Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! Your responses are making writing a lot of fun. So keep 'em coming!
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.
Chapter 3
Sam sat on the bed furthest from the motel room door, his back propped against the headboard and his computer open on his lap. He'd been looking for a hunt while Dean had gone for some takeout and beer but hadn't come up with many options. It never boded well when the supernatural was hiding under the radar. He sighed and clicked out of the browser just as the door opened. Sam looked over to see Dean shoving the door open with his hip, both hands full with bags from his apparently successful outing.
"Hey," Sam greeted as Dean managed to shut the door behind him.
Dean didn't say anything, merely dropped the bags on his bed. Sam shut the laptop and placed it on the bedside table as Dean shucked out of his jacket.
Sam was checking the time on the clock when a sudden blinding pain struck him in the temple. He gasped in surprise, eyes going wide as another blow caught him across the cheek. His vision spun and he jerked back. The back of his head slammed against the headboard. Dazed, he bonelessly slid down the headboard as another sharp bolt hit him. His head snapped to the side from the force and his vision went white.
As the brightness slowly receded, he realized he was lying flat on the bed. When had that happened? He tried to move his head to see, but his body didn't seem to be in the mood to take instructions. The room swam and he shut his eyes against the wave of nausea that washed over him. When he dared open his eyes again, he couldn't crack them more than halfway. His head was throbbing and his thoughts fuzzy. Why did he need to open his eyes again, anyway?
"Sammy," a voice said from somewhere above him.
Sam couldn't quite connect the sound with anything concrete—though something in the back of his mind told him he should—but he struggled to turn his head toward the voice anyway. He must have succeeded, because a familiar face was suddenly towering over him.
"There you are," the figure said, teeth showing in what was probably meant to be a smile. Something didn't ring true about the face, though Sam's sluggish mind couldn't pinpoint why.
"D'n?" he heard himself murmur before he thought about the word. Dean? And then recognition hit him like another blow, and he felt his mind clear slightly like a layer of fog burning off in the morning sun. Dean. Brother. Partner. Best friend.
"Heya, kiddo," Dean said, still towering over Sam.
Sam's eyes slid down to his brother's hand, which was balled into a fist at his side. The knuckles were bloody and torn. Sam's eyes widened slightly, his own pain forgotten because this seemed much more important.
"You're bleeding," he pointed out helpfully.
Dean's gaze flicked down to his hand briefly before coming back up. "Not mine."
Sam frowned at that. "Then whose…" And then another layer of fog burned off and Sam's words choked off in realization.
He tried to move, to get away from his brother when he suddenly found his arms pinned to either side of his head. He tried to jerk free, but his brother's grip was strong and Sam was still out of it, his limbs too long and loose to control. And that was when he felt the weight settle on top of him, pinning his completely. He looked up to see Dean straddling his legs, hands holding down Sam's wrists.
Sam swallowed, eyes searching out his brother's. "What the hell, Dean?"
There was something behind Dean's gaze that struck a jolt of fear through Sam's entire body, something he'd never seen in his brother's eyes before. He tried to buck his brother off, but Dean held firm. Dean's grip was as tight as any cuffs or rope that had bound him before. He off-handedly thought his brother's grip was going to leave finger-shaped bruises on his wrists then wondered where that came from.
Sam barely had time to register that Dean had released his arms before his brother reared back and struck again, this time aiming for Sam's other temple. Sam's head jerked and he slumped as his mind went hazy again and his vision swirled around him. It took a monumental effort to keep his eyes open. His head lolled to the side against the pillow, and he distantly registered the small pool of blood next to him. A hand cupped his chin and Dean came back into his wavy vision. Sam swallowed back bile rising in his throat.
"What the hell, indeed." There was something cold, inhuman, in Dean's tone, matching whatever was lurking behind his eyes. And that's when Sam knew.
"You're n'Dean…" he slurred, mouth struggling to form the syllables as the room tilted and twirled around him.
Not-Dean's mouth quirked. "What was that, Sammy?"
