As always, thanks so much for your reviews! Many thanks to KToon, Allen92909, whatnosheep, franthehorsegirl, AbbyBahama, and AlxM! Your encouraging comments were helpful and I will continue with this story as I originally imagined.
Warnings for some gore in this chapter. I'm sorry if Dean comes off as an asshole here. I don't have anything against Dean, but I feel as though the show erased his anger too quickly. Sam did majorly fuck up and in my mind, Dean wasn't going to forgive him that quickly.
I'm also really mean to Sam this chapter. So sorry, Sam.
Longest chapter in the story so far.
"Dean!"
The panicked cry had Dean awake and alert in record time, scanning the room for a threat. But the bed next to him, the bed he'd paid for out of mere habit, was empty and untouched.
He ran his hand over his face, trying to remember the dream that had woke him. Nothing concrete came to him. Glancing at the clock, it was just past 11 pm. He considered going out to a bar to distract him from his anxiety, suppressing the thought that usually Sam was here to soothe him from a nightmare. Sam's presence had been invaluable those first few months after he was rescued from Hell. He tried to brush off the apprehension coiling around his stomach but he knew the rest of his slumber would be uneasy. With a sigh of resignation, he buried himself under the covers and tried to forget the world.
The agony that had consumed his body seemed like it was behind a frosted glass—he knew it was there, but it was vague and he couldn't define any sensation. When he mustered the strength to open his eyes, he immediately saw why. Lucifer was leaning against the hood of the Impala, looking up at the night sky, a perfect replica of Dean's easy going wonder.
Sam stood several feet away from him, studying his calm features. He knew he should run but he doubted how productive that would actually be. After almost a minute of silence, Sam sighed and lifted his eyes to the sky as well. He almost gasped with bewilderment. The sky was alight with dancing curtains of ethereal light, the gentle spill of the Milky Way brilliant and still. The green and blue waves were mesmerizing, streaks of red and purple flaring through. It was nature at its most surreal, most awe inspiring, most divine. Entranced as he was, Sam almost didn't hear the soft words.
"Creation is beautiful, isn't it?"
Sam could only nod before the cognitive dissonance reached him and he snapped his attention back to Lucifer. The angel's face was still bent towards the heavens, a slight smile on his lips. "But you want to destroy it," Sam accused.
Lucifer shook his head and looked to Sam. "No, I don't. You misunderstand me. I want to eliminate the scourge that would destroy my Father's incredible work. Humans are eating up all that is good on this planet, the crowned jewel of Dad's creative efforts. He thought you would be responsible, that your sense of stewardship would drive you to protect this paradise. But as I showed him, you are weak, selfish, corrupt. My Father has thrown up his hands in defeat but I won't allow it. I can't allow all this," he glanced up at the delicate choreography of light and color, "to be destroyed because of man's folly."
Sam looked away from Lucifer's earnest proclamation, knowing that in some ways, the devil wasn't wrong. Humans were ruining the environment, trading natural wonderment for personal gain. But that still didn't justify roasting half the planet in Michael and Lucifer's fight.
"You know I'm right, Sam," he continued. "You know creation itself is worth whatever sacrifice is necessary. Why are the fleeting lives of humans more valuable than the infinite majesty of the cosmos? Think about it, it doesn't add up. That's why I need you to say 'yes', Sam, because of what's at stake. Can't you see how valuable you are, how valiant the cause is? You would be doing the right thing."
Sam could feel Lucifer's icy blue eyes boring into him. He knew Lucifer was trying to guilt trip and manipulate him, and goddammit, it was sort of working. But Sam was a Winchester and they were nothing if not stubborn. The longer the silence became, the more aware he became of the faint chirps and buzz of the aurora oscillating above him. He refocused his attention on the luminous, shimmering bands. He wished Dean were here to enjoy this because they had never seen the aurora before.
