Pacta Sunt Servanda (1/3)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and violence, Gen
Warnings: Spoilers through Fresh Blood.
Disclaimer: Kripke and Co. own -- I just borrow.
Summary: Response to the prompt - "AU for Bedtime Stories -- shooting CRD is considered whelching and Sam dies, only he dies spiritually, not physically, and becomes Not!Sam, any old way you like.
A/N: This ended up being a little darker than I'd intended. Oops. In three parts.
Stop the car.
Stop the car, damn it.
The Impala's headlights cut through the midnight fog, its engine roaring. The yellow lines flash by, their staccato rhythm keeping time with the pounding of Sam's own heart. He can barely breathe, the sinking feeling in his stomach is getting worse by the minute.
Is that what you want me to do, Dean? Just let you go?
And then the bastard just smiled and walked away. Yeah,his retreating figure whispered softly. Let me go.
The image is still seared into his brain -- Dean's lying on the motel bed, swaddled that ugly yellow blanket, the moonlight streaming in through window and Sam screams noas the bed becomes cold dirt, the ugly yellow blanket morphs into a pack of hell hounds, dragging his brother's still form towards her, towards oblivion, towards loneliness and eternity and --
Sam blinks and his brother rolls over, pulling the blanket closer to his body. Not yet, Dean. Not yet. And the door shuts with a quiet click.
Smooth pavement turns to rocky gravel and he can see it up ahead, through the tunnel of trees -- the intersection. The slam of the door echoes emptily through the still night air. The gravel crunches underneath his boots and his heart pounds faster as his fingers brush the hard plastic of his Cumberland County Sheriff's ID. He contemplates it for a moment, well aware of what he's about to do -- of what's at stake -- before placing it in the box with the bones of the black cat and graveyard dirt. Part of him hopes that he's got the wrong crossroads, that he'll bury the box and wait and wait in the cool darkness and nothing will happen. The weight of the Colt is tremendous in his waistband -- the power of destruction concentrated in twelve grams of bullet, gunpowder and primer.
Deep breath. No turning back now. He stands up, brushing his dirty hands on his jeans, surprised as his breath mists out in front of him. A slight shiver ripples through his body -- the cold is bone-deep now. The distinct lack of action disturbs him and he expectantly checks each of the four points of the crossroads, looking... hoping...
"Well, little Sammy Winchester." Her voice is like honey, smooth and unthreatening. Sam spins around and his eyes fall upon the petite woman before him, her perfectly-curled, sable hair ruffling gently in the breeze. She looks more like she's headed to an upscale party in her four-inch heels than bargaining for souls on some backcountry road. Except for the red eyes. "I'm touched. I mean, your brother's been to see me twice, but you... I never had the pleasure." Sam sets his jaw firmly and something inside takes over. It turns him cold. Her eyes change back to deep, liquid brown and a sneer tugs on the corners of his mouth. "What can I do for you, Sam?"
The weight of the Colt is crushing. In one swift movement, he draws it and points it at the girl -- no, demon.
"You can beg for your life."
A flash of dismay crosses her face as his thumb hovers above the hammer. She collects herself. "We were havin' such a nice conversation, then you had to go and ruin the mood."
"If I were you, I'd drop the wisecracks and start acting scared." The cold battles against the voice in the back of Sam's head that whispers you're not going to kill her.
She smiles -- the demon fucking smiles at him -- and says, "That's not my style." The gun has caught her eye, and she studies it while Sam studies her. "That's not the original Colt." Her eyes narrow ever so slightly. "Where'd you get that?" The shadow of a smile passes over Sam's face before flittering off into the night. Realization dawns on the demon. "Ruby. Had to be." The image of the blonde's sassy, annoying-as-hell smirk fills Sam's vision, causing him to nearly smirk himself. "She is such a pain in my ass. She'll get what's coming to her. You can count on it."
"That's enough." Sam doesn't care about Ruby. He cares about Dean. And he's not gonna just let him go. "I came here to make you an offer."
The demon is amused. "You're gonna make me an offer?That's adorable."
Cocky little bitch, beneath the innocent exterior. "You can let Dean out of his deal right now. He lives, I live, you live. Everyone goes home happy. Or," he cocks the hammer of the Colt and levels it at the demon, "You stop breathing. Permanently."
