Chapter 7: Vulnerant Omnia, Ultima Necat
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"I've seen the end," Sam tells Dean, his nose and mouth filled with the stench of burning rubber. He's desperate to tell him before it all shatters into a million tiny pieces and gets away from him. "I've seen it, Dean, and it's bloody and terrible."
"Shut up, Sam," Dean is trying to get him to lie down, but he resists, his struggles pathetically weak now. It's important he get through to Dean, he thinks. They've run out of time.
"No, please. You have to listen to me. It has to do with the vessels. Are you listening?"
"I'm listening. Please just lie down while you talk, okay?" Dean's tone is desperate, a little panicky. "Vessels. See? Totally listening."
His mouth is filling with saliva at the unpleasant taste, and he swallows, makes a face. "We're the vessels. Did Bobby tell you? That's why it—"
"Sam, please! Just shut up."
"It's important. Ruby never said —maybe she never even knew— but it was supposed to be me. It wasn't you, the first time... she kept telling me you weren't strong enough, kept feeding me lies. I was so angry I couldn't see straight, and I was —it wasn't me who saved you, it was Castiel, and I was angry and alone and I let her..." he has to stop, can feel his thoughts fraying around the edges.
"Sam, you can tell me afterward. Just lie back, okay"
"Shit," he murmurs. "Can't even get this right." He digs his fingers into Dean's arm in a useless attempt to keep the seizure at bay. "It was me. I started it, do you understand? The last time. That's why I came back. We were the vessels, and it was my fault. It needs to be different this time, except I can't remember how it's supposed to go."
"Okay, okay. Just... God. We'll handle that in a few minutes, okay?"
"I can't—" the world flashes white, and he feels his mind shatter, the pieces scattered to the wind.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"Just... take it easy, okay? Put the knife down," Sam says, trying to keep his voice from shaking.
Reggie is holding onto Lindsey, all rough edges and scalding hatred, but he puts his Bowie knife down on the bar. Lindsey is staring at him, eyes wide and scared behind Reggie's arm. They've all lost sight of what's important, he thinks, looking at the terror in her eyes. Hunters are supposed to protect people like her, and now he's put her in danger twice over.
"It's true," he says, locking eyes with Reggie, keeping the hunter's attention on him. "What the demon said, it's all true."
"Keep going."
"Why? You gonna hate me any less? Am I gonna hate myself any less? What do you want?"
"I want to hear you say it." Anger is radiating from Reggie, hatred seeping from his pores.
Sam nods once. It's an affirmation, as much to himself as to Reggie.
"I did it. I started the apocalypse."
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"It's all unravelling," he says, once he's awake again, back in the familiar bed in Bobby's spare room. Someone is coaxing water into him, and he's not sure where Bobby is, but he can hear the older hunter's voice, talking to someone far away —telephone, he figures out after a moment. He opens his eyes, expecting to see Dean, is surprised to find Castiel there, holding a glass to his lips. Sam grins.
"Florence, long time no see."
The angel frowns. "That's not my name."
"Never mind. Where's Dean?"
"Not here."
"You're really frustrating to talk to."
Castiel tilts his head to the side. "It's not my intention, but I have other matters to attend to."
"We're losing, aren't we? It hasn't changed."
"We are losing," the angel confirms. "Most of the Seals have broken. Our numbers are dwindling faster than ever."
"Did you find the traitor?"
"Traitor?"
Sam reaches up with a shaky hand to take the glass of water away from Castiel, drains the contents. "You're different from... you're more like when I first met you. Do you remember what happened the last time around?"
Castiel tilts his head. "It's complicated. I don't see things the way you do —it's not in my nature. I don't experience time in a linear fashion."
"So you do remember? I remember, and it's turning my brain to mush."
"Yes."
"Uriel was killing the angels, the last time."
"Uriel is long gone. He and Anna no longer exist the way you think of them."
Sam sits up slowly, and to his surprise, Castiel puts a hand under his elbow to help him. "Did... do you remember pulling Dean out of hell? Even though it never happened now?"
"I remember. It's not something easily forgotten."
"So you're still..."
"Yes."
He leans back against the headboard, lets his eyes close for a moment as his whole body sags with relief. "Good. I can't do this on my own, and Dean thinks I've lost my mind. Sometimes I think he's right."
"You haven't lost your mind. Not yet. But you are losing your grip on this reality. It's not as real to you as the other one, and that is dangerous."
He nods tiredly. "I get it. The other one lasted longer, you know."
"I know. It was also more —emotionally fraught. I understand that it is difficult for you, and... I wish there were more that I could do to help."
Sam blinks, forces his eyes open again. "Are you still, uh, fallen?"
"I'm not sure I ever was. I am still mostly cut off from Heaven, if that's what you mean."
"What if I can't stop Lilith?"
"You can. That's not the issue."
Everything Azazel did, and Lilith did. Just to get you here. And you were the only one who could do it.
"I'm missing something. What am I missing?"
"I can't tell you."
"Fuck!" he slams a palm on the bed in frustration. "Why not? What was the point of bringing me back if you can't help me? Nothing makes sense, and every time I try to figure it out I end up bleeding or puking or having a seizure."
Castiel surprises him by reaching out and smoothing a hand against his cheek. "I am sorry. It's not that I don't want to —he means as much to me as he does to you, I promise. I told you why it is important that you remember on your own. I'm still bound by many of the same rules as I was. I will intervene where and when I can, as I did before, but the more I change my own behaviour, the worse it will be for you. Your mind is not withstanding the stresses of the process well."
"You, uh. You didn't bring me back. Not the same way as Dean. I remember the end. I was... I don't know, exactly, but I didn't die, did I?"
"You died, but not then. You were dying. I simply transferred your consciousness back into your body.
"Do you remember the final Seal?"
Sam shakes his head. "Only parts of it. Ruby, and the blood... she brought me to the edge and I jumped off, and I was happy to do it. She's been using Dean to feed it to me."
"I know. The hex bag kept me away. I am sorry I could not stop it."
"Not your fault. I don't understand why I'm not... detoxing, or whatever."
Castiel tilts his head. "You don't remember the end." It's a statement, not a question.
"I remember Dean died..."
"I cannot tell you, then. But you do not need to fear 'detoxing,' as you call it. You are beyond that now."
He lets his eyes close in something that feels like defeat. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I was so convinced, but I caused the end of the world."
"Yes."
Sam sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. "Whoever fights monsters should see to it in the process that he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."
"I don't understand that reference."
"It's a quote. I turned myself into a monster in order to fight the monsters."
"You're not a monster, Sam."
There's a gust of wind, and when Sam looks up again, Castiel is gone. Somehow, though, this time he doesn't feel quite so alone.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
I know it's hard to see it now... but this is a miracle. So long coming. Everything Azazel did, and Lilith did. Just to get you here. And you were the only one who could do it.
