Chapter 21! I thought about splitting up this behemoth but thought the loyal readers of this crazy story deserved this turning-point chapter in its entirety. Probably my favorite chapter so far. Because I'm a bad person. Tee hee.
It may be a few weeks before I update again because very little of the next chapter is written and it contains some difficult scenes. Plus I need to focus on writing my thesis, manuscript, and other "important" work things.
I know some of you are (so very patiently) waiting for the comfort and revenge parts of this story. It will happen, I promise you (like I would let Tim and Reggie get away with this!), but I reckon the majority of it will be in the sequel, for which I already have some plans.
Thank you SO MUCH to Allen92909, Pie Love Luci, Souless666, Guest 1, CBloom2, whatnosheep, and Guest 2 for your continued readership and reviews! And Guest 2, thank you so much for the compliment of staying up all night to read this! I never thought I'd achieve that! And yes, Lucifer does resurrect and repair Sam, but he chooses how much to heal each time. As the story progresses, he heals less and less in hopes of forcing Sam to such extreme depths of misery that he'll give in and say 'yes'. So to me, a starving Sam doesn't seem too far-fetched.
Dean hurtled down the highway, not even bothering to check the speed limit. He was beyond caring about such simple, mundane things as human laws. If it had been up to him, he would have obliterated those monsters who claimed to be hunters. Especially Raylan. Dean's eyes burned as he recalled Sam's near-dead gaze, his body mutilated almost beyond recognition. The hunters' amusement turned his stomach. How could a person do such a thing? The only allowable excuse was something from his own experience: if it was be tortured or torture someone else, as it was in Hell, and the person finally snapped and began torturing. But that wasn't the case here. These people were tearing his brother apart for fun. What else had Sammy endured? His mind wandered back to Hell and he abruptly forced himself to stop thinking. He turned the music up as loud as it would go and solemnly drove on.
Dean burst into Bobby's house without knocking, shouting his name.
The older hunter was in the kitchen, spoon laying idle in his cereal, abandoned for the sawn-off shotgun he was currently aiming at Dean.
"Goddammit Dean! You know better than to barge in here, unannounced! I coulda shot you, boy!"
Dean waved away Bobby's reprimand. "Whatever, Bobby, it doesn't matter. I got a solid lead on Sam."
"What? Where?"
"There were these hunters at the Roadhouse—Lindsey overheard them. Tim and Reggie have been renting Sam out to whoever wants to beat the shit out of him. This one hunter showed me a picture of Sam, strung up like a twenty point buck. They—"
"Wait, slow down!" Bobby shoved his food away and pushed his wheelchair back from the table so he could face Dean properly. "They're letting people beat him?" his voice was tight.
"It's so much worse than that. According to these hunters, because Sam is Lucifer's vessel, Lucifer won't let him stay dead. So whenever these guys kill him, Sam comes back to life so they can start all over. Killing him has become a sport."
At that, Bobby scrambled for the trashcan and threw up. Dean waited patiently, his mind oddly numb to the terrible news he was delivering. Perhaps his heart was too worn out. He handed Bobby a kitchen cloth. He wiped his mouth then grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured two generous glasses. Both hunters downed the volume in gulp before refilling.
"Can you tell at all how Sam is?"
"Probably not great!" Dean retorted and Bobby glared at him.
"You know what I mean. Is he even conscious this is happening to him?"
Dean shrugged. "His eyes were open and staring at the camera, so he has some sorta awareness. I don't know. But the exciting thing is that they're having another one of these 'cage matches', as they call them, in Cedar Rapids tomorrow night."
"What's your plan?"
"Cas and I go, at minimum, we zap in, snag Sam, get out. Best case, we do that and we kill all those sons of bitches."
Bobby knew better than to argue with Dean when this degree of fury burned in the very core of his being. But he also knew Sam was at stake, too. "All that matters right now is getting Sam, don't you think? Last thing you want is for Tim and Reggie to slip away with him 'cause your priorities weren't in order."
"My priorities are in order!" Dean shouted as he slammed down the near-empty glass. "They have tortured and killed my brother countless times and you want to just let them go!"
