Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing and Gredelina1 for all her help.
Chapter Ten
As dawn lit the sky above the devil's trap vent set into the ceiling, Sam felt the last symptoms of the withdrawal leaving him. For the first time in what had to have been days—he had lost track of time in the throes of suffering—he was alone. There was no Lucifer or Michael standing at the edges of his vision, teasing, taunting and tormenting him. They had been there through it all, the cliché angel and devil on his shoulder, but neither of them was a comfort.
Others were missing, too. There was no Dean telling him what a monster he was, how he had ruined his life with his mere existence. John Winchester didn't loom over him, accusing him of killing his mother. Mary didn't cup his cheek in her hand and speak softly but bitingly of the mistake going into the nursery that night, the mistake of thinking that, even as a baby, Sam was worth protecting. Bobby didn't stand at the end of the bed, saying nothing but staring down at him with such disappointment in his eyes that it felt like needles against Sam's skin. Jess didn't burn on the ceiling above him, her blood dripping down on his face, his eyes, into his mouth. There were more that had come: Ellen, Jo, Rufus, Andy. Even Samuel made an appearance, the bullet hole shining bright in his forehead, to point out all his wrongs. And Alastair. He came and demonstrated the fine art of torture on Sam again and again. He ripped and tore and sliced into Sam, encouraged and sometimes aided by Michael and Lucifer, to turn Sam into a hollow shell of a person only to be made whole again in time for a visit from someone he loved.
The pain was easier to deal with than the talking. Sam had long years of experience of the cage. Pain was an old friend to him. At least this time he didn't need to try to hide his suffering for the sake of Adam, not that he ever had been able to really; Adam had always known. The worst part was the talking, worse even that tasting Jess' blood in his mouth and blinking it from his eyes, because he knew every word was true. He had destroyed Dean's life. He had killed his mother. He had not been worth protecting. These were things he had known all along; he didn't need the reminders that tore him apart in ways not even Alastair's blades could.
But it was over now. He could feel it leaving him. The blood wasn't all gone. There would always be a trace of it in him, there had been since he was six months old. It had made its home within his very marrow and would always be there, but most of it was gone. It had been drawn from him through what had to have been days of suffering.
Tears of relief slipped from his eyes. It was done. The hardest part… No. That wasn't true, he realized, not this time. The hardest part wasn't over; it was still yet to come. He had to face the people he loved with them knowing what he had done.
He wondered if Dean had come back yet, or if he had cut his losses for good. Sam wouldn't blame him if he had. There was only so much a person could take, and Sam had been pushing Dean's limits even before his latest confession. At least, if by some miracle Dean had stayed, there would be no need to lie anymore. Dean knew it all now, every crime Sam had committed, every failing and flaw. Sam would never have to lie to him again. That was if he had stayed. Please God let him have stayed.
Sam heard the bolt on the door disengaging and a creak as it opened, and he turned to see which of the people he loved was coming. Cas appeared in the doorway and he smiled gently at Sam. Sam tried to return the gesture, but he didn't quite manage it. The disappointment that it wasn't Dean was too great.
"It's over," Cas said, both confirmation and assurance.
When Sam spoke, his voice came out as a raw croak. All the shouting had done some damage. "I think so."
Cas came towards him with steady but slow steps, as if he was afraid of startling Sam. He reached for the restraint on Sam's left wrist, but Sam tugged it back against his side. He had been ready to get out of here since the moment he arrived, but now he was afraid. Here, he was safe. He was almost alone, and the one person with him seemed to have given up judging him long ago. Cas knew the price Sam had paid, and that seemed to satisfy him. If Sam was freed, he would have to return to the house and face Bobby and perhaps Dean. He wasn't sure he could do that yet. As much as he wanted to see them, the wounds left from their visits to him in withdrawal were still raw and fresh.
