Echo

By GhostOfRattmann

Chapter 9: Ay Caramba, Mi Cabeza

Dean had to admit, there had been many times when he just hadn't known what to do. And the worst of those always included decisions that involved Sam. If it was just himself involved, he wasn't afraid to be reckless- hell, in this job he had to be. But Sam was his responsibility, or so it had always felt, so he always took more care when it came to his little brother.

Sam came first. Screw everyone else. And that included Lucifer.

Dean sighed, running a hand through his short hair, a glass of whisky held loosely in the other hand. It was past three in the morning and he hadn't yet been to bed, though he'd promised Garth he would go soon when the younger man had gone upstairs a good two hours earlier. He had gotten up to go once, but wanting to check on Sam first, he'd crept downstairs and peered in the small barred window in the door.

Sam had been sleeping, but in his usual position as of late, awkwardly on the edge of the bed and looking constantly as if he was about to topple off. Though only now did it occur to Dean there was someone else taking up the remaining space.

He'd gone back upstairs and poured himself the strongest drink in the house. This was too much. He had to do something.


"Don't you ever eat?" Sam asked, pausing with a slice of toast halfway to his mouth. "I mean, I know you don't need to, but I've seen Cas eat burgers."

"I don't often partake in things I don't need to, Sammy. I find that rather pointless."

"Well," Sam began. "I don't need to do this." He leant in and brushed their lips together again, before leaning back with a smile. "But we're doing it anyway."

"Getting sharp with our comments, aren't we, Sammy?" Lucifer said. "I'm teaching you well."

Sam rolled his eyes, but turned his attention back to breakfast. Dean has hardly said anything when he came to bring him the tray, but his brother's reaction had been expected so Sam knew all he could was wait it out, pointedly act as sane and normal as possible, and hope Dean would come around.

"So, not that I'm not used to being in a locked room with you by now, but when do you reckon big brother's gonna let you back out into the big wide world?"

Sam shrugged, swallowing his mouthful. "Whenever he's convinced I'm safe, I guess."

"No offense, Sammy, but right now Dean seems to think you're ten kinds of crazy."

Sam sighed, more at the painful truth of that than anything. "I know," he said at length. "But this can't go on forever. Something's got to give."

"Well Dean-o seems to think that something should be me."

"That's not going to happen," Sam said. "I won't let it."

His head snapped up at the sound of the locks sliding. The door creaked open and Dean stepped mutely into the room.

"Hey Sammy," he said softly, giving his brother a quick once over.

"Hi Dean," Sam replied, curiously looking for any sign as to why his brother was back so soon. "What's up?"

Dean shrugged, leaning back against the wall, one hand casually shoved in his pocket. "Listen, Sammy, you know I care about you, right?"

"Of course," Sam said. There was a note of caution in his voice. He wasn't stupid; he knew where this tone of conversation led- to somewhere he didn't like. Faux-friendly attitude aside, this was far from a casual visit and Sam's mind instantly began racing to try and work out what Dean's game was.

Though aware of Sam's growing apprehension, Dean adamantly remained calm as he continued. "And you know when I do stuff, it's always for your own good, right?"

Sam swallowed. "Dean, whatever you're thinking- don't. I've told you, I'm okay." He could feel Lucifer growing tense beside him, icy eyes fixed warily on his brother. "Let's just talk about this, Dean." He stood up, placing his now empty tray aside on the bed.

Dean shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

"Sam," Lucifer said stiffly. "In his hand."

It was then that Sam saw it. Spray paint.

"Dean. Please."

"It's for your own good."

Sam made a leap towards him, but Dean was already near the door and slipped back through before Sam could touch him, leaving his brother to stumble and brace himself against the metal.

"Dean," he shouted through the small window. "Dean."

To his horror, he could only watch as Dean shook the can and began to draw. Straight lines and curves that turned into symbols. Angel warding.

Sam reached out, fumbled for Lucifer who wavered in front of his eyes like a TV losing it's picture. "No. No." He reached out to grab hold of him, but the solid figure in front of him crackled and diminished, the hand that had been stretched out just an inch from his own disappeared as a wave of agonized screaming exploded in his head, before that too, faded and he was left with a painful silence that was suddenly so much worse.

He heard the spray can drop to the floor outside with a metallic clunk, and spun round, launching himself at the door as Dean stared calmly back.

"Dean, no, no. Remove it. Take it off. Dean."

Dean shook his head. "No, Sammy. It had to be done."

"No, Dean. No, it didn't. Dean, please."