Because it had to be you, Sammy. It always had to be you.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
June 6th dawns overcast and muggy in New York City, and it's on that morning that Jethro Bridges turns sixty-six years old. He drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom, where one of the two light bulbs above the grimy sink sizzles and shorts out as he drags his razor blade over his chin and mentally reviews today's lesson plan. He curses under his breath and taps the bulb with a fingernail. Nothing. He's going to have to replace that later. He brushes his teeth, gets dressed —right leg first, same as always— and wonders whether he ever consciously made the decision to have a wardrobe that consists almost entirely of tweed, or whether it's something that just happens to all teachers over time, kind of like erosion.
He picks up the briefcase he packed last night in one hand, and his guitar in the other, takes the bus to work, because parking near the school is a bitch, and despite being a year past retirement he's got nothing to show for it except a head full of grey hair, roomfuls of ungrateful teenagers, and not even so much as a parking spot on the school grounds. It's his birthday, he thinks morosely as a very large, very sweaty man invades his personal space and shoves his armpit in Jethro's face as he hangs onto the high bar. It's his birthday and all he has to look forward to is to try and instil the basic principles of the English language, and then accompany some lacklustre flautists on the guitar so that their parents will believe they're getting a well-rounded education.
Jethro is so plunged in his thoughts that he doesn't notice the difference in heft in his guitar case until he gets to school. He sets it down on his desk, flips it open, and his feels his eyelids flicker in surprise when he finds a sturdy-looking semi-automatic twenty-two rifle with a well-oiled wooden stock in the place of his customary guitar. He stares at it for a moment, then trails a finger wonderingly over the barrel, along the stock.
This is it.
Somewhere further down the hallways the sound of a couple hundred kids singing the national anthem off-key and without much enthusiasm wafts toward him, and he knows that, finally, today is the day that's going to change everything. He picks up the rifle, enjoying the heft, and slips the clip into place with an audible "snick." He brings it up, checks the sights, and he smiles when it nestles sweetly against his shoulder.
Jethro whistles cheerfully through his teeth as he takes the rifle in a ready carry down the hall. He steps into the gymnasium where the kids and teachers are gathered, makes sure to lock the door behind him. He takes a deep breath, brings the gun to bear, and recites Walt Whitman in his head as screams erupt all around him.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
Sam comes awake with a muffled yell, and pulls back just in time to prevent himself from accidentally hitting his brother in the face. Dean is sitting half-sprawled on the bed and has him by both shoulders, has obviously been trying to shake him awake. When he's sure Sam is coherent enough not to lash out at him again, he pulls him upright and lets him cling, shaking.
"Just a nightmare, Sammy. You're okay."
He shakes his head, buries his face in Dean's chest, not caring that he's acting like a six-year-old with night terrors. "Kids. They were just kids, and he killed them all."
"Who?"
"I don't know. A teacher. God... he just killed them, like they were nothing. He was reciting poetry, Dean."
He feels Dean shake his head. "People," he says softly, then brings up a hand to brush Sam's hair away from his forehead. "You okay?"
"It's a Seal. Rufus said it was a Seal."
"Rufus hasn't called in weeks, Sam," Dean keeps running his fingers through Sam's hair, the movement soothing. "Bobby has him looking out for omens and all that, but we haven't heard from him lately. You think you can get back to sleep?"
"Lilith's broken nearly all the Seals," he says, listening to the steady beating of Dean's heart. "It was all supposed to change, but I keep getting it wrong. I don't know if I can change it. I wanted to change it... make up for all the things I did. I never even apologized to you, not properly. 'Sorry' is such a stupid, inadequate word. Use it too much, but I can't think of a better one. I didn't mean to betray you. You know that, right? I was just trying to do the right thing. I just screwed it all up, and then you died anyway. I just want to make it right."
Dean huffs out a small sigh, lets his hand go still and rest on Sam's head. "Let's just concentrate on getting you better. Then we'll find that bitch and end her. I promise."
Sam doesn't move, keeps leaning on Dean's chest. This probably makes him a girl forever in Dean's books, but he doesn't care anymore. Right here, right now, it's safe, and he hasn't felt safe in a very long time. "You know I'm not crazy, right?"
"Sure, Sammy."
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
A dying nun lies draped, bleeding, over the altar of her church. Her priest's eyes glow briefly, a flash of yellow.
"Lilith," the voice that dribbles from her lips is anything but human. "Lilith can break the seals."
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"We need to go after Lilith," Sam says finally, on a day when the world is being kind enough to stay still and not split up into nausea-inducing double-visions of what is and what was supposed to be and what might have been. He can't tell how much time has gone by anymore, days and hours and years blurring together. "The Seals are breaking faster and faster. The angels are losing."
He's curled up on Bobby's sofa, in jeans and his favourite t-shirt, bare feet tucked under him, coffee cup cradled in his hands. The coffee is the one point on which he's refused to budge. Giving up alcohol is one thing, but the coffee is the only thing that keeps him functional on a good day, and neither Dean nor Bobby are really wishing to push it.
"I thought your angel was supposed to be on top of that," Dean says, not bothering to mask his sarcasm.
"He's not my angel," Sam mutters.
"What?"
"Nothing. Anyway, he hasn't shown up in weeks. I thought it might have been the hex bags, but I haven't seen him since then. I don't know what's going on, except that we're losing. We should be trying to find her."
"And how do you propose we do that? How are we supposed to know where she is? She's been five steps ahead of us the whole time, Sam!" Dean is pacing, frustrated. He looks up at Sam. "Shit. Sammy..." he looks around until his eyes land on the roll of toilet paper Sam has taken to keeping with him, then tosses it to Sam. "Your nose is bleeding. Again."
Sam doesn't even bother swearing. Just sighs, rolls his eyes a bit, and pinches his nose shut with a wad of the paper. "Bobby, did you ever look up that thing about the vessels?" he asks through the paper, sounding as though he's got the world's worst head cold.
Bobby doesn't look up from where he's seated at his desk, taking notes. "Not much that's useful, as usual. Two thousand years of the telephone game, and a whole metric ton of people who've read way too much Milton. Mostly it's a ton of pseudo-religious crap about bloodlines and Cain and Abel and crap like that. The only remotely interesting thing is this one really obscure passage that's reportedly from one of the unpublished gospels, and relates the war between Heaven and Hell. It ain't as pretty as Paradise Lost, but prophecy don't have to be written in iambic pentameter to be accurate."
Sam smirks. "Iambic pentameter?"
Bobby just rolls his eyes. "What? You think you're the only one who can be educated?"
He ducks his head with a smile. "Sorry. It's just, first I find out Dean reads Vonnegut, then you suddenly know how to speak Japanese and know words like 'iambic pentameter.' Forgive me if it takes me a while to get over my preconceptions."
"How'd you know I read Vonnegut?"
"You told— uh," he stutters, pulls more toilet paper off the roll as blood seeps onto his fingers. "I remember, but it didn't happen. Please don't make me explain more, I think I'm going into hypovolemic shock, here. Bobby? Prophecy?" he gets up, moves to look over Bobby's shoulder at what looks like the reproduction of a thirteenth-century depiction of the battle between Heaven and Hell, Lucifer on the ground beneath Michael's sword, his blood seeping into the earth in a circle around his body.
