With Both Eyes Closed
Disclaimer: Not mine! Supernatural belongs to the CW, and the characters belong to their creators. They are simply visiting my playground.
Wow, that sounded creepy.
Please R&R!
"Sam! It's not gonna end this way! Step back!"
Sam turns, and it's him, and he's fighting, face screwed up in pain and hands balled at his sides. "You're gonna have to make me."
Adam/Michael pulls back, briefly, and then tries again, stepping towards him. He takes one step forward—Sam takes one step back. "I have to fight my brother, Sam. Here and now. It's my destiny!"
Screw destiny, Dean thinks. It's screwed with us enough.
And then Michael dives at Sam and Sam steps back, and Michael, somehow—This wasn't supposed to happen, Dean thinks, eyes blood-blurred in a sea of red—somehow, Michael knocks Sam off balance and he falls just short of the pit. And Sam's hands fly up to his head and he screams and Michael screams because, holy shit, he's got one foot in the cage and it's dragging him down with more strength than he'd imagined it had, and Sam is spasming on the ground, blood slipping from his ears, from between his fingers.
And then, aside from the howling of the pit and the last vestiges of Michael's cries, up steps Sam. Sam with cold eyes, cold, empty eyes, and he looks over at Dean, confused, for a second. Then the coldness is gone, and he just looks raw. "My brother—?" And now Dean knows he's lost him and he lets his eyes close. The blackness is a bliss he didn't believe in.
And now he still doesn't, because, even with both eyes closed, red pushes at the corners of his vision and all he can hear is black, black laughter.
"Hey." Lucifer with Sam's face jabs him with burning instruments, but he's not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing him squirm, so he takes it, relaxing into his bonds even as another hook goes in. "Hello?" Another jab, and the poker stops just short of his heart. Something doesn't really fit, though—Lucifer doesn't look like he's enjoying it. He just looks sort of earnest. Oh, go—he's using Sam's puppy dog face, and, yeah, now Dean closes his eyes, because the asshole couldn't leave well-enough alone.
One set of eyes close, another set of eyes opens.
Sam's face stares down at him, eyebrows creased with concern. "Are you… can you stand?"
Dean spits at him, but the bastard still has Sam's reflexes so he dodges out of the way, and yet, he still doesn't get it, just leans forward again and rests his hand against the side of Dean's head. "I'll go get you help, okay? I'll find something—"
Wait, but—but he sounds concerned. And even Lucifer wouldn't fake it like that, right? Something… something's wrong, Dean knows it, but he's too high off his own blood loss to figure it out right now. Is it…
"Sammy?" he rasps, and it's his best attempt.
"I—" Sam shrugs, helpless, and does the awkward, tight-lipped smile that he has on reserve for strangers, and it leaves Dean feeling like he's on the wrong side of his skin. "If you say so."
What the hell—
"Dean."
He thinks he might've just popped some of the few remaining bones in his neck in snapping it around to look, and—yes. Yes. It is.
Cas stands over him, blank expression on as always, and it has to be one of the most beautiful things Dean has ever seen.
Sam starts and falls back, flinching away from the angel. Dean recognizes the reaction—it's shock, like he genuinely didn't expect to have Castiel over his shoulder. Dean didn't either, but it's Cas. It's an angel. Shouldn't the devil has, I don't know, angel senses? Shouldn't they have tingled?
But he can't care right now, because someone, someone, is still alive.
He struggles to see Cas through the one eye he can open. "Cas… you're alive?"
Cas nods once, evenly. "I'm better than that." He reaches down, brushes his fingers across Dean's forehead, and Dean can feel everything realigning. His jaw is in the right place again, he can see, he feels like he can move again, and Cas is alive. He could cry. He's just about screwed up enough.
"Cas—are you god?"
It's a smile that breaks the blankness of Cas's expression. Barely, but it's there. "That's a nice compliment, but no. Although, I do believe he brought me back. New… and improved."
Dean follows his movements with his eyes, watches him walk over to Bobby's still form—and then Bobby's not still anymore, he's jerking up, and breathing, and looking at Dean, and looking past Dean to Sam, and says, quite clearly alive, "What the hell is that?"
Sam looks from Dean to Cas to Bobby and back to Dean. "How… how could he do that?" Sam breathes, fear widening his eyes to disks.
"He—um." And now Dean has no idea what the hell is going on.