Author: kaly
Category: Gen, angst, tag
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby
Rating: PG
Word Count: 14,283 (total) - 4,900 (part 1)
Spoilers: All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1 & 2
Summary: Sam thinks he's found a way to break the deal, only it's more complicated than he realizes at first. Can he still pull off a miracle, and save Dean from Hell?
Note: Thanks, once more, to geminigrl11 for betaing and cheerleading. :)
Disclaimer: Not mine. The pretty, snarky, angsty brothers belong to Kripke & the CW.
If That's What It Takes
Exactly seven months, three weeks and four days after Dean made a deal with the devil, Sam finally stumbled upon a ritual that allowed him to hope. Suddenly, there was hope that he would be able to keep his promise to Dean. Such hope, after so long without, was an unfamiliar, heady feeling.
As the days, weeks and finally months had passed since Cold Oak, Sam had watched the calendar with an increasing sense of desperation, made no better by the fact that Dean seemed to have grown more and more accepting of the idea. It bothered Sam beyond measure that his brother, who normally raged against everything, might go gently. As gently as it could be with hellhounds on one's heels.
Oh, Dean was living it up in the meantime. They continued to hunt, working tirelessly to find and exorcise as many demons as they could, although nowhere near all that had escaped the crypt. Dean still hustled pool, sought out poker games and picked up women.
Sam could only watch, nervously, as Dean seemed to take the impending life sentence as an excuse to try anything - and everything - at least once, no matter the risk. Sam shuddered, recalling a particularly frightening drag race incident. He had never imagined Dean risking damage to the Impala like that before. Not his baby, that he had spent so long rebuilding.
In the mean time, when Sam wasn't asleep (which was rare) or hunting (far less rare), he was either glued to the laptop or holed up in whatever library was closest. He had lost count how many times he had thought that he might have stumbled onto a solution, a cure. Oddly, he hadn't lost count how many times, without fail, those cures had failed outright.
He had initially faced the whole situation confident - certain - he would succeed. But after so much time, so much failure, Sam had become deathly afraid that he was going to let Dean down, the very time he couldn't at all afford to. If there was ever one time that Sam knew he needed every piece of logic and intuition and downright luck he possessed, it was now. Cheesy movie line aside, failure was not an option.
Their latest hunt had brought them to a small town in southern Mississippi and while the hunt had proven worthless, Sam had found a small library on the outskirts of town. It had become his habit, no matter how small the town, to search out its library or local folk-teller.
Leaving Dean at the diner, Sam sought out the library, and soon found himself ensconced in the basement surrounded by books. He rarely paid attention to time when he was researching before. However, since Dean's deal with the not-so-proverbial devil, time had a way of making itself known constantly. He didn't want to be apart from Dean more than he had to be.
Sitting at the only table in the basement, the notebook he kept just for possible cures (almost full, he'd need a new one soon) and pencil at the ready, Sam ran his fingers along faded text, buried halfway through a worn, leather-bound book.
It told the story of a man who gambled with the devil - and had walked away. The irony of the story to their location (they were not so very far away from their first encounter with the Crossroads, after all) wasn't lost on Sam as he read, entranced. Toward the bottom of the first-hand account, there was an incantation written - several lines of Latin and twice as many in Creole. And while Sam could recognize the less familiar language, he couldn't read it.
However, even if the literal translation was lost on him - for the time being - Sam felt a flare of hope he hadn't known in weeks. Quickly, but very carefully, Sam wrote the incantation down in his notebook. Glancing back and forth between the book and his notes, he triple checked the contents, especially the unfamiliar words and their accent marks, before replacing the book on the shelf.
Leaning back in his seat, Sam took a breath, stretching his arms over his head. There was a knot, just between his shoulder blades, which had formed when he had learned of Dean's sacrifice. He knew it wouldn't disappear until his brother was free, but he stretched all the same, listening to his vertebrae pop and sighing quietly.