With that thought came profound grief – they would never see it together – but also newfound determination. Lucifer didn't have the right to take this, the ability to experience the universe as God made it, away from anyone. There was still so much beauty in the world. Humans may be flawed, individuals may be selfish and destructive, but as a group they were trying their best. Lucifer shouldn't have the power to cut God's greatest experiment short. Basking in the soft light, he felt every person should have the chance to behold this exquisite, abstract ballet.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment then gazed into Lucifer's. "No. I don't agree with you. Humanity has done a lot of bad but we've done a lot of good, too, and I will not be a part of wiping it out. My answer is still 'no'."
Lucifer let out a heavy sigh and pushed himself up off the gleaming black metal, the hood denting slightly around his frustrated fists. "How can you feel that way after what those hunters are doing to you?"
Sam's jaw twitched as he turned away. "Like I said, the individuals can be bad but as a whole we're good."
Lucifer nodded knowingly and took the few steps over to his vessel. "Mm-hmm… So you're content to go back to their clutches?"
"I don't have any other choice."
"That's not true…" Sam felt a cold hand on his shoulder and he flinched, twisting his body to escape the angel's touch.
He stepped around Lucifer and put a hand on Baby, allowing the relief to flow through him. It wasn't Dean, but it was the closest he could get to his brother now. He gulped down his fear and turned back to Lucifer, his hands firmly pressed to the reassurance of the cold metal frame. "There's only one option I can live with," he said resolutely.
Lucifer tilted his head slightly, an odd sympathetic smile creeping onto his face. "Living isn't exactly what you're doing right now…" Sam ducked his gaze to the ground. "I told you I was giving you one more chance and you have spurned me once again. I never wanted to hurt you, but my patience is not infinite."
Sam pushed himself tightly against the car as Lucifer stepped into his personal space. "Do—do your worst," Sam whispered, stuttering over his dread.
Lucifer traced a cool finger down Sam's face and the human shied away from the disconcerting touch. "No, Sam, I won't touch you, I don't need to. I'm confident the captors to which you seem so eager to return will do more than enough to change your mind." Lucifer's freezing grasp sealed around Sam's jaw and brought the man's eyes back to the archangel's serious face. "I'll see you soon, Sam, but don't think I'd leave you without a parting gift." With a frigid smile, Lucifer pulled his hand back and snapped his fingers.
Sharp pain in his ribs greeted him as he blinked awake to complete darkness. He ran his hands down his sides, noting the warm stickiness dribbling from a small hole between the bones. It was right where the first arrow had struck him. He felt along the rest of his body and determined everything else was intact. Is this what Lucifer meant? he thought. Is this his 'gift'? To not heal me completely? He groaned in despair as he contemplated that. The way his life was going the past few days, incomplete healings would leave him a mess in no time. But if he could escape…
He looked around the space, searching for the red eyes but instead found swirling yellow staring back at him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a clap rang out and suddenly the large cavern was illuminated. Sam blinked against the harsh change, his gaze taking in the hundreds of bones scattered around him before his eyes focused on the first true bane of his existence.
"My, my, look how my favorite child has grown! Mm! What did I tell you? Demon blood really is better than mother's milk!"
Sam tried to back away, but Azazel merely sauntered forward to match his pace. "You're not here," Sam gasped as he backed himself into a corner. "It's just the withdrawal. You're dead."
Azazel smirked smugly. "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. What does it matter? My blood is inside you, Sam. I am inside you! Here or not, dead or not, you can't escape me."
The shaking human clutched his head in his dirt-stained hands. "No, it's just the withdrawal, just the withdrawal."
Azazel produced a stone-studded whip from his pocket. "Sadly for you, I don't think your brain can tell the difference when I do this…" Flashes of light glinted off the obsidian teeth. "From the depths of Hell itself," Azazel murmured, almost cooing to the fierce looking device. "You're so close, Sam, so close to fulfilling your full potential… Perhaps you just need a bit more encouragement…"
Azazel snapped the whip against the floor and tiny sparks sprung out from the impact. Sam flinched as the angry crack reached his ears. "Ready for round one?" Azazel smiled and lifted his arm.
Gloating laughter mixed with howls of agony drowned out the echo of the whip's impact and the wretched tearing of flesh.
