Things get a little squicky and gory in this chapter. You may want a bucket to go with your flashlight. *offers buckets*
Sam didn't close his eyes. He normally did when using his psychic mojo but, well, he knew Dean and even though this wasn't Dean—it only looked like Dean and talked like Dean and knew all of Dean's moves, but it wasn't Dean—if you took your eyes off of Dean in a fight for even a fraction of a second it was over and you were going to going home with less blood than you came in with.
Maybe a lot less.
So he left his eyes open and he focused everything he had on the face he knew as well—better—than his own and he reached for that power down deep inside him in that pit that just kept growing.
He had been—unconsciously—holding his breath and when Dean's eyes went wide and his mouth opened and that first choking gasp escaped, Dean's hands clutching his chest as if to hold his heart in, Sam exhaled on a gasping grunt, but refused to stop, refused to give quarter for even a moment.
Dean choked again and leaned forward and his eyes, those hazel eyes Sam had last seen glassy and empty in death, bugged out, panic and terror in them now as Dean fell to his knees.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said, his ability to see Dean temporarily disabled by the tears that welled up. "I'm so sorry."
And then Dean stopped choking.
His mouth closed and his hands lowered and he straightened up and cocked his head like an attentive puppy.
"For what, Sammy?"
Sam blinked. Then he gritted his teeth and reached down, grasping the power and throwing it out like a net over Dean, over the evil that inhabited his body.
Dean just continued to stare at him, head still tilted to the side.
Then he shook his head and got to his feet.
"You're close, Sam, so close. But you don't quite have it," Dean said and he stepped forward and Sam raised the hand higher, as if it simply needed better aim.
Dean stopped, Sam's hand an inch away from his shirt, his own hands up in a position of surrender.
"Can I show you what you're doing wrong?" he asked, sounding just like he had when he'd taught Sam how to shoot a gun or how to throw a knife or even how to pick up a girl in a cheap bar.
A sob escaped Sam's chest as his arm fell down.
He'd failed. He couldn't do it. He was incapable—too fucking WEAK—to even take care of his own brother and keep him from becoming what he would never want to be.
Dean took that as acceptance and stepped into Sam's personal bubble, right up next to him, taking his arm with those gentle but callused hands and lifting the limb, resisting when Sam tried to pull free, but without causing him any harm, just keeping a steady grip on Sam's wrist and following his movements.
It was so Dean it broke another sob free of Sam's chest.
"Shh," Dean soothed. "It's okay, Sammy. You can do it, I know you can. You just have to practice and maybe tweak it a little and you'll be toasting demon ass before you know it."
Sam stared down at his brother and got a genuine Dean smile in return.
"Can I show you now?"
Sam just sobbed once more, a pained, "Dean," riding the sound out. Dean nodded and looked down at Sam's hand, guiding it so it faced the doorway.
"Now, you want to keep your arm straight, but don't lock the elbow. You'll cut off the blood to your hand and it'll go numb and no one's afraid of a limp wrist," he said, demonstrating by pushing Sam's hand forward until it flopped over.
His head cocked and his eyebrows went up and he said, "Well, okay, that is kind of scary, if you know what I mean, but not really what you're going for, you know?"
He flashed that grin and Sam laughed, a wet, choking sound, pulled out of him as involuntarily as the sobs.
"Okay, so you got the arm up and you flatten the palm, like this, you know? Like you're telling them to stop," Dean said and demonstrated with his own hand, stepping forward with one foot and aggressively thrusting his flattened palm outward.
"Stop, Demon!" he intoned. "Like that, you see? With authority. You gotta have the authority, Sam, or they're just not gonna take you seriously."
"Stop," Sam said, but it was broken and nearly whispered.
"Oh come on, Sammy, you can do better than that! Say it like you mean it! STOP! You know?"
"Dean-" Sam sniffed sharply. "Fuck," he said, grinding the heel of one hand into his eye and stepping back. "Whatever you are."