Once more, he read the incantation that might finally prove the magic bullet he'd been so desperately searching for. At some point, Sam had stopped telling Dean about the possible solutions and fixes he might have found. It wasn't worth the spark of hope, mixed with the oddest fleeting glimpse of fear that the news always received. Sam had resolved not to mention it again until he knew he'd found the one - the right one - the one that would set his brother free.
But this... this one Sam couldn't help thinking was worth mentioning, at least as soon as he determined the meaning behind latter part of the spell. He knew better than to risk an unknown spell, the possibility of summoning something he wasn't expecting or couldn't disperse.
There wasn't much hope of finding anything to help translate the words within the small library, but Sam searched the shelves anyway, just in case. It only took about twenty minutes, but in the end he was right back where he started.
He returned his notebook and pencil to his bag before replacing the books on the shelf. With a last, long look at the small book that might change so much, Sam left the building as quietly as he came, but with a much lighter step. Sam wished he had the laptop with him, wanting to start as soon as possible on translating the words, but knew it would have to wait until he was back at the motel.
Dean still had the car, having said something about looking for a pool game when Sam had mentioned the library, and they'd gone their separate ways. Luckily, their motel was not a very long walk from the library. Walking quickly, Sam was able to reach their room in less than ten minutes. He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head saying that was ten minutes he could have been researching.
Most days, Sam had plenty of patience. But as he watched the clock ticking away the minutes Dean had left, Sam found his patience had run out. There was no time to lose and even less time to waste.
Closing the door behind him, Sam pulled his notebook out of his bag, grabbed the laptop and soon had it plugged into the phone outlet. Even under normal circumstances, Sam hated dial-up, but the small town they were in had neither high speed nor wireless internet. Sam doubly hated the slow connection now, as it meant the pages that might hold the clues he desperately needed would take even longer to load.
Two hours and more websites than he could count later, Sam finally had enough information to piece together the incantation. Enough that he was fairly certain - as much as necessary to give it a try, anyway - that it was safe and would have a good chance at accomplishing what they needed. He was certain enough that by the time he was done, Sam had decided to risk telling Dean about this latest find.
The main catch Sam had established was they would have to wait until the new moon, judging by the phrase "lin lan nouv?" in the first line of Creole. They were just past the most recent one, which meant almost a full month's delay before they could try. While Sam hated the idea of waiting any longer, he knew better than to rush into such things. It said to wait, so they would wait.
Sam jumped when the door swung open, startling him from his thoughts.
"Geez, Sammy," Dean said with a smirk as he walked in. "Good to know you're ready in case something attacks." He closed the door behind him before dropping his keys onto the table and his coat onto a chair.
Rolling his eyes, Sam shut the laptop and turned in the chair to face Dean. "We already know there's nothing here, Dean. Remember?"
"Not the point," Dean replied, looking at Sam as though concerned that he could forget such an obvious thing. Moving toward the bathroom, Dean pointed back at Sam saying, "You've gotta be sharp."
This time, Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes, reminded suddenly of a conversation a lifetime ago when Sam's insomnia had been the cause of their discussion.
Standing, he crossed the room and pulled his duffel open, searching for something to sleep in. "Dude, I'm not twelve, I think it's okay," he said, knowing Dean would hear him through the closed bathroom door.
"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, walking back into the room before rooting around in his own bag. Sam watched, smiling at the familiar sight of Dean sniffing his clothes before picking which to change into. He felt a well-known pang in his chest at the little things which were so common, but would be gone forever if he couldn't make things right.
He must have been staring, because he jumped when Dean said, "Dude, what gives?"
Shaking his head, hoping it would help clear it (and make him look remotely innocent of wrongdoing) Sam sat on the bed. He glanced over at his notebook, which looked so innocent - no one would ever know how it possibly held the most important piece of information he might ever know. Sam took a deep breath, and said, "I think I might have found what we need."