"Right. Well, it ain't exactly a prophecy. More like a fable. A passage about when the archangel Michael puts Lucifer away in Hell. Something about using the bonds of brotherhood to seal the final lock on the cage. Damned if I can make heads or tails of it. If I had any say in this, I'd hire technical writers to write down these things. At least then we'd get a user-friendly manual."
Dean snorts. "Where would be the fun in that? Now we have all the added fun of trying to make sense of allegory on top of all our other problems. At this rate I'm going to start bleeding from the nose."
"Funny," Sam mutters. "Easy for you to say. You're not Lucifer's meat suit if he gets out." He traces a finger over the illustration in Bobby's book. "I've seen that circle of blood before, somewhere."
"What do you mean, meat suit?"
"Bonds of brotherhood... the angels need vessels before they can fight it out," Sam taps a finger on the page. "I think the true vessels always have to be brothers. It's why it was you and me. Has to do with bloodlines, although I never did buy the whole Cain and Abel thing. Cain and Abel never had any descendants. Abel died right off, and Cain did the whole East of Eden thing and all the descendants came from Seth."
Dean gives him a flat look. "Could you be a bigger geek? I'd smack your head, but I might dislodge what little is left of that giant geek brain of yours. Also, I'm not entirely sure what you said."
"Vessels. It's how we stopped it the first time. You have to give consent before they can possess you, but it was the only way to make it work," blood drips past the hand Sam has clamped over his nose. "Shit," he mutters, feeling the floor tilt beneath him. He shuffles away from the desk, drops into a chair. "Michael lied. Said he'd leave you intact when you said yes. Fucking angels."
"I thought they were supposed to be on our side? That's what you said."
He lets out a huff of laughter. "Just Castiel. The rest are all a bunch of lying dicks with wings. Lucifer included. Should never've fallen for it. Being a vessel sucks."
"I'm not even going to pretend I understood that. Anyway, we'll all be better off if Lucifer never pops free at all. So we find Lilith, ice the bitch, and Satan can keep rotting in his cage. I don't suppose there's any leads on where she is?"
"None," Bobby growls, clearly frustrated. "I've been scouring all the sources I have, and nothing can tell me what Seals she's aiming for, let alone where she's gonna head next. Some of the Seals ain't in specific locations, anyway. You ought to know that better'n anyone. It ain't possible to track an event which doesn't have a specific location."
"Like the Witnesses. Or the teacher in New York."
"The fishing boat," Dean nods, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sam, did you, uh..."
"Have a vision about the final Seal? No. Other Seals, but I don't exactly have control over the rest, and that stuff Ruby made screwed with the visions for weeks."
"I'm sorry."
He shakes his head. "Don't. I don't want an apology. I don't. That's not what this is about. Whatever she made you do, it was nothing compared to what I did for her, okay?"
"Keep your head back. That bleeding doesn't stop in another couple of minutes, I'm taking you in," Dean squats near his chair, chucks him under the chin to force his head back. Blood trickles into Sam's mouth, and he grimaces as he swallows.
"It's fine. You're not listening."
"I am listening. You're not making sense. Again. Ruby hasn't even talked to you more than twice."
"Not in this lifetime. You didn't see what I became. It could still happen. I still want it, you know. The blood. I can smell it on them, and it terrifies me."
"Dean, what's he talkin' about?"
"No idea. Sam?"
He feels himself slipping again. "Demon blood. I don't want to go back there. Fucking terrible. Can't go back, I swore to myself I wouldn't."
"Where, Sam?"
Burning rubber. "Sorry, I can't... happening again."
The world falls apart.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
In the middle of the Nevada desert, a man who calls himself Gideon even though he was born Thomas Neville Jr. lines up three women and a man before him. All the same age, all with black hair and brown eyes. They stand compliant in the light of the moon, naked and unashamed, the blindfolds white against their hair. The thin rope binding their hands behind their backs is unnecessary, but he doesn't want to take any chances. He calls the four corners, puts the man to the North, the three women in the other corners.
He starts with the man, works widdershins, and spills their blood into the sand. By the time the police catch up with him, it's too late.
Gideon goes down in a hail of bullets, Lilith's name spilling from bloodied lips.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
Things get less confusing when Sam is asleep. Sure, his dreams aren't exactly relaxing most of the time —watching his brother die is pretty much the definition of his worst nightmare, and the rest of the nightmares and visions all seem to involve bloody death of some kind— but there's no sense of wrongness about the dreams the way there is about his waking hours. He sleeps more because, in his dreams, he doesn't have to fight to keep himself anchored in reality. When he awakens, reality hits him like a sledgehammer: the headaches double in intensity and frequency, and sometimes he imagines he can see the second timeline unfolding just out of the corner of his eye, that if he just turns his head, the entire world will turn itself upside down and plunge him right back into the abyss he thought he'd left behind.
He's not sure if it's Dean or Bobby who calls in reinforcements, but his money's on Bobby: Dean has always been a little too keen on trying to work things out on his own to be comfortable asking anyone else for help. The first indication Sam gets that they might not be entirely on their own is awakening on Bobby's sofa —he must have drifted off again, he thinks fuzzily— to the sound of quiet voices nearby.
"Shouldn't we wake him?" the voice is soft, definitely feminine.
"Let 'im sleep for now. He's exhausted. They both are, but Sam's worse off. Ain't nothing we can do tonight anyway. May as well all get some shut-eye before the shit really hits the fan."
"Where's Dean?"
"Out under the hood of one of the junkers out back. Sulkin', I'm guessing, after everything that's happened. That demon girl got him turned around six ways until Sunday, and he ain't takin' it too well."
Sam shoves himself up onto his elbow. "'s not his fault," he mutters, scrubbing at his eyes. "She lied."
"Hey Sam," the owner of the first voice crouches next to him, comes into focus a moment later. "I'm sorry we woke you."
"It's okay, I sleep too much anyway, these days," he smiles, trying to wipe the worried expression off Ellen's face. "It's good to see you again," he adds.
To his surprise, she gathers him into a fierce hug. "You too, kiddo."
There's a soft laugh. "Hey, do I get a hug, or am I just chopped liver over here?"
His head snaps up. "Jo!" He's on his feet in a flash, so fast that Jo actually takes a step back, startled, and he wavers, trying to find his balance. Once he's sure he's not about to fall over, he takes a step toward her, hesitates as, fleetingly, an image of Jo lying on the floor of a hardware store, blood saturating a makeshift bandage around her stomach, superimposes itself on his vision. "Uh, I—" he stops entirely, hand stretched toward her, feels a little foolish, and she misunderstands his hesitation.
"It's okay, Sam. I don't blame you, or anything. You were possessed, right? Wasn't your fault."