"Wait," he rasped. "I'm not…" Ready was what he wanted to say, but it felt shameful to admit that to Cas, who expected him to be brave. Cas had been brave. He had abandoned his plan to deal with Raphael and put his trust in Sam to change the future. That had taken tremendous courage. Sam wished he possessed the same courage.
Cas frowned. "It is over, Sam. I can tell." He reached for the restraint again and unbuckled it then moved onto the others.
When Sam was freed, he sat up slowly, feeling the burn of pain in his back and sides. He hissed through his teeth as he brought a hand to his ribcage.
"No broken bones," Cas said. "You seized in the night and though you were restrained, you were thrown around the cot a lot. You will be sore.
Sam nodded.
"I can help," Cas offered when Sam didn't speak.
"No, that's okay. It's better that we keep your angelic interference to a minimum in case the other you comes along."
"He's already been," Cas said. "He came when you were in the throes of withdrawal. He knows what you have been doing. It is his understanding that you were forced in here by Dean and Bobby though. It is better that we keep things as close as possible to how they were last time with regards to the angels."
"Yeah, that makes sense," Sam said. "Did you know before, last time we went through all this, that I was on demon blood?"
"No. I don't imagine Heaven was oblivious to it, but they never shared that information with me."
"What will they do now?" Sam asked. "If they knew about the blood, they know that's what enabled me to kill. How do they think they will kill Lilith this time?
"I don't know," Cas admitted. "I tried to follow myself after he was here, but he returned to Heaven, and that is one place I cannot go in this time. There is no way to hide my presence there."
Sam laughed softly. "No, I guess not. It's gotta be hard to hide yourself when you're the size of the Chrysler Building."
Cas nodded. "Yes, that does make it difficult. We will find a way though. Many of my orders came in the form of revelation last time. No matter their plan, they cannot overpower your will. As long as you are resolved not to kill Lilith, they cannot make you. That is the crux of the apocalypse after all."
And that was the important thing. Sam would never kill Lilith now. Though to let her live went against every instinct, the need to protect the world was more pressing. She deserved death, if for nothing else than for what she did to Dean. Sam wondered if there was another way to deal with her. To trap her perhaps or to disable her somehow. It wouldn't be easy, she was the most powerful demon they'd ever come into contact with. Then again, they had beaten the Devil once, so there was hope.
"I imagine you want to clean up," Cas said.
Sam's nose wrinkled. He smelled of sweat and sickness, and he would dearly like to shower and wash the feeling of this room and what had transpired within off of him, but that would mean leaving this place. He delayed by asking another pressing question. "Cas, what happened to Anna? Bobby said something about an A-Bomb. Did you find her grace?"
Cas looked somber. "Yes, she is an angel again, I'm afraid. I didn't want to do it to her, but there was no other choice. She had to be able to protect herself. I found Uriel and killed him and returned her grace to her."
"Poor Anna," Sam murmured.
"Yes, but I believe life as an angel is infinitely preferable to what the angels and demons would do if they caught her. She has a chance at happiness now, at least as much as an angel is allowed." Cas fixed him with a stare. "As do you, Sam. I know you are dreading the immediate future, but remember the future you will return to will be better than the one you left."
The problem was that Cas could not guarantee that for Sam. If they succeeded, Sam would return to a time in which the apocalypse never happened, but that also meant Sam's sacrifice never happened. Dean would know what Sam had done, he would remember the blood and betrayal, but there would be no redemption, as Sam never took the dive. What relationship would Sam be returning to? Would he have any kind of bond with his brother at all or would it all have been destroyed?
"Sam," Cas said gently. "You are going to have to leave this room eventually."
Sam's gaze snapped to him and he grinned ruefully. "You're a lot more aware of human behavior now."
"Yes. I lived practically human for the year of the apocalypse and I grew to understand you and Dean more than I would have believed possible in the beginning. I know why you're delaying now, and I understand, but I also know the only way to move forward is to face Dean and let him react for himself. Perhaps what you are dreading will not come to pass."