"Sam, I asked you not to swear in front of my son."
Sam lowered his hand and looked at Dean and had to bite down on a giggle.
"Or what?" he said.
Dean's eyes went flat, his expression hardening.
"Or I'll make you stop," he said.
Sam laughed and, yeah, it wasn't entirely stable, but, man, he was about this close to ending up on the funny farm anyway, so what the hell? Why not go a little crazy?
"Yeah? You and what army?"
Dean grinned, cocky now.
"Don't need an army to kick your ass, Sammy. Never have."
And then he moved his arm up and out toward Sam's chest and Sam barely had time to register the movement before he was flying backward into the closet behind him, crashing through the doors, thank you very much, and landing in a heap among wood splinters and fallen clothes. A rack of ties dropped on his head.
Sam was lying there, coughing his way through getting the wind knocked right the fuck out of him, when he heard Dean's boots on the wooden floor take a step closer.
When nothing happened, when Dean hadn't said anything, Sam looked up and saw Dean had stopped and turned to face Ruby, whose throat was now being crushed for the second time that day by a Winchester son's hand.
She looked rather pissed and Sam couldn't blame her. "Wait. Dean, hold on."
"Oh, hey Ruby. Thought I saw you," Dean said, like he was talking to an old friend. Then he looked at Sam and smiled. "I see you brought your pet bitch with you, Sammy." His grin widened and he laughed. "Guess what? So did I."
And then there was a dog, a huge fucking dog—looked like a Rottweiler, only everything about it was . . . harder. Bigger. More intense. It was more than a Rottweiler. It was Other, something that shouldn't be here, and yet it was—standing in front of Dean, snarling up at Ruby. And then Dean dropped Ruby and the dog leapt.
Sam heard screams and growling snarls and he had no idea what was happening because he couldn't see for Dean crouching down in front of him.
His breath came in sharp pants and his eyes were wide and fuck he was going to die here at Dean's hands and he'd failed, he'd failed so completely, in every way possible-
And then Dean was reaching out to him and Sam tried to bring up an arm to block it or grab him or something but he couldn't move. He was pinned down by those damn demon powers and Dean's hand came forward and cupped Sam's cheek like he was a small child.
Sam thought sometimes that, in his brother's eyes, he'd never aged past about six years old.
He would always be fucking Sammy Winchester, a chubby six-year-old and Dean's little brother.
Dean smiled, thumb stroking over Sam's cheek and it took everything Sam had not to lean into the familiar touch.
"Sam, remember that favor I asked you for?"
"Fuck off," he ground out through gritted teeth.
Dean grinned. "Nope. I don't need your help with that, little brother. Never had, never will."
Then he became serious again, looking closely into Sam's eyes.
"You're not quite ready to help me out yet. I thought maybe-" He shook his head. "But you will be. Soon. I'll come back then."
He stood and looked down as Sam panted through still clenched teeth and tried to move any muscle in his body besides his lungs and his heart and his lips and tongue. Really, any one would do.
Dean smiled again, the fucker.
"I don't want you to have to worry about Ben, so I'll be taking him with me. You need to focus and Ben will be a distraction. It's okay. I think he and I need to spend some quality time together. You know, get to know each other. Bond and all that crap."
A strangled sound came from the bed covers and Sam's eyes flicked down and then back up.
Okay, so he could control his eye muscles. Not exactly what he had in mind. So he should have been a little more specific.
"Don't you fucking touch him," he snarled. "I swear, you fucking touch him and-"
Dean chuckled. "Sam, he's my son. I have a responsibility. Besides, what are you worried about? I did okay with you, right? He'll be fine. We'll have lots of fun! Isn't that right, Ben?"
Another whimper was the response.
And that's when Sam realized that he could no longer hear Ruby and the dog fighting. He used the little control he had and looked over at—oh fuck.
He swallowed down bile.
Ruby was definitely going to need a new body.
Assuming, you know, she was still around to use a body.
Pretty soon this one was going to be a huge steaming pile of dog doo on someone's carpet or sidewalk.
The dog lifted a bloody snout and looked at Sam as if it could hear his thoughts.
Small intestines hung from its mouth like limp sausage casings until it lifted its head in a quick movement and slurped them down like the T-rex eating the damn goat in Jurassic Park. It was appalling and grotesque and pukeworthily disgusting, but he just couldn't take his eyes off it.
And just like the dinosaurs, this creature looked at Sam with intelligence shining in its eyes.
"Did I introduce you two yet?" Dean asked, waggling a finger back and forth. "No? Sammy, meet my best girl, Sniffles. Sniffles, this is my little brother Sammy I was telling you about."
The dog cocked her head and looked at Sam more closely, then glanced up at Dean.
"Yeah," Dean said, as though the damn thing had asked a question out loud. "But not yet. Soon though. Very soon."
Sammy swallowed again, then said, "Sniffles? What kind of a name is Sniffles for a . . . a hellhound?"
Dean laughed and the dog . . . looked embarrassed?
What.
The.
Fuck?
"You know, I've asked her the same damn thing, but she won't tell me?" Dean said, still grinning like a fool. "Won't let me see that memory either. Keeps it all locked up in her head. She'll show me one day," he said confidently, looking at the dog—at Sniffles—with affection and nodding. "When she's ready."
She kept her nose down but looked up and met Dean's eyes. She nodded once, then looked back down, licking her chops and nuzzling the remains of Ruby's old body.
She gave one of Ruby's exposed ribs a final lick, the red gore covering it disappearing under her agile tongue, leaving only stark white behind, then bent down and grabbed hold of the right leg. Stepping on the hip girdle with a front paw she gave a tug, worrying and shaking her prize until it popped free of the joint and ripped free of the torso.
She gave a few more tugs until the skin and cloth had all broken free, then straightened, the leg still locked firmly in her jaws. One for the road, apparently.
Sam had to swallow a few more times, in rapid succession, to keep from puking all over himself.
Dean was at the bed, murmuring gently, but it was doing nothing to slow or lessen the shaking of the blankets concealing Ben.
"No!" Sam said. "Stop! Please, Dean, don't-" His voice cracked. "Don't do this," he breathed out. "Please."
Dean glanced up, but just ran a gentle hand over the lump.
It fell immediately still and Sam's heart dropped out of his chest.
What the fuck?
Oh fuck.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck!
Had he just killed him? Had Dean just killed Ben and Sam had done nothing but lie here and try not to puke over a demon's long dead meat-suit being ripped apart?
Dean slipped his arms under the lump and scooped it up until Ben was cradled against his chest, still wrapped up in the blanket. Dean shifted his load until the boy's head was resting in the crook of his neck, his supportive hands holding onto Ben at shoulder and hip, Dean's arms wrapped under Ben's back and knees.
Sam had been held by Dean like that many times, mostly before he had his growth spurt and outgrew his big brother.
And now Dean held his son that way. But Ben was limp and unmoving . . .
Sam exhaled.
Ben's chest was rising and falling.
Not dead then, just unconscious.
Thank fuck.
Dean was humming softly and slowly swaying back and forth a bit as he looked down at Ben, and Sam's throat clogged up at the sight before him.
Dean would have been a great dad—had been a great dad.
He looked up and smiled at Sam.
"Now, remember, Sammy. You study hard and you learn what you need to and when you're ready, I'll come back and you can help me with that favor. All right?"
"De-"
"Shh," Dean said softly as he crouched down by Sam's legs in the doorway of the closet. "Sleep now, Sam. I can see you haven't been sleeping well lately. Just rest now. I'll see you later."
Sam's eyelids grew heavy and he fought to keep them up, but he just couldn't and the last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him whole was Dean's smiling face.
Gonna be out of town this weekend. Will try to post again tomorrow before I leave and then write some more while gone so there will be something soon after I get back! :D
Review plz&thx.