She closes the distance between them, and lets him put a tentative hand on her shoulder. He swallows a sob that threatens to tear itself loose from his chest, scrubs at his eyes, gathers her into a hug. She feels terribly small and fragile in his arms. So easily broken. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
Jo rolls her eyes. "God, are you always this melodramatic?" she pokes him gently in the ribs, and he huffs a small laugh.
"No, sorry. I just... things happened differently the last time," pain spikes in his head as he speaks, the sound of snarling hellhounds echoing in his ears, Jo screaming as invisible claws tear open her stomach, spilling her intestines into the air.
"Sam?" she staggers a bit as he's suddenly forced to lean on her for balance. "Maybe you'd better sit back down..."
Bobby catches him by the elbow, pushes him back onto the sofa. "You need anything, Sam? Your meds?"
He shakes his head. "No. I... I just... they're dead. So I have to get used to them again. That's all. I'm okay."
"What are you talking about?" It's impossible to miss the worried look Jo gives her mother and Bobby. "We're not dead. We're right here."
"Is he always like this?" Ellen asks, and Bobby nods.
"Pretty much. It's hard to make any sense of what comes out of his mouth these days. Some days are better than others."
Sam pulls his hands away from where they've been pressing against his eyes, a feeble defense against the vertigo that keeps threatening to make him keel over. "I'm right here, you know. Can understand everything you're saying. I'm not crazy, and I'm not stupid. It's just hard to sort out which memories are real, that's all."
Jo slides next to him on the sofa. "Sam, that's pretty much the definition of crazy. You know that, right?"
"Right," he presses the heel of his hand to his forehead. It's become an automatic gesture now, although it does nothing to help the pain or the feeling that he's about to throw up. "I know. Can't help it. It sounds crazy, but it's not."
"Bobby's told us some of it. You think this might have something to do with those visions you get?" Ellen asks, and he shrugs.
"Indirectly, maybe. I can't explain it right. I —my thoughts go all screwy when I try. It's... I've lived through all of this before, except the further I go, the more it all changes," he swallows hard as his stomach roils in protest, and the image of Jo sitting next to him on the sofa begins to fade, replaced by its more horrific counterpart. He closes a hand around her wrist, feeling for her pulse, trying to anchor himself, leaning back against the sofa cushions, eyes slipping shut.
"Sam?"
"Making sure you're real," he mumbles. "I keep seeing the other you, the one the hellhounds got, when we went after Death. She seems more real than you, even though you're here. God, my head hurts. Sorry. Side effects. Castiel told me it's because the other reality's more real to me than this one. That's what's screwing me up. I'm sorry, I can't—"
"You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault," Jo gives his knee a squeeze. She's humouring the crazy guy, he can tell, but he can't really blame her. "You should go back to sleep. We'll find Dean, have him fill us in on the rest."
"Rufus has been keeping us up to date, for the most part," Ellen says to Bobby, but loud enough for Sam to hear. "We're running out of time, aren't we?"
Sam's already having trouble keeping his eyes open when Bobby's answer registers dimly. "Yeah, we are."
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
Ellen and Jo take Castiel's appearance a lot better than Sam would have given them credit for. Then again, they took it well the first time, too. The angel is sitting at Bobby's kitchen table, stiff and awkward in his trench coat, but he's smiling uncertainly as Ellen lines up a row of shots of tequila before him.
"Is this a rite of passage?" Castiel inquires.
"Something like that," Ellen grins, and drains one of her shot glasses without batting an eye.
Sam gets up from the sofa, heads over to the old cassette player that's collecting dust on one of Bobby's shelves, and pulls out some of the cassettes that Dean has left here over the years. He sorts through them, finds the one he wants, and soon the strains of Santana's "Oye Como Va" are drifting through the room. Dean drops onto the sofa, beer bottle in hand, and throws him a quizzical look. He shrugs, smiles.
"It just seemed like something was missing. I figured Santana was a good way to go." He catches sight of Bobby in his study, stretching up on tiptoe to grab a book off a shelf, and has to fight away the sudden certainty that it's all wrong, that Bobby shouldn't be able to do that, not now, not here. That he should be in a wheelchair and that it's Sam's fault.
"Good to know my taste is finally rubbing off on you," Dean smirks, but his expression says he hasn't missed Sam's falter.
Castiel is methodically draining the tequila shots while Ellen looks on approvingly and Jo gawks, her beer forgotten in her hand. "I think I'm beginning to feels something," he tells Ellen seriously after his seventh shot, and Sam brushes by, snags a beer from the fridge before sinking down on the sofa next to Dean.
"Even when he was mostly human, it took an entire liquor store to get him drunk. I don't think it's going to work. Angels don't get drunk. It's a shame, it'd probably help."
"Sam."
He twists off the cap, takes a drink. "Last night on earth. I figure it's worth a beer."
Dean turns to look at him. "You know something I don't?"
It's too hard to explain. Instead he slides over until he's pressed up against his brother, leans against his shoulder. "I know lots of things you don't. Nothing specific. Just remembering the last time this happened."
"You know you're not making sense, right?" Dean's hand comes up to rest briefly on his head, the gesture rough and comforting.
"Haven't made sense in weeks," he takes another drink, which is a little harder to manage while cuddled up against his brother. He figures Dean has to be worried, if he's letting him get away with this. He grins as another memory surfaces. They should be at a table for this, but he'll take what he can get. "Thank you for your continued support."
Dean snorts. "Moron," he says fondly, clinks their beer bottles together. "You shouldn't be drinking."
Sam ignores him, reaches up to toy with the amulet still around Dean's neck. "Glad you kept that. It's not useless, you know."
His brother shifts uneasily under him. "Of course I kept it. What's with you tonight?"
"Nothing. Just taking advantage... I'm glad you're not gonna throw it away this time. You won't, will you?"
"Don't be stupid. I'd never do that."
He huffs a laugh. "No, I guess you wouldn't. Not now."
At that moment Bobby comes back into the living room, brandishing a camera and a tripod. "All right, everybody get in here, it's time for the line-up. Usual suspects in the corner."
Ellen rolls her eyes and laughs. "Oh, come on, Bobby. Nobody wants their picture taken."
"Hear hear," Dean says over Sam's head.
"Shut up, you're drinkin' my beer," Bobby grumbles good-naturedly. "Anyway, I'm gonna need something to remember your sorry asses by. I plan out outlivin' all of you damn fool chuckleheads."
Ellen snorts as she pushes Castiel and Jo ahead of her, while Dean shakes his head with a smile, and pulls Sam to his feet, leaving their beers behind. "Always good to have an optimist around," she says, settling into place in the center of the frame.
Dean puts an arm over her shoulders and another around Jo's waist —eliciting a smack on the wrist when his hand strays a little too far and a mocking laugh. "You wish, jackass," she smirks, and he just shrugs and grins back.
"Can't blame a guy for trying."
"Try again and you're going to lose the arm. Then my mom'll castrate you."
Dean flinches, and Sam laughs. He stands behind Castiel, accustomed to standing at the back of photographs since he grew over a foot at the age of sixteen. Castiel is looking awkward, but not nearly as much as the last time they did this.