Sam knew that he should leave, that eventually he would have to leave, but he wasn't keen to do it. There were things to do though, so he couldn't delay much longer. If his vague sense of time was correct, there was a hunt he would have to take soon to protect others, again. He couldn't abandon that family just because he was afraid of seeing his brother again.
"Okay," he said, putting his hands on his knees and getting to unsteady feet. "I'm ready."
Cas nodded his approval. "Good. Do you need me to stay?"
Sam didn't want to sound like a coward by saying he wanted Cas there, as a buffer and defense, but that was exactly what he wanted. "Is there something you need to do?" he asked instead.
"I would like to return to our time to reassure Dean and Bobby," he said. "It seems that their memory changes with each event we alter, but I'm not sure at which point that happens. When I left them—after you banished me in the church—they were aware of what was happening in this time. I imagine they are very concerned still."
"Yeah. Okay. You should probably go see them."
"Is there any message you wish me to impart to them?" Cas asked.
"Just…" Sam sighed. "Tell them I'm sorry."
Cas nodded. "I understand, and I will, but I think I can guess their reaction. Sam, there is nothing that happened recently that was within your control. They understand."
"I sure hope so," Sam said quietly.
Cas stared into his eyes for a long moment, seeming to be weighing something in his mind, and then he shook his head. "I will return as soon as I can," he said, and then he was gone with a faint rustling sound and Sam was alone.
Cas must have told Dean and Bobby that the process of withdrawal was over, as they showed no surprise when Sam walked into the library a few minutes later.
Dean was sitting on the couch under the window with a mug of coffee cradled in his hands and Bobby was at his desk with a couple of books open in front of him.
He looked up as Sam came in. Sam may have been imagining it, looking for what he wanted rather than what was there, but he thought he saw a flash of relief in Bobby's eyes. "How are you feeling?" he asked, eyeing Sam up and down as if searching for injury.
Sam shrugged. "Okay, I guess."
Dean spoke without lifting his gaze from the mug in his hands. "You done hallucinating and crap?"
"Yes." Sam wished he would look up. He needed to see Dean's face to have even a clue to what he was thinking. "It's over now."
Dean nodded. "Good."
He looked up now and Sam wished he hadn't. Dean was a master at poker, because when he wanted to, he showed no emotion. His poker face had filled their wallets multiple times in multiple bars across the country. He wasn't employing that face now though. His every emotion was painted across his tight eyebrows and pursed lips. He wasn't angry; that would have been easier to handle as Sam knew it wouldn't last. He was disappointed, so disappointed that he couldn't hold Sam's gaze for more than a moment before he cast his eyes down again.
Sam felt like he'd been kicked in the guts. He could handle almost anything from Dean, but not this. He knew he deserved it, that he'd earned it through his actions, but he couldn't bear it. He had seen this expression before. Before Dean drove away from Sam, heading to Michael, he had looked at Sam just like this, when he had no faith left in his brother to be strong against Lucifer. When he had been willing to destroy half the world in favor of letting Sam destroy the whole thing. He had given up. And now he had given up again, but this time it wasn't the world he had given up on, it was just Sam. Just his brother.
Bobby was talking, and Sam tried to listen, but all he could hear was his pounding heart. This wasn't withdrawal lingering, it wasn't illness, it was pure pain.
"I'm going to shower" he murmured then fled from the room.
His legs shook as he walked up the stairs to the bathroom, but he wasn't sure whether it was physical or mental weakness that stole his strength. He grabbed his wash-bag from the bedroom, noting as he did that Dean's bed was made neatly, not Dean's idea of pulling up blankets and tossing pillows in place made, but Bobby made. He wondered when Dean had last seen his bed, and where he had been sleeping instead. He shrugged the question off and went into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him as if that could block out everything he was thinking and feeling, too.