The demon looks at the gun, looks at Sam and makes a noise that almost sends Sam over the edge... she's fucking pleased with herself and she laughs. "All this tough talk." She starts to walk around him and Sam feels trapped -- can barely breathe-- but he keeps the gun on her. "I have to tell you, it's not very convincing." She's smiling and it's driving him mad. "I mean, come on, Sam. Do you even want to break the deal?"
What? Stupid question. "What do you think?" The sneer creeps back up on him as she spins around, facing him again.
"I don't know. Aren't you tired of cleaning up Dean's messes?"Messes? Like, his laundry? Yeah, it's bad, but... "Of dealing with that broken psyche of his?"
Sam's breathing quickens. Yeah, that, but it's more than that, man. You and me and Dad, I mean, I want us... I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again.
I'm not okay... and neither are you.
So tell me, what could you possibly say to make that alright?
I'm tired Sam.
Ever since Dad, all I can think about is how much this job has cost us. We've lost so much, we've sacrificed so much...
Tell me the truth. Dean, tell me the truth... how long did you get?
Shake it off, Sam.
"Aren't you tired of being bossed around like a snot-nosed little brother?"
Sam, ENOUGH. I'm not gonna have this conversation.
Why, because you said so --
Yeah because I said so!
Well, you're not Dad!
No, but I am the oldest one. And I'm doin' what's best. You're gonna let this go, you understand me? ... Tell me about the psychotic killer.
Shake it off, Sam.
"You're stronger than Dean. You're better than him."
"Watch your mouth."
"Admit it. You're here, going through the motions but the truth is, you'll be a tiny bit relieved when he's gone." She steps towards him, closing in. He inches back to keep his distance, brain screaming shut up shut up shut up.
"Shut up." It's clipped and powerful, but the bitch keeps on going.
"No more desperate, sloppy, needy Dean. You can finally be free."
The cold rises again against his growing insecurities, the demon's words biting through his stomach like iron arrows.
"I said. Shut.UP."
"Huh." She's still fucking pleased with himself, but her eyes are wary now. "Doth protest too much if you ask me."
That's it. Sam can't take it anymore. He's breathless now. "Alright. Enough of your crap. You let Dean out of his deal right now."
She's smiling again. He hates that smile. "Sorry, sweetheart, but your brother's an adult. He made that deal of his own free will. Fair and square. It's ironclad."
Not true -- Evan. "Every deal can be broken." Take that, bitch.
She turns to face him, mischievous. "Not this one."
His palms are sweaty, his arms are beginning to cramp up from holding the gun at her and he's fucking freezing. And totally over this shit.
"Fine. I'll kill you. If you're gone, then so is the deal." He's ready to do it. She's not a girl possessed by a demon any longer, she is the demon and she's the way out.
"Guess again." Wipe the goddamn smile off your face. Now.
"What?" The gun wavers.
"Sam, I'm just a saleswoman. I got a boss, just like everybody else. He holds the contract, not me. He wants Dean's soul -- bad -- and believe me, he's not gonna let it go."
No. Demons lie. "You're bluffing."
"Am I? Shoot me; if it'll get you off. But the deal still holds, and when Dean's time comes, he's getting dragged into the pit." Sam lowers the gun. What if she's telling the truth? What if...
"And who's your boss? Who holds the contract?"
She laughs and saunters towards him, no gun threatening her now. "He's not as cuddly as me, I can tell you that."
"Who. Is. It?" His face is twisted now, angry and desperate.
"I can't tell you." She articulates each word like a death sentence and Sam's face falls, defeated. "I'm sorry, Sam. There's no way out of this one. Not this time."
No. Liar. She has to be lying... no other reason not to disclose the contract-holder. She's trying to save her ass. She can break it, she just doesn't want to.
Sam looks down at the ground, the fog enveloping his figure as the cold embraces him once again. When his eyes come back up, so does his gun.
The echo of the shot is deafening on the silent and lonely road. The flash of fire and gunsmoke from the barrel illuminates the still night. The girl's head snaps back, eyes wide as a small river of blood begins to pour out of the perfectly-round hole in the middle of her head. She gasps for air as the demon inside struggles, then flickers away, finally losing her balance and collapsing to the gravel with final twitch.
A hard lump rises inside of Sam's throat as he stares at the body, clenching his jaw tightly. He finally breathes. He did it. He killed the demon. Dean should be free.