Dean stopped checking his clothes, turned to look at Sam, and sat on his own bed. Sam could tell by his expression that Dean knew exactly what Sam was referring to. "Sam..." He sounded resigned and Sam worried that what little hope he used to see in Dean's eyes had finally died. "Maybe we ought to face facts. There's not a way out of this one."
Standing, Sam paced from the bed to the far wall and back again. He threw his hands up before shoving them in his pockets; the urge to hit something was too tempting. "There has to be, Dean," Sam said, turning to face his brother. "I can't accept that there isn't."
The guilt will kill me if there isn't, Sam thought, but never dared voice aloud.
"And I really think this one will work." He sighed, searching Dean's face, once again seeing the strange mixture of hope and fear. "It has to work, Dean," Sam said, pulling his hands free of his pockets and dropping onto the bed once more, arms hanging limp on his legs.
He heard Dean sigh, and looked up when Dean said quietly, "Okay, Sammy. We can give it a try." Sam shuddered at how... panicked Dean looked for a moment before his expression shuttered closed.
Needing to believe that everything would be okay, Sam said, "It'll work this time." He knew that he was trying to convince himself as much as Dean, and that Dean would hear it in his voice. "It has to," he whispered, knowing that he was repeating himself.
"Yeah, okay," Dean said, grabbing his toiletry kit and clothes. "I'm gonna take a shower, get rid of the cigarette smoke smell." With that he stood and crossed the room quickly, shutting the door behind him.
Sam ran his hands through his hair, wishing he could recapture the feeling of optimism from before he had told Dean. From when he had been certain this would work and everything would be okay and Dean would live. He wished Dean had any hope left, and could only pray that he had enough hope for the both of them.
He changed quickly, climbed into bed and fell into a dreamless sleep - free of nightmares for the first time since he had learned of Dean's fate - before Dean came out of the bathroom. There was a certain irony when, what felt like mere moments later, Sam was ripped from sleep by Dean's voice.
"No!"
Jumping up, tangled in the sheets, Sam searched frantically, looking for whatever Dean was yelling about before realizing, in his sleep-befuddled state, that it was a nightmare, not an attack.
"Dean," he said, his voice rough from sleep. Untangling the sheets from around his legs, Sam crossed the narrow space between their beds. Reaching out hesitantly - waking Dean from even a normal sleep was never the safest of endeavors - Sam placed his hand on Dean's shoulder and shook gently. "Come on, Dean. Wake up."
"You can't do that," Dean mumbled, refusing to wake. Sam only had a moment to be surprised by Dean talking in his sleep (which he never had been prone to) before Dean continued. "You can't have him."
"Dean!" Sam said, louder, knowing Dean was likely to lash out before he realized what was going on. However, anything had to be better than watching Dean's face screwing up in frustration and fear.
"So if I break the deal... If I live... I lose Sammy again, anyway?"
Sam's heart skipped a beat, his breath jammed in his throat. It felt like someone had doused him in ice water and he shivered. Suddenly, things made so much more sense. The fear, the panic that was so unlike Dean, every time Sam mentioned finding a way to save him. It wasn't bad enough Dean only got a year, but the bitch had to go put another caveat on the wager, too?
Dean's life for Sam. Sam's life for Dean's. Full circle.
"Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice sleepy. He moved to sit up, managing to prop up on his elbows, and gave Sam a puzzled look. "Why are you looming over me? Everything okay?"
Shaking his head, his mind spinning a mile a minute, Sam swallowed nervously, his throat dry. "You were having a nightmare," he finally managed, dropping his hand from Dean's shoulder.
Something dark and unidentifiable flitted across Dean's eyes, but he blinked and it was gone. Had Sam not heard Dean's words before, he would've though perhaps he had imagined it. "It's nothing, Sam," Dean said, dropping back onto the bed, and turning onto his side away from Sam.