He set the water running and stepped inside the stall before the heat had even kicked in. It made him gasp and want to jerk out from under the spray, but he forced himself to stay in some insane attempt to punish himself, as if cold water was any match for him. Then the heat came and he turned it as high as it would go, scalding his skin. It felt good, washing away the sweat and phantom blood that still seemed to coat him. He washed his hair, raking his nails over his scalp. The pain felt good, grounding. It was over, withdrawal was done for the very last time—he promised himself that it would be the last—but the real suffering was just starting.
When he was cleaned even of the blood he couldn't see but feel, he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. He dried his hair roughly, tugging at the strands, and then went back into the bedroom. His duffel was sitting on the bed, placed there by Dean or Bobby, as it had been left in the Impala before. Glad of their forethought, whoever it had been, he pulled out clothes and then quickly finished drying before dressing in clean jeans and a shirt. He wished for sweats and a t-shirt, comfortable clothes that wouldn't rub against the bruises that he could feel even if he hadn't seen them. There was a hunt to go on though, and he couldn't do that in sweats. Also, it would enhance the image of him being weak still, and after everything Dean and Bobby had surely seen or heard during his time in the panic room, he didn't want to look weak anymore, though he felt it. It had been the same the last two times he went through withdrawal. His muscles ached; they were loose and uncooperative to his will after being tensed for so long.
He took a minute to brace himself before going back downstairs, gripping the balustrade rail tightly. He knew as soon as he entered the library that he had interrupted a discussion, and from the resolute look in Bobby's eyes and Dean's pale cheeks, he guessed it had been a heated one, possibly with him as the topic – again.
He crossed into the kitchen and poured himself a coffee from the machine. He left it black, not wanting to test his stomach with milk and sugar given his history of nausea following withdrawal, and wandered back into the library. Though he was exhausted and wanted to sit, he remained standing, leaning against the wall. The only free seat was beside Dean on the couch, and he didn't think he could face having Dean walk away from him because he couldn't bear his proximity.
There was an awkward silence for a long moment that Sam broke saying, "There's a hunt we need to take." Dean and Bobby looked at him with varying degrees of incredulity and he swallowed hard. "Last time I was here, we took on what we thought was a haunting in Nebraska."
"It wasn't a haunted house?" Bobby asked.
Sam shook his head. "It was a couple of feral children living in the walls of this old farmhouse."
"Wow." Bobby scrubbed his fingers through his beard. "Actual feral children? That's pretty damn rare."
"Yeah, we had no idea until it was too late. They killed two people; one of them was their father slash grandfather, and the other was from the family we were trying to save." Sam sighed. "It wasn't easy." He took a deep breath. "The father is dead already, but the new family won't move into the house for a few weeks so we've got time to get in before anyone else has to die."
"Father slash grandfather?" Dean said in a rough voice. Though his question was directed to Sam, he didn't look at him. He fixed his gaze on a point a foot away from Sam's face.
"It was pretty messed up. The old man got his daughter pregnant. She gave birth to twins and apparently killed herself at some point after. The children lived in the walls following her death."
Bobby looked disgusted. "The things people do. Okay. How are we going to handle this?"
"I think the only option is to kill them," Sam said. "They were beyond help or reason. If we try to involve the authorities, more people will get killed. They're just not capable of controlling them."
"Kill them?" Dean said. "You're kidding right? You said they were kids."
"I know," Sam said defensively. "But you didn't see what they were capable of."
Dean shook his head. "Hell, things must really be different in the future if this is your solution. The Sam I know would be doing everything to save lives, not take them."
"Things are different. Not just for me either."
"Well, forgive me for not being the one you left behind. I guess an apocalypse changes a man, but I'm not killing two kids whose only crime I can see is killing the sick bastard that fathered them with his own daughter. We'll find another way."
Sam closed his eyes, absorbing the barb and accepting it, before continuing to speak. "Okay. You want to try to save them, I'll back your play, but you've got to be on your guard. They may look pitiful, but they're dangerous."
