Thanks to Allen92909, KToon, and AlxM for your reviews. I know the beginning of the last chapter was horrible and I hope people don't hate me for it. I just knew it would tear Sam apart to think it was his fault.
Allen92909, after reading your review, I made the (possible) mistake of looking for and reading other stories like this. I found The Weapon by ALElizabeth and Te Deum by O'MalleytheAlleyCat. I enjoyed them a lot but probably shouldn't have read them before finishing my fic. I think our ideas are different enough but some things do overlap and now I feel kind of lame writing this story. I think I'll still continue but I'm not sure if I should go with my original ideas or modify them so my story isn't repetitive.
KToon, you're not too far off with the Gashadokuro guess. I actually incorporated it into this chapter, so thanks for that!
AlxM, I wouldn't worry about Lindsey for right now... Sammy is in much more dire straits...
Warning: A bit of gore in this chapter but nothing extreme.
Dean would be the first to admit that a day spent around classic cars and picking up women was time well spent. But it just wasn't quite as much fun when he didn't have someone to joke around with or anyone to ridicule him for his proclivities. The interaction with the wax museum owner had been hella awkward on his own. He sighed, suppressing the nagging thought of 'I miss Sam.' Despite the affection currently making his heart tender, he had to remind himself that Sam wasn't really his Sam anymore. He hadn't been for a while. Sam picked a demon over him and in doing so, had started the Apocalypse. He—
His phone rang and he flinched, refocusing on the empty room around him. Grabbing the phone, he half-hoped, half-dreaded it was his brother. Neither emotions were warranted.
"Hey Bobby, what's up?"
"Just callin' to see how you're getting on with the hunt. Figured since you're solo, you might want another set of eyes… or, well, ears…"
Dean ground his teeth at the reminder of the separation but chose to ignore it. "Well, seems like famous ghosts are ganking their superfans. The guy whose head was sliced open by the windshield? Huge James Dean fan. Had a replica of Little Bastard." Bobby whistled in appreciation. "Another guy got shot in the head by Abraham Lincoln, who posthumously offed his biographer."
"Huh. Weird, but okay. You find out what's causing it?"
"Yeah. Turns out Canton, Ohio has a wax museum, owned by quite the earnest curator. Guy has items from the real people, like James Dean's key chain, Lincoln's hat, and Gandhi's glasses."
"You're thinking ghosts? What's makin' 'em kill people though?"
"Why so kill-crazy? Ah, maybe the apocalypse has got 'em all hot and bothered."
"Maybe... Armageddon does seem to be stirring up a lot of stuff."
"Yeah, well, we all know whose fault that is," his anger winning out over his earlier sentiment.
"Dean!" Bobby chastised.
"Well I'm sorry, but it's true."
"The poor kid's miserable. He knows what he's done and he's sorry. He doesn't even trust himself to hunt. It's kind of sad."
Dean winced. "I know, Bobby. It's even worse than that. When was the last time you talked to him?"
"Few days ago. He reported some omens and wanted someone to take care of it cuz he didn't think he was up to it. Couldn't find any hunters in the area so I passed it on to Ellen and hoped she could."
"And nothing since?"
"No. Why?"
"I talked to him middle of the night two nights ago and he had some pretty alarming news… He said Lucifer visited him in a dream and told him he was Lucifer's true vessel."
"What the—" There was a loud bang and muffled cursing along with scuffling sounds. "Dropped the phone. He said he's Lucifer's vessel?!"
"Yup."
"And you believe him?"
"Had the misfortune of having it confirmed by Zachariah when he sent me five years into a future where Sam said 'yes' and the Apocalypse ruined the world, and then by Cas."
"Wait, what did Zachariah do?!"
"I don't know… Not even sure it was real. Point is, Lucifer is after Sam and he's out there on his own. I've tried calling him past two days but he hasn't answered."
"That's not like him."
"I know, it's not…" Dean paused, unsure if he should tell Bobby the full story.
"But…" the older man drawled, urging Dean to spill the beans. Bobby knew him too well.
"But I, uh, I may have said some shit when he told me about Lucifer…" Dean admitted meekly.
Bobby's concern morphed to anger almost instantly. "Goddamit Dean, what did you say to your brother?" Dean ran his hand through his hair, not wanting to repeat his cruel words. "Answer me, boy."
Dean inhaled as if bracing for the verbal lashing he knew he would receive. "I basically told him I didn't care that he was Lucifer's vessel, that we were better off apart. Said he should pick a hemisphere. I kinda told him to stay away for good because we weren't ever gonna be what we were before… I said the bad guys always use us against each other because we make each other weaker. I told him to fuck off, but in a lot more words."
He closed his eyes as he heard Bobby inhale and exhale deeply, the older man steadying his temper. The string of curses Bobby emitted was colorful and provocative. Dean would have been impressed by the creativity if it hadn't been directed at him. "No wonder he's not calling you back. Probably thinks you're just gonna chew him out some more. And based on your comment earlier, I'd say he'd be right! He's made mistakes, Dean, but so have you. You don't see Sam throwing it in your face."
"Well…" He thought about what Sam had said when he was under the spell of the siren. 'You're too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. Whining about all the souls you tortured in hell. Boo hoo.'
"Well what?"
"I… I was just thinking about what he said when he was affected by the siren."
"Really? Because you were all hugs and kisses too? I seem to recall you wanting him to snuggle real close with that axe."
Dean shivered at the memory. "You're right, you're right. Just wish he'd pick up the damn phone."
"You and I both know how Sam works. He just needs some time. He'll call you when he's ready."
"Hope so. Gimmie a shout if you hear from him."
"Will do."
"Thanks, Bobby. Talk to you later."
"Take care, Dean."
Dean ended the call and forced a lungful of air out his pursed lips. This sucked. He shook himself loose and focused on gathering the necessary items to burn the ghosts.
As he picked the lock to the back entrance, he considered whether he should have some back up. He scrunched his nose in irritation. Who was he kidding? He was Dean Winchester! He didn't need to hunt with someone, he just preferred it. He'd done just fine on his own while Sam was at college and his dad was busy tracking the yellow-eyed demon. Dean was damn good on his own, too. Sure, it was nice having Sam there sometimes, but more often than not, he was saving the gangly kid from danger, not the other way around. He didn't need Sam. He was sure of it.
Returning to the motel after an uneventful salt and burn, he slipped off his shoes and flopped onto the bed. That was easy, he thought, but it was quickly followed by Sam's voice chastising 'too easy.' He scoffed and sat up, pouring himself a generous volume of amber liquid as he flicked on the TV. An untold amount of time passed as he nursed the whiskey to suppress his emotional discomfort. Something felt off, probably something about the hunt. Sam would've known what is was… he thought with frustration. He sighed and rolled onto his side, drifting to sleep as he vaguely wondered what Sam was up to.
The crack of the club against his ribs was the last thing he remembered. He had flashes of consciousness as he was dragged through the underbrush by a cool bony hand around his ankle. He knew he should try to escape but he had nothing left with which to fight. What was the point any way? Whether this monster killed him or Tim and Reggie did, the outcome was the same: he would be rebuilt ad infinitum, until he said 'yes.'
The sound of breaking sticks and crunching gravel faded and was replaced with soft sliding and echoes. Opening his eyes, he realized Tim must have been right, the thing lived in the now-defunct mine. As he slid down corridor after corridor, he understood why the tracking device would be needed. Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to find his way out even if he did break free.
Periodically the glowing eyes would turn back to look at him and he would instinctively shy away from their stare. The being wasn't only a monster, it was wrong, evil. He wracked his memory for what it could be but nothing came to mind. He vaguely remembered something with a similar appearance depicted in one of Bobby's books, but the text had been in Japanese, so it wasn't much use to him now.
The creature finally came to a stop and turned its full attention to Sam. Laying on the floor, Sam was surrounded by complete darkness except for the pair of red dots approaching his face. The grotesque body slid and popped as it arranged itself over Sam's prone form. Despite not appearing to have lungs, it buried its head into the crook of Sam's neck and took a deep breath.
An invasive force pressed against his groggy mind. 'I know not what to do with you, hunter,' the thing whispered in his head. It paused momentarily, as if weighing its options. 'Do I eat you or turn you?'
"Turn me?!" Sam gasped, attempting a feeble escape.
The monster shrieked and Sam froze involuntarily. 'Yes... We seem to be kin...' it replied almost fondly. Sliding its hand under Sam's shirt, it rubbed softly around the arrow wounds, eliciting whimpers of discomfort from Sam. 'The poison... it's turning you. We are similar. You are ripe for transformation.'
Sam's pain-addled brain was turning a million miles an hour as he tried to keep up. He could feel a difference in the skin around the punctures, it was taut and leathery. The patches of disgusting skin had blossomed out across his body. Apparently, somehow, he could become one of these creatures instead of just being dinner. He didn't know which thought terrified him more.
"Why me?" he asked, fearful of the answer.
'The power senses your betrayal. You have dishonored your tribe and been left to die...'
Sam's throat constricted at the concise statement, knowing it was true. Clawed pressure crept down his body from his head and Sam couldn't even tell if it was physical or not. 'You are a great warrior. Together we will make a great tribe of our own, warriors to defend the future in these uncertain times.'
Two shriveled fingers pressed against his eyes while the other hand slipped inside his mouth, forcing its way down his throat. He gagged and tried to scream, but all the moisture was leaching out of his body into his captor as foul pieces of skin caught on his teeth and disintegrated on his lips. The creature was in up to its gnarly, protruding elbow when it began to chant in a language Sam did not recognize.
The hand over his eyes moved over his heart and the creature let out a deranged scream. As if drawn from the surrounding darkness itself, heavy inkiness sealed around him like a lead blanket and his desire to escape drained out of him. Something inside him shifted under the weight and he felt his humanity receding as if it were nothing but a wispy fog struck by burning midday sun. He was powerless to stop the tide of him rushing away from him, he could only stare into the red eyes penetrating every aspect of his being and robbing him of what made him good and whole.
Abruptly, he was dropped onto the stone ground from several feet in the air, though he had no recollection of being lifted up. The painful rays streaming from the back of his head were pierced by the creature's voice, disdain spilling out and infiltrating Sam's disoriented mind.
'I can see the stain on your spirit, hunter, and it shocks even me,' it hissed, disgust edging into its raspy voice. Hollow pops and the grind of bones echoed around the space as the creature stood. 'You are not deserving of the power which Malsumis could bestow. You are the one who would bring the end for creation. I think it is best for all that I devour you and sate my hunger with your life force.'
Sam had no time to react to the monster's damning assessment before sharp claws dove into his flesh and pried open his rib cage with numerous angry cracks bouncing off the walls and finding a home in his ears. His screams were short-lived as his lungs were sliced open and blood filled his airway. Blood soaked hands tore away at the skin and muscle covering his abdomen and his brain screamed for the release of unconsciousness or death.
Tendrils of weight held onto him, keeping him awake. 'No, you must suffer. Malsumis must see. He will reward me for destroying the one who enables the curse of the universe. You are a plague and you must be annihilated!"
With a few vigorous tugs in his gut, something was lifted away from him. It must have been held aloft because warm drops of blood were splattering all over his tear-streaked face. Insanity-provoking wails emanated from the thing and Sam was driven to clasp his hands over his ears. It was no use though, for the screaming came from within his mind. His guttural cry joined that of the creature as a decrepit hand plunged into his chest and tore out his heart, the last sound on his lips an urgent and terrified "Dean!"
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