And yet, the sinking feeling in his stomach indicates otherwise. Sam stands over the body of the demon -- no, the body of an innocent -- for an eternity. He can't bring himself to move. It begins to sink in that, yeah, he killed a girl on a whim. For all he knows, he might come back to his brother lying dead on the motel bed. Or maybe he's only got six months now.
God, he might have really fucked this one up. Why did he pull the trigger?
Instinct tells him he needs to get rid of the body. Bury the guilt. He takes two steps towards the car before a searing pain in his back sends him to his knees, breathless. A wicked wind picks up and flattens the tall yarrow around the crossroads and the fog grows thick and swirling. He tries to pick himself up, but his right shoulder hangs there, floppy and useless. The pain is nearly unbearable.
"Hello, Sammy."
God, he really fucked this one up. The fog parts and a dark, featureless figure stands before him, looking down on his helpless body. If it had a mouth, it probably would have smiled.
Sam tries to respond, but his lungs are on fire. Instead he gasps and doubles over, growing weaker by the second.
"Feel familiar?" The figure's voice is rough and deep. "Oh, Sammy. I thought you were smarter than that."
"Who... are... you?" Sam manages to groan. The edges of his vision are fading in and out and he can barely focus his eyes.
"Oh, me? I've got lots of names. Who do you want me to be, Sammy? Oh, I got a good one." The eyes of his father stare back at him, wide and sorrowful. "You walked away, Sammy.."
"Stop... it."
"You left. You turned your back on this family. I had to be the big goddamn hero and sacrifice myself for Dean's life. Seems to run in the family." His father -- no, not his father -- twists his lip into a snarl the way he'd done in the cabin in South Dakota and his eyes flash yellow. "If only you'd just shot me when I'd asked you. Been a good lil' soldier like your brother."
"Shut UP."
"That hit too close to home? How 'bout this one: 'I made you cookies, Sammy. Come to bed, sweetie.'" Jess' smile tugs at him deep inside and he cries out as another, sharper pain hits the middle of his back. "You're just ripe with material, boy, Pity I don't have more time -- my demonic day-planner is just packed. See, I wasn't really planning on paying you a visit tonight. But then you had to go and do... that." It's changed into a man... just a plain ol' man in a trenchcoat with, glowing, fiery eyes... and now he's standing over the crossroad demon's human host, shaking his head. "It's so hard to find good help these days. I mean, I expected it, but not yet. Not this soon. You were supposed to get desperate first."
"Oops."
"You've been hanging out with your brother too long -- starting to get cavalier about these things. You'll come to regret it."
"Are you... the contract holder?"
The demon smiles and stretches his arms wide. "The one and only. And you, my boy, have just breached it."
Sam's breath freezes in his throat. The demon raises his hand and the body of the host disappears, leaving nothing but a bright stain of red on the gravel below. "What do... you... mean?" The pain in his back won't stop and it's all he can do to keep himself upright as his body demands to lay against the freezing ground.
"You tried to weasel your way out of your brother's deal. It's off."
Cold Oak. The unrelenting drizzle against his face. His useless arm, Jake lying unmoving on the ground, the frosty moonlight streaming down upon his brother and Bobby as the shout of "Sam" echos through the town. The sharp, wet crack of metal against bone from behind him. The blistering exhale of breath as something enters the soft skin of his back, straight through his spinal cord and then up and up and he goes down and down and Dean's running and his vision goes foggy and then blood red and he hears his name and something solid's around him, shaking him, pleading, embracing and a final, soft breath escapes his lips and he's cold -- so cold -- and he can't feel a damn thing and the light goes out and he surrounded by darkness -- sweet, peaceful, painless darkness. And it's over.
We trap the crossroads demon, trick it, try to welch our way out of the deal in any way? You die. Okay? You die. Those are the terms. There's no way out of it.
God, he really fucked this one up. "Guess I shouldn't... bother... pleading my case, then." The Colt's still in his hand. If the damn thing would just stop pacing, he might be able to get a shot off.
The demon chuckles. "Guess not."
His finger's on the hammer. He's pulling it back as quietly as he can manage, tilting it, trying to aim it at the demon. "Why do you want... Dean's soul... so badly? Surely... we can... negotiate."
"I owe you nothing, Sam Winchester. Nothing. No explanation, no rationalization, no mercy. You broke the deal, you're responsible for the consequences."