"You'll back my play?" Dean asked with a short laugh. "You think I'm letting you come along?"
"Dean–"
"No chance," Dean said bitterly. "There's no way I'm taking you as my backup. In case you haven't noticed, you can barely walk in a straight line. Not four hours ago you were howling your ass off and being thrown all over the cot by some psychic whatever. You'll stay here. Bobby will come, won't you, Bobby?"
Bobby looked apologetically at Sam. "Yeah, I'll come."
Sam looked down at the faded carpet, unable to meet anyone's eyes. He understood their concerns, and he knew he wasn't the best person to have as a wingman, but it still felt like a punishment to be left behind, another show of just how off the rails he'd gone if he couldn't even provide backup for a hunt.
"Where is this farm?" Dean asked.
Sam crossed to the open laptop on the kitchen table and typed in the town's name. It only took a glance at the map for the address to come back to him and he pointed it out to Bobby who was at his shoulder. "They seemed to be holed up in the basement," he said. "But the whole place was riddled with false walls that they were living in. Be careful. They're merciless."
Bobby nodded. "We will. You… get some rest."
Though his tone wasn't harsh, it wasn't exactly soft either. Sam knew he had let Bobby down, too, but he couldn't help but remember the way he had reacted last time, in the days immediately following Sam freeing Lucifer. The demon pretending to be Bobby had told him to lose his number. The real Bobby had stood by him.
Dean left the room silently and came back downstairs with his duffel slung over his shoulder. He was either following John Winchester's motto of being prepared or he was planning to make a trip of the hunt. It was still early; they could make the journey there and back and do the hunt easily without having to stay in a motel. Sam guessed that Dean wanted to make it last though, to have time away from Sam. Dean got as far as the door before he turned back and looked at Sam. For a moment he seemed to teeter on the verge of speech, and Sam waited with bated breath, but in the end he shook his head and walked outside without even a word of farewell.
Sam watched him go and wished there was a way to make it easier for his brother. There was one way, but he didn't think he was strong enough to do it.
Perhaps it was experience, or maybe luck, but Cas managed to get back to only a day after the time he had left following his banishment in the correct time. He had not expected to find Dean and Bobby relaxed following his last visit, but he had underestimated their tension.
Balthazar was nowhere in sight when he arrived, but Dean and Bobby were in the library, sharing a bottle of whiskey despite the fact it was only noon. With what Cas had seen in the past while Sam withdrew from the blood, he decided it was their default reaction to stress—to drink.
He had barely pulled his wings in at his back and opened his mouth to greet them before Dean was on his feet and stalking towards him with hands tightly fisted. "Where the hell have you been?" he growled.
Cas frowned. Where did they think he had been? "With Sam," he said dryly. "Where I was needed."
Dean took a step back and his hands unfisted slightly. "Good. That's good."
"How is he?" Bobby asked, concern in his eyes and face.
"Better. He has come through the withdrawal now. He suffered as much as you would expect given the amount of blood in his system, but he was strong."
Dean nodded, looking satisfied. "Course he was. He always is. You don't beat the Devil without being strong."
"Indeed," Cas agreed.
"How's he doing now it's over?" Bobby asked.
"Physically, he is how you would expect. He is weak and tired, but rest will cure that. Emotionally, he's… vulnerable."
Dean frowned. "Vulnerable? You mean the wall?"
"What is the last thing you remember of that time's changed events?" Cas asked.
Dean answered quickly, needing no time to think, as it had been in his mind already. "Alastair dying and Sam getting messed up."
Cas nodded. "Well, in that time you are not coping with the revelations of Sam's actions as well as you did the first time. Sam has confessed all now. You know everything about the demon blood, the apocalypse, the cage, and you are not taking it well."
Bobby cursed and Dean looked guilty. "What did I do?"
"You knocked him out. You left, and when you returned, you seemed to garner no forgiveness for what happened. You were distressed by Sam's suffering, that was clear and it made me hopeful that all was not lost, but you did not stay with Sam as you have before."
