Chapter Ten
Dean stretched his back and attempted to roll the tension from his neck. They'd been at it for three days straight. Sam and Bobby had worked out a kind of cipher between Adamic and Enochian (which Sam had apparently become semi-fluent in during his stay with the winged Bobsey twins.) You can take a geek out of Kansas. . . .
Days ago, kid had broken out in a sweat, face lost all color and his hands started trembling, scaring the beejebas out of Dean. Turned out Sam had merely translated the title. What they had was the actual law book of Hell. All the rules and ordinances that governed the realm of darkness from what transgressions precisely justified eternal damnation to the limitations and power wielded by the official who sat on the throne.
Hell was full of laws and red tape.
"Must be why so many lawyers feel at home there," Dean had snarked and Sam rolled his eyes.
Most of the book was boring rhetoric, though pre-law Sammy was in his element, only frustrated that they couldn't translate fast enough or that what they had uncovered so far still didn't tell them anything about how to free their youngest brother from the pit.
They left huge chunks of symbols untouched once Sam determined by a few lines which passages would go on and on about crossroad deals or the loopholes within tempting mankind.
At the moment, Dean worked at the kitchen table with Bobby on a few photocopied segments Sam thought might have potential. He just happened to glance over at Sam who had a large portion of the scroll unrolled across Bobby's desk in the study. Sam's posture all of a sudden straightened. His fingers followed lines of text and then lifted to drop back down and follow alone the same lines again.
"Find something, Sam?"
Sam jolted nearly out of his seat. "Uh, yeah. No. Maybe. I'm not sure yet."
Bobby looked up.
Dean got up to go look over Sam's shoulder. It still all mostly looked like chicken scratch to him. What Sam could translate in minutes, took Dean a good half hour and Bobby wasn't much better.
"I, um . . ." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, eyes squeezed tight. "I think I need a break. I'm seeing double."
"Yeah." Dean nodded, not buying it. Okay, the seeing double maybe. Sam had been at this non-stop, barely eating or sleeping. Bobby threatened him with a loaded tranquilizer last night to finally get the kid to turn in. "Why don't you go get some rest?"
Nodding, Sam stood and shuffled toward the living room. Halfway, he turned back and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Dean?"
Dean didn't like how Sam wouldn't look him in the eye. "Yeah?"
"Just, um . . ." Sam did meet his gaze then. "Just thanks, you know . . . for not giving up on me. And not giving up on Adam."
So that was it. Sam had reached the point of being overwhelmed and sought reassurance from big brother. Everything inside Dean softened. "You know how it goes. Us Winchesters are a stubborn lot."
Dimples came with that and Sam dipped his head. "Yeah. Thank God for that."
Dean laughed. "Get some rest. Bobby and I will keep working." He watched Sam head up the stairs, the slump to his shoulders concerning.
"Hey, Bobby," Dean spoke quietly and fingered the part of the scroll Sam had been working on. "What do you say we work on this section for a bit."
#
Sam sat on the edge of the bed, long fingers steepled together and stared despondently at the wrinkles puckering the worn rug on the hardwood.
He'd been desperate to find a way to get Adam out . . . now that he had—He pressed his hands over his face—he didn't know if he was strong enough to go through with it.
He sat there for hours, waiting for evening, until he heard movement downstairs, chairs scraping across the floor, and knew Dean and Bobby had gone into the kitchen to rustle up dinner. Silently, Sam padded down the stairs and eased into the study. Very carefully he rolled up the scroll, freezing when he heard the tiny snick of the gas stove and a pot sliding across the burner. He looked up to see Bobby at the stove, his back to him. He and Dean must be spent. They weren't even talking.
Backtracking, Sam slipped out the front door and down the steps, avoiding the places he knew creaked.
The hounds came immediately alert. He didn't have to call them, which made things much easier.
"Going somewhere?"
Dean walked around Alfred's hulking form and patted the Hellhound's side.
"I . . ."
"Save it. I know exactly what you were going to do. Bobby and I did a little translating of our own. A challenge, Sam. Really?"
Sam winced. "It's the only way. Once a challenge is made for the throne of Hell, it has to be met, unless forfeited."
"So what, you think you're gonna just waltz down there and extend a challenge to Lucifer and he'll be . . ." Dean lifted his palms upward. "Lucy will magically be released from the Cage to accept an alpha dog bitch match for the throne?"
Sam shifted from one foot to the other. He should've known Dean would sense something was off and figure everything out. "The law is explicit on that. It's the one unforeseen loophole that can open the Cage. Once open, I grab Adam and we hightail it out of there via the Hellhound Express."