Staring at Dean's back, Sam asked, "You sure you don't want to talk about it?"
Dean grunted. "Oh that's rich, coming from you." He glanced over his shoulder at Sam, his gaze belying the harsh words. "I'm fine, Sammy. Go back to sleep."
"Dean..."
"Good night, Sam," Dean said, clearly meaning the conversation was at its end.
Sam sighed, but dropped back onto his own bed. Arms resting on his knees, Sam stared at Dean's back for several more moments. He was trying - and failing - to wrap his mind around what he had learned.
No wonder Dean was spooked - Sam knew he would feel no differently if the situation was reversed. Lying down, Sam curled onto his side, mirroring Dean's position without meaning to. He grabbed the extra pillow, pulling it to his chest.
He still had faith in the spell he had found, but now he knew that wasn't going to be enough. While he might be okay with dying to save Dean (it was a family trait, apparently) he knew how well that wouldn't go over. Sam didn't put it past Dean to start the cycle all over again, if he had the chance, and Sam wasn't willing to risk it.
Okay, he thought, so there's a catch... But catches could be dealt with, Sam knew. All it meant was going back to the drawing board.
The sleep that finally found Sam, hours later, was fitful, full of dreams of sacrifice.
Two weeks passed, their limited time before the next new moon seeming to fly, before Sam finally happened upon a mention of a priestess who lived in the lowlands outside New Orleans. One who, it was rumored, specialized in the kind of information Sam needed.
As far as Dean knew, Sam had dropped the subject of the latest possible solution to their problem. He probably figured Sam was on the chase for another option and didn't want to risk broaching the subject. Sam almost found it funny. Dean was half right.
He reasoned that if the punishment for Dean breaking the deal, and being saved, was Sam dying, what if Sam was already dead when the deal was broken? A long shot, Sam knew, possibly even grasping at straws, but one he had no choice but to pursue.
In the meantime, he had continued searching for other potential ways of reversing the deal. If the incantation he had found failed come the new moon, Sam knew he would need a back up plan (or ten) to try afterward. And when they weren't hunting, when he wasn't searching for other options, Sam searched for ways he could die - but not die.
It had taken some persuading, possibly whining and pouting the likes of which Sam hadn't tried to pull on Dean since he was in elementary school, but he had finally convinced Dean they needed to take a hunt near New Orleans. Dean was determined there was nothing to the reported haunting, and Sam suspected the same, but he had to get there - and fast.
Sam left Dean at a local bar that afternoon; cash was always in short supply after all. He used the excuse that the library was further than he wanted to walk to guilt the car keys away from Dean, since the motel actually was well within walking distance of the bar. His constant trips to libraries near and far gave Sam the perfect excuse to slip away without Dean being any the wiser.
The way they had been raised had instilled in Sam a sense of direction that would rival most compasses. He rarely, if ever, got turned around when trying to find something. Yet even with that, and directions, it still took him three tries to find the tucked away little cottage the priestess lived in. It left no doubt she wasn't interested in entertaining visitors, but he was going to try anyway.
The small building was far from inviting, vines and weeds crowding the walls in a way that almost made it blend into the swamp it was settled in. Sam got out of the car, cringing at the loud noise of the door slamming shut, before crossing the marshy ground to the front door.
He knocked, waited a few moments before knocking again. It had taken too long to find this place - both the research of the past two weeks and the drive out - to give up easily. Sam was prepared to wait however long it took for her to come to the door. She had to at least hear his case, even if she then turned him away. Joshua had promised him at least that much when he had finally sent the directions.
"Passe'," came a voice from inside, startling Sam.
The word didn't sound inviting, though Sam wasn't positive what it meant. Standing up straighter, Sam tried anyway. "A friend sent me to you... I need to speak with you." Sam paused, swallowing roughly. "Please."
