Chapter 25 - That Old Familiar Pain
A/N: Thank you to Pen99, Insert Name Here, SPN Mum, VeemonXGabumon, ofmooseandmen, and LeaderOfFallenHumanity for their reviews!
"Dean, Dean, Dean," Gabriel said. "It's been forever, hasn't it? Hell, last time I saw you..." The archangel made a face. "Oh, right, the last time I saw you, I died. Happy memories, right?"
"Can it, Gabriel," Dean ground out, his patience worn down to barely a thread at this point. "How long have you been back?"
"Ooh, testy. And I've been back since Cas turned Raphael into a bloody splatter on the wall," Gabriel informed him, crossing his arms. A flicker of something crossed his face - that ancient rage that Dean remembered catching a few glimpses of when the angel was still alive. The kind of anger that could only mean family. "Apparently there has to be an arch around. Something about balance in the universe."
"Cas ganked Raphael almost three years ago."
"And?"
"And!?" Dean repeated, incredulous. "We could've used your help with the Leviathans! And with Crowley, this past year!"
Gabriel put on a look of mock confusion. "I'm sorry, did I miss the part where I owe you something?"
"What happened to fighting for humanity?" When he'd last seen Gabriel, he'd been ready to give himself over to the cause of fighting for mankind. He was ready to go to war against both of his big brothers. What changed?
Gabriel encroached on Dean, narrowing his gold eyes at him. "I seem to remember getting an angel blade through the heart last time I did humanity a solid."
"So that's it? You've just sat back this whole time?"
"Yep. Enjoyed it too. If you've got a problem, well, bite me. I've been living it up. Plus, you and yours seemed to have dealt with all of the problems that have come your way just fine."
"You call getting locked in Purgatory for a year fine?" Dean asked.
Gabriel waved him off. "You got out. No harm done."
Dean began stalking towards Gabriel. He had enough of this. He grabbed the archangel by the front of his tweed jacket, lifting him a few inches off of the ground. He seemed thoroughly nonplussed - maybe even a little amused.
"Really, Dean?" Gabriel smirked. "Violence is never the answer, you know."
"Well, we're about to test that theory-"
Gabriel rolled his eyes, then snapped his fingers. Dean's eyes seemed to close off of their own volition, and then a moment later they opened. He shivered. They were in a freezer of some variety. Boxes were stacked around him, some labeled Rocky Road, other's labeled 'chocolate' and 'strawberry'. Were they back in the Heavenly Scoop?
Gabriel leaned against the wall, looking perfectly warm and now dressed in normal attire, his teacher get-up gone. He lapped at a vanilla ice cream cone, then offered it to Dean. "Lick?"
"Go to hell."
Gabriel shrugged, then went back to his ice cream. "You're too serious, Dean," Gabriel said. "See, this is why I always liked playing with ickle Sammykins better."
Dean made a move to go after Gabriel again, but found an arm barring his progress. He looked to his side to see Cas standing next to him. He breathed out a sigh of relief, which was visible in the icy air of the freezer.
"Cas, you're okay," he said, and he faintly wondered what crazy world Gabriel threw Cas into, considering the one he'd just found himself in. Hopefully Cas had been whisked away to somewhere a little less teenage-y and gay. "What kind of mojo did he pull on you?"
Maybe it was just the cold, but Cas blushed. "I - I would rather not discuss it just now," Cas said, before turning his eyes to his brother. "Gabriel, we need your assistance."
"I know all about Sam and the trials," the archangel stated, almost dismissively. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that you've been trying to track me down so you could ask me to fix the littlest Winchester."
Dean licked his lips nervously. This was it. If they couldn't convince Gabriel to help them, then... end of the line. He didn't know what the hell else they could do. He hated the fact that Gabriel of all people was their last resort. He wasn't exactly reliable.
"Yeah," Dean said lowly. "Sam... he's in really bad shape. We don't know how long he can last... and we're thinking that you're the only one who might be able to help him."
"Well, you're right on the money there," Gabriel said with a brief smile. "Sammy boy's in serious trouble." He finished his ice cream, then chucked the cone into a nearby trash can. "Question is... will I help you or not?"
"Brother, please," Cas pleaded. "Sam doesn't deserve to die, you have to know that."
"Yeah, well, haven't we all learned that life isn't about getting what you deserve?" Gabriel asked, some of his humor fading. "It's about getting what you get, and dealing with it."
No. Gabriel couldn't turn them down, not now. Not when they were so close. He didn't come all this way just to find out that he wouldn't help Sam. He pursed his lips, fighting back the wave of emotion that was threatening to drown him. He couldn't lose Sam. Not again. He couldn't.
"Gabe," Dean said. "He's my little brother. I can't..." His voice broke, which he privately cursed himself for. "I can't watch him die. I can't lose him."
Gabriel watched him for a long moment, seeming contemplative. Finally, he let out a brief sigh, and his expression softened somewhat. "I'll tell you what. I'll do you a favor - you did technically save the planet, so I guess I owe you one. I'll fix up Sam, good as new."
Dean closed his eyes briefly as relief washed over him. The knot that had been in his chest for months seemed to loosen - though it wouldn't disappear fully until Sam was healed. "Thank you," he said, and he meant it.
"Send the chocolates and flowers later. You two have been trapped in my fun little Destiel land for over two days-"
"WHAT!?" Sam could be dead by now, for all they knew! No, he's not dead, I would feel it. I'd know!
"-so I'd say we probably should get over to your Bat Cave ASAP," Gabriel finished. He decided not to ask how Gabriel knew about the Men of Letters bunker.
Cas's brow furrowed. "What is a Destiel?"
Gabe snorted. "You guys need to get on the internet more - let's just say those Supernatural books have a pretty dedicated following. Did you know the last forty-four were published online about two years back by someone named Samlicker87? Everyone really liked the new apocalypse arc," he said, giving them a wink before he put hands on both of their shoulders.
A second later, they were gone.
"Drive faster!"
"Um, Crowley, I don't know exactly how this whole running from death thing works, but I have a feeling that driving an imaginary car in my head faster probably isn't going to help us that much. We have to find where the hell we're supposed to go to throw us into my next memory."
Crowley peered out the window, licking his lips. It was strange to see the demon so anxious. "Wait. Over there." He pointed a finger to the right. Sam narrowed his eyes, and he saw a faint light through the thick fog that permeated his mind. There was a turn-off coming up on the road.
"Shouldn't we avoid going into the light?" Sam asked, but he was already turning the wheel. Once they were onto the adjacent road, the source of the light came into view; it was a motel. Sam pulled into the parking lot. There were no other cars. He glanced up at the sign. They were at The Cold Spring Inn.
"Do you remember this?" Crowley asked.
"Cold Spring..." He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. It sounds familiar." He turned off the Impala and stepped outside. It was a warm night, spring, probably, and a sliver of a moon hung in the sky. "I guess we should go in."
"Lead on," Crowley said, exiting the Impala as well and falling into step next to him. "This is your show, after all."
"Yeah," Sam responded dimly. He pushed through the front door of the motel, into the lobby. There was no one inside. "Crowley, can you do me a favor?"
"Depends."
"If we actually make it out of this..." He trailed off as he made his way to the elevator. "Please, just, keep your mouth shut about anything you've seen inside of my head, okay?"
"And why would I do that, Moose?" Crowley asked, tilting his head. "Embarrassed by something?"
"There's a lot of crap in here," Sam answered vaguely. "I... I don't want people to see the crap. I didn't want you to see it, but now I don't really have a choice in the matter."
Crowley narrowed his eyes at him. "Crap?" he repeated. "I haven't seen crap, Sam. I've just seen you. And..." The demon looked away. "I haven't seen anything wrong, or - or bad."
"Well, prepare yourself," Sam said, dread pooling in his stomach. He hit the button for the elevator. "Because I just figured out where we are."
The elevator doors slid open, and the two of them stepped inside. Sam hit the button for the fifth floor. The label next to the button listed the Penthouse, Presidential, Deluxe, and Honeymoon suites.
"Taking me to the honeymoon suite, Moose? You should at least buy me a drink first," Crowley commented, and Sam saw it for what it was - an attempt to brush off his unease at his last statement. Sam pursed his lips, not responding. He was bracing himself for what he was about to see.
They arrived at the fifth floor, and they stepped out into the shag carpeted hallway. Everything smelled faintly of cigarette ash. "Last door on the left," Sam said. Crowley nodded, and they made their way to the door. After a brief pause, Sam opened it and went into the honeymoon suite, Crowley right behind him. The door drifted shut.
"-you can't, you're not strong enough," he heard himself say. In the center of the surprisingly tastefully decorated room stood himself and Dean, facing off against one other. Both of them were tense, shoulders drawn back. If they were cats, their hackles would be raised.
"And who the hell are you?" Dean asked, taking a step closer.
"I'm being practical here. I'm doing what needs to be done."
"Yeah? You're not gonna do a single damn thing," Dean growled, jaw twitching. His brother was beyond pissed. It was actually moments like this that Dean reminded Sam of their father. The hard line of the jaw, the curled lip, the voice that held a threat in every syllable.
Sam suppressed a shudder.
"Stop bossing me around, Dean," his younger self said. "Look, my whole life, you take the wheel, you call the shots, and I trust you because you're my brother. Now I'm asking you, for once, to trust me." Even though his eyes were dilated to the point that he could barely see the gray of his own irises, he could still see the pleading note hiding in them.
"No," Dean said, shaking his head adamantly. "You don't know what you're doing, Sam."
"Yes, I do," his double responded.
Dean swallowed with effort. "...Then that's worse."
His brow furrowed in confusion. "Why? Look, I'm telling you-"
"Because it's not something that you're doing, it's what you are!" Dean interrupted him. "It means-" Dean broke off, unable to finish his thought. Tears built in Sam's eyes just as they did in the eyes of his younger self.
"What? No, say it!" he demanded.
Dean looked up at him, lip trembling. His bright green eyes were shining in the dim light of the motel room. "It means you're a monster."
After a moment, Sam nodded. A tear slipped out of Dean's eye, traced down his cheek. His brother wasn't angry anymore. He probably wasn't even sad - he was just in pain. Unbearable pain.
He punched Dean hard in the face; he went down in a flash. Clutching his face, Dean rose again on wobbly legs. Seeming resigned, he punched his younger brother. Dean tackled the younger Sam through one of the partitions, sending them both crashing to the ground.
Sam gulped, looking down at his feet. He'd done a lot of shady things in his life. He'd screwed up - over and over again, really - but above anything, above starting the apocalypse, getting addicted to demon blood, not looking for Dean in Purgatory, failing to close the Gates of Hell - all of it paled in comparison to this day, this moment.
The moment where he turned his back on his brother. The moment where he turned into the monster he'd always been terrified of becoming.
"Bloody hell," Crowley said from beside him. "Anyone ever tell you that you've got a great right hook?"
Sam just shook his head. "I don't know where to go from here," he said quietly.
"I know you've been distracted by the brotherly angst, but if you'd direct your attention to the glaringly out of place steel door to your left..." Sam lifted his head, and Crowley was right. There were double steel doors next to the king-sized bed. "I'm going to hazard a guess that those weren't here your first time through?"
More sounds of commotion from the other side of the room; from what he could hear, this was the part where he pinned Dean down with his knees and began choking him. He resisted the urge to throw up. Sam walked towards the door on legs that seemed incapable of supporting his weight.
"You don't know me."
He gulped, and his mouth felt dry, like it was full of sand.
"You never did."
He and Crowley stopped in front of the large door. His skin suddenly felt chilled.
"You never will."
Dread filled him as he heard the door to the motel room open.
"You walk out that door..." Dean called, his voice wrecked from lack of oxygen. "Don't you ever come back."
The door slammed shut.
Sam closed his eyes, and he felt a tear trace down the side of his face, leaving an itching trail of moisture behind.
When he opened them, he took a deep breath and tried to center himself. He laid a hand on the steel door. He stared at it, hesitant for unknown reasons, and then suddenly, all he could hear was laughter. Cold, high laughter. Crowley didn't seem to hear it, but it was ringing in his ears like an air raid siren. He felt his blood practically freeze, and when he let out a shaky breath, it came out as a visible puff.
He backed away from the door, almost crashing into Crowley in his urgency to get away from it. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. In spite of the cool air around him, he could swear that he could smell smoke... and burning human flesh, as well.
Crowley put a hand on his shoulder, and the simmering heat of the demon's palm jarred him back to reality. Sam turned his head so he could meet Crowley's questioning gaze. Sam felt himself shaking. Everything inside of him was screaming for him to run, to run far and run fast.
I can't go back there!
"What is it, Moose?" Crowley asked. "You look like you're about to have a fit."
Sam just shook his head and pinched his eyes shut. He had to calm himself down. He couldn't risk falling apart, not now. "We have to find another way out of here," he said as steadily as he could manage.
Crowley gave him a searching look before releasing his shoulder and heading towards the motel room door that his younger self had just walked out of. Sam found himself missing the warmth. Crowley pulled open the other door, and outside of it, there was nothing but a murky gray mire.
"There's nowhere else to go from here," Crowley told him. "Your mind is slipping apart at the seams. Even with me inside of you, you won't last much longer."
"You haven't even been possessing me for that long!"
"Time passes differently when you're locked inside of you own head - or in my case, someone else's head. What feels like an hour or two in here could be days or even weeks out there," the demon explained. "Point is, you're hanging on by your fingertips, mate."
"Well, we're just going to have to stay here, then," Sam said thickly, turning his back on the steel door. "What else have you got up your sleeve that can stall Cecil?"
"I've used up my bag of tricks when it comes to reapers. When he comes back, he's taking you with him when he leaves. He'll be prepared for fiendfyre now, I won't be able to catch him by surprise. And, like I said, the banishing only works once a lunar cycle. We have to keep moving."
"No!" Sam said, much more forcefully than he meant to. "No. We can't go through this door."
"It's either keep going, or you die," Crowley said bluntly. It seemed the demon was beginning to lose his patience - not that he had much to begin with. "What could be so bad that you'd rather die than face it?"
Sam gulped, refusing to meet the demon's eyes. "I can't go through there, Crowley," he said simply. "I can't."
Crowley narrowed his eyes, and then a look of understanding donned on his features. "It's the Cage, isn't it?" the demon asked softly. "Lucifer's behind that door."
"You don't get it, Crowley," Sam said in his mind, not sure if he would be able to physically say the words. "I can't choose to go back there. I can't face it all again. I'm not strong enough... I know I'm not strong enough."
"It's your only option," Crowley said, his dark green eyes drilling into Sam's. "All roads lead to Hell, darling." He took a few steps towards Sam. "You've been living with these memories for years. Is it really so hard for you to face it all head on?"
"I barely remember the Cage - just flickers here and there - when Cas took all of it into himself, he cleaned house pretty well."
"Took it into himself? Cas? What the devil are you talking about, pardon the pun?"
Right, Crowley didn't know about that. "That's why Cas went insane once Dean found him and he got his memories back. He knew that I was going to die if someone didn't kick Satan out of my head. The only way to do that was to shift everything I was carrying around in the Cage into himself."
Crowley's eyebrow raised. "And here I thought it was just the guilt that drove him mad. Nevertheless, that doesn't change the bottom-line - if you don't go through that door, you're going to die."
Sam couldn't think of a way to respond. There was no argument here, no defense.
He just couldn't do it.
"That's it, then?" Crowley asked, and Sam could sense that the demon's temper was flaring. "After everything your brother and Castiel have done to keep you breathing - everything I've done - you're going to walk off stage before the last act?"
Sam ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "Crowley-"
"Don't Crowley me, boy!" the demon hissed, fisting his hands in the fabric of Sam's thin V-neck. "I've busted my ass keeping you alive out of the kindness of my previously non-existent heart, and asked for nothing, nothing in return except that you KEEP FIGHTING!"
Crowley looked furious - Sam actually felt anger roiling over their mental link, which was surprising given that their connection seemed to be almost completely one way. The demon looked like he was a few moments away from throttling the life out of him.
"So help me, you will go through that door. I don't care if I have to drag you kicking and screaming by your ankles, I'll be damned before I let you lay down and die."
Sam found himself stunned by the demon king's angry determination. He'd been flirting with the idea that somewhere in his black excuse for a heart, Crowley might care about him, as some kind of weird after-effect of the third trial. But with the way the demon was looking at him now... it reminded him of Dean, that night in the church, when his brother had desperately begged him not to give up. Begged him to live.
And now, just as then, he found himself unable to say no.
"I can't make any guarantees on what's going to happen when I go in there," he warned Crowley quietly. "I may not be able to get out."
"You will," Crowley stated, his tone making it clear that it wasn't up for debate. He gestured for Sam to open the door. Sam turned, taking a deep breath. It was the last breath that wouldn't taste like fire and brimstone, so he might as well enjoy it.