"Except for one thing." Dean crossed the distance between them. "I'm not letting you do this."
"How you gonna stop me?" Sam's hands curled down by his sides.
A beat passed.
This wasn't the way he wanted to leave Dean. Sam exhaled, uncurled his fingers. "This is our best chance." He gave a half-laugh. "It's our only chance."
Dean's stance softened too. "It's too risky. It runs the potential of a million things going wrong. Even if we brought the Horsemen's rings, there's no way Satan's dumb enough to willingly jump in a second time for you to close the Cage, and I'll be damned before I let him take the wheel of your noggin again. Plus, a challenge to the devil? You may have to actually fight him—an Archangel. Sam, I can't—" Dean shook his head. His eyes glistened with moisture. "I can't lose you again. I can't."
Sam's chest hurt as though a bruise formed around it. "Dean, that's why I have to go. I can't leave Adam there. I promised him. And you promised me."
Dean rubbed a palm across his jaw, but Sam was determined to roll over any objections. "If it was me still down there, you'd go."
Dean went very still. Sam knew the moment he had him when his brother's eyes dipped and all the strained bravado left the rigid line of his shoulders.
"Please, Dean." Sam cringed at the desperation in his tone. He needed to do this, but he also needed Dean to support him in it.
"All right, Sammy," Dean said so quietly it felt like a caress on the chilly air.
Relief so powerful it almost dropped him to his knees, slammed into Sam. His throat clamped up so tight he couldn't speak, just stood there nodding, blinking back tears.
"I'll . . ." He swallowed past the closing muscles cinching his throat. "I'll bring him back." Sam turned.
"Oh. You're not going alone."
Fear stiffened Sam's spine. He was more than willing to risk himself over this, but not Dean. "No, Dean. There's no reason for you to—"
"There's every reason!" he practically growled. "Just like you won't leave Adam there," Dean threw Sam's own argument back to him. "I won't let you do this without me."
Sam's lips slipped open, stunned. Part of him was scared to death for Dean, knowing his sibling was beyond protective and would throw himself in front of either younger brother at the first indication of anything going south, yet another part of him was just so damn glad.
Sam stretched out his hand. "Together then?"
Dean clasped his arm, curling strong fingers around Sam's elbow. "All the way."
"Alfred." Arms still locked, Sam held Dean's gaze. "Take us into Hell."
#
Before Dean registered what was happening, Alfred tossed his large head and Dean was thrown onto the back of one of the pack, his grasp ripped away from Sam's as the kid was likewise tossed onto Alfred's back. Hellhounds apparently didn't wait around to discuss business, just got to work. Dean could respect that.
He didn't even have the time to say 'what the hell?' before they were hurtling across the ground at blurring speed. To say it was a smooth ride would be a monumental exaggeration. The large muscles bunched beneath him, rocking him like a cork in a stream.
Leaning low, Dean wrapped arms around the huge neck and just hung on, screaming when they pushed through earth and rock and the cells of his body seemed to implode. He wondered if his body had transformed into smoky wisps the same as the hounds, but found he didn't care just so long as they made it through this solid depth of rock.
They burst through into the dark glow of Hell fire and agonized screaming—the type of grating hopelessness Dean wished to never hear again. As he rode the beast's back, Hell sped before him like horrifying suppressed memories jammed together in blurring succession—bloody pulps strung on hooks and chains, unrecognizable bodies stretched on racks and left to rot, monsters fighting over scraps with creatures too hideous for even Dean's imagination to conjure.
His vision grayed, too much too fast to take in. He swallowed down bile, tasting of Hell's acid in his throat and curling his fingers within the sleek fur, he sought the one thing with any ghost of a chance to ground him. Turning his cheek to rest on the rolling muscle, Dean looked sideways and found Sam.
His brother rode Alfred in a mirror position to Dean's—laying forward and hanging on for his life—and staring back at him.
With that look, all the memories crashing around him faded away.
They were in Hell, but they were not defeated. And they were together.
Impossibly the Hellhounds slowed, hind quarters solidified into tail and legs until they stopped altogether in front of a pulsing shimmery box no larger than the size of their standard motel rooms.
Opaque behind the wall, two Archangels argued, hands gesturing wildly. Dark and light, both beyond beautiful.
The light angel guided someone farther behind him, turning slightly as he shouldered the dark being away and Dean caught a glimpse of who he shielded.
"Adam," he breathed, every muscle in his body turned to putty.
TBC