"No, I don't! I want to see Sam alive on this couch before we go after them! Revenge without having Sam back means nothing to me! And if you were thinking straight and weren't so damn overtired and thinking with your trigger finger, you'd see that too!"
Dean's eyes suddenly ducked to the floor and Bobby noticed the clear shift in Dean's temperament.
Silence reigned for few moments as the gears turned in Bobby's head. "Or are you just scared that what you're gonna get back isn't gonna be Sam?"
Dean slowly brought his gaze to meet Bobby's and the older hunter didn't miss the moisture building there. "How can he be? How can anyone go through that and not be messed up?"
Bobby sighed. "I'm sure he will be. But that's what we're here for. If you can handle Hell, he can handle this."
"Yeah, because I've handled it so well," Dean scoffed.
"But you're still standing here, fighting, and that's what matters. I don't see no reason Sam can't and won't do the same. But only if you're there backing him up. So I want you to go take some sleep aids and catch up on a few hours of rest so we can plan this out when you're a little more level-headed."
"Bobby—" Dean protested.
"I'm not saying it twice." Bobby folded his arms and regarded Dean with a stern look.
"Fine!" Dean huffed then headed off towards the second floor, grumbling about being put in timeout but mentally grateful for the forced sleep.
Bobby, Dean, and Castiel had planned the rescue mission earlier that morning before Dean drove the five hours to Cedar Rapids. Dean parked on the street two blocks away from the address he'd copied from Raylan's phone. A quick Google search had revealed it to be a dumpy bar in a rundown part of town. A ten second phone call brought Castiel to his side. The two set off from the car, Dean armed with a variety of weapons and Castiel armed with celestial intent. Even from a block away, they could hear the loud laughs and garrulous conversation of inebriated hunters loitering outside the bar. The jovial atmosphere only served to anger Dean further and he clenched his fist around his 1911. Just another few hundred feet and these bastards are dead! So caught up in his own fantasies of revenge, he failed to notice Castiel panting and groaning and quickly outpaced him.
"Dean," the angel gasped, and he stopped, turning to look back.
"Cas? What's wrong?" He trotted back to his friend.
"I can't go much further. There is significant warding present."
"Angel warding?"
"Yes. It is unlike any I have encountered before."
Dean regarded him in silence for a few moments before clenching his jaw in irritation. "So what you're saying is that I'm on my own."
"Unless you can find a way to inactivate all the wards, unfortunately, yes."
"Dammit!" Dean hissed. "I can't take on all those hunters by myself! It'd be suicide!"
Castiel held his gaze evenly. "Perhaps this should be solely a reconnaissance mission, then."
Dean ground his teeth together. "But we're so damn close! He's right there! And all those twisted hunters are here, too!" It would have sounded like a whine were it not for the visceral frustration making it a growl.
"Dean, focus. Do you care more about getting Sam back or getting revenge?"
The angel's soft admonishment served its purpose and Dean's aggravation receded. "You're right. Sam first. So now what?"
"I suggest you bide your time until they leave, so you can follow them. Maybe engage with them when the numbers are a little more even. I cannot stay here much longer."
Dean thought on that for a second, idly noting the sweat on Castiel's vessel. "I have a better idea. Go to Bobby's and see if he has a GPS tracking device. If he doesn't, you ask him where to get one. I don't care if you have to steal it, okay? Meet me back at the Impala."
Castiel nodded and disappeared.
Dean made his way back to the Impala, where Castiel was already waiting for him, albeit still looking weary from the warding. He held up a small box and looked mildly pleased with himself. "I suppose I can add that to my list of commandments broken."
Dean smirked. "Thought those were just for humans?"
Cas pondered that for a moment then shrugged. He passed the box to Dean. He pulled something else out of his pocket and presented it. "Bobby said you would also need this."
"Superglue? Well, it will make hiding it somewhere inconspicuous easier…"
"Be careful, Dean. I cannot help you while you are here. Bobby recommended you follow them once they leave here and attempt your rescue mission. I can assist you then. I will be waiting for your call."
Dean nodded. "Thanks, Cas. Here's hoping."
The angel fluttered out of view and Dean turned back towards the bar. All he had to do was find Tim's car and plant the tracking device. How hard could that be?
