AN: As promised! Back to Dean's pov.
Warning: this chapter is certainly more graphic than the rest of the story so far. Nothing crazy for a fan of SPN, but I wanted to be sure to warn y'all.
This one's a bit shorter, but I think it covers what's needed. Full disclosure: I'm a little nervous about this one. All feedback is appreciated!
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"Son of a --" Dean made to stand again, and couldn't. "I should've known we couldn't trust you two," he growled.
"Oh hush, Dean." Kay sounded more resigned than ticked off now.
Sam bumped Dean's shoulder in a gesture designed to say, be patient but the word "death" had effectively erased all the patience he'd had. The lockdown (even if the chair was pretty damn comfortable) only pissed him off more.
"Do you ever watch The Weather Channel?" asked Letty, successfully diverting him.
"What?"
At the same time as Dean asked, Sam wanted to know, "why?"
It brought Dean back to their earlier conversation about little Sam and his whys. It would have amused him except for the whole death thing.
"They do these weather simulations when there are just too many variables to have any certainty about what will happen next. They run it a bunch of times to determine the most likely outcome." Letty was warming to her subject.
"Get to the point before we get old...er, Leticia."
"I would if the interruptions stopped, Katherine," responded Letty pleasantly. She pointedly turned back toward the Winchesters. "Human beings' actions are even more unpredictable than the weather. At least, if you want to know a very specific outcome. A stray thought or the tiniest stumble can change everything --"
"We ran some simulations to prove that your bond is more important to you than your lives. What?" Kay's last word was directed at Letty, who was giving her a sour look. "Somebody needed to cut through the bull and it sure wasn't going to be you."
Sam had brightened next to Dean. "Simulations?" He looked so hopeful but Dean's stomach was squirming with the feeling that something really bad was about to happen.
"Simulations," Letty nodded. "Watch. It will...not be pleasant. But I promise it's better than the alternative. "
Kay took over the explanation, her lips tight. The Ibejis really didn't like this, whatever this was. "If we'd enclosed you in an unbreakable, clear room as soon as you came into the clearing and said there was one bullet in the gun and only one of you could leave alive, this is what would've happened."
The Sam and Dean in the clearing were suddenly dressed in jeans and belts and not much else; they were even barefoot. They came to life and that Dean started cursing out the two Ibeji, obviously not able to see the real Winchesters.
"Why are we shirtless?" asked an aggrieved Sam -- the real one. Letty sighed loudly and the doppelgangers gained t-shirts.
The two false Winchesters spent time looking for a way out and studiously avoiding the gun on the ground in the center of the room.
Dean saw the second the other Dean realized that there wasn't a way out. "Don't watch, Sammy," he ordered under his breath as it...he...suddenly dove for the weapon.
Other Sam spun with an elbow out, but was too slow. Dean grabbed the gun, said, "I'm sorry, Sammy," and blew his own brains out.
Dean felt a sudden, horrific pain in his real head, just as suddenly gone, but it didn't stop him from seeing the look on the blood-spattered face of the Sam in the box. Or hear the choked sound of the one next to him.
Fortunately, the scene reset quickly and completely. Dean didn't look at Sam, staring with hatred at their doubles. Seeing it sucks but beats the hell out of living it, he reminded himself.
"We did it again," said Letty softly. "And this happened."
Everything started off exactly the same. But this time, Sam spun a little faster and his thrown elbow grazed Dean's temple. As a result both brothers reached the gun at the same time. They rolled over once, and a deafening shot went off.
Dean saw the superfine red droplets explode out of Sam's lower back and wasn't surprised when the real thing hunched forward holding his gut.
The other Dean lowered the stricken man to the ground, agony on his face. The real Sam panted lightly, but Dean couldn't look away from the tableau in front of him. He dropped a hand to Sam's neck, knowing that it really sucked, though not as much as actually getting shot.
"I'm okay," Sam wheezed as the other Dean tried to smile for his brother. That Sam was already dead, his body just didn't know it yet. He...oh god...gurgled and the scene thankfully reset.
Sam sighed in relief and one of the women said something Dean didn't catch. At that moment he hated them as much as he'd ever hated anyone in his life.
This time, Sam went for the gun first and it went off harmlessly directed at a wall while they wrestled over it.
A sad, sad voice explained that they'd tried a different way -- one air tank with an oxygen mask and the room air running out.
Some of these results were expected -- Dean getting Sam in a chokehold, then punching him to ensure he stayed unconscious, and gently fitting the mask over his face. Worse than the feeling of choking was watching Sam wake up, tear off the mask, and use his remaining air to try to resuscitate Dean. Some were unexpected -- in one iteration, Sam ducked away from the fight and deliberately stomped down on the mask and hose, destroying them. It seemed to take forever for those brothers to die together, each struggling to keep his eyes open until the other was gone. The phantom pain in Dean's chest has barely gone before the fake brothers were fighting over a goblet of poison.
It didn't get better. Watching (and feeling) himself die. Watching one Sam die while the other suffered next to him. Watching himself struggle and fight and fail.
Guns.
Knives.
Poisons.
Drowning.
Suffocation.
Nightmare, reset.
Eventually, Sam began to weep quietly, brokenly next to Dean, who desperately wished he could look away from the scene to comfort him. His own face was wet and he thought even those cursed Ibeji were crying, but he couldn't turn his head to look.
It was bête noire. It was almost Hell. Dean started to look forward to the physical pain, partly because it meant that Sam probably wasn't suffering (physically, anyway), but more for the distraction value.
Worst were the times his double inadvertently killed the other Sam. Was this what it had been like at the mystery spot for Sam, he wondered, as his brother whispered a litany Dean couldn't make out.
It went on and on and on until Dean wasn't sure if he remembered a time before this. Couldn't remember why they'd come or what they'd been trying to accomplish. Wasn't sure that he'd ever gotten out of Hell and away from Alastair. But he had, and Sam was out, too, and okay, as long as this didn't smash the wall protecting his mind.
For a moment, worry drowned out everything else. Then the Sam in front of him was literally drowning -- in his own blood -- and the thread of reality slipped away again.
Sometimes there was a small reprieve as the doppelgangers worked to try to find a way out. But always, at least one of them died.
As the Sam in front of him slowly bled out, writhing in pain and he -- no, pretend Dean -- frantically, uselessly worked to save him, Dean realized that he had a way to finally end this. His shotgun lay in his lap. And his handgun was still at his back.
The figures in front of Dean reset again and the fingers of his right hand, his real right hand, twitched. He wanted that gun.
But what was under his other hand stopped him. His left hand was fisted in something soft so tightly that his knuckles hurt, but he could just feel a heartbeat. The rise and fall of breaths. And a big hand gripped Dean's shoulder hard enough that it was certainly leaving bruises.
Sam. Real. Alive.
Dean would not leave him.
The horrors continued. Then there was a sound and everything disappeared, from the figures to the chairs, and Dean crashed to the ground. The sound had not been loud, but the agony in it ripped through Dean like a frigid wind.
It was the sound he'd made at Cold Oak. And Stull Cemetery. The sound he'd heard as hellhounds tore at his chest. The sound he'd heard over and over and over again as the death scenes played out in front of him.
It galvanized him, and he rolled off the warm body beneath his head and one shoulder, getting his hand to unclench only with great effort.
"Sam, it's okay. Sammy, we're alive. Sammy?" He was begging, without the words quite coming, for Sam to give him the same reassurances. He was facing Sam from only a few inches away, but in the sudden darkness, he couldn't really see him, and even the sound of breathing wasn't good enough.
"I -- I'm good, Dean," said Sam hoarsely, understanding somehow.
Dean felt like he'd been rode hard and put up wet, and his elbow collapsed beneath him so he lay flat on his back in the cool grass.
The women were gone, and the light, and everything else, and Dean was sure that bore contemplation. He needed to know if everything they'd been through had even convinced the old bitches to help them. He needed to figure out why he felt as if giant hands had wrung every bit of energy and moisture out of him. He needed to find out why Sam sounded so hoarse and make sure he wasn't hurt. Make sure Death's wall was still keeping all of Sam's marbles organized. Get them both the hell out of there and back to the car, and deo volente into a bed.
But for right this moment, it was enough to lie on the ground and listen to Sam breathing next to him.
So for now, there they stayed. Lying side by side beneath the stars.
Just breathing.
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Blondie20000: What a lot of trouble that would be! Maybe we could get a couple of Barb's sisters to come along too! lolol I wonder if you still like Letty and Kay now...
BruisedBloodyBroken: Bwahaha! Nope, none of that in my stories! That I can promise.
sylvia37: I bow to your gift of understatement!!
sfaulkenberry: I'm just way too tickled that you like my ladies! Though...you may not feel that way any more... I love your thoughts on my salty girls. Don't give up on 'em yet. *g* Your comments just make me smile so much.
Lena: I had to play Moves Like Jagger today and giggle through it like a teenager! Sam is a brooder, isn't he? I love your insights and always, always pay attention to what you like about the stories! Man, I hope you don't hate me after this chapter. This story started out so fun...eek.
Kat: I put the poor boys through the wringer...I admit it. And yes, while I enjoy writing about these deities, I would be very nervous around them. They do have good taste in men though. lol I do love the image of Eshu as a childish emperor!
printandpolish: I know, right?!?! But it may surprise you yet (I hope)!
Timelady66: I'm so pleased that you like where I put this. I wanted to at least touch on so much of what you mentioned. And yes, in Bobby's place, I'd be more than a little nervous around Sam! I think one of the nice things about fanfiction is the freedom to address things the (wonderful) show couldn't or didn't. Thanks for your kind and thoughtful (and helpful!) comment.