"Not. Dean," Sam repeated.
Not-Dean's hands wound themselves around Sam's throat. Sam tensed and his eyes widened slightly before his air supply was cut off. Already dazed, Sam could barely muster the strength to raise his arms to shove ineffectually at his attacker's chest before black spots danced in front of his eyes. His hands dropped down to pull weakly at the hands wrapped around his neck but his fingers couldn't remember how to grip correctly.
Not Dean. Not Dean, Sam repeated to himself as his arms dropped back helplessly to either side of him. He was spread eagle on the bed and something wearing his brother's face was strangling him… Tears from the lack of air were forming at the corners of his eyes but some stubborn part of him refused to let them fall.
"You once did this to me, Sam. Remember?" not-Dean said, his calm tone belying the violent action.
And Sam did remember. A day didn't go by that he didn't think about what he'd done to his brother and feel bitter shame over it, over his weakness in front of demon blood addiction.
"Turnabout is fair play, don't 'cha think, little brother?"
Sam's lungs were burning as a hot wave of self-hatred washed over him. He let go of the dam holding back the tears of pain and fear and went limp beneath his brother's doppelganger.
There was no point in fighting.
His vision tunneled as not-Dean smirked, gave one final squeeze, and let go, rolling off of Sam. Life-giving air rushed back into Sam's lungs and he coughed painfully, the air burning against his throat. His vision grayed out and he tried to curl in on himself to ease his breathing but couldn't find the strength to move.
Once he could breathe again and the room had mostly stilled underneath him, Sam hazarded a look to the other bed, where not-Dean was rummaging through the bags he'd brought into the room. Sam was pretty sure the bags didn't hold any lo mien or Jack and let out a bark of hysterical laughter at the thought.
Dean pulled out something Sam couldn't see before turning his unfamiliarly cold gaze back on Sam. Sam's eyes immediately went to the object in his hand.
A razor.
Sam's stomach dropped at the sight but he might as well have been shackled to the bed for all he could move. His muddled mind tried to piece together what was going on, but every thought kept slipping away, like rain water through a sewer grate. He couldn't think and that, more than anything, made Sam feel completely helpless. And terrified.
Not-Dean tapped the razor blade in the palm of his hand as he assessed Sam. The look was both predatory and possessive, and Sam felt a shiver run down his spine.
"You know Dean was Alastair's favorite, both before and after he got off the rack," not-Dean said after a long moment. Sam's voice was locked in his burning throat, so he said nothing. "He was a quick learner, your brother." Not-Dean's smile was frigid. "And Alastair had so much to teach."
Not-Dean began circling the end of the bed Sam was frozen to. Sam could only find the strength to track him with his eyes. The doppelganger expertly twirled the blade between his fingers in transfixing patterns as he moved.
"Alastair was the best in the Pit. Had been for centuries. Before you took care of him that is." Not-Dean's voice took on a tinge of bitterness that quickly vanished. "But."
Not-Dean stopped pacing once he'd returned to Sam's side of the bed. He hefted the razor and the light from the bedside lamp glinted off the blade. Sam blinked away from the glare. "But he was only a demon.
"Demons," not-Dean said with disdain, "have nowhere near the imagination of an archangel."
Sam swallowed tightly against the burning in his throat and fear gnawing at his gut.
"You sealed me back in Hell, Sam. After everything I wanted for you." The temperature in the room dropped as the hand holding the blade tightened its grip. "Turnabout and all."
Lucifer brought the razor down and Sam screamed.
Dean stood at the head of the sofa with his arms crossed over his chest and watched tensely as Missouri pulled up a chair next to Sam's unconscious form. He was still peeved Missouri and Bobby had let him sleep into the late afternoon when he needed to be helping Sam. But the psychic and hunter hadn't backed down and Dean had been forced to—grudgingly—comply with their parental wishes.