Turned out finding Tim's car was a little more difficult than he had planned. All of the vehicles here belonged to hunters, and as such, they were littered with weapons and supernatural symbols. It was like looking for one particular needle in a needle haystack. He skipped anything he could easily see into. He had picked the locks on seven cars and trucks with heavily tinted windows and found nothing except a lot of stained seats and empty food wrappers. I'd never do this to you, Baby, he told himself.
The next vehicle with dark windows was a faded red Chevy Blazer Silverado. He jimmied the lock open easily and poked his head inside. A large cooler in the back seat caught his attention and he crawled in to pop it open. Vials of blood were nestled into ice and a used needle lay overtop. He wasn't sure how, but he knew it was demon blood. Looking up, he realized he couldn't see into the trunk. There was a thick board with a swinging hatch opening blocking his view. He withdrew from the front seat and popped the trunk.
A large wire cage, one for a mastiff or a husky, maybe, sat in the center of the space. Strange markings were etched into every bar. An IV line was clipped to the side, the label indicating it was delivering intravenous nutrition and hydration, and God knows what else, Dean thought, to whatever was locked inside. 'Then they open the kennel and out comes this mangy dude,' Raylan's voice echoed in his head and devastating clarity struck him. This was the kennel where they were keeping his brother. He turned on his flashlight for a closer inspection and saw dried blood, a pool of piss, and strands of long chocolate hair caught in the wires. He bit his lip and held back the sob building in his throat. Looking around for more clues, he noticed a mat underneath the plastic tray of the cage. He pulled it out and rode a wave of confusion when he saw it was stitched with a devil's trap.
Did they really think Sam was a demon? That they needed a devil's trap for protection? God, Sam, I need to get you out of here!
Before he could be overcome by his emotions, he closed the trunk and focused on setting up the GPS tracker and planting it somewhere the hunters wouldn't see but also wouldn't obstruct the signal from the device. He decided underneath the rear bumper but above the tailpipe would be an ideal spot. Open to the air, but not easily visible from any angle. He scrunched himself under the car and carefully checked the battery connection, ensuring it was solid. Then he superglued the whole contraption to the truck and prayed it would stay on long enough for him to retrieve Sam.
He heard the creak of the bar door and quickly pushed himself out from under the truck. He slipped around the side, relocked the doors, then waited until the smokers finished their cigarettes. A significant part of him wanted to burst in there, guns blazing, but he knew that wouldn't help Sam. Sam first. Sam first. It was the only thing that assuaged his fury as he slunk back to his Baby to wait.
Waiting became a war between vigilance and exhaustion. Despite the eight hours of drug-induced sleep he'd gotten at Bobby's, that was barely a dent in the deficit he'd racked up over the past few months. He'd burned through his coffee and energy drinks in the first five hours. A few hunters would stroll out now and then but so far, the majority remained inside. He tried keeping himself awake by sheer will but by 1 am he was reduced to taking caffeine pills. His body vibrated with anxious energy, some part of his mind continually urging him to go inside and wreak havoc. But he promised Bobby and Castiel that he would stick to the plan, so he kept himself glued to the seat, eyes pinned on the dingy building.
At 11:18, a group of around twenty men and women poured out of the side door towards Tim's car. Dean watched closely through binoculars, hoping for a glimpse of his brother, but was unrewarded. Instead he saw the satisfied smiles, bruised knuckles, and carefree embraces of pleased hunters. Dean closed his eyes and tried not to think about why they were so happy.
Eventually all the hunters pulled out of the parking lot and Dean focused on one beat up Chevy. He kept his distance as he trailed his brother's prison. While he preferred to stay in visual contact, he didn't want to spook the hunters and lose Sam. He was so damn close. He had the GPS tracker should he lose sight of them. Not that he'd let that happen. He was getting Sam back today, whatever the price.
The hour and fifteen minute drive from Cedar Rapids to Donohue was made in fifty. He was forced to hold back as the surroundings became progressively rural and his cover diminished. Once the blinking dot representing his long lost sibling and his captors stopped moving, he followed along the gravel road slowly and quietly. He pulled off to the side of the dirt driveway, collected a few necessary items, and walked through the woods towards what looked like an abandoned farmhouse. He felt his blood start to heat as he saw the faded vehicle ahead of him.