The door creaked open, a small woman who was wrapped in a shawl peering out. Sam met her measuring gaze, hoping she would see in his eyes whatever it was she sought. Something that would make her more inclined to help him and not deny him outright. If this didn't work, Sam wasn't sure what options would be left before the new moon.
"Dis friend," she finally said, making Sam hope he had passed inspection. "What is 'is name?"
Sam let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Joshua. He gave me your name. Told me you could help." He knew how desperate he sounded, part of him hoped she heard it as well.
After a long moment, she nodded. "I know dis name, if not da man." She seemed to size Sam up once more before stepping back, holding the door open slightly. Gesturing for him to follow her, she asked, "And your name?"
Following her into the darkened dwelling, Sam replied, "It's Sam, ma'am."
She laughed at that, surprising him. "No 'ma'am' here, jus' moi."
"Sorry," Sam said, ducking his head.
The woman - who Sam still didn't have a name for, even from Joshua - smiled, making her look many years younger, Sam couldn't help but notice. "Not a problem," she said, waving her arm toward a chair. Once he sat, she asked, "Now, dis problem you have..."
When she didn't continue, Sam guessed he was meant to speak. "I need a way to die," he said, glancing away and then back again, "but not die."
She recoiled, horror on her face. "Death is not a toy to be played with, young 'un. It is a serious matter."
"I know," Sam hurried to reassure her. "I wouldn't be asking otherwise." He took a deep breath, looking all around the room before daring to look back at her, fearing judgment. Finding a wary skepticism, but no longer horror in her eyes, he continued. "I have to save my brother. He's all I have." Pleading both with his voice and his eyes, Sam said, "And to save him, really truly save him... I have to die, but live."
The priestess settled down beside him and placed a hand on his arm. The mistrust was gone from her face, replaced by an open curiosity. "And how will you dyin' save dis brother of yours?"
"He traded his life for mine," Sam said, speaking the words out loud for the first time. Shuddering, Sam clenched his eyes shut, rubbing his hand over his face. "He made a deal, and it's going to cost him his soul."
"And you dyin'?"
Sam smiled, humorlessly. "That was the catch on the deal. For him to live, I have to die. Again."
Her eyebrow quirked at that, but she didn't question it further. "And you would not be willin' to die for your brother? And stay dead dis time?" she asked, though Sam wondered if she already knew the answer by the look on her face.
He nodded. "In a heartbeat, if it would save him." Sighing, he added, "But it wouldn't. I know Dean. He'd follow me. And I can't let him. I won't."
"Dis is da right answer," she said after several tense moments, squeezing Sam's arm. "I have somethin', somethin' dat if you took it, would make you sleep so deep, you would be dead to da world around you. A livin' death."
Sam nodded once more, relieved to hear what he'd hoped for. Well, part of it. "I would be dead - but be able to return. I wouldn't stay dead?"
She stood, shaking her head. "No, with one except'n." Moving from shelf to shelf, she began collecting several bottles and pouches as Sam watched. He was about to ask what the exception was when she added, almost as an afterthought, "Should you, your spirit, stay out of da body too long, you will be lost."
"Lost?" Sam asked, a shiver running down his spine. He had a sudden mental image of evil spirits, poltergeists, lost and twisted souls. To become what they hunted... Sam felt cold at the prospect.
As if sensing his apprehension, she turned and gave him another smile. "Where da will is strong, da spirit will survive." She gave him a long, serious look as though she could see into him, measure him. "As will da body."
"What do I have to do?"
Busy grinding powders and mixing them, a pinch here, a drop there, she said, "Dis mixture must be taken one hour before. You will den have exactly one hour to finish da job you seek. Any longer an' it will be too late."
Thinking on the incantation he had copied, and been practicing to get the pronunciations right, Sam knew an hour should be long enough. "And in this hour? I'll be dead?"
"To all who see you, yes. Da spirit shall be tied to da body, but da body shall be dead." Before Sam could reply, she asked, "Do you think dis is enough separation to fool your demon?" Sam looked up quickly. He had never mentioned the demon. "Don' look so surprised," she said with a laugh. "Did you think I did no' know?"
Sheepishly, Sam shook his head. "I probably should have guessed..."
"'s okay, young Sam. Der are more things out there den either you or I know, but in da meantime, we know enough." He hardly dared blink, trying to absorb what she had just said. She might not know Joshua himself, but it was growing more and more apparent she had her own contacts into the hunting world.
They were both silent for several minutes, Sam watching as she continued to putter along the cabinets. "Thank you," he finally said, hoping the true depths of his gratitude showed in the meager words.
She tied the bundle up, a pouch so small it could fit in Sam's hand and not be seen, and handed it to him. "Sacrifice is a noble gift. It should be rewarded, not punished." Sam stared at the bundle, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming forth. "Mix with water - jus' water - and drink all of it, one hour before. Den lie down and wait, t'will feel like you're fallin' asleep."
"And when I'm dead?" Sam asked in a small voice.
Smiling, she said, "One hour to complete da spell you've found." He started once more, at the depth of her knowledge but she didn't comment on his surprise. "One hour to save your brother and return to your body."
"How?"
She smiled enigmatically. "Da heart will know."
Not entirely pleased with her answer, Sam started to press but could tell by her expression that he would get no more answers. "Can I repay you?" he asked instead.
She shook her head, looking almost offended. "All of us must work together to defeat da demons of dis world, young Sam. Dis is only a part mine."
"Thank you," he said again, clutching the bag desperately.
"Go now," she replied, holding the door open. "Your brother will be lookin' for you."
Stepping outside, Sam was surprised to see that dusk had fallen. It didn't feel like so much time had passed while he had been waiting, and he half-heartedly hoped Dean was still distracted at the bar. Shrugging - there was nothing he could do about it now - he got into the car and tucked the precious bundle into a safe pocket of his bag. He hated the idea of letting it out of his sight, but it couldn't be helped. He couldn't afford Dean finding it before the time was right.
The drive back into town didn't take half as long as the trip out, Sam's unerring sense of direction no longer failing him. And he wasn't surprised that the priestess was proven right when he entered the motel room to find Dean waiting for him.
Sam watched as the worry faded from Dean's face, only to be replaced with a more easily managed - to Dean's way of thinking - annoyance.
"Dude, what's up with disappearing for hours? With the car, I might add?"
Dropping his jacket onto a chair, Sam grinned, knowing it would drive Dean up the wall and distract him at the same time. "Not enough action for you at the bar?"
"I didn't say that," Dean replied with a smug grin. "Got four numbers. Which is why it would've been nice if I'd had the car, Sammy. Chicks don't dig guys who have to walk them home."
Laughing, Sam powered up the laptop under the pretense of more research. "Oh I don't know, some of them like the gallant type."
"Boring girls, Sam. Boring girls dig the 'gallant' type. Not my kind of girls. My kind of girls dig muscle cars," Dean said in a blunt tone as if this was an obvious fact to anyone with half a brain.
Rolling his eyes, Sam looked at Dean and then back at the computer. "Whatever, dude. Your precious car is perfectly fine. Here," he said, tossing the keys to his brother. "Have a blast." That Sam would rather Dean stay in, time was short and Sam hated how much of it they spent apart no matter the reasons, remained unsaid.
However, he wondered if Dean somehow heard the thought because his brother surprised him by shaking his head. "Nah, it's too late. I guess I'll just have to baby sit you, instead." Almost as an afterthought, but in a voice that clearly said he didn't want to know, Dean asked, "Find anything at the library?"
"No," Sam replied, cursing himself for the white lie, but knowing it was for the best. "It was a bust."
Dean looked like he wasn't sure if he should be upset or relieved by the words, but shook himself out of it quickly enough. "That's too bad," he said, and Sam almost believed him.
tbc...