With Bobby as their only surviving parental figure, Dean and Sam had gotten used to their own set of unspoken rules and routines that were slightly altered when visiting Sioux Falls but had otherwise kept them going over the years. Having to set that history aside, and hand over his responsibility for Sam to another person, was harder than Dean would have liked to admit, especially when he implicitly trusted Missouri.
But Sam was locked inside his own unimaginable suffering, so Dean figured he was entitled to be grouchy over having to stand by and do nothing.
"You sure this is going to work?" he asked Missouri.
The psychic gave him a wilting look and Dean backed off. Okay, so maybe he'd asked the same question a few (hundred) times too many since Missouri had explained her plan. His skin itched with restless energy.
"Your brother is locked in his mind," Missouri said. "He needs another psychic to anchor him and lead him out of there."
"And that's you," Dean said with a nod.
"And that's me," she agreed.
"But we don't know what's going on in there," Bobby argued for what seemed like the hundredth time. Dean had the feeling he and Missouri had gone over the same issue while he'd been asleep as well.
"All the more reason to bring him out," Dean growled impatiently, not backing down at Bobby's disapproving look at his tone. He loved Bobby like a father and almost always deferred to his knowledge on the supernatural, but while they argued over this, Sam was back in Hell. And Dean felt qualified to intercede on his brother's behalf on that account.
"I'm not arguing that, boy," Bobby retorted. Dean relented at the slight hitch in the older hunter's voice. He was worried about Sam, too. Dean didn't have a monopoly on worrying about his brother, he had to remind himself. "I just want to make sure we do this right," Bobby added more gently.
Dean nodded mutely, a lump forming in his throat.
"I know my limits, boys," Missouri interjected. "If it's too much, we'll simply find another way to help him. But sitting here talking about it all day isn't doing him any good."
"You have some other ideas?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll find some," she replied determinedly. And Dean believed her.
At Dean's nod, Missouri placed her hands lightly on Sam's head and shut her eyes. Dean watched Missouri's face, which had gone blank, then Sam's, which showed no sign of change, then Missouri again. He glanced up as Bobby took the place across from Dean at Sam's feet. The older hunter shrugged at Dean's look and they resumed their vigil.
Several agonizing minutes passed before Missouri shuddered and opened her eyes. She huffed in frustration. Sam hadn't reacted at all.
"What happened?" Dean demanded.
Missouri shook her head as she looked at Dean. "I'm sorry, honey." Dean felt a cold weight forming in his gut at that.
"Sorry for what, exactly?" Bobby asked for him, probably seeing the look Dean knew must be on his face.
"I can't breach his mind," Missouri replied.
Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"
Missouri placed her hands on her lap carefully. "I mean, Sam's mind is walled off to keep out any perceived threats. I can't get past it."
"But you're not a threat."
"Sam doesn't know that," Missouri said. "Not in his state."
Dean felt the cold weight drop at those words and he shuddered. He looked down at his brother's slack face. For Sam's sake, he might have prayed, but cut the idea off at its head since he was pretty sure the only god listening was the one who had done this to Sam in the first place.
Anger boiled over the ice in Dean's blood at the thought.
"Sam's locked so far within himself that he can't tell the difference between friend and foe," Missouri continued, pulling Dean back to reality. Part of him didn't want to hear this, didn't want to hear how much his brother was suffering because, once again, Dean had failed to protect him.
"I have a feeling he's mental barriers for awhile," the psychic mused. "But they've gotten stronger over time, the more threatened he's felt."
Dean looked up from Sam at that. "I thought he wasn't…"
"How do you think he's kept his powers at bay?" Missouri asked with a small smile. "He probably didn't even know he was doing it; just his sheer will not to tap into his abilities walled his mind off." She looked back at Sam, her face softening in a way that made Dean's heart clench.
"I think that wall would hold out even the strongest human psychic. Probably most demons, too. But…"
"But not an archangel," Bobby supplied. The "or two" was left hanging on the air, though Dean heard it loud and clear. Missouri nodded sadly.
"So if no one can get into his mind, how can we help him?" Dean demanded, running a hand over his face. Stubble rubbed against his palm, but a shave was the last thing on his mind.