Dean got closer and adjusted his position so he could see what was happening, binoculars giving him appreciably more visual acuity. Tim and Reggie were silently pulling a blanket off the large kennel in the trunk of the Chevy. The shaking form inside recoiled against the back as if trying to make itself invisible. Dean's stomach twisted on itself as he saw what could only be his little brother. Filthy clothes hung off the emaciated figure. In the months they'd been apart, Sam had lost an alarming amount of weight. Dean's body tensed as if preparing for detonation but was instantly defused by a familiar sound. Sam. Sam was whimpering, repeatedly saying 'no' in a trembling tone Dean recognized. It took him a second but he quickly understood what was happening. Detox. Oh my God, are they letting him withdraw every time?
Tim inserted a key into a padlock and opened the crate. Sam feebly tried to move forward but a scrap of his ratty clothes caught on the metal bars, causing him to faceplant into folded-out tailgate. The men laughed and dragged Sam forward by the hair onto the ground. His brother's hair was matted and caked in what Dean hoped was mud but knew was blood. A spiked collar hugged his neck and light glinted off what was probably a nametag. Dean bristled with rage, his hand on his gun.
He was about to make the sheer fury of a brother's vengeance known to these two monsters when he heard voices coming from the garage. He looked back to the hunters in time to see one of them pulling out a vial from the cooler. Demon blood. He had to stop them from poisoning Sam! As he put a foot forward, a large group of people—dammit, Dean hoped they were people—came out of the garage. But it was clear by their wicked smiles that they were, in fact, demons. Dean froze, wracked by indecision. If he stopped the hunters from dosing Sam, best case scenario it'd be three hunters against fifteen demons. Worst case scenario, it'd be two hunters and fifteen demons against Dean and a useless Sam. He hated to admit it, but his best bet was to let Sam take out the demons then launch his rescue mission. His stomach knotted as he watched Tim draw the dark liquid up into a syringe.
He slid the needle into Sam's arm and depressed the plunger while Reggie held him still. Dean could tell by the way Sam stopped shaking so badly it had to be demon blood. Sam slowly stood and faced the demons, who had halted a few yards away.
"C'mon, freak, do your thing," Tim hissed.
Sam shook his head and weakly declared "too many," his shoulders wilting as he realized the futility of his situation. "Can't. Something's wrong!"
"You did twelve last week on that dose. What's a few more?" Reggie spat. Twelve demons?! Jesus fucking Christ! Were they trying to kill him?!
"Wait, are you saying you three took out our brothers in Kensington?" one of the demons, a portly balding man in a worn-out Alice Cooper t-shirt, warily asked.
"Actually, just him, our very own boy wonder here." Tim pushed Sam forward. "We'll give you the same deal. You give us some information on the horsemen or Lucifer, and the freak will just exorcise you instead of kill you."
A few of the demons laughed but a teenage girl shushed them. "He looks like shit, but I think that's Sam Winchester."
"Yeah, it is, and he's gonna wipe your miserable faces off the planet if you don't start talking."
A businessman with grey hair stepped forward, assuming the leadership role. "What we have here is a misunderstanding. Sure, we can give you all the information you could ever use, but it's not going to help you. Sam Winchester is a valuable commodity. I'm sure you're aware he is Lucifer's true vessel. Sam can try to take out all of us, but when he fails, and he will, whoever's left is going to kill your sorry asses and take him to Lucifer." Sam staggered back, terror painted on his face. A strange crackle caught Dean's attention and he swiveled to see Tim lunge at Sam with a cattle prod and shock him. Sam shook violently and fell to his knees.
The demons took this as a sign of weakness and moved forward together. Gasping for air, Sam looked up and raised his palm at the group. They stopped in their tracks, struggling against Sam's power. Black smoke began to billow out of some of their mouths, increasing one by one until seven of the demons were choking. Sam raised his other hand to his head and Dean could see blood dripping down Sam's face out of both nostrils. The other demons resumed their approach.
"C'mon, you bastard, kill these sons of bitches!" Tim yelled and rammed the prod into the base of Sam's neck and initiated a long shock. Sam screamed but staggered to his feet and redoubled his efforts. He moaned with pain as five more demons began to cough on themselves. Looking back to Sam, Dean watched with horror as blood began to trickle down his cheek from his eye.
