Author's Note:
This is the first time I've written these characters, so please be patient with me. I'm still trying to get their voices down. This chapter is just some basic plot setup. I tried to avoid directly transcribing the episode dialogue, but otherwise it's too much of a divergence from the show just yet. We'll get there.
Anyway, enough rambling, second chapter should be up soon :) I'm trying a new adhd medication so my writing has been a little faster. Till next time!
It Begins
Dean was still trying to process everything that had happened in the last 24 hours.
Lucifer, the Devil, was free. Escaped from Hell and walking the earth, ready to bring about the End of Days with a capital E.
Standing in that church, clinging to his brother, Dean had been so sure he was finally about to meet the bloody end he'd always known was coming for him. He figured it was fitting that it'd be at the hand of the biggest bad there was.
There was so much light and noise. It was like the first time Cas had tried to speak to him, but at the same time so much worse.
The light was getting brighter. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, set his jaw, braced himself. Held onto Sam. It was too loud.
(And yet somewhere in the cacophonous, ear-bleeding whine, Dean could almost have sworn he heard a voice, celebrating (freedom))
And then:
"What the devil is your name?"
What?
There were sounds. The ambient background of a public space, a quiet speaker playing Looney Toons reruns.
But that couldn't be right, because they were definitely just huddled at the edge of a Hellmouth about to be deep-fried by the granddaddy of all evil.
Dean opened his eyes,
"What the hell?"
"I don't know" came Sam's voice from his left.
Now they were on a plane. A plane that was currently flying over Ilchester, if the man on the intercom was to be believed. Ilchester, where the Hellmouth was.
Just as Dean was about to say something, anything to Sam, because they definitely had stuff to talk about, the captain shouted over the intercom and the plane veered sharply.
Dean watched a pillar of light erupt from the little church beneath them as he scrambled to secure his oxygen mask.
God, he hated planes.
The race to escape the frenzied airport and find their way to the Impala had tied Dean's tongue for a little while, but now they were in the car, headed as fast as they could away from the church.
Yet even though the car was quiet and they had all the time in the world to talk, Dean couldn't seem to think of anything to say.
He was on edge, practically vibrating, like there were ants under his skin. Sam, on the other hand, apparently had no such problem.
"Dean. Look, I-"
"Don't," Dean said, he was going to continue, but Sam… Sam had flinched when Dean interrupted, and that just wasn't right. Even at his most royally pissed, Dean would never do anything to actually hurt him. Sam knew that, right?
"Sam, listen. What happened tonight was bad, but we'll deal with it. We're alive, and right now that's what I'm gonna focus on. We'll worry about the rest once we have a chance to regroup and a plan."
"What now then?" asked Sam.
Dean was silent for a moment.
"Well first things first I guess, how'd we end up on Soul Plane?" he finally said.
"I don't know, Angels, maybe? It'd make sense, you know, beaming us out of harm's way?" Sam suggested
"I guess," Dean answered, "but whatever, that's the least of our worries right now. If we want answers, we need to find Cas."
"Yeah" Sam replied, almost hesitantly.
Dean side-eyed his brother. Again Sam's body language was all off. He was stiff, defensive, and almost resigned. It was sending up so many red flags that Dean had lost count.
This was Sam when he was afraid of something, but there was no one and nothing in the Impala but the two of them. Something was very, very wrong.
"Sam," there was the flinch again, "Sammy, c'mon, talk to me."
"Dean, don't."
"I'm serious Sam you're not right."
"Dammit Dean what do you want me to say? I'm sorry I let the Devil out of Hell? I'm sorry I chose a demon over you? What, do you want me to beg for mercy?!"
"Mercy? Sam what the hell are you talking about?"
"You made it perfectly clear that I'm beyond saving. I don't see why else we'd still be talking otherwise."
"Sam I don't know what you're talking about, but if we need to… work something out, you've gotta be straight with me." he shuddered at the implication, but something was seven different kinds of not right, and Dean was willing to table his 'no chick flick moments' rule just this once.
"So you're not-" Sam cut himself off.
"Not what, Sam?"
Sam turned to his window and seemed to steel himself before trying again.
"You're not going to… to 'put me down'?"
Dean was pretty sure he got whiplash from how quickly he turned to look at Sam. He had to fight to regain control of the Impala before swerving to a stop at the side of the, thankfully deserted, road.
"I'm not going to what?!" Dean all but shouted. The buzzing energy was back.
"It's just that in your voicemail-"
"Voicemail, Sam I only remember leaving one voicemail and it was about as far from a death threat as you can get!" but then again Zachariah had said Sam needed a push…
Oh that bastard was dead. Angel blade to the smarmy-ass face dead.
"Listen Sammy, I'm pissed, alright? Believe it or not it hurts to watch your brother choose a demon over you."
"Dean-"
"No Sam let me finish. I'm pissed, and it hurt, but nothing could ever make me want to kill you. Never." and dammit Dean wanted to kick himself when he saw Sam's shock at that. Zachariah might've sent the dirty voicemail, but it was on Dean for making Sam believe it could ever be true.
"'Sides," he admitted, because he had to say something else, "I'd be lying if I said that demon bitch didn't have me fooled for a while there too. And that was without the excuse of demon juice screwing with my judgement."
Sam just looked at him. His expression was mostly unreadable, but there was a hint of something sappy and maybe a little sad that made Dean want to vomit.
After a minute Sam let out a sigh and looked back out the window,
"Guess we should head to Chuck's then."
Dean huffed and pulled back onto the road. He should probably be tired, but somehow he was still anxious and jumpy, still buzzing with that weird restless energy.
This was going to be a long drive.
