drink. Do you, uh, want to join me?" he asked, attempting to placate his brother. Sam said nothing.
"OK, fine, I'll see you in a bit." He walked over to the Impala, climbed in, and drove off.
Sam stood watching the taillights disappear before returning to the hotel room to gather up the rest of his notes.
No Dean, it's not your job any more. It's mine…
One month later…
Dean awoke with a terrible headache and a dry, cottony taste in his mouth. He groaned and tried to sit up.
Must have had more to drink than I thought…
He rubbed a hand over his eyes and slowly opened them.
"What the Hell…?"
He was sitting in the middle of a crossroads, illuminated by the light of the waxing gibbous moon, dressed only in his jeans and boots. Before he could react, a crunch of gravel caught his attention and he looked up to see a beautiful redhead in a short black dress standing near the intersection of the two gravel roads.
"Well, well, well," she purred. "I see you've dressed for the occasion. And what a treat it is." She cocked her head and looked at him through narrowed red eyes. "My predecessor said you were good looking, but…damn. Maybe if I play my cards right, my boss will let me have a go at you before…well, you know," she said, and gave him a coquettish wink.
Dean scrambled to his feet. He tried to look calm, but he was almost sure she could hear his thundering heartbeat.
"Let's get this over with," he growled. "I'm ready."
"Oh, I very much doubt that," she said with a smirk. He squared his shoulders as she advanced.
Sorry, Sammy…
Suddenly, she stopped, her expression morphing from amusement to anger.
"And what's this?" She reached down and dug into the gravel before tugging at something in the ground. A piece of canvas, previously covered and camouflaged by dust and gravel, flipped up to reveal the edge of a slab of cement painted with a familiar pattern.
"Up to your old tricks, I see." She gave the canvas a hard tug, which sent Dean sprawling outside the circle. She strode around the trap and grabbed him by his throat, lifting him off of the ground.
"Never thought you'd try that, you know. Risking Sammy's life for you own? What did you do, go out and buy some self-esteem?" She smiled. "No matter, I can still take you. And Sammy, too.
"No…" he struggled to breathe, to tell her this was all a mistake. Suddenly, Sam's voice shattered the silence of the night.
"Dean!" The demon dropped him and he scrambled to his feet, turning to see his brother standing in the middle of one of the roads.
"Sammy, get out of here!" He turned back to the demon, ready to fight. Her face was contorted in anger.
"What the Hell is this?" She said, walking around behind him to get another view of his back. "More protection?" Dean craned his neck to try and see what she was talking about. "That tattoo of yours wouldn't have done a damn thing to prevent me from taking you, but this? A death protection spell? I'm very disappointed, Dean. I thought maybe you actually did give a damn about your baby brother, but I guess I was wrong."
"No, I didn't--!"
"Didn't think? Obviously. But you know what this means. The deal is off. Final. And no more deals, either. Ever."
"Wait--!"
"My boss is going to be disappointed, but he knows he'll get you eventually. Without Sammy, well, I don't expect it will be very long at all." She vanished just as blood curdling scream tore thought the night. Dean turned to see his brother drop to his knees and then pitch forward face first into the dust.
"NO!!" Dean dashed to Sam's side. A large stain, black in the moonlight, was spreading over Sam's back.
"Nonononono. Sammy!" He rolled his brother's body over and wrapped his arms around it, shaking with sobs.
"I'm sorry, Sammy. I didn't do it, I didn't know, I swear! Sammy! Please…"
A voice, too low for Dean to hear above his own frantic cries, whispered.
I know…
Hell was not quite what he expected.
From his glimpse of the Devil's Gate a year ago, he had expected fire and brimstone, black clouds of demons and the screams of the damned. Instead, he found himself standing in a small, dark, windowless room, illuminated by a single light hanging from the ceiling.
"Huh."
Sam turned slowly in a circle examining the flat black walls for signs of flame or anything else infernal, but it was, quite frankly, boring. When he reached the end of his circuit he saw the crossroads demon standing in front of him.
"Sammy Winchester…"
"Dean's the only one who gets to call me that."
She laughed, her red eyes glowing with merriment.
"Not anymore. He gave you up to save his own skin. But then again, I guess that puts him in Hell, too. His own Hell, right on earth."
"So the deal is broken. Completely?"
"Completely. I gave my word, and my word is binding."
"And no one will come for him again?"
"Nope. He blew his last chance when he tried to screw me over. I'm not a forgiving sort of gal."
"I imagine not." He glanced around the room again. "So this is Hell? I expected something a little more--."
"Hellish? Don't worry, you'll get there soon enough. This is just a short stopping point on the way. Now, come along Sam," she said with a smirk as a door opened in the wall behind her. "We have so much to do…"
"Sorry, I have other plans," said Sam as he gave her his brightest grin and vanished.
Dean didn't know how long he had knelt at the crossroads, cradling his brother's body. It seemed like an eternity.
An eternity without Sam. No, no, I can't do it, I just…
"Damn, that hurt more than I remembered." Sam opened his eyes and blinked a few times to clear the dust from them.
Dean scuttled away from his brother, his eyes wide with horror.
No, no, it can't…you bastards, what did you do to him?
"Dean?" Sam sat up and stared at his terrified bother. "Dude, are you--?"
"Christo!" Dean yelled, waiting for the tell-tale flinch. No, it couldn't be…
"Dean, it's OK, it's me." He held up his hands in a placating gesture, but Dean was not to be mollified so easily.
"No. No, it can't be. You…I saw you…the crossroads bitch said…"
"The deal is broken. She thought you were trying to welch, so she broke it. Permanently."
"But…how?
"Believe me, it wasn't easy, dragging your drugged, heavy ass out here, but she took the bait."
"Wait…you set this up?" Sam grinned and nodded.
"Remind me to kick your ass later," Dean growled, some of his fear draining away. "But you should have died…you did die! What--?"
"You remember that little protection spell I found? The one that caused a major freak-out on your part?"
"The one you apparently painted on my back while I was out, you mean? What the Hell, Sammy?"
"You weren't the only one I used it on." Sam pulled up his t-shirt to reveal a pattern of symbols. "I had to get a little help from Bobby on that one. Kind of hard to do in the mirror."
"But--."
"The spell was not only for protection against death, but also for forming a link to life. As long as the body wasn't destroyed, life could be returned. I knew that if the demon thought you welched, the deal would be broken. You wouldn't go to Hell. I could save you. And the spell would save me."
"But….damn." Dean met his brother's eyes, concern and worry still etched across his features. "Does this mean that you're a…you know…like Highlander?"
Sam threw back his head and laughed. Damn it felt good to laugh, the first time in ages.
"No, man. It's just a one-shot deal. I'm back to normal."
"You were never normal," said Dean with a smirk. "But, now what? Won't the demon try to get me back?"
"Nope, it's in the deal. The demon gave her word. And as she said, her word is binding."
"Damn…Sammy?" Dean asked as he hauled himself to his feet and held out a hand to his little brother. Sam grabbed it and pulled himself to his feet as well.
"Yeah, Dean?"
"Thanks." Sam pulled Dean into a hug which Dean returned with a relieved sigh. After several moments, he stepped back.
"OK, that's enough of the chick-flick crap. Let's get a move on, Sammy. Tell me you brought the car…?"
Sam grinned and tossed him the keys.
"Awesome. You ready?"
"Yep. We've got work to do."
We can grant ourselves our own salvation,
All that's required is imagination.
--Book of Counted Sorrows