"It'll be nice to have everyone smiling this time," Sam says. The angel nods, and Sam feels a surge of gratitude that, for once, he's not the only one who understands what he's saying.
Bobby sets the timer, and hurries back in time to stand between Castiel and Ellen. "All right, everyone say whiskey!"
Sam smiles as the flash goes off.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
Ellen comes to find him on Bobby's porch. He's sitting on the top stair, leaning against the railing, staring up at the stars, leaving Dean to hit unsuccessfully on Jo. He's relaxed, smiling, and Sam can't remember the last time he saw Dean this much at ease, so he quietly removes himself. No sense in reminding Dean of all the reasons he has to be tense and unhappy.
"Sam, honey, are you all right?"
He doesn't move. "You mean right now?"
She lowers herself onto the porch next to him. "Sure, let's start with that."
He lets a smile play over his face. "I'm okay. Watching the stars. Haven't done it in a while."
"They're very pretty," Ellen says noncommittally.
"Dean taught me when we were kids. Only ever learned three constellations. Always meant to learn more of 'em. I can always find the North Star, though. Foolproof."
"Yeah?"
He nods carefully. "Trick is to remember to look for it. Otherwise it's easy to get lost. Forgot that for a while."
"What are you saying, Sam?"
He shrugs. "It's hard to explain. I kind of," he pauses, trying to find words that will make sense to both of them, "I kind of got lost for a while. It's why I had to come back, this time. Do it differently. I screwed it up, last time around. "
Ellen sighs. "You're not making much sense. What do you mean?"
Sam chews on his lip, closes his eyes as Ellen's face swims out of focus, becomes tear-stained and fearful, her hand wrapped around a detonator as she waits for the hellhounds to come through the door. He feels sick.
"Sam?"
"I just don't want everyone I love to get hurt or die anymore."
He can't help but flinch at the first feel of her fingers against his face, brushing his hair away from his forehead. "I know you still feel bad about your father, Sam, but it wasn't your fault. He made his choice a long time ago."
He huffs a laugh at that. "I keep forgetting most of it hasn't happened yet." He opens his eyes, sees the incomprehension on Ellen's face, and tries to explain himself again. "I'm sorry, I know how crazy I sound. I just... it's hard. It's getting harder to tell things apart, and I can't —I keep seeing the wrong things. Saying the wrong things. I can't tell what's real anymore." He searches her face for a sign of comprehension, sighs when he sees none. "I'm still not making sense, am I?"
"I'm sorry, sweetie, but you're not."
"Sorry."
"It's not your fault, Sam. We're just worried about you."
"I know," he lets his eyes close again. It's easier to focus on the present when he's not seeing two realities fight for dominance with each other. "I didn't think it would get this bad. Still would have done it, though. It's the only way to put things right, you know?"
Ellen smooths his hair again, but doesn't say anything.
"Ellen?"
"Yeah, Sam?"
"If this," he makes a vague, all-encompassing gesture with one hand. "If it doesn't get better... I asked Bobby to look out for Dean, but I think it might be at least a two-person job."
"Don't talk like that, Sam. You're going to be fine."
He snorts. "Everyone keeps saying that. I'm just hedging my bets, 'kay? Cas will help too, if you let him."
"The angel?" Ellen sounds dubious.
Sam grins at the memory. "He's all right, for a nerdy dude with wings. And he's... I don't know. But he'll want to help, if it's for Dean. Will you do it?" he fixes her with a stare, waiting for her answer.
"You don't even have to ask, you know we'll look after your brother. You boys are the closest thing I have to sons."
He nods, feeling the last of his energy reserves draining already. It's depressing, he thinks, how quickly he gets exhausted these days. "Thanks."
"You ready to head inside?"
"Nah," he tilts his head back toward the sky. "Think I'm gonna stay out here for a while. Tell Dean not to worry?"
She gets to her feet, pats his shoulder. "That'd be about as useful as asking a fish to breathe out of the water."
With a last, sad smile in his direction, she turns and heads back into the house, leaving him alone to stare at the stars.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"Ruby's still in the picture? How is that even possible? And boy, don't make me kick your ass by telling me you've stayed in touch."
"Come on, Bobby, it's not like I'm palling around with her! She had my number before, and I didn't exactly have time to change it the last few days."
Dean is pacing again, back and forth in front of the sofa where Sam has been spending most of his waking hours, his cell phone lying shut on the table. Ellen, Bobby and Jo have seemingly taken up permanent positions at Bobby's large table, maps and books spread out haphazardly over the surface. Castiel has pulled a vanishing act, presumably off defending more Seals, or something, while the rest of them try to figure out the last pieces of the puzzle. Sam stares at his brother mutely, trying to rid himself of the image of wrapping his hands around Dean's throat in a hotel room far away, choking the life out of him, trying to prove how weak and wrong he his. Shards of the broken mirror litter the floor of the honeymoon suite he rented for himself and Ruby.
"You don't know me. You never did. And you never will."
"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back!"
His breath catches in his throat, and he forces himself to breathe through the memory. It's not real anymore, he reminds himself. Just a bad day. A very bad day. Nothing he's said has made any sense, and Castiel isn't there anymore to make things clear. Dean is still talking.
"She says she knows where Lilith is going to be. We know Lilith has to break the final Seal, right? So why shouldn't we use the insider information?"
"Well, because it's a trap, for one," Bobby says, rolling his eyes.
"Of course it's a trap, but if we know it is, then we can go in prepared."
"No, you can't! She knows you're onto her, and that should be enough to tell you that no matter what you think you're up against, it's going to be worse, and they're going to be ready for you. You go after Lilith, you die. End of story."
Dean smacks a fist into the nearest wall.
"Watch the drywall, boy. You break that, you're redoing all of it."
"We can't just sit here and do nothing!"
"You think nothing is what we've been doing for the past three days?" Jo snaps. "I get that you're worried, Dean, and we all know what's at stake here, but going off half-cocked isn't going to help. If our positions were reversed, you'd say the same to me."
"Yeah, well, they aren't reversed."
"Sam, honey?" Ellen breaks in before Dean and Jo can start yet another argument. "You with us?"
He nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Lilith is dying against the altar, laughing, taunting him."You turned yourself into a freak. A monster. And now you're not gonna bite? I'm sorry, but that is honestly adorable." She's skinny, skinnier even than Ruby, and he wonders if she got her taste for possessing skinny blonde women from possessing Ruby's body that one time. Before that, it was always little girls. It's easier to kill her, this way.
"You got anything to say, Sam? 'Cause now would be a good time to weigh in," Dean snaps.
"Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam - a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."
"No going back," Sam repeats quietly.
"Fuck!" Dean looks as though he's about to punch the wall again before thinking better of it.
"Sam, honey," Ellen repeats, her voice soft, as though she's talking to a frightened animal or a slightly retarded child. "Do you understand what we're saying?"
He nods. "Yeah." One-word responses are safe, easy enough to manage.
