SPN
They did it… Somehow… They beat back the devil.
Sitting on his heels, Sam tried to process this unexpected reprieve. It wasn't a win—Lucifer had killed too many people, including children, and while he might be injured, he was still out there. Sooner or later, he would try again. But for the moment, he was off the board, and Sam was…
Sam was alone.
A chill ran down his spine. He quickly scanned the room. Bodies were scattered everywhere, but among them, several survivors were catching their breaths, nursing their wounds, and staring at Sam—not with gratitude, but condescension. Crowley lurked in the distance, a familiar face, but hardly comforting, and without Castiel, Sam was surrounded by antagonists. He couldn't trust any of them. Nothing had changed.
Except… a strange man was hovering over him, dressed in hunting clothes. He had short dark hair, sharp green eyes, and a worried expression on his weathered face. He looked vaguely familiar, but the more Sam tried to recall his name, the more his identity slipped away. He couldn't remember… and for some reason, that made him anxious. He trembled, gazing up at the man uncertainly.
Whoever he was, he slowly crouched down and inched his way forward. "It's okay," he said softly when Sam shrank back. "I'm a friend. You're bleeding. I just want to look." He reached for Sam's face and gently turned his head, grimacing in pain as he appraised the damage done by the Somnus Inhibitor. Sam didn't know how bad it was… It hurt, but so did the rest of his body.
"You're gonna be just fine," the stranger told him, obviously lying. Sam was anything but fine… and the stranger was doing a poor job masking his unsettlement.
"Dean…" Godwinson's voice was hoarser than ever as he shuffled towards the two younger men. "The… the Som… Somnus Inhibitor… We… we must… reapply it…"
Sam tensed while the stranger growled. "Stay the hell away from us, you son of a bitch. Before you royally screw up again."
"Dean…" As Godwinson tried to make his case, more and more of the Brits were getting back on their feet, and Sam could tell they would never let him go. They were too full of themselves. Crap.
The stranger must have reached the same conclusion, for he suddenly turned around and focused on Crowley. His next five words chilled Sam to the bone. "Get us out of here." The demon obliged, snapping his fingers, and before Sam could even blink, he was somewhere else.
A hotel room. A nice one. More of a suite than a room, with a spacious kitchen and a luxurious sitting area. The carpet was clean and the windows featured elegant curtains with swag valances. The high ceiling was trimmed with crown molding, and a small fire was crackling calmly in a vintage fireplace. It would have been impressive if not for the king of hell.
Sam clambered to his feet, searching for a way out, but Crowley was standing in front of the door. True, when the situation called for it, they would occasionally join forces, but Sam would never trust the demon, especially when he was alone and weaponless. He had to escape!
"Sammy?" The green-eyed stranger also stood up, inconveniently blocking the door to the balcony. His shoulder was injured, and he was attempting to stabilize it with his good hand, but that didn't make him any less threatening. "It's okay, Sam. You're safe."
"Safe?" Sam limped backwards, into a corner. "You're friends with Crowley!"
The stranger groaned while the demon blinked in surprise. "You're just now figuring that out?"
"Shut up, Crowley!" the stranger snapped. "Something happened to him. He doesn't know who I am."
"He wants to kill you…"
Sam felt like he was spinning. His vision tunneled, and he fell against the wall. From somewhere deep inside him, a memory emerged… a memory of the stranger in a red Carhartt shirt with inky black eyes.
"Smart, Sam! Locking the place down. Doors won't open. I get it. Bet here's the thing… I don't want to leave! Not 'till I find you!"
He was evil. A demon. A knight of hell. Sam shivered—his clothes were getting damp from his sweat, which only made him that much colder. It wasn't natural, but nothing about his predicament was natural. He was trapped in a hotel with two dangerous bad guys. He had to get out!
Terrified, he made a break for the balcony, fully prepared to push his way past the stranger, but he didn't get far. Crowley made a gesture with his hand, and a powerful demonic current swept him off his feet. He was callously thrown into an extravagant bathroom, where he landed awkwardly on the hard tile. The door immediately slammed shut, and Sam had a horrible, sinking feeling that he was locked inside.
SPN
"What the hell, Crowley!?" Dean stormed after his brother, glaring angrily at the demon. When he reached the bathroom door, he quickly tried the handle, but it wouldn't budge. "Let him out! Now!"
"Why?" Crowley asked, perfectly composed as he pulled out his phone and checked the screen. "What do you think happened to him? Lucifer's playing mind games, and if Sam bolts, we won't be able to perform the ritual to save him. I'm doing you a favor." He placed a call, putting the phone on speaker while Dean fumed.
Of course, the bastard had a point, but Dean didn't care. Between his dislocated shoulder and his bruised ribs, he wasn't in the mood for simple logic. His brother feared him… Dean saw the look in his eyes. Pure panic. Because of him. Not Crowley, but Dean. It was the worst feeling in the world, and he wanted someone to blame.
The call connected, and Castiel's voice blared from the other end. "Crowley, is that you!?"
"Expecting someone else?" the demon asked with a slight smirk. "I have to say, it's a good thing you texted me that SOS. Turns out banishing you and separating Lucifer from that emerald weakened him enough for us to make it out alive."
"Sam and Dean are with you?" the angel anxiously demanded. "They're okay?"
"We're a little beat up, Cas," Dean said, cutting into the conversation. "And Sam… Sam needs our help. We have to put this ritual behind us. Now."
"Of course," Cas agreed. "I'm in Texas, according to the road signs. I-35, mile marker 388."
"I'm on my way," Crowley informed him. "Be there in a flash." Hanging up the phone, he promptly disappeared.
Overwhelmed, Dean buried his face in his good hand. When this was all over, he would need one hell of a drink.
Moments later, the demon rematerialized with the angel in tow. When Cas saw Dean, his worried expression dissolved into compassion, and he silently reached out to rest his hand on the hunter's forehead. Warm, rejuvenating energy washed through his body, healing his shoulder, his ribs, and every other sore spot. He sighed in relief—one less thing to distract him from his brother.
Cas proceeded to survey their fancy surroundings. "Where's Sam?"
Crowley snapped his fingers, and Dean heard the lock click on the bathroom door. The time, when he tried the handle, it opened easily.
Inside, they were struck by the smell of blood. Sam had frantically sliced his palm with a razor blade and was now attempting to draw a devil's trap on the tile. Dean's heart stopped. Son of a bitch!
Sam looked up in horror—a deer in the headlights. "Stay away from me!" He scrambled backwards, putting as much distance between himself and his brother as he could. Dean clenched his fists. His natural response was always to protect the kid, and every fiber of his being urged him to rush to Sam's side, to stop the bleeding and mend his wounds. It took all his discipline to resist, and he glanced helplessly at Castiel.
"Do something. Please."
"Sam?" The angel stepped cautiously into the bathroom, treating the youngest Winchester like a skittish child. When Sam saw him, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Cas?"
Dean exhaled, able to breathe again. Sam recognized the angel. Thank God for small favors.
"Sam, I need you to listen to me…" Cas stepped over the incomplete devil's trap and knelt in front of his friend. "I know you're scared, but now, more than ever, you have to trust me." Sam's agitated gaze shifted from the angel over to Dean and back again. Cas continued, "Lucifer has a claim on you, and he doesn't want us to sever it. Now, he can't control you, but he can tamper with your emotions. He wants you to panic. He wants you to run. That's how he's going to win, but you're stronger than he is, and if you're willing to trust me, we can free you from his influence. I promise."
Dean watched nervously as Sam considered the angel's words. If he could just focus on the real threat, they'd be okay. Otherwise… they would have to make him cooperate, and so soon after his ordeal with the Brits… Dean would hate himself. But they were out of options, and they were running out of time.
Fortunately, Sam had enough experience with the devil's tactics to accept what he was told. He jabbed his bloody palm with his good thumb, wincing in pain—a sight that made Dean tense—but then he nodded. "Whatever you're going to do, do it quickly. He's in my head."
"Just tune him out," Cas replied, grasping Sam's arm and supporting him as he climbed to his feet.
"Let's set up in the kitchen," Crowley suggested as they emerged from the bathroom. "I keep a well-stocked pantry. We should have everything we need."
They didn't dawdle, but hastened over to the island counter. Cas made Sam sit on a bar stool while Crowley formed a triangle with three red taper candles. Dean searched the cupboards for a crystal platter and a carton of salt.
"How'd you get this, anyway?" he asked as he positioned the platter in the middle of the candles and sprinkled the salt on top of it.
"What, the salt?" Crowley snapped his fingers and the candles lit up with golden flames. "Not all my minions have black eyes, and you never know when demon repellent will come in handy. I like to be prepared."
From the corner of his eye, Dean noticed Sam glancing back and forth between him and the carton he was holding. Suddenly, it all clicked. So that's why he was afraid. That's why he tried to paint a devil's trap with his own blood. Friggin' Lucifer. Dean dumped some extra salt in his palm for the kid's benefit. "I'm not a demon. Not anymore. I'm just a hunter."
Sam quickly turned apologetic. "I'm sorry. I just… I can't remember…"
"It's okay," Dean assured him, as much as it hurt. "We're gonna fix this. That's why we're here."
"The keepsakes go on the platter," Cas interrupted, fishing the stone of heaven from his trench coat pocket. It was time to get this show on the road.
Dean produced an old, wrinkled photo from his own pocket and set it down where instructed. When Sam saw the image, he caught his breath. It was them, with their mom, when they were younger. Sam was just a baby. Their mom held him to her face while Dean, four years old, stood next to them with an innocent smile.
Would Sam recognize the photo? There was no mistaking their mom, but if he couldn't remember having a brother, what would he make of the two small children? Would it still serve as a keepsake if it no longer carried special significance? Dean watched closely, trying to read Sam's expression—it was pure heartache and confusion. He knew he had lost something… but he didn't know what it was…
"Crowley, this may be a good time for you to step out," Cas abruptly told the demon. "The dispelling ritual involves purification, and you won't want to be here for that. You might be exorcized."
Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Why, Cas… Didn't know you cared." Smirking, he glanced at Dean. "Be sure to let me know when it's over." And just like that, he was gone.
Cas immediately focused on Sam. "This won't take long. When I finish the incantation, move the emerald out of the triangle. That will complete the ritual and dispel Lucifer from your subconscious."
If it works, Dean thought nervously. Please, God, let it work.
"Let's begin," Cas said, taking the salt carton from Dean. He poured some on his hand, which he then sprinkled on Sam's head. "Crux sacra sit mihi lux… Nunquam draco sit mihi dux… Vade retro Satana! Nunquam suade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas… Ipse venena bibas!"
The angel nodded, and Sam reached for the stone of heaven. As he plucked it from the crystal platter, Dean couldn't help but wonder how the Men of Letters expected to pull this off while the kid was chained to a friggin' obelisk. What had they been thinking? Or was it all just a lie? Not that it mattered now.
When Sam placed the emerald on the counter, away from the candles, it began to glow with a strange, eerie light—as did the untouched photo. The flames all flickered, and a moment later, something dark and cold swept out of Sam's body. Dean couldn't see what it was exactly, but he felt it like a gust of wind.
The next thing he knew, Sam was toppling over, eyes closed.
Dean instinctively sprang forward, catching him just in time. "Whoa! Sammy?" He eased him onto the floor, where he held him in his arms. "Come on, Sammy… SAM!?" His brother was unconscious and didn't respond even when Dean shook him and tapped him on the face. "Crap…" Terrified, he turned towards Castiel. "What happened!?"
The angel sighed. "I'm sorry, Dean, but that's a question I can't answer. Either it worked… or it didn't… We'll just have to wait and see."
SPN
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