The gunshot resonates forever in the empty night air and the recoil puts Sam on the ground. Lying flat on his back, looking up at the glittering stars, a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he closes his eyes for a moment. It's over.
"That was entirely unnecessary, Sammy."
Shit. He lifts his head enough to see the demon still standing in front of him, shaking his head sadly. "But... the Colt..."
The demon laughs. "Really, Sammy. You think that rebuilt piece of crap's gonna kill something like me? The original one might've. Rookie move."
Sam lays his head back on the gravel and groans. God, he really fucked this one up.
"I must say, I admire your determination. Some people might call it bull-headed, but it's really rather endearing." The demon's suddenly next to him, crouched low to the ground, his fiery eyes locked on Sam's. "In fact, it just might save you."
"What?" Demons speaking of salvation -- he's seen everything now.
"You see, Sammy, I was all ready to let you drop dead, right here and now. But now, you've got me thinking. Maybe ol' Azazel knew what he was doing after all."
"Azazel?"
"Your yellow-eyed friend. See, he thought you were 'special.' But you already know that, right? What you don't know is that we demons don't die very often. And when your brother killed Azazel, it was a big damned deal. It just so happens that Azazel and I were close and when he died, his assets transferred over to me."
Sam lets out a hollow laugh. "A demonic next-of-kin?"
"Oh, Sammy. We've got a very well-developed legal system in Hell. The termdevil's advocate has a lil' irony to it. Anyway, you were one of his assets."
"Lovely. And just a little dirty."
"Mmm. I always though the whole 'human/demon army' thing was a little far-fetched. You give that much power to a human and it's bound to come back to bite you in the ass. Azazel found that out the hard way. So, I was ready to let the whole thing go, took away the kids' powers, gave up on the army, the whole shebang. I was ready to take Dean's soul when his year was up and -- oh, the Hell I was gonna put him through. There's a special place for hunters down there. Your daddy... well, let's just he ain't sippin' tequila on the beach in Cabo."
Sam takes a ragged breath. He's beginning to become numb to the pain and his brain tells him that can't be a good sign.
"And now, here you are. Dropped into my lap once again. It's like... fate."
"Or unfortunate coincidence."
"I think not. I mean... you shot that host. The one my salesgirl was possessing. Pulled the trigger without a second thought for the innocent life you were taking. I thought you and Dean saved people. False advertising, if you ask me."
"It wasn't like that."
"Right. Of course it wasn't. Sammy, One snap of my fingers, and you're back in the ground -- where you belong. But I'm starting to think you might actually be useful to me after all." The demon strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Yes... I might be able to make this work after all."
Sam doesn't like the creeping grin on the demon's face and starts to wonder if he'd be better off in the ground.
"You know, Azazel was a master at fucking with peoples' heads. You'd never believe what he told Dean right before he died. He told him what he brought back might not be 100 Sam. Now, Sammy, honestly, I brought you back just as I found you -- 100, pure Sam."
"Thanks."
"Not a problem. But," he laughs, "poor, pathetic Dean. First Daddy tells him he might have to kill you, and then he starts second-guessing your every action. 'Sam didn't used to like Bud Light... he's never eaten more than three pieces of pizza at one sitting... he's never killed two hosts in cold blood the way he did in that Ohio basement..."
"You said it to self -- you brought me back."
"I know, I know. But Sam, Version 2.0 seems to have grown a pair. Azazel might've been onto something. He had a plan for you -- yes. But I've got one too and you just might be worth more to me alive than dead. I didn't want Dean's gutter soul anyway -- too tarnished, even for me."
"Don't talk about him like that," Sam snarls and the demon laughs.
"Oh, this is gonna be rich." The demon leans closer and whispers softly in Sam's ear, "You shoulda stayed dead, for his sake."
He puts his hand on Sam's head and he cries out. Its cold... so cold. Unbearable. His chest feels like it's being split open and something's pulling and pushing at the same time and his back arches up and his head's on fire and he yells again and every fiber of his being is utterly alive and yet unresponsive, empty and dead.
God, he really fucked this one up.
A ball of flame flashes in his peripheral vision and he's not sure if it's him or the demon or both and the darkness washes over him as the dark figure walks off into the distance with gleeful laugh and with a swish of his trenchcoat.
He's gone and so is Sam.