"Well, I was never exactly holding his hand through it," Dean said.
"No, but you stayed close to him."
Dean turned away and raked a hand through his hair.
"It's a lot for you to take in all at once," Cas said, attempting to comfort. "And that has obviously had an effect on your ability to cope."
Bobby cleared his throat. "What matters is that he's through it now. Dean will have a chance to calm down and they'll be good again." There was no doubt in his tone. He had faith in the relationship between the brothers. "How am I handling it?"
Dean turned and looked hopeful. Cas thought he understood. If Bobby was taking it better that Dean, Sam would at least have something of a support network in place.
"You didn't leave and you didn't ask Sam to leave," Cas offered. "You allowed Sam to stay here for the withdrawal process and you were close when you could be. I think you have more understanding of the situation than… well, others."
Dean laughed bitterly. "At least he's got someone. It can't be his damned brother, but he's got someone."
Cas sighed. "I believe what matters is not what Sam is feeling now but what he will return to. In that time you are dealing with impossible circumstances and that obviously strains things for you both. He will feel better, I am sure, if I can just reassure him that he is coming back to something better than he is leaving behind."
Dean nodded and rubbed a hand over his chin. "That's a no brainer. He's coming back to better. Even if it doesn't work, and Lucifer's cage gets popped, things between us are good. He's has a clean slate; he knows that."
Cas smiled, relieved. He could return to Sam with hope and reassurance of a better future. It wasn't guaranteed that he was coming back to better when it came to the world, but for himself and his small family it would be better. They would be strong together.
There were footsteps on the stairs and Balthazar swept into the room. "Sorry to break up the little love session, but I thought you'd like to know Sam is awake again."
Dean brightened. "He is?"
"Yes, woke up a few minutes ago. I would have come sooner but I was listening to your little chat and I didn't want to ruin the mood up here."
Dean pushed past him and jogged down the stairs to the basement with Cas and Bobby following.
When Cas entered the panic room, he saw Sam was still pinned beneath the chains with the familiar leather restraints around his wrists and ankles. He raised an eyebrow when they filed in. "Howdy."
"How do you feel?" Cas asked.
"Fine," Sam said. "For a guy who can't feel things properly, that was surprisingly painful, like getting hit by a semi truck worth of Hell memories. I thought it was permanent lights out for a while."
Cas nodded. He had meant physically, but Sam's words told him more than he obviously intended. Sam without his soul was incapable of feeling the real trauma of what he had suffered in the cage, but the physical strain was powerful, too. It reasserted his faith in the Sam currently reliving the past. He would be strong enough to handle whatever came.
Balthazar sighed a long-suffering sigh. "I must admit, I preferred him unconscious. He's annoyingly chatty when awake."
"Yeah, yeah, you're a champ for putting up with him," Bobby said.
"I know," Balthazar replied seriously.
Cas was enjoying the company of his friend and those that he called family, but he knew he couldn't linger now they had been somewhat reassured. There was someone who needed his support and reassurance more than Dean and Bobby.
"I should go," he said.
"Yeah, sure," Dean said. "Get back to Sam."
Cas nodded. "I will return when I am able and when there is need."
"Thanks, Cas," Bobby said.
Cas was on the point of taking flight when Dean spoke again. "Cas, make sure he knows, okay, he's got a clean slate."
"I will make sure he knows," Cas vowed.
So… Sam's got through it and Dean's being…difficult. I know he may seem dickish, but it will make sense in the next chapter.
I started posting a new story yesterday. It's called Bond of Brotherhood and it's very different to anything I have written before.
Summary: Separated from his brother at age sixteen, Dean makes a new life for himself. When finally reunited with Sam, he finds they're living in different worlds. How can they rebuild what they once had when demons, both literal and personal, attack from all sides?
I'd love it if you gave it a look and let me know what you think.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx