Author's note: Settling down enough to get out a mid-week!
"This is the worst motherfucking idea in the history of stupid ideas, and I want it on the record that I've said that."
"It's on the record that you've said it a hundred goddamn times, boy," Bobby growls as he checks the ammunition bag one more time. Sammy, the little shit, is grinning in the corner as he helps Ellen sharpen the silver knives, looking like the cat that swallowed the damn canary, and Dean feels like his head is going to explode.
He was so sure that he'd get backup when he told Sammy he couldn't go after the demon. Obviously he would get backup; it's a terrible idea. They'd proven that last time when the demon almost killed Dean because they'd gone in half-cocked, and they aren't any better prepared this time. But evidently everybody else in the house felt that it was more important for his brother to assert himself and to make his own choices than to be kept safe where the demon who so clearly wanted him, and badly, couldn't reach him.
Sammy is safe at Missouri's. Missouri's is warded and spelled and protected. At Missouri's, Sammy wakes up in the morning and gets breakfast—bacon, eggs, pancakes, orange juice, milk, things that kids are supposed to eat. He goes through his day reading books or talking to his friends or just spending time with Dean watching TV or playing board games. He's not bad at Connect 4 and he's good at Monopoly because he's a nerd, despite his lack of formal education. He's almost finished with the Narnia books now, and he's trying to make Dean read them, with limited success. He's safe. He's where Dean can keep him that way.
On the road he'll be vulnerable. Exposed. There are places he can go and things he can do where Dean can't protect him, where Dean could get hurt and not be able to get to him in time, where something could block Dean from him, where he could be taken and Dean would lose him again and that scares him worse than anything else in his life ever has.
He doesn't realize he's trembling until the pistol he's cleaning clatters to the floor out of his unsteady hands. Everyone in the room quiets, and he flushes. "'Scuse me," he mutters, escaping from the study on legs that seem barely able to hold his weight.
He stumbles into the hallway, gasping for breath that he can't manage to catch, hands trembling so badly that it's bleeding into his arms and everywhere else and he has to lean against the wall with all his weight so that he doesn't just collapse onto the floor from the shaking. He's sweating, and he feels like it's suddenly sweltering in the house. It's too much. Everything was just so good and now this and it's not fair and he can't lose Sammy, not again, not so soon especially but not ever again and it's not fair that the adults who are supposed to be helping him are going to go along with this bullshit plan for the sake of Sammy's self esteem or what the fuck ever hippie psychoanalyst bullshit they think they're doing. It doesn't matter because if Sammy gets killed it'll be his fault because it's his job, it's always been his job to keep Sammy safe.
He sinks down to the ground and tries to remember how he talked Sammy down from his panic attack, and just can't figure it out, and he wonders vaguely if he'll feel better after he passes out.
Suddenly there's a shadow over him and a pressure on his knees that he's drawn up to his chest. "Breathe." Sammy's voice is firm and brooks no argument, which is a tone he's never heard from his brother before, and it startles him into obedience. "One, two. Out, two. In, two. Out, two. Good job, Dean. Like that."
Dean obeys, but it's wrong, because he's supposed to be doing this for Sammy, not the other way around. His little brother shouldn't have to take care of him. He shouldn't get to, shouldn't have to see Dean in a place where Dean isn't in control. But he only glares a little bit as Sammy guides him through the breathing until it's six counts in and out, and then he sighs and slumps a little.
"You okay?" Sammy asks, sitting in front of him. Dean glares harder at that. "Dumb question. You gonna be okay?"
"I don't like this, Sammy," Dean snarls. "This doesn't just stink of a trap, it's got a fuckin' neon sign that says this is a trap! right over it."
"We know it's a trap," Sammy says, like it's so obvious and clear. "We won't fall in it if we know it's there."
"Bullshit," Dean spits. "Nothing we have could kill that demon. It took all your mojo to even just exorcize him last time. You get me? There's no preparing for it. We're screwed. Our best bet is to get in there, grab Ava, and leave, while you are on code black lockdown here. Or better, if we could get you there, Bobby's."
"I need to do this," Sammy argues quietly.
"Like hell you do," Dean laughs, and it even tastes bitter in his mouth. "You're free, Sammy. You're done. You need to rest, and get better. Shit, man, you're still hurt."
"Dean?" John's footsteps had been inaudible under the sound of Dean and Sammy arguing, so Dean jumps a little at his father's voice. John comes into view and Dean instantly turns the glare he had directed at Sammy on to his father. "Are you all right, son?"
"Fuck off," Dean snarls, and John looks shocked. Dean ignores his brother's hiss of his name, and he continues. "This is your fault. I got nothing to say to you right now."
"Dean," Sammy says firmly, and Dean turns his glare back for just a second before fixing it again on John.
"If you hadn't given Sammy back to that asshole, this wouldn't be happening at all," Dean says, his voice low and threatening, his eyes fixed on his father who looks pale and shaken. "He wouldn't be doing this. And you know what's worse? You're not even fighting it. Do you even care that we have him back?"
"Dean!" Sammy shouts, and John murmurs the same, and Dean just glares at both of them because he knows he's not being fair but he's too fucking mad to care about that.
Until Sammy grabs his chin and forces their eyes to meet, that is. Dean is too shocked by his little brother's sudden aggression to do anything but stare at him, stunned, mouth slightly agape. "Cut it out," Sammy orders, and Dean's eyes widen. "This isn't his fault. You keep saying I'm free, I'm out, okay, so how about letting me make some choices?"
"You're fucking fourteen years old," Dean spits. "Free or not, you don't get to make this kind of decision at fourteen! Damn it, Sammy, you could die!"
"You're a Hunter," Sammy argues. "You made decisions at fourteen that could've killed you all the time, I bet. I get that you're mad. And scared. And mostly mad. But what I need is help right now, not you being all bitchy about it."
"I'm not being bitchy!"
"You are. And I need you to stop. I need you, Dean." Sammy looks so solemn, his eyes wide and serious, like all he wants in the world is for Dean to do this one thing for him, and Dean can feel himself caving in even though he knows exactly what Sammy is doing and he hates it.
Dean covers his face with his hands, and when he feels himself tugged forward into an embrace, he lets it happen. When Sammy's shaggy hair brushes his face, he doesn't shiver or flinch, just listens as his brother says softly, "There's a lot of stuff that's your d—that's...Dad's fault. This isn't one of them. You can be mad at me if you want to be. It's okay."
"I'm really mad at you," Dean breathes, and wonders at the weight it lifts off of his chest to admit it, to let himself say it out loud. "Fuck, Sammy, I'm so mad."
"But can you help me anyway?" Sammy asks, still hugging him. Dean nods against his shoulder, and he releases him, standing. He's smiling a little bit—reserved, contained. "I gotta go talk to Ms. Moseley. You gonna come back to the study?"
"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbles, forcing the lightness into his voice. Sammy's smile turns grateful. He looks over at John and something that Dean can't decipher crosses his face, and then he slips back into the study.
Leaving Dean with John.
Suddenly the weight of his own words hits Dean like a blow to the gut, and he feels his stomach twist as he looks up at his father. "Dad—"
"Don't," John says quietly. "Don't pretend you didn't mean it. It's okay."
"It was a shit thing to say," Dean replies weakly, realizing that it's not the same as saying no, I didn't mean it.
"I can handle it," John says. "It's not like I don't deserve worse."
Dean suppresses the urge to groan. "Dad..."
"Dean." John's voice is firm, but at the same time Dean can hear a little bit of weakness in the foundation of his tone, a little unsteadiness. "I'm a grown man. And I know what I did, and what I forced you to do, and what I put Sam through. I'm not fooling myself into pretending I deserve any kindness."
Dean sighs deeply and stands, realizing suddenly that this conversation has a zero percent chance of being productive. His dad's too far gone into martyr mode, and nothing but Dean yelling at him or Dean offering his unconditional forgiveness is going to change anything. And Dean can't do either. So he just stands and says, "You can start making up for it by helping me keep him safe during this stupid-ass suicidal plan of his. Okay? You take care of him if I can't. Above me. Got it?"
"Dean—" John begins, but Dean shakes his head and he quiets.
"Above me," Dean repeats. "We lost him once, Dad. Twice, almost. You didn't back me up when I said this plan was a bad idea, so now we're in it. And it's our job to keep him safe. So keep him safe."
John looks like he wants to argue. He's got a little bit of that familiar hard edge in the set of his jaw, in the flint of his eyes, but it's not enough to offset the guilt and the hurt that Dean can see in his every movement. So instead of arguing, he just nods. "Okay, son," he says.
Dean's about to say something back when Bobby's shout throws all thought from his mind. "Dean!"
Dean scrambles to his feet and hauls ass into the study, where Ellen's just finished tossing the chairs out of the way to make sure Sammy doesn't have anything to run into as he writhes on the ground. Bobby's kneeling by Sammy's head, not touching him, but his big hands are on either side of him to protect him. Dean crashes to his knees next to his brother and Bobby backs off, staying close enough to help if he needs to.
"Hey, Sammy, woah," Dean soothes, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "Hey, right here, come on, Sammy, come back. I'm right here. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. Come on back, Sammy, come on."
He keeps murmuring reassurances while resting his hand lightly on Sammy's arm, trying to give him as much to anchor himself to as possible. Sammy continues to thrash for a while, but his movements get gradually less reckless and less violent, until finally he's curled into the fetal position, facing Dean, shivering as he comes back to reality.
"Hey," Dean breathes when Sammy's eyes open like it's hard labor and meet his. "You all right?"
"Did I kick anybody?" Sammy mumbles, struggling to sit. Dean braces a hand under his back and helps him up, settling them both against Missouri's armchair while Sammy breathes heavily.
"Everybody's fine, son," Bobby assures him. "We need to call a doctor?"
Dean opens his mouth to answer for Sammy, but his brother speaks first. "I'm okay. It was a vision. Somebody please get me a pencil and paper."
Pastor Jim hurriedly does so, handing them to Sammy, who takes them with unsteady hands. He writes down a street name and two numbers with an underscore between them, then hands it to Bobby. "This is where the demon has Ava," he says softly. "He...wanted me to know." He takes a deep breath and adds, "He knows you're all coming, too. He thinks he's ready. We're not gonna get the jump on him."
"I didn't figure him for an idiot," Dean retorts, nudging Sammy's shoulder with his. "He's gotta know you're not traveling solo anymore. He probably doesn't know just how much shit he's gotten himself in, though. because you lined up with some pretty badass sons of bitches."
"Dean," Ellen scolds lightly.
"Daughters of bitches," Dean amends, and Ellen laughs, though she tries to cut it out as soon as she can, forcing her expression to sour. "It's okay, Sammy. We're ready for whatever he can throw at us."
Sammy nods at the lie, and Dean can feel him shudder once under the arm he's wrapped around his brother's shoulders. Then Sammy says, "Are we? Ready?"
"Missouri's voting to wait until it's almost midnight, to give the demon as little time to manoever as possible," Ellen says, glancing at their hostess, who nods.
"Ava's not gonna cut it," Missouri confirms. "The demon wants Sam, and he's said as much. I don't doubt that he'll kill the girl if we aren't there by midnight, but if we get there much in advance, it gives him too much opportunity to put us off our feet."
"He could be torturing her," Sammy argues.
"Did you see him torturing her?" Missouri asks, and Dean knows from her tone that it's a question she already knows the answer to. Sammy flushes and manages to somehow make it look sullen.
"No," he admits. "But he had her tied up!"
"If he was hurting her, don't you think he'd want you to see?" Missouri presses, and Sammy doesn't answer. It's answer enough. "It's just good sense, Sam. Give him as little advantage as possible, because Lord knows he doesn't need the help. We are gonna have a hard enough time winning this thing. Give me that address."
Bobby hands it to her, and Sammy's eyes follow the exchange petulantly, almost angrily. It's an odd look to see on his brother's face, and Dean feels equal parts uneasy and proud.
On the one hand, there's something about Sammy that makes him think that his brother has large potential stores of anger and darkness, both hidden and encouraged by his past. That in the wrong situation, Sammy could blow up something terrible. That he's going to have to guide him carefully, cautiously, into understanding right from wrong when he's never been taught to develop a moral compass—or even allowed to witness anyone who had a well-developed one in action.
On the other hand, it shows how far he's come, that he feels like he can express that anger in front of people. That he knows that it's okay to be angry, to let people see it, that it won't put him in danger and that he won't be hurt for feeling this. That's easily half of what Dean wants for Sammy—to be able to be a kid, to be a person who's allowed to feel things and not cover it up. To be mad when he's mad and snarky when he's snarky and never feel like he has to hide.
The flip side of that last part is when it happens, Dean will be able to tell Sammy to shut up and stop being stupid without worrying that it'll make him feel worthless. Because he's not worthless. He's fourteen and an idiot, but he's the most important person in the world, and one of these days he's gonna get that through his thick head.
"It's not far from here," Missouri says, her gaze still on the slip of paper. "Twenty minutes at the most. So we'll leave at a quarter past eleven, or a little after that."
"That doesn't give us enough time," Sammy protests.
"It gives us plenty of time," Missouri replies. "Enough time to get in and get Ava, and not so much time that we have to worry too much about keeping that demon's hands off of you. We'll be there before midnight so he won't hurt Ava, and we'll have little enough time that we can outrun him til the time's up on the ritual."
"I won't let him hurt Ava." Sammy's not looking at anybody now, but his words are ground through gritted teeth.
"Sam Winchester, not one of us here wants to see that girl hurt." Missouri folds her arms over her chest and glares down at Sammy, who meets her eyes with a glare of his own. "Nobody's going to let harm come to her, least of all me. She fell asleep under my roof, trusted me to keep her safe. After what's happened to the two of you, that trust is not something I take lightly. We will get her home, Sam. But we're not doing it at the cost of your safety. It doesn't have to be a choice between you."
"We're gonna keep both of you safe," Dean promises softly, his words muffled against Sammy's hair.
Sammy is drawn tight like a violin string for a long moment, but then he lets out a shaky sigh and relaxes, an inch at a time. "Okay," he says. "Okay."
Missouri doesn't say anything in response, just smiles, sad and a little grateful. Then she stands, shakes out her skirt, and says, "It'll have to be sandwiches for dinner. Then we'll double-check the equipment, get some rest, pray, and get ready for tonight. Bobby, Pastor, come help me in the kitchen. Ellen, go see to that girl of yours. John, Ashley, check the wardings around the house. Dean, calm that fool brother of yours down. And Sam, calm that fool brother of yours down." With that, she strides out of the study, with only Ash's pained mutterings about how his name is not Ashley following her.
Within moments, though, everyone is filing out to obey her orders, leaving only Dean and Sammy in the study, still sitting by the armchair.
"If something happens to Ava, it'll be my fault," Sammy says, and Dean is surprised by how quickly he broke the silence—so surprised that it takes him a minute to realize what his brother said.
"No, it won't," Dean retorts, and Sammy huffs and looks away. "Hey. You said it wasn't my fault when you got taken as a baby, right?"
"It wasn't," Sammy says, sounding like he's trying to argue while still agreeing with Dean.
"If that wasn't my fault, this isn't your fault. You didn't call up the demon and say hey, come kidnap my friend, it'd be a great way to spend the weekend."
"You were nine," Sammy insists, pained at Dean's ignorance. "I'm—"
"A big old fourteen," Dean finishes. "Wow. Five years older. I don't see why you're not headin' up your own household already."
"Don't be stupid, Dean."
Dean almost grins at the face Sammy's making. It's that same, bitchy expression he'd seen once or twice before, like god how can you be so dumb, only this time paired with how are we related, which is a nice twist. "Take your own advice, short stuff. Go easier on yourself. You've done everything you can to help her, even stuff that I think is dumber than you can believe. She can't-nobody could expect more. And we're gonna get her."
He expects some kind of sassy retort, but instead all he gets is a whispered "You promise?"
He gathers his brother into his arms. "I promise, buddy."
"I'm scared, Dean," Sammy murmurs, a confession.
"Me too," Dean replies. "It's okay."
"You're gonna be there with me?"
"The whole time," Dean promises. "No matter what."
Sammy lets out a shaky exhale, and says, "That's all I need."
It's like there are two distinct parts of him.
There's Luke, and there's Sam.
Sam is sitting in the study at Missouri Moseley's house, arguing with a room full of Hunters about the logistics of a rescue plan.
Luke is sitting in the back of Sam's head, screaming at him to stop pushing his luck before he gets whipped.
Sam wonders, sometimes, if it's weird that he's managed to transition so quickly into acting like a free person-like a human, a Hunter...if that means that he's going to be okay, eventually, or if he's just putting off the inevitable crash that he's heading for.
Luke suggests that it's the latter.
Because Luke was six when he was sold the first time, and Luke's memories start at four, and he's never been free, not for a day.
Sam knows he has been, that he was born free and lived with his family for four years until he was kidnapped, but he can't remember it, so what does that matter?
Neither Sam nor Luke has ever been free in any way that counts.
So when Sam raises his voice to Dean or John or Ms. Moseley, Luke cowers in his mind, waiting for the punishment that he knows is coming.
Lilim don't get to talk like that to any Hunters, much less Winchesters, or to their friends.
But what about when the Lilim is a Winchester?
Luke can't fathom that idea, and Sam hardly can, either.
Because he can talk himself up about being a Winchester, being Dean's brother, being John's son, being free, being a Hunter, but in his mind he knows he was Lilim three days ago and he's never going to not be Lilim somewhere in his mind.
But when everybody leaves the study, and it's just him and the comforting pressure of his brother's arms, it matters less.
Because Dean cared about him when he was Luke, and Dean cares about him now that he's Sammy.
Dean tore apart the countryside looking for the Lilim boy his dad bought, and is going to knowingly confront the demon that killed his mother because his brother wants him to be there.
If Dean can figure out how he's supposed to feel about his father's Lilim slave turning into his brother, Sam guesses that maybe one day he'll be able to figure it out, too.