"I didn't say no one can get into his mind," Missouri said.
Dean's eyes narrowed. "You said—"
"I said," Missouri cut in, "that nothing Sam perceives as a threat can get into his mind."
"But if Sam won't let you in…" Dean said, trailing off.
Missouri fixed him with a stare that made him want to fidget. "Dean, I think the only one he'll let into his mind is you."
Dean wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. He opened his mouth and shut it a few times before he managed to form words. "What?" was the most intelligent thing he could come up with.
Missouri squared herself to look him in the eye. "You're the greatest constant in his life," the psychic said. "Honey, if there's anybody that Sam will recognize as friendly, it's you."
Dean shook his head and threw his hands up in front of him, as though they could keep the words at bay a moment longer. He'd long ago accepted that psychic abilities were a part of Sam, even if it had taken some getting used to once Sam had admitted to his visions, but Dean? Dean didn't have that in his blood.
"Wait a sec, Missouri. I'm no psychic." He pinched the bridge of his nose at the building pressure. "So even if that's true, how am I supposed to get into his grapefruit in the first place?"
"With my help," Missouri replied. "I can anchor you on the psychic wavelength and keep you in Sam's mind, but you'll have to be the one to enter his mind and bring him out."
Dean licked his lips nervously and glanced over at Bobby, who shrugged. "It's the best idea we've got, son. Unless you've got something else…"
"No." Dean shook his head again. "No, I've got nothing." This was one of the crazier things Dean had heard in a long and storied career of crazy. But…
"Fine." If this even worked, which he had his doubts about, he didn't relish the thought of jumping into Sam's Hell memories with his own still waking him up in cold sweats more often than he'd ever admit.
But if there was even the slightest chance of helping Sam, then there was no question.
He uncrossed his arms and flexed his fingers at his sides. "So how do we do this?"
Dean ended up grabbing a chair from the kitchen and pulling it up behind Sam's head, where he'd been standing before. He put one hand on Sam's temple and the other grasped Missouri's hand, while her free hand touched the other side of Sam's head. It was one of the stranger circles Dean had seen in his time but something clicked together in his chest once the circuit had been completed.
"Remember," Missouri began.
"Keep the circle together at all times," Dean supplied.
Missouri pursed her lips but nodded. "Breaking the circle could cause you or Sam—or both of you—to be lost in his mind with no way out." She fixed him with a pointed stare. "I can only get you into his mind, Dean. Once there, it's all up to you."
"No pressure," he muttered. Saving your brother from eternal torment in his own mind is all up to you, kid, so don't blow it. No big deal or anything. Bobby snorted and Missouri heaved a sigh.
"Are you ready?" the psychic asked.
Dean breathed in and nodded. "Let's get this show on the road, then."
Missouri shut her eyes and after one final glance in Bobby's direction, Dean followed suit. As darkness encroached, he felt something pouring into him, flowing through him like blood. It was like being injected with pure energy. His skin was practically humming.
"Whoa."
"That's just me anchoring you, Dean."
Missouri's voice bounced through his head. Dean blinked and spun around in a complete circle, seeing only darkness around him. The black felt like it was closing in on him and Dean had to swallow back a wave of panic.
"What the—?"
"Turn around," Missouri's voice directed.
"I just di— Oh." Dean cut his protest off as he turned around only to be confronted with a giant brick-looking wall. "Huh."
"That is the wall blocking Sam's mind."
"I didn't think it would be so literal," Dean replied, titling his head curiously. The structure seemed to climb into forever. There was no way around. Great Wall of Sam indeed. What, no moat and drawbridge, Sammy?
"So how do I get in or whatever?"
"There is a door to your right. If Sam doesn't perceive you as a threat, it should open to you."
Dean nodded and shoved off toward the carved entryway that stuck out against the rest of the bricks. He stopped in front of it and frowned at the engraving curving around the door. They were in runes he was unfamiliar with—which didn't make any sense. What language did Sam know that Dean didn't at least have some passing familiarity with?
"So what, am I supposed to 'speak friend and enter' or something?" he grumbled.
"Or something," Missouri agreed.
Dean huffed and took a step toward the structure. With one final frown at the engraving, he placed a hesitant hand on the door.
"Sammy," he said, feeling stupid. "Hey man, if you can hear me, let me in. I just want to help you, bro."
Dean yelped and jerked his hand back when the door suddenly heated up like there was a fire on the other side. He tried not to think about what that could mean.
Not real. Not Dean. Not real. Not Dean. Never Dean. Never again. Not real. Not Dean.
Dean dropped to his knees, his hands covering his ears as his brother's broken voice suddenly filled his head. The heat from the door intensified and Dean had to scoot further back out of its range. Sam's broken mantra echoed through his mind a few more times before dying away. Dean swallowed.
"Missouri…"
"What happened?"
"I'm not sure. But he wouldn't let me in." Dean frowned down at his hand, which was an angry red from the heat. "I don't think he believed it was me."
And that Dean could relate to. He couldn't count, couldn't bear to remember, the number of times demons had taunted him using his brother's face, either to torture or be tortured in front of him when he'd been in Hell. His brother's screams always echoed loudly in his ears, had caused pain no torture instrument could replicate, and his only defense had been to remind himself that the Sam in front of him wasn't real. It had become a mantra over the years much like the one Sam had been repeating.
Dean's insides tightened at the implication of that.
At some point, the words had lost their meaning but repeating it still brought some inexplicable measure of comfort he'd been able to hold onto—for those thirty years, anyway. The pressure of having to remember them for so long had only dissipated once he'd seen his brother in that motel room, still alive and without his soul pledged to a crossroads demon. When Sam had thrown his arms around him, the weight of that mantra had lifted.
It hadn't been Sam. It had never been Sam. And there had been the proof.
Now he only needed to show Sam proof that he was the real deal. But how? Wasn't like he could run through their tried and true supernatural tests in Sam's noggin. And while he was the world's foremost expert on Sam Winchester, he had no idea what bit of knowledge would convince his brother that he was real.
"Dean, honey?"
"I've got to try again, Missouri."
"Be careful. My power can only do so much to protect you here."
"Roger that."
Dean approached the wall carefully, relieved when he noticed the earlier heat was gone. He stood in front of the door and quirked an eyebrow. "What's the Elvish word for 'friend,' anyway?" He snorted. "Yeah, I don't take you for Gandalf either, Sammy."
With an uncomfortable shrug, Dean put his hand to the door again and felt a tendril of something reach out from the wall toward his mind. Dean tried to clear his mind, but found his thoughts wander—
Little Sammy offering Dean the prize from the Lucky Charms box.
Sammy tearing around Bobby's salvage yard, puppy Rumsfeld galloping behind him, both yelping happily as gravel crunched beneath their feet.
Sam giving him the amulet when Dad hadn't come back for Christmas and the feel of its weight against his chest.
Sam reading a textbook at a table while Dean flicked kernels of popcorn at him from his bed until Sam had wadded up a sheet of notebook paper and launched it back at him.
Sam singing karaoke at some dive bar the first time Dean had gotten him drunk, and Dean carrying him back to the motel and holding his hair back as he puked all night.
Sam wordlessly handing Dean his acceptance letter to Stanford, skin pale but eyes bright with determination and back stiff with defiance.
Sam back in the front seat of the Impala after two years apart, falling asleep against the window like he'd never left.
Dean gasped and put a hand to his head as the memories came faster and faster making him dizzy. And then they abruptly stopped. Dean was left feeling off-balance and he swayed on his feet, but kept his hand on the door—on his only connection to his brother.
"Dean?" Sam's voice whispered, sounding broken, hesitant, hopeful, and wary all at once. "Is that really you?"
"The one and only, kiddo."
For a moment, Dean waited with absolutely no idea what was going to happen.
And then the door swung open.
tbc…