His brother stepped back, heading towards the stairs. "I'll be back soon, Sammy. Give it a few hours. You'll see how much better off you are alone."

"No, Dean. No. No. Dean."

Dean disappeared up the stairs, the sound of his steps echoing in the empty silence. Sam saw red, banged, kicked at the door, calling out after his brother the way he usually did when he ran into trouble on a hunt. And Dean would always come running, but this time he was ignored and left alone, almost wishing he was being mauled by a vampire or vengeful ghost. Why did this hurt so much more? Why did it feel like he was being torn apart from the inside out? Lucifer's presence had become a comfort, a familiar safety blanket he could depend on, and now that had been stripped away, leaving him hurting and vulnerable. He felt naked. Had there really been a time when he was without Lucifer? Had he really spent so many years not realising how empty he felt?

Dean wasn't answering, so he screamed for Lucifer instead, called out, pleaded, focused all the energy he had to try and summon him but angel warding was an effective tool as it had ever been.

"No. Lucifer. Lucifer."

Sam was a naturally calm person- composed- but now he felt about to fall apart. He knew where Lucifer had been sent away to. Banished. Again, in the way Sam had promised he wouldn't allow to happen. I promised. And he knew that place, the cage, where his own soul had been trapped for over a year, where he'd suffered and been tormented, but at least he hadn't been alone. He was struck by a sudden memory of clinging to someone in the dark, fiery depths, of someone clinging to him in return. It was torture, but never from you. Never you. They took every blow together, as if they truly were one being. You are a part of me.

Somewhere, just faintly, but still there, Sam could hear screaming. He screamed, too.


"Man, your brother's got a good set of lungs."

Ignoring the attempt at a light-hearted comment from Garth, Dean clenched both fists against his forehead, trying desperately to block out the sound from below. It had been an hour. An entire hour and Sam hadn't fallen quiet once.

"Dean," Garth said awkwardly. "Maybe this was a little harsh."

"No," Dean replied weakly. "No, it has to be done. He can't... He'll be fine."

"What if he hurts himself?" Garth asked, wincing as another bang against the door sounded from downstairs.

"He's safe in there," Dean insisted.

"He's calling for him, you know?"

Dean grit his teeth. "I know, Garth. That doesn't help."

"Actually he's more screaming for him."

"Not helpful, Garth."


Only when he physically didn't have the strength to scream anymore, did Sam collapse onto the floor, shakily wrapping his arms around himself, his throat raw and burning. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice a mere hoarse croak. "I'm sorry."

Sam had felt loss before, too many times for someone his age: his mother, Jess, his father, Ellen, Joe, Bobby... But all those times... They'd been tragic, yes, but casualties of this crazed on-going war that was his life. But this... He could prevent this. He just had to get Dean to understand. Or he shouldn't have told Dean in the first place. Who had he been kidding? How could he possibly expect anyone else to understand?

He remembered all the things Lucifer had said. M.F.E.O. And they were. They shared a bond that no one else was a part of. Even Dean, Dean didn't know because he had never been able to get close to Michael like Sam had to Lucifer. It wasn't Dean's fault, he just didn't understand.

Weakly, Sam raised his head and looked around the room, searching desperately for anything that could help him get out of here. His gaze stopped on the window. It was small, but still big enough for a person to crawl out of in an emergency, even someone of his size. But there were bars...

No, bars could be broken.

He stood, grabbed hold of the chair and dragged it over to the wall under the window, clambering up on top. He gripped the bars and gave them a test shake. They were firm, but old nonetheless. And not built in. The bars were on their own wire frame screwed to the window.

He stepped down onto the floor, scanning the room again and again. His eyes fell on the empty breakfast tray.

He snatched up the china plate and smashed it on the floor. A knife would have been best, but Dean had brought him already cut toast with no cutlery. So instead he settled for one of the bigger shards of the plate, clutching it in his hand as he clambered back up onto the chair.

There was the slightest gap between the metal frame and the actual wall. Sam jammed the shared of china in between shifting it about until it wedged in. Slowly, careful not to break it, he began to pry the frame out of place, shaking it to loosen the screws.

It was just beginning to budge when he heard footsteps. Sam stumbled off of the chair, kicking it away from the window just as Dean's face appeared at the door.

"Sammy? I heard a smash."

Sam said nothing, pressing his lips together as Dean peered through the small gap in the door down at the smashed dinner plate. His brother frowned, stepping back and cautiously opening the locks, but Sam made no attempt to charge for the exit. He hastily stuffed the shard he held in his back jeans pocket.