"Okay, good. You said you've dealt with Ruby before, right? That whatever happened to you, or didn't happen, or whatever, she was there, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. So... is she on the level with this? Does she know where Lilith is?"
"Uh..." he scrubs at his face. "Yeah."
"You don't even know how hard this was! All the demons out for my head. No one knew. I was the best of those sons of bitches! The most loyal! Not even Alistair knew! Only Lilith! Yeah, I'm sure you're a little angry right now, But, I mean, come on, Sam! Even you have to admit: I'm —I'm awesome!"
"It's wrong, though," he manages. "Can't trust her. Lying."
"But she's telling the truth about this," Dean insists. "I know she is. We can go in, take Lilith out. End of problem."
Ellen rises from the table and draws Dean aside by the elbow. Sam is pretty sure she doesn't mean for him to overhear them, but amidst the fog of all his thoughts, their voices are clear as warning bells.
"Are you sure that this is really about killing Lilith?"
"What else would it be?"
"Dean, sweetie, I know we haven't known each other that long, but I know —knew— your father, and you're a lot like him. You think we can't see what this is doing to you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean says stubbornly.
"I'm talking about Sam," she says gently. "He's a lot worse now than he was before. I know it has to be tearing at your heart, sweetie. Killing Lilith might stop Lucifer from being freed, and I'm not saying that's not a good thing, but you have to be realistic about this, too. Whatever's wrong with Sam, getting rid of Lilith might not stop it."
"I know that!"
"Do you?" she counters, her voice still impossibly gentle.
"I still have to try. Look at him —I promised my Dad I'd keep him safe, and I'm failing. It's the only job I ever had that mattered, and I'm failing, Ellen. He died, and there was nothing I could do, and now I've got him back... I can't let him go again. Not like this. If killing that demon bitch doesn't work, I'll just find another way."
Sam raises his head, sees his brother staring at him, chewing on his lip. He smiles at Dean, but the smile fades when Dean averts his eyes, ducks his head to avoid meeting his gaze, and he thinks that maybe, after all this, he's lost his brother after all.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
St. Mary's Convent in Ilchester doesn't look as sinister without the bloodied cadavers of nuns strewn about the pews, but the air is crackling with energy as Lilith sets up her altar. She's wearing a frilly white dress with pink trim, and white leather shoes with rhinestones in the shape of a heart on her tiny feet, and her blond hair has been pulled back into two intricate French braids tied together with matching pink ribbons. She uses one white-clad foot to kick the demon at her feet in the ribs.
"I can't reach that high. Hold still so I can stand on you," she snarls. The voice is a child's, but the tone is anything but childlike.
She clambers on the creature's trembling back, and carefully strikes a match, looking for all the world like just another little girl lighting the candles on the dining room table for a fancy dinner party thrown by her parents. She turns, still standing on the demon's back as another of her servants approaches, shaking with fear, and hands her a blood-filled chalice, which she accepts with all the solemn concentration of a child her age. Then she smiles, bright and happy.
"Don't be afraid," she says. "We're going to save the world!"
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"Lilith is the Final Seal. She dies, the End begins."
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
Sam comes to on the floor of his bedroom, tasting copper in his mouth. Every muscle in his body aches, and as he shifts, he can feel that his jeans are soaking wet, the rough fabric clinging to him. His head throbs, and he blinks painfully against the dim light, his thoughts a shattered mess. He thinks he might be coming apart at the seams, like a rag doll that's been thrown around a few too many times. A few moments later, Jo's anxious features come into focus above him. She puts both hands on his shoulders to hold him down when he tries to sit up.
"Don't move, Sam. You had a really bad seizure, we're gonna call an ambulance, okay?"
"No." The word comes out as an almost soundless rasp. "Dean. Where's Dean?"
"I don't know. I heard you fall, but he was gone when I came in. I don't know how long he's been gone."
"Lilith. He's gone after her. We have to stop him. Let me up."
"No. Let me and Mom and Bobby deal with him, okay? You need a hospital, you've been seizing for over five minutes. You're bleeding, Sam..." she bites her lip, and he can hear the hitch in her voice as she swallows tears. "Please, just let us handle it."
"Cas..."
"The angel?"
"Is he here?"
"No. Why would he be?"
"Cas! Castiel!" he means to shout, but it comes out as more of a strangled groan. "Please..."
It's enough. He recognizes the almost-silent gust of wind, and Jo gasps. A firm hand wraps itself around his wrist, the grip achingly familiar. This time, he's not dying. Not yet.
"I am here. I am sorry it took so long."
"We have to go," Sam tells him, staring directly into the very blue eyes of the angel. "He's making the same mistake I did. I remembered too late."
"It's not too late. The Seal remains unbroken to date."
He whimpers. "God, it hurts. I... this is what you meant, right? Why you couldn't tell me."
"Yes."
"Not too late?"
Castiel's grip tightens. "Not yet."
"We have to go now," Sam lifts his head, pain sparking behind his eyes. "Before I can't anymore..."
"No!" Jo breaks in. "Look at him! He shouldn't go anywhere but a hospital. Just tell us where to go, and we'll do it."
Castiel just shakes his head. "I will tell you, and you should follow. You will be needed there as well. But I must take Sam ahead. It is why I brought him back. He is the only one who can stop this."
"It'll kill him!" Jo hasn't broken her tight grip on Sam's other arm. "You can't!"
Sam struggles to a sitting position, frees his hand from Castiel's, and places it on top of hers. "It's why he brought me back, Jo. I have to do this. I'm going to die anyway if I don't go. At least this way there's a chance. I don't know how to explain it so that it'll make sense, but I already died, and... I have to do this so Dean won't. Please, this is his only chance. Do it for him if you won't for me."
Her eyes shine for a moment, and he knows he's won. She bites her lip, blinks hard, and lets go of his wrist before looking at Castiel. "Where are you going?"
Sam answers, to her surprise. "Ilchester. St. Mary's Convent."
"How the hell did Dean get there?"
He shrugs. "Don't know. Last time it took me days."
"Last time?"
"Can't explain it now. Just get there as fast as you can, okay?"
"Okay." She's already on her feet and out of the room, yelling for her mother and Bobby.
"They'll never make it in time," he tells Castiel. "Can you come back for them?"
"You will be facing Lilith alone."
"I've done it before. Besides, I won't be alone. Dean will be there."
Castiel nods. "Very well."
Castiel pulls him to his feet, holding him up as though he weighs nothing, though his knees are buckling and he's shaking so hard his teeth click. There's a flash, entirely unlike his visions, and yet there's a comforting familiarity about it. He finds himself standing before the massive wooden doors of the convent, and there's a rush of air as Castiel departs again, leaving him staggering at the sudden absence. He drops to one knee, dizzy, forces himself up again on trembling legs. He half-expects to see Ruby at his side, urging him on.
Here goes nothing, he thinks, and barely manages to get through the heavy doors before they slam shut behind him with a resounding crash.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"Dean!"
There's not much point in yelling. Dean is already pinned to a wall, Ruby's demon-killing knife lying a few paces away on the stone floor. Lilith has her back to Sam, the hem of her little white dress already stained crimson.
"You're not nice at all," she's saying to him. "You were supposed to come play with me, and bring your brother, too, and instead you brought a big old knife and no cake. I don't like you at all."
"Lilith!" Sam cries. "Wait!"
She spins around, and Dean drops in a crumpled heap to the floor, his eyes glazed. She claps her hands giddily, revealing a row of perfect, pearly little baby teeth. "Oh, you came! Goody! Now we can all have fun together, just like we planned."
"Where's Ruby, Lilith?" Sam casts about, but the demon is nowhere to be seen.
"Oh, I decided I didn't like her anymore. She outlived her usefulness. She was supposed to bring me you, but she brought the useless brother instead." She jerks her head, blond tresses bouncing against her shoulder blades, and that's when Sam catches sight of Ruby in another body -a brunette this time- lying sprawled just to one side of the altar, staring sightlessly toward one wall. "I've been waiting all day for you, you know. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up! And then all my hard work would have been for nothing," she says sulkily, sticking out a very red bottom lip in a pout. "I think I'll kill your brother first. He's no fun, and he said mean things to me. He called me the 'B' word!"
Dean stirs. "Sammy?"
Lilith sneers, and the look is both ugly and terrifyingly wrong. "Sammy's busy playing right now."
"Don't hurt him, please," Sam hears his voice break. "This is between you and me, Lilith, you know that. You can still walk away from this. You don't have to die."
"Sammy... she's just a kid," Dean is struggling to push himself upright.
"I'm going to snap his neck," the child says calmly. "I like the sound the cartilage makes. Like Rice Krispies. Snap crackle pop!" she giggles, and raises her hand. "You'd better do something, Sam, or your big brother is never going to play with you again!"
He doesn't stop to think about what he's doing. If I look back now, I'm lost. No hesitation. Hesitation means certain death for Dean, and all of this will have been for nothing. He brings up his hand, draws power to himself, and flings the child as hard as he can against the heavy marble altar. Her head collides with the edge with a sickening crack of breaking bone, and he knows that he's just signed the little girl's death warrant as well as Lilith's. He's never heard of any of Lilith's child hosts surviving their possession, and this girl's entire family has likely been slaughtered in front of her eyes, but that doesn't change the fact that he has beyond any shadow of a doubt directly caused the child's death. Lilith slumps at the foot of the altar, mouth agape with surprise, her white dress smeared all over with tiny crimson handprints and the occasional droplet of blood. His head is already throbbing with the effort, and his heartbeat thunders ever more loudly in his ears. Dimly he can hear Dean shouting at him, but all that's left is him and Lilith, life or death, and it all seems inevitable, now. His hand is already up before him, and slowly, excruciatingly, he curls his fingers into a fist, feeling the demon tear itself loose from its dying host. Lilith screams shrilly, white-clad feet kicking incongruously at the floor as black smoke pours from her mouth and her eyes blaze with white light.
Then, mercifully, the screaming stops, and everything is still.
Sam drops to his hands and knees as an impossible amount of blood begins to trickle out from beneath Lilith's corpse, tracing a familiar wheel pattern on the flagstones of the church. The ground begins to tremble, and the air is filled with the shrieking white noise that heralds the imminent arrival of an archangel. Dimly he's aware of Dean scrambling clumsily to his feet and staggering to his side, clutching one arm stiffly against his ribs. Sam is too out of breath, too dizzy to do much except stay exactly where he is and try to catch his breath. Blood drips from his nose to spatter on the floor.
"Sammy?"
He coughs, draws in a shaking breath. "Look, Ma, no magic feather!" he gasps, and giggles a bit hysterically. The noise is almost deafening, but he can still hear his brother, clear as day. He can't see properly, shadows flitting across his vision, giving everything a jerky feel, like stop-motion animation.
"Sammy, what did you do?"
"And it is written that the first demon shall be the last seal. It's prophecy, Dean. I don't know why I thought we'd be able to change it. Not like this. He's coming..."
Dean pulls him up with a grunt of pain, and for a moment they just cling to each other, watching the blood pool before them. "Sammy, I'm so sorry... I was trying to keep you safe..."
Sam just shakes his head. "You can't keep me safe, Dean. No one can. It's okay." He keeps watching the blood so that he won't have to look at the body of the child he's just butchered. "They've needed us from the start. He can't come out unless he has a vessel. Without their vessels, they're nothing. It was all designed to bring us here..."
Whatever you do, you will always end up... here.
He's watching himself say it, but it's not him, and the thought makes him sick. He feels his knees start to give way, and Dean tightens his grip, holding him up, before his vision flashes white.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"Why do you think you were in that chapel? You're the one, Sam. You're my vessel. My true vessel."
"No."
"Yes."
"No, that'll never happen."
"I'm sorry, but it will. I will find you. And when I do, you will let me in. I'm sure of it."
"You need my consent."
"Of course, I'm an angel."
"I will kill myself before letting you in."
"I'll just bring you back," Lucifer says, and sighs. "Sam. My heart breaks for you. The weight on your shoulders, what you've done, what you still have to do. It is more than anyone could bear. If there was some other way...but there isn't. I will never lie to you. I will never trick you. But you will say yes to me."
"You're wrong."
"I'm not. I think I know you better than you know yourself."
"Why me?"
"Because it had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you."
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"Sammy, what is that?"
The white noise is impossibly loud, the circle nearly complete, and he's coming apart, feels blood dribbling over his lips and chin. The world flashes white.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"You're my true vessel, but not my only one."
Sam has no memory of his father ever looking this young, but it's not his father, in any real sense of the word. Not this creature that reeks of power and arrogance barely masked beneath a veneer of gentleness. He thinks Dean understands this, too, because his posture is wary, angry.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's a bloodline."
"A bloodline?"
"Stretching back to Cain and Abel. It's in your blood, your father's blood, your family's blood."
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
He's on the floor, the cold from the flagstones seeping into his shoulder blades. He doesn't remember falling, but Dean's got him. Dean's face is pinched, anguished.
"What the hell is this, Sam?"
He swallows a mouthful of blood. "You saw it?" He remembers the séance at Pamela's. It seems like a lifetime ago. Two lifetimes. But for the first time, he thinks Dean might understand. Might see.
"I saw," Dean is trying to pull him to his feet. "We have to get out of here, Sammy. Come on!"
"It's too late," he grasps Dean's wrist as white flashes in his mind again, and this time, he feels himself dragging Dean in with him.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"You won't shoot me, Bobby."
"Don't test me."
"You won't do it. You can't do it."
"We're trying to help you, Sam."
"Then shoot."
He reaches out, pulls the barrel of Bobby's rifle so that it's aimed point-blank at his chest. Finds himself praying Bobby will pull the trigger.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"I tried, Sammy. I mean, I really tried. But I just can't keep pretending that everything's all right. Because it's not. And it's never going to be. You chose a demon over your own brother— and look what happened."
"I would give anything—anything—to take it all back."
"I know you would. And I know how sorry you are. I do. But, man...you were the one that I depended on the most. And you let me down in ways that I can't even... I'm just—I'm having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here. You know?"
"What can I do?"
"Honestly? Nothing. I just don't...I don't think that we can ever be what we were. You know?"
Sam swallows hard, knowing what's coming.
"I just don't think I can trust you."
Sam watches his brother walk away.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
Just - just listen to me, okay? My name is Cindy McClellan. I'm a nurse in the NICU over at Enfield Memorial. I have a husband named Matthew, okay? We've been married six years. He's got to be worried sick about me. And I don't even know who you are, and I'm not gonna tell anybody anything. Please just let me go. No, no! Please, no! Please—"
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"Sam, what—"
Sam reaches up to silence Dean with one hand. "Never happened. Not anymore. I meant it, when I said I'd give anything... I never meant to betray you. Please tell me you understand."
Dean keeps looking over at the opening cage, and Sam can feel the fear that's coursing through him. "You can explain it later, okay?"
"No," he tugs on Dean's shirt. "There is no later. Dean, please..."
The world shatters again.
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
Dean's body is crumpled amidst the rubble, making a mockery of all of Michael's promises. Sulphur and ozone mingle in the air, heavy under the swirling clouds. It's over, and they've all lost.
He can feel blood oozing from his nose and ears, leaking from the corners of his eyes like tears. He can't move, can only watch the clouds above him, and wait to die. He tries not to think of Dean as he last saw him, arms raised in supplication. He shuts his eyes as lightning arcs through him, searing past his eyelids, and everything goes dark.
A hand clasps his wrist, anchoring him in place, fingers feeling for his pulse.
"Dean?"
"No, it's not Dean. I am sorry." Castiel's voice is a reassurance, a promise of light in the darkness.
"Where is... did he make it? Tell me he made it."
"I am sorry."
His eyes must be gone. He can't cry, can't find it in himself to shed a single tear.
"Am I dead?"
"You will be, soon."
"I couldn't save him."
"No."
"Neither could you."
"No."
"I tried so hard..."
"I know. We all did. It was too late, Sam."
"What if it wasn't?"
There's a pause. "What do you mean?"
"What if we could change it? Go back? Do it differently? Can you do it?"
"I can try. But the consequences will be... severe," Castiel says. "You will likely not survive. And it might not work."
"I'm going to die anyway."
"You are sure?"
"Just... just do it."
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
"Stay with me, Sam. Please. Sam!"
Sam finds himself clutched in his brother's arms. Dean has stopped trying to get away, is holding him to his chest, sitting on the floor next to where Lucifer's cage is opening. He twists to look at where light is just beginning to seep through the cracks in the floor. He's exhausted, wants nothing more than to curl up against his brother and sink into oblivion. His gaze falls on Ruby's knife, lying where it fell, just outside the circle of blood, and suddenly he laughs.
"Sam, what? What is it?"
"I know how to stop this," Sam says. "But you're not going to like it." He pulls away gently, reaches out for the knife, pulling it toward him with his fingertips.
"Sam?"
He looks past Dean, where Castiel is standing just inside the doorway. He doesn't know how long the angel has been standing there, but he thinks it can't have been long. "I'm right, aren't I? It's what Bobby found, about the vessels. The bond of brotherhood."
Dean half-turns to look behind him, surprise registering on his face as Castiel nods. "The blood of Lucifer's vessel will seal the cage anew," Castiel says, and though Sam is sure he hasn't spoken above a normal tone, his voice rises above the shrieking din like a thunderclap.
Sam presses the hilt of the knife into Dean's hand. "You have to do it now."
"Sam, no. You can't be serious."
"It was there the whole time. Bobby's research, you remember? And Michael's spear pierced the Lightbringer's heart, and in fire and blood were the bars of the cage re-forged. None but the bonds of brotherhood can seal the Serpent's cage. It's prophesy."
Dean is shaking his head mechanically, over and over. "No, there has to be another way."
He doesn't look Dean in the eyes, can't bear to see the heartbreak he knows he's about to inflict. "There is another way. We already tried that. It's why Cas sent me back. Please, Dean. You have no idea what the cost was. We have to do this."
"No. No, I won't let you," Dean is shaking his head, voice breaking with unshed tears. "No."
"It has to be you," he says in Dean's ear. "You're Michael's vessel. It has to be you. Please, Dean. I was there, at the end. I'm going to die anyway, no matter how this plays out. Do you hear me? I don't want to go back to the way it was then. I wasn't me anymore. I was a monster... everything we fought against, all our lives. You're the only reason I stayed human as long as I did —it was all because of you."
"I can't! I can't. Sammy, don't ask me that. Anything but that, please..."
It's already gone too far, Sam. If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you.
He feels Dean flinch, knows he saw it as clearly as if he was there, that he saw everything. He pulls his brother in closer, feels him shaking. "This is what Dad was talking about, Dean. It's what he meant when he said you might have to kill me. If I could spare you this, I would, I swear to God. I just... need you to do this. Please. I'm not... I can't do this anymore. Please."
He watches Dean's face crumple in defeat.
"And... and one other thing after that. I need you to promise me something."
Dean's breath hitches, but his voice almost sounds normal, even as light so pure and bright it's impossible to look at directly begins to pour from the circle in the floor. "Promise what?"
"Promise you won't give up. Dad made you promise to save me, and that's what you're doing. Promise me you won't try to get me back, that you'll keep going."
"Sammy..."
"Promise me." He knows it's unfair, but he demands it anyway, knowing his brother has never been able to refuse him anything. "Promise me, Dean."
Dean nods, and this time he sobs once, quietly, into Sam's collarbone. "Okay. Okay, Sammy. I promise. God... I'm-"
"No. Please, don't say anything," Sam interrupts him, rests his forehead against his brother's. "Just do it quick."
Dean has always been the most skilled hunter of their family, the best Sam has ever known. He barely feels the blade slide between his ribs, lets out a surprised grunt of pain as the knife twists in the wound, and withdraws, leaving him feeling oddly bereft. Dean catches him by the shoulders, pull him against his chest. The shrieking noise is already starting to abate, Sam thinks, trying to believe that it's not just wishful thinking as the edges of his vision start to go dark.
"We did it," he says, smiling. Dean is clutching his hand so tightly that under normal circumstances he's sure he'd be cutting off his circulation. He turns his head a bit, sees Castiel standing off to the side, shadows stretching impossibly long behind him. "It worked."
"It did," Castiel nods.
"You'll take care of him, right?"
"Of course."
"Sam..." Dean's voice breaks.
"I know. Just... don't let go yet." He closes his eyes, concentrates on the feeling of Dean's fingers clasped over his, tries not to choke as blood wells up in his mouth, feels his heels scrabbling for purchase on the slick stones as his lungs stop drawing in air. Dean holds on tighter, leans down to whisper fiercely right into his ear so he's sure Sam can hear him.
"It's okay, Sammy. I got you."
~SPN~SPN~SPN~