"That's not enough!" Tim shouted and began to push Sam towards the demons. Sam crumpled to the ground but continued to pull the demons from their hosts. The three remaining demons moved forward, intent on capturing Sam. Looking up, Sam saw his fate being sealed and pushed himself that extra mile. One more demon halted and began to shake as Sam's power forced the demon out. Blood now flowed freely from his nose and both his eyes.
Realizing that Sam couldn't actually take all of them out, the two hunters started firing their guns in hopes of slowing down the demons. The two demons each grabbed an arm and Sam cried out. Reggie moved forward and sprayed the closer demon with holy water. She released her hold as she covered her face. The last demon, the businessman, laughed as he hoisted Sam up. "Have fun stopping the Apocalypse, losers!" He held Sam tight and teleported away.
And just like that, Sam was gone.
Dean stowed his binoculars and armed each clenched fist with a gun. He surged forward, unsure whether to blast the remaining demon or the hunters first.
Unaware of his presence, Tim began reciting an exorcism while Reggie continued to douse her with holy water. The demon screamed and writhed before smoking out. Dean could tell by the way her body dropped that the host was dead.
Dean allowed the two hunters to put away their weapons before firing a shot into the air, instantly gaining the men's attention. As he approached, a steeled expression of hate forged onto his face, he fired a shot into one thigh of each man before training his aim on their heads.
The ensuing cries of pain were immediately silenced by Dean's snarling proclamation "I'm Dean Winchester. Up until two minutes ago, you had my brother. Give me one reason not to blow your fucking brains out right now!" Dean thundered.
"S-Sam! I-we can help you find him," Reggie squeaked.
Dean's fingers itched on the triggers but he pulled back. "How?"
"We got coordinates."
"Is the info reliable? Cuz if it's coming from demons, I don't trust it. Demons lie."
"Not when the frea— Sam is controlling them," Tim answered, entering the conversation. Dean didn't miss his correction. His finger fidgeted over the smooth metal again.
"Controlling them?"
"Well, uh, I guess when he uses his powers, he tortures 'em so much they'll pretty much do whatever he says."
Dean's jaw twitched but he forced his emotions down. "I need something better than rumors from Hell spawn."
"He has a tracking device. We can find him anywhere, provided he's not too deep underground," Reggie explained, seeming far more frightened and compliant than Tim, who merely looked annoyed at the inconvenience of being shot.
"Look, let's make a deal. We got some things you want and we get it that you aren't messing around." Tim gestured to the bleeding bullet hole in his leg. "We weren't really planning on dying today," he said casually.
"Besides Sam's location, what could you possibly have that I would want?!"
"We-we kept records," Reggie blurted. "Notes, pictures, videos. Of what's happened to him, of everything he can do."
Everything he can do? Dean thought, dread filling him. How much worse could this get?
"We'll trade you the tracker and the records for our freedom," Tim offered.
"I could just kill you both now and take it."
"Records aren't here," Tim replied evenly. "Plus, both things are password protected and encrypted, so good luck getting to Sammy before Lucifer makes him his bitch!" Tim failed to suppress his smirk.
Fire surged in Dean and he had to force his body to stay still. He held Tim's gaze for a moment, trying to determine if he was lying. But the seasoned hunter had an excellent poker face.
He heard Bobby's and Castiel's voices telling him to focus on Sam. Finding Sam was his priority. Revenge could come later.
Dean grit his teeth and demurred, lowering his guns.
"Fine. But if you're lying to me, it will be the end of everything you ever cared about."
Tim put his hands up in a show of peace. "Reggie, go get the tracker." He took a hobbled step towards Dean. "The way I see it, Sam is a goddam monster. But you haven't done anything wrong, Dean. I mean, I don't get why you're going after that… thing… but at this point, it's not my business. My quarrel ain't with you."
Dean moved closer but he spoke in a low growl. "The second you laid a hand on my brother, you made it my problem. Even if you hold up your end of the deal, don't think for one goddam second that this is the last you'll see of me."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Tim replied, though he almost seemed playful and it made Dean seethe.
Luckily for Tim, Reggie emerged from behind the truck with a case. "Password is 'DemonSlayer666', capital D and S, no spaces."
"Real cute," Dean spat, tucking one gun into his belt and grabbing the case with his left hand. "What about the records?" He needed to know what Sam had suffered so he could help his little brother recover.
"We'll send 'em express to Bobby Singer," Tim said with a slight smile.
Dean's eyes narrowed. "If you do anything—"
"Stop being such a drama queen. We aren't fixin' to start a war against other hunters. We're just fighting the one your brother started."
Dean bristled but maintained his composure, the physical strain making his muscles ache. "You don't know the half of it. Get the fuck outta here before I change my mind about letting you live. If I don't see a package inside of three days, I will change my mind."
"Copy that, Winchester." Tim gave him a mock salute and got in the truck.
As the engine turned over, Dean looked Tim dead in the eye, warning "And remember that this isn't over!"
Tim nodded and gave him a thumbs up. "I'll keep it in mind. And Dean? If you manage to get him back, please let him know that we really appreciate him being such a good sport!"
Dean's rage could no longer be contained and he lifted his gun as the truck peeled out. Only the tiniest amount of residual restraint prevented him from blasting these psychos to Hell. Instead, he shot out the back window and punched holes in the tailgate.
As soon as they were out of sight, he squatted to the ground and opened the case. A rugged looking computer requested a password and he entered it. After a few anxiety-inducing moments of blackness, the screen lit up. A little red pin embedded itself in the digital map. When Dean read the location, he felt like he'd been hit by a car. His breath rushed out of him and his vision blurred. Memories of his visit to 2014 sprang up, bombarding his exhausted mind with agonizing snippets.
"Heavyweight showdown in Detroit. From what I understand, Sam didn't make it."
"I want you to see our brother. Sam didn't die in Detroit. He said 'yes'. That's right, the big 'yes', to the Devil. Lucifer's wearing him to the prom."
A white-suited Sam— no —Lucifer possessing Sam. "I know you won't say 'yes' to Michael, either. And I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up here. I win. So I win."
The small, smug smile of Lucifer lilting on that familiar face.
Dean retched and fell backwards, fear inundating every crevice of his psyche. "Sammy, no!" Dean wailed, tears pricking his eyes. Pull it together, man! he berated himself. There was still a chance it wasn't too late. He just needed to get there as quickly as possible. But he was hours away from Detroit. How could he—Cas!
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and nearly dropped it trying to dial he was shaking so much.
"Hello, Dean." Dean had never been so grateful to hear that voice in his entire life.
"Cas! Oh, thank God. Cas, I found him. I know where Sam is. But we don't have a lot of time. Some demons are on their way to give him to Lucifer. Think you could give me a lift?"
"Where are you?"
"Uh, about twelve miles northwest of Davenport, outside of Donohue in an abandoned farmhouse."
"I will be there momen—" The phone cut off abruptly, only to have the angel appear in front of him "—tarily." Castiel nodded a greeting. "Where is he?"
Dean looked at the screen. "He's at… 42°21'11.2"N 83°03'55.2"W. Cas, it's Detroit. Where Lucifer said he'd get Sam to say 'yes'." Heartbreak was threatening to sap Dean's strength.
"We will stop him." Cas reached out to grab Dean's arm but Dean pulled away.
"Hold on, lemme pack some stuff up! Don't know what we're going into." Dean closed the case and returned to the Impala, carefully stowing the case and then packing a bag. As he closed the trunk, he slid his hand affectionally over Baby. "You'll be able to bring us back here, right?"
"Yes."
"Alright, then. Let's do it."
A beautiful red brick building stretched up before them, its façade glowing in the early evening light. Its arched entryway and windows separated it from most modern construction. Dean took a second to catch his breath and looked around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Except for the fact that this building was next to and belonged to a church! "Oh come on! Has Lucifer no decency?"
Castiel followed his line of sight to the ownership placard on the exterior wall but made no comment. "Lucifer is not here."
Dean whirled and looked at Cas. "What?!"
"Lower your voice!" Castiel ordered. "Lucifer is not here, but there are demons."
That actually sent a surge of relief through Dean. Demons, they could deal with. Lucifer, not so much. "What are we waiting for then? Can't we just