"I'm not letting you do anything crazy, Sam," Dean said, kneeling down and picking up the pieces of the plate, piling them onto the dinner tray. He stood straight and gave his brother a firm look, though he seemed relieved Sam had stopped screaming. "It'll be okay."

Sam nodded shakily. "Yeah, it will be." At least it would when he got out of here.

As soon as Dean was gone- locking the door firmly behind him- Sam was straight back to work, balancing on the chair and using the shard as a wedge. It cracked at one point, but he continued more carefully, shifting the frame enough for the screws to come loose. Pulling at the frame at an angle, his eyes widened in relief as he managed to pull the bottom part out, leaving it hanging from the top fastenings. With one great tug, the whole thing pulled away.

Sam went to throw it aside, but stopped himself, realising it would make a loud noise. Instead he forced himself to be patient, climbing down and carefully placing the frame on the floor. He looked around the room one last time, listened carefully, but hearing nothing from above, he climbed back onto the chair and pushed open the now exposed glass window.

It was a difficult task to haul himself up through the small space, but Sam was determined and wriggled and clawed his way through. He knew Dean or Garth could easily look out the window and see him, so he stayed low, moving on hands and knees until he was round the side of the cabin with an extension that didn't allow for window. He stood straight and ran.

The forest area around the cabin was relatively small and Sam was soon stumbling out onto a country road, wincing in the sudden bright light. He kept going, across a muddy field to another clearing of trees before he was finally satisfied he was out of sight. Once there, he focused, called out and nearly collapsed in relief when Lucifer appeared before him.

The tears were burning at his eyes. "I'm sorry..."

"You're not responsible for your brother, Sam. But I warned you."

"I'm so sorry."

"I could kill him, you know, even now."

He stumbled forward, arms outstretched. "No, please. Please. You promised. I'm sorry." He let his arms drape shakily around Lucifer's neck. "Forget Dean. I love Dean, but he doesn't understand."

"He'll do it again, Sammy."

Sam sighed in relief at the use of his nickname. "Then we'll go, until he learns to understand. Until he knows that I won't let him take you away."

Lucifer wasn't hugging him back. "Go where?"

Sam closed his eyes, his cheek pressed against Lucifer's. "Anywhere." He loved his brother, he did, but there were some things they disagreed on and sometimes a little time apart was best. He stepped back slowly.

"I love you," he said, his voice still hoarse, throat stinging. Perhaps this was the most ridiculous and crazy case of Stockholm Syndrome ever, but right now he didn't care.

Lucifer stared at him blankly for a few moments, before reaching up and clasping both Sam's shoulders. His hands tightened to the point where it was almost painful, before Lucifer pulled him closer and kissed him.

It was far shorter than he would have liked, but they just didn't have time right now. Dean could find out he was missing at any moment. Swallowing as he leant back, Sam fumbled for Lucifer's hand and held on tight. "Come on, we need to find a hotel. A car first. Money. Food." His mind was still shaken, hardly able to form comprehensible sentences. He took a deep breath in to calm himself and headed off further away from the house.

It took a good half an hour of walking before they reached the edge of a small town. It was late afternoon by then and the streets were almost empty. Sam waited until there was no one around before wedging open the door on a dark blue sports car parked at the end of the lot.

They drove for two hours, reaching well into Wyoming before Sam found a hotel he was satisfied was far enough away, paid for with a credit card he found in the car's glove compartment. He would let Dean know where he was... Eventually. Just not yet.

"Enjoy your stay," the fake-blonde haired woman at the desk beamed, earning a half-hearted nod from Sam and an unseen glare from Lucifer.

Usually Sam was a polite person, but right now, the hunter just didn't care. Enough pretending and sneaking around and lying. He was just too tired to bother with anyone other than the one person who knew him too well for him to be able to hide anything anyway.

Barely even bothering to take note of what the room was like, Sam collapsed onto the rickety double bed, pulling Lucifer down beside him.

I've run away with the devil, he thought mildly, staring up at the ceiling. It sounded crazy, yet somehow it all seemed to make perfect sense. Sam sighed, turning onto his side and gently resting his forehead against Lucifer's. Crazy or not, it was at that moment he decided that he could not, and would not, allow anyone to take his angel from him again.

"I can't take it," he whispered, well aware he was rambling and hardly making any sense. "I've lost too many people already. I don't care what you are anymore. I just can't lose you, too."


A/N:

Yay, corny end line.

Anyway, we have officially hit the 50 review mark! *throws confetti* ("it's a parade!"). So thank you so much. Because I love you all, the rating is going up next chapter *hint hint* ;)