Dean considered the options he had before him. Sam hadn't been in touch for over two days now. He knew it was a bit premature to sound the alarm but the unease from the night before had not dissipated. As long as he knew Sam was okay, he could deal with the radio silence. He decided to head towards Bobby's in hopes the older hunter would have some kind of low-key tracking spell. He was already at the outskirts of town when his phone rang. He snatched his phone from the cup holder, an unknown number lighting up the screen.
"Sam?!"
"Er, no… This is Sheriff Carnegie…"
"Oh, uh, sorry," Dean buried his disappointment and slipped into agent mode. "What's the latest?"
"Well, um, I got a couple of girls at the station here who say Paris Hilton kidnapped their friend."
"Paris Hilton?! As in…"
"Yeah, the Paris Hilton. Not really sure what to make of this, but wouldn't mind your help on this one."
"Sure thing, I'll be there in a few."
He hung up the phone and made a u-turn, putting on hold his concern for his brother.
After interviewing the blabbering teens, Dean knew he had missed something. Begrudgingly, he reexamined the autopsy reports and even got dirty, annoyed that this fell to him in Sam's absence. His frustration evaporated when he found the bizarre objects in the victims' stomachs. He snapped a pic and sent it to Bobby, along with the relevant details.
His appetite surprised him despite his earlier gruesome explorations. He sat in a restaurant reviewing the details of the case when the phone rang.
"Hey, Bobby," Dean answered with a full mouth.
"Working hard or barely working?" Bobby asked.
Dean rolled his eyes as he swallowed. "A man's gotta eat sometime. Find anything?"
"Yeah, actually. They're seeds. From Buergeranum procerae. Plant that can only be found in the Balkans. Tied to rituals for Leshi, a local shapeshifting forest god, who, 'could be appeased only with the blood of his worshippers'."
"Well I guess that explains why the victims were drained. How do you kill it?"
"Decapitation with an iron axe."
"A bit personal but okay."
Bobby paused awkwardly before continuing. "Dean, you sure you don't want some back up? Ghosts are one thing but a god is another. You shouldn't be going into this alone."
Dean sniffed and considered this for a moment before dismissing it. "I'll be fine, Bobby. I mean, c'mon, it's Paris Hilton. What's she gonna do, hit me with her purse?"
"You never liked Sam going off on solo hunts," Bobby countered.
"Yeah, well, times change. You heard from him?"
"You'd be the first to know if I had. Guessing nothing on your end, either."
"No. Starting to get kinda worried. Was actually heading out your way til the Sheriff called me back."
"What do you think I can do that I haven't already?"
"I don't know, Bobby, tracking spell, something?"
"Dean, you know the good ones don't work with just a piece of hair or something. We don't have anything that would work."
"Thought it was worth a shot," Dean replied with disappointment.
"Look, we all know if the kid doesn't wanna be found, you're not gonna find 'im. Just be patient Dean."
"Alright. Thanks for the info. I'll call you when I'm done ganking The Simple Life."
Sam laid balled in the corner, his shredded skin leaking red all around him. Chunks were missing from his body and the agony was all-consuming. Absently he wondered if he not only couldn't die, but if it took more for him to die than the average person. Surely a normal person would have succumbed to shock by now and he envied them. But you're not normal, are you? You never were… He envied the rest of humanity for the one thing humanity seeked to escape: death. What value is eternal life when living is Hell? The whip clawed into him again and he let loose an exhausted shout of pain.
Suddenly, hands were around his tattered shoulders, pulling him back. He searched the dark space above him for those hideous yellow eyes, confused to find bright red glaring back at him.
'Hunter, I heard your screams. How are you alive?' Wiry, crusty hands examined his body. While relieved the lashings were gone, just a remnant of his withdrawal-induced hallucination, new dread filled him as leathery skin slid over his freshly healed frame. 'Malsumis must have returned you to me as a gift! An everlasting torment for you, an everlasting feast for me!' The creature sounded gleeful as it tore into Sam's abdomen for the second time and brought his warm, dripping liver to its mouth. Blood oozed out of the yawning gash in his body as he faded out once again, praying he wouldn't wake up.
As Dean crept through the stupid wax museum, he wondered if he should've taken Bobby up on his offer of back-up. Taking on a god by himself probably wasn't his brightest moment, but it was too late to back out now. A civilian was at risk and it was his duty to save her. He ignored the voice that told him maybe she wouldn't be in danger in the first place if you weren't so arrogant, thinking you solved the case so quickly. Stalking through the construction zone, he turned the corner to find the missing girl tied to a tree. Finding a pulse, he patted her cheek in an attempt to wake her up. He leant the axe up against the tree and began to untie her bounds when he heard a twig snap behind him. He turned right as Paris Hilton's manicured fist met with his face and he passed out.
A fiery ache punctuated the space below Sam's ribs, drawing his focus away from the arrow injury. Feeling his stomach in the darkness, claw marks pierced his abs. Gently probing one of the holes with a finger, he was relieved to discover that while the wounds were large, they were not deep and he was unlikely to bleed out from them. He rolled over and pushed himself up, doing his best to suppress the pain igniting his nerves. Scanning the darkness, no red eyes watched him. Now was his chance to escape.
He moved forward, arms stretched out before him in search of a wall. His feet found substance first as he tripped over something and landed in a pile of hard, rotting gore. Bones and liquifying flesh pressed against him and he recoiled from the overpowering stench. Sliding out of the putrefying matter, he stood again and resumed his search, albeit with more caution. Finding a wall, he placed his right hand on it, remembering that following the right wall of a maze would eventually get you to the exit. Dean had always found Sam's tactic to be too academic, much preferring the focus necessary to remember which ways you had already tried and the satisfaction of figuring it out with skill instead of bland protocol.
He shook his head to dispel the vague memories. They were of no use to him now. He continued to follow the wall, his bare feet placed with trepidation as he sought to avoid holes, rocks, or more bones. Time was meaningless in the cave; he couldn't even remember when he had last seen natural light. A spell of dizziness surged through him and he leaned against the wall. Running a hand over his injuries, they were bleeding slightly, but not enough to cause this! As he thought about it, he realized it had been a long time since he'd eaten or drank anything. Hypoglycemia and dehydration would do him no favors during an escape attempt, but he had to keep going. He began moving again, eventually almost dropping into a trance as he repeated the mantra "one more step, one more step, one more step," as a way to coordinate his wavering strength.
An eternity had passed and he felt no closer to an exit. He trudged forward, his feet numb but surely bleeding. He turned a sharp corner and was suddenly blinded by the brightest light he had ever seen. His hands flew to his face to shield his eyes.
"There you are!" a familiar voice shouted, a voice he was sure he knew, a voice he had tried to forget – Oh God, no, Sam's mind wailed as he sagged to the ground.
Hands were quickly upon him, dragging him up, pulling the young man back towards where he had fled. "No, don't make me go back there," he begged.
"We're not done with the hunt, yet," Tim said coldly. "What can you tell us about the monster?"
Sam said nothing, too in shock looking at the hand he had used as a guide on the wall. It was raw, the skin scraped off by the rough stone and bits of bone poking through. How the hell had he not noticed that?!
"Freak!" Tim barked and paused to kick Sam in the ribs, reigniting the violent pain of his arrow wound.
"I don't know!" Sam cried, his mind struggling through the haze. "Never seen it before," he panted. "Taller than me. Like a skeleton with grey skin on it. Red, glowing eyes. Has talons for feet. Invisible arrows." He wracked his fragmented mind for relevant details. "Said it had dishonored its tribe. Talked about someone called Malsumis."
"Malsumis is an Algonquian god," Reggie murmured.
"What did it want with you?" Tim asked.
"To eat me…" Sam answered weakly. Sam had no desire to mention the monster's other intention.
"Alright, well, that should be enough to figure out what it is. We'll just plop ya back in its den and we'll be back once we know how to kill it."
"What?!" Sam wheezed, aghast. "Why can't you take me with you?!"
"Still gotta be able to track it. I figure it will keep munching on you as long as you keep coming back."
"Please, no…" Sam whispered, letting his head fall in defeat, tears tracking through the grime coating his face.
"Sucks to be a monster," Tim quipped, feeling no qualms about returning the subhuman to a place of torture.
The sound of a blade sharpening roused him from unconsciousness. Paris— no, Leshi, looked up at him. "Oh. I'm so glad you're awake for this. This is gonna be huge."
Dean glanced to the side, seeing that Danielle was still bound, but to his surprise, awake. He winked at her then turned back to the god. "Super. Yeah, I wouldn't wanna miss it." He pulled at his ropes and side-eyed Danielle, hoping she would understand to do the same.
"I mean, I've been stuffing myself with fast food lately. So it's nice to do the ritual right. Prepare a nice, slow meal for a change.
"Nothing wrong with fast food," Dean complained. "But I get ya, sometimes it's nice to have a homemade meal."
"You have no idea. People adored me. They used to throw themselves at me, with smiles on their faces."
"Yeah, I guess these days nobody gives a flying crap about some backwoods forest god, huh?"
Leshi stopped filling her nails and glared at Dean. "No. Not since they cut down my forest and built a Yugo plant."
"March of progress, sister."
She resumed filing her nails, if only for the satisfaction of seeing how the sound was irritating Dean. "For years now, I've been wandering. Hungry. Scared. Scrounging for scraps. So not sexy. But then, the best thing ever happened." She put down the knife and looked up at Dean. "Someone tripped the apocalypse. And I thought, what the hell, I'm tired of watching what I eat. I wanna pig out. So I found this little place. It's awesome. Adoring fans stroll right in the door."
Dean felt a flash of rage and shame but pushed it down. He could deal with his feelings later. "They're not really your fans though," he countered.
"So? They worship Lincoln, Gandhi, Hilton... whatever. I'll take what I can get."
"You know, I gotta tell you, you are not the first god we've met, but you are...the nuttiest."
"No, you, you people, you're the crazy ones. You used to worship gods. But this?" She motioned to her body. "This is what passes for idolatry? Celebrities? What have they got besides small dogs and spray tans? You people used to have old-time religion. Now you have Us Weekly."
"I don't know, I'm more of a Penthouse Forum man myself."
She rose and approached him, hunger in her eyes. "Maybe, but... there's still a lot of yummy meat on those bones, boy."
"Well I hate to break it to you, sister, but, uh... You can't eat me. See, I'm not a Paris Hilton BFF. I've never even seen House of Wax."
"No. But I can totally read your mind, Dean. I know who your hero is. Your daddy. Am I right?" She walked over towards Danielle, turning her back on Dean. He tugged vigorously at his ropes "And this belonged to him. Didn't it? Poor little Dean. All you ever wanted was to be loved by your idol. One distant father figure, coming right up."
As she knelt to grab the handle, his binding finally gave and he tackled her to the ground. Sliding out of his grasp, she kicked him until she was able to sit on his chest and pin him down. She began pummeling his face and his vision started to spin. Despite the swirling, he was able to notice that Danielle was no longer tied to the tree and the axe was missing.
"Cut off her head!" he cried out, hoping Danielle hadn't just bailed. Abruptly the blows ceased and blood spattered his face. Looking up, a terrified Danielle stood panting, the axe drooped to the ground. He weakly held up his thumbs and murmured "great job" before allowing his head to clunk to the floor in relief.
After giving himself enough time to recover, Dean burned the body in a dumpster, dropped off the girl at the station, and gave his report to the sheriff. Pulling into the first motel he saw, he brought the car to a stop in the parking lot, relieved to have the spinning of his vision ease as his surroundings stopped moving as well. He called Sam's number but it went straight to voicemail. Sighing, he dialed the older hunter and was heartened to hear a gruff greeting.
"Heya Dean."
"Hi Bobby."
"How'd the hunt go?"
"Was fucking nuts. I almost got killed by Paris Hilton. I—"
"You mean, like, the blonde twig Paris Hilton?"
"Yeah, Leshi took Paris's form to lure some teenagers. It got the drop on me while I was trying to untie Danielle, the kidnapped girl. Freaking thing had definitely gone off the rails… I was able to slip the rope and attack it, but, uh, I guess you were right about having backup. Luckily, Danielle has incredible aim and took out Leshi will one well-timed swing."
Bobby would have laughed except for the fact that Dean could have died here. "Glad you got it, but no more solo hunts for you, Dean. Too dangerous."
"Sam still isn't returning my calls," Dean challenged.
"I don't know what to tell you. Maybe you shouldn't have been such an asshole."
"Maybe he shouldn't have started the Apocalypse."
"I know. But best you two can do now is to pack it back up."
"Would be damn helpful if I knew where he was…"
"Last we spoke, he was in Garber, Oklahoma, working at a bar."
"A bar, really?" Dean was surprised. Considering all the shit he gave Dean for spending so much time in bars, now he was working at one? Typical, hypocritical Sam.
"It's quiet, low-key work. Can't blame him." Dean could.
"Whatever. Alright, I'm gonna recuperate here for a bit then see if I can find him. Thanks for all the help, Bobby."
"No problem, Dean. Take care."
"You, too."
He hung up and tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Sam was working some regular, boring job instead of doing his part to clean up the mess he made. He found it just made his headache worse so he popped a few painkillers and pushed Sam out of his thoughts completely, focusing instead on the inane babble of gameshow contestants.
The creature was tearing at him once again, gorging itself on his infinitely repairing body. He couldn't help the screams erupting from his throat as a dull blade ripped along his tender flesh. The satisfied moan of the monster suddenly turned to a high pitched wail as it was pressed down against Sam. He opened his eyes and saw bright light illuminating a metal net spread over him and the hideous creature.
Tim and Reggie rushed in, large ear protectors blocking out the insanity-provoking cries of the beast and moved small boulders onto the edges of the net to keep them pinned. The two began piling all the bones in the cavern on top of the net. The creature screamed and wailed, trying to force its way out by breaking the woven metal. Fighting through the creature-induced hysteria, Sam saw an edge lifting up and he pushed himself towards it. He would die from his current wounds but he'd like to avoid whatever fate awaited the blasted thing screeching above him.
Tim moved towards them and the creature stopped struggling, instead dropping down and wrapping its bony arms around Sam, its claws digging into his biceps.
'He is mine,' he heard the creature hiss. 'I will die before you can have my gift!'
"Oh you'll be dying, alright," Reggie responded, lifting a bag over the pile.
"Then he will die with me!" it threatened.
"Kinda the point," Tim responded, emptying a bag over Sam.
There was a rattle of small stones pouring around him and a few fell on his chest. Picking one up, he realized it wasn't a stone at all, but charcoal. Fresh terror seized Sam and his hands flailed urgently at the large rock preventing his escape. Tim laughed and brought his boot down on Sam's head.
"Uh-uh, we're getting a two for one special, here. Don't spoil it."
Something wet sprayed in Sam's face and he immediately recognized it as lighter fluid. "Don't, please!" Sam plead. He couldn't do this, he couldn't die like this, not like his mom, not like Jess…
"Light 'er up!" Tim shouted over the racket. Sam heard the strike of a match and braced himself.
The roar as the fire surged over the pile was not a sound he would soon forget. As the flames licked at his skin, he felt a new anguish consume him as he thought of Jess and the absolute terror and misery she must have experienced in her last moments. And maybe it was the demon blood withdrawal or perhaps the tears blurring his vision, but he swore he saw Jess up on the ceiling of that forsaken mine, her arms reaching out to embrace him, begging to join her flaming body with his, to unite in a cruel menagerie of burning hair, bubbling skin, and boiling tears. He wished he could have died with her all those years ago, he wished he could die with her here and now, but his torment was made all the worse knowing he would wake up again in one piece and she never would.