Disclaimer, Summary & Ratings: See Chapter 1

THE WHOLE OF THE MOON

Chapter 3

Sam held the dagger in his hand, his fingers curled around the handle with his thumb lightly balancing the top of the hilt, loosely but confidently, just like Dean had taught him to. Too many people gripped a dagger like they were afraid it would turn and bite them if they eased their grip; a knife should flow through the air with sibilant, glinting grace, not be used in jerky slashes like someone trying to hack a face into an unripe Hallowe'en pumpkin. The faint light spilling in through the roof holes burnished the blade edge momentarily to bright silver as Sam slowly brought up his arm like the limb was an old factory service elevator.

Dean didn't close his eyes, or turn his head away. He didn't scream at Sammy to wake up or yell at him to snap out of it or beg him not to.

Because Sammy needed this.

"'Just because someone is evil, doesn't mean they aren't telling the truth,'" Abraham Lincoln had once pointed out. And Chuckles had no reason to lie. The demon had the upper hand; the demon was in complete control. Even if Dean was suddenly set free with a single bound right now, his weary arms and numb from lack of circulation hands would be unable to do anything up to and including break his slump to the floor, and even if he attacked, there was no way to guarantee that destroying Chuckles while he clearly had some sort of mind-control mojo going on over Sammy wouldn't kill his brother as a by-product, and that was not going to happen.

So there was no necessity for the demon to consolidate its power, or stall for time, or try to regain the advantage by telling a fanciful lie that Sam needed Dean's blood to ease the pain of his visions and even increase his abilities without any detriment to Sam himself.

You're my brother, and I'd die for you…did Sammy really think that grass only grew on his side of the fence? Sammy needed what Dean alone could provide, didn't he realise Dean would have willingly taken the blade to his own wrists if he'd known?

Besides, he had the satisfaction of knowing that Chuckles wouldn't outlive him by very long…With his peripheral vision as the slowly rising dagger seemed to expand and fill his horizon, Dean saw Chuckles standing a foot away from them on the right, looking more animated than he'd been the entire time…flushed cheeks, swollen and slightly parted lips and bright, glassy eyes…Dean had seen the expression of post-orgasmic completion in the mirror often enough to know the dude was getting off on watching this. But Dean had faith in Sammy's whammy, and in that Chuckles had vastly underestimated both the power of Sammy's will and the strength of his mind. Once Sammy had Dean's blood inside him his mystical abilities would explode like the sun going nova and Dean believed one hundred percent that his enraged brother's first act would be to make Chuckles deep-fried and crispy.

The dagger paused when it was level with Dean's left pectoral, and stayed motionless as if Sammy had forgotten the rest of the instructions.

"Sammy, it's alright," Dean shut out Chuckles and looked at his brother, only at his brother. "Everything's okay. I swear, Sammy, just relax; just do what you need to do."

He was unable to prevent his breath hitching as the tip of the dagger touched his skin just below his left nipple. For a second it dug in and Dean clenched his teeth in what he knew would a futile attempt to save Sammy from hearing his agonised screams. But the cut…just stung.

Sam slowly drew the knife down in a shallow cut, a diagonal line from Dean's upper left torso down to his right hip bone. A very narrow trickle of blood welled slowly in the superficial, stinging cut and smeared the lower curving edge of the dagger as Sam lifted it away. His face still that of an automaton, Sam reached out and slid the pads of his first and second left-hand fingertips down the line of the cut, lifting his fingers away and looking at them for a second before bringing them to touch his lips hesitantly.

Chuckles laughed in delight. "Oh my, you will be an eager workhorse, my pet. Ah, that I could let you toy with him for hours, but time and tide wait for no man…or me either, at least right now. So…finish him, little pet, now."

"Its okay, Sammy," Dean smiled at him gently. "I'm here, and it's alright. You know I love you, bro'; just let it happen."

Admittedly he wasn't looking forward to the next – the last – few minutes of his life, but that didn't matter, because this was for Sammy. Dean swallowed convulsively, his head pressing back into the uneven limestone, unable to look away as he watched his brother raise the dagger again so the curved cutting edge was almost resting on Sammy's left shoulder, feeling his own stomach and abdomen muscles helplessly tense as his brother swept the knife down at him…Love you, little brother…

Continued in Chapter 4…

© 2006, Catherine D Stewart