This story contains what some may consider a trigger. Please, if you are a sensitive reader, read with caution or take your eyes to other tales. I own nothing, unfortunately, of anything. Enjoy.
Little Lion Man
Tears were not commonly seen on the Winchester's sharp cheekbones, unless you counted the multitudes of times Death had grasped them between his bony fingers and squeezed tight or when unworldly weights gathered on top of their shoulders. Even then, those tears were not those that humanity had seen many times. Tears of true and total loss, the loss of oneself in another, the death of themselves in another soul, tears of giving up. These tears traced the youngest's face at the moment.
For his entire life, all Sam had chased was either normality or to be just like Dean. To be able to stand in front of adversity and face it head on, unflinchingly brave and stoic in his ways until Death himself had to tear him away. And Sam tried. He tried facing his father with the same bravery. He tried taking down the Yellow-Eyed Demon without hesitation. He tried to protect Dean and the world from Jake, and Lilith, and… all that bravery, all that standing had boiled down to his own heartlessness, to his own evil that raced black in red veins. All that for nothing.
His good intentions had meant nothing. They had all lead the same destructive path that Sam was born on. Evil barring its way and nothing being able to stop it, nothing at all. The angels had once threatened to stop him, told him to stop doing what he thought was right, and now he wished that they had followed through with their threat. Wished that they spent their energy fixing his problems, saving the world. Now he knew they didn't want that. They wanted his wrongness, his evil, to screw everything up so that they could have the excuse for creating their paradise. To abandon their tasks like their Father had abandoned them. It was fair, in their eyes.
"Sam," the word echoed off of deep walls. The house they were bunking in for a few weeks was vast and created halls that could have the Winchester's voices echoing for ages if they simply willed it. But Sam's name only hung around for a few seconds, hanging on casually. It wasn't meant in hello or goodbye. It was just acknowledging that Dean was there. Nothing more.
"Dean," Sam vocalized back, voice almost choked as he held the knife in his hand. He hadn't started, but he was damn close to it when he had heard Dean call to him. Fortunately, there was no response (not like he really expected one), but he heard the pitter patter of Dean's heavy steps pass by his room, pause for a steely moment, then continue off and close the door to his own a few doors down. Dean was home, didn't change anything.
It wasn't Sam's first time trying this type of thing. Heck, if he was being honest, it might not be his last. The damn Devil hadn't stopped interfering, hadn't stopping finding his damn soul and zipping it back to his body and healing him fully, even when he didn't know where he was. When Sam thought about it logically, it made no sense, but it fascinated him that angels had powers such as those. It scared the crap out him, but it was awing. Even though Sam was fairly confident in the holy oil jug sitting next to him, he was faintly scared that Lucifer would still be able to touch him.
A few deep breathes later, a tactic to run away fear and pain taught to him by no other than his father, Sam gathered all the bravery that was left inside his heart and began his process. It wasn't difficult to dip the oil into a glass cup and swallow it and keep swallowing it. The oil was heavy in his stomach, heavenly slick against his skin, and lifted an aroma that Sam could only described as lavender and vanilla. It was strange, as Dean never smelled the holy oil that way, but Sam had always enjoyed laying the oil out when it was necessary. When Sam had completed swallowing a few good cups of the substance, he checked to make sure his note was secured on the bed, underneath his favorite book. His fingers ran over the tattered pages of The Three Musketeers, finely remembering when Dean had shown up with the copy of it and said in his cocky fourteen year old voice, "I don't know what's up with these three dudes, Sammy. The Two Winchester's sounds much more badass," and added his wink, tossing the book his way. It went everywhere with him, but it would not travel with him in death.
Satisfied that the note and his prized possession was secured, he made his way to his bathroom, locking the door behind him. The room was deep in the back recess of the place, tiled over, making it fairly sound proof and making it the perfect spot for his little plan. While he wasn't using a gun, he didn't want to take any chances that Dean would hear anything. He tapped the edge of his knife to the tip of his finger, scratching the surface of his skin and breathed out harshly.
Against many beliefs, Sam didn't want to die. He didn't want to leave his brother and go to Hell. He knew he was taking a one way ride. But he couldn't say yes and be the man who brought more destruction to the world (even though he started it). He couldn't take the chance that he might just say yes if pushed too far, knowing that if Dean was in anyway threatened, he might break. So, the only way of ensuring no, was dying.
He ran the shower, hot water to heat the atmosphere and get his veins pumping, but took special care to not wash off the oil he painted on his body. He hoped Dean would burn him once he found him, like he instructed on the page. A hunter's death, one he didn't deserve. He snorted once, tears still tracking down his cheeks, as he applied the first pressure of the knife. The pain was sharp. It was heady. It was almost peaceful as it dragged upward, and down into too many layers, and brought forth life. Sam was stunned as he continued again, another line joining it's brother, then another. Another. Another. Not enough room so he switched to his other arm, painting pretty lines into his arms.
At some point, Sam had sat down and watched his blood flow from his wounds, the water whisking it away. Wash it away, wash it away, Sam hummed, convinced that he could see the evil mixed within him. Wash it away before it comes back. Eventually, Sam's butt slid further down, his feet touching the shower spray and he jerked away lazily. Can't touch the water. Gotta keep the oil on me, gotta be less of a mess for Dean to clean up, he bobbed his head up and down and up and down… and was that up? Was that black in his veins? He hacked another small line in his arms just in case.
Laughter bubbled up in him as he watched the swirling black and red drain down, and he slipped further into the water, feet back in the shower spray. Jus my feeeeet, he conceded. Wish I could say bye to Dean.
He frowned, his vision blacking out slightly as he continuously watched his blood wash down the tile. The last time he and his brother had talked, they hadn't exactly…talked. Yelling, screaming, throwing punches, was more like it. Hell, Sam took all the punches his brother had thrown and took all the insults unflinchingly. He deserved it and would continue to let Dean unload, but he hadn't thought that the last words his brother might say to him were, "You're a waste of my time, Sam. I'm out of here." Sam knew that Dean wouldn't leave permanently. If anyone should've left, it was Sam, who was currently in the process of it. Sam didn't feel too bad about it, knowing that Dean would be ok, especially because he was leaving him with a world where no devil could ride his true vessel and one where he could finally find a home like this one. He sighed, a smile trying to tug at his lips, but he was too tired as the black spots became larger in his field of vision. "Luh you, De'n," he breathed, quiet.
Dean thought the house was too quiet. Not that it wasn't always this quiet for the past few days, but something about the way his digital clock would flip another minute bothered him. It had been only a few hours since he had fought with his brother, but he knew that was what he and Sam did. The fights were brutal and were soul whipping, but at the end of the day, there was no one they loved more than each other. And sure, while Dean was guilty as hell saying Sam was just a waste of time, he knew his brother would forgive him. It was his fallback.
The clock moved forward another minute. It was a small noise, the clunk of the flip of the digital analog, but Dean heard it perfectly. Too perfectly. His senses were going haywire and he had no idea why. The house was completely safe and he had just checked in on Sam only half an hour ago. Sitting on the edge of his bed wasn't helping him except pull his short hairs out and he liked to keep his hair, the ladies liked it styled exactly so. He paced his room, heart racing in preparation for something big. Dean shook his head and decided that maybe, just maybe, he needed to talk to his brother. If Sam didn't want to talk, that was fine, but his body was driving him insane.
His legs quickly dragged him to his brother's door and his fist automatically knocked, voice caught as he asked, "Sam?" There was no reply, so he cracked the door open, once again asking for his brother. With a quick sweep of the room, he noticed the shower light on and steam fogging from underneath the door. "Ah, so you're hogging all the hot water, huh," Dean laughed lightly, door swung all the way open and relaxed. Nothing seemed wrong in here. His eyes swept over his brother's empty room again, not really seeing and turned to leave before he saw the copy of The Three Musketeer's laying on top of Sam's bed. "Dude, can't believe you still have that," his mouth almost dropped as he made his way over. That was when he noticed a paper addressed to him underneath it. "Huh," Dean scrubbed his mouth, glancing at the door. Did Sam want Dean reading this right now? Deans curiosity and logic finally got the better of him and he gently, surprisingly, opened the letter. It was short and to the point and scared him more than anything in this world could.
Dean,
If you're reading this, then I've done it. You'll find me in the shower. Please burn the body as soon as possible. This is important, do it quickly. I have holy oil on my skin and also drank some, so as soon as I'm lit, Lucifer won't be able to touch me. I won't be able to come back again. So, please, do this and be safe as you do.
You're a good brother, Dean. The best anyone could ever ask for. You deserve a good life and I hope that once this is all over, you can finally have one now that I'm out of the way. Goodbye, big brother.
Sam
"Sam," his voice wavered low, his eyes flashing to the shower. His body acted for him, throwing the letter to the side and rushing to fling the door open. In his franticness, he recognized the door was locked and kept screaming for his brother to open the door, tears rolling down his cheeks as he tugged. "Sam! Sam! SAMMY!" Finally, finally, logic came to his brain and he simply turned to kicking the door in. It took a few times, the door heavy, but it bust open to a scene Dean never wanted to see. "Sammy?"
Sam was leaned over the tubs edge, his neck at an awkward and uncomfortable angle with his mouth open. Dean raced over and grasped his head, shocked at the sight of Sam's hacked arms. The lines were straight and meant to be deep and deadly, but looked beyond painful, beyond that of self-harm. "Sam," Dean cried, thrusting two fingers underneath Sam's jaw and barely finding a pulse. "Oh thank god," he huffed and gathered Sam as gently, but as quickly as possible in his arms, as he prayed to Castiel. He didn't have time to suture his brother, do a blood transfusion, and save his life, much less get him to a hospital who could. The angel was his only hope. "Cas, please."
Dean gently laid the sasquatch he called his brother on his bed, quickly gathering random shirts to wrap Sam's arms in to at least slow the bleeding some and be able to continuously check his kids pulse. "C'mon Cas," he breathed, eyes wide and wet as he kept staring at his brother's prone body. "It's Sam. It's my little brother. Please." He could feel the jumps in Sam's heart and the stutters in the breaths the kids breathe and he cursed, ready to do CPR, but knowing it would push more blood out and Sam couldn't afford to lose more. He needed a miracle. "Castiel, COME ON."
A flurry of things happened at once. Dean heard wings enter the bunker, but it sounded far and they echoed far more than they should've if they had appeared right next to where the body of somebody did. The man that stood there was slightly transparent and Dean could see the outlines of Sam's desk through the man's light t-shirt. He was blonde, blue eyes smirking down as Dean looked up in almost awe at the stranger who heard a prayer directed to only Castiel. It was frightening, but Dean wouldn't back down. "Can you help him?"
"I have many times, Dean," he nodded and took a step forward, hand readying to land on Sam's body, but Dean flinched as he did so.
"Who are you?"
The man paused, a sadistic smirk playing on thin lips as he looked down at the man who was supposed to house his brother. Out of the two, Lucifer had definitely gained the upper hand in the genetics pool. Sam was taller, broader, heavier, stronger, smarter, and depending on who you asked, more than handsome enough to seduce the most of evils and goods. But the Devil only knew so much about Dean and his brother, so he just kept smirking as he laid his hand down onto his vessel. He heard Sam gasp and he soothed the man, running his hand across his shoulder and down his arm. The oil had yet to be ignited and he snapped away the remnants that he had within him. "You tried hard this time, Samuel. You fight so hard against me…," a sigh escaped him and he dramatically bowed his head, if only for Dean's sake. He was surprised that Dean had yet to catch on who he was, but he couldn't blame the small man. His brother had about died. He lifted his head back up and soothed the wild hair back and cleaned the man of the blood the laid on the tan skin, appreciating Sam's well taken care of body. "Weep, my little lion man," he soothed, deviously soft as he trailed his hand down the cheek of the antichrist. "You are not as brave as you were at the start. We'll be one, soon," he flicked his eyes as Dean flashed up in his seat and growled at him, yelling at him to take his hands off of him. "Take care."
Lucifer vanished without a pop or smoke, just with an echoing of feathers fluttering and Dean about fainted from the anger that was building in him. Lucifer was here. The god damn Devil was in his home. Yet… he wasn't. He was incorporeal, not fully here, and Dean knew they were safe. Luci didn't know where they were or this wouldn't have gone down the same way it had and Sam wouldn't have been healed without some show. They were ok. They were safe.
He could hear the soft breathing of his brother and he finally sat back down, holding Sam's hands. He was still cold, but warmer than that of a man who should be after losing more than what Dean guessed was more than half of his blood supply. His hands shook as he ran his thumbs over and over Sam's knuckles, but he paid them no heed. Green eyes stayed on his little brothers face, the one he about lost because he let him think he lost faith in him. He hadn't. He believed in his brother still and always would, even if his words said otherwise. Sam was strong and bull headed, a Winchester full and through, and even if that wasn't enough, he was the greatest and most annoying little brother Dean had ever had the pleasure of having and that must definitely be enough. He may have made some mistakes along the way, some major ones, some minor, but all done in the name of good, even when disguised.
So, when hazel eyes finally opened and tears immediately sprung to them, Dean didn't let go and he didn't yell and he didn't do much but stare in love as his brother woke up to the world. Sam barely looked away, emotions running through much faster than Dean could read, but they finally settled on regret. "I didn't do well enough?"
"You did," Dean whispered back, removing his hand from Sam's grip and ran it through the too long hair, eyes still connected.
"He found me again," Sam simply stated, tears still gathered in his eyes, but he did not turn or blink them away.
"He did," Dean nodded back, almost thankful that Lucifer restored his vessel. "But you're ok, you're ok."
"I started the apocalypse. I'm supposed to take Lucifer to prom, Dean. I'm going to say yes. At some point, I'm going to fail and I'm going to say yes. I…. I can't…"
Dean admits that that line wasn't his smoothest about prom, but he continues forth anyways. "You're not. You won't say yes." He says it naturally, like its the most known thing on this earth. Sam won't possibly say yes to the devil. Dean knows this.
"How do you know that, Dean," a tear leaks out against Sam's will, but he doesn't brush it away. His hazel has shifted into that heartbreaking green that echoes Dean's and his big brother gulps as he sees the change happen before his eyes. It's not the first time he's seen it, but it never fails to stipend him when it does. It's awing.
"Because…," Dean, squeezes Sam's hands tight and the devil's words rings in his ears about how Sam wasn't brave anymore and that he would eventually cave. He knew his little brother wouldn't. Not with Dean by his side. "Because I believe in you, Sammy. And nothing comes between us; not monsters, not angels, not even the freaking devil. Not even yes's or no's. Cause your my brother and when we're together? We're stronger. So how about we say screw it to those dickweed angels who think they can use us? Lets go kick some angel ass and mess up those plans of theirs, ya? How does that sound, Sammy?"
And what do you know? The not-so-little lion man doesn't weep as his brother gathers him into a hug. He nods and gathers the courage to face on the world and the Devil himself, allowing a little smile to himself as he whispers into Dean's ear, "It's Sam and we've got work to do."
And hell, who knew the Devil was a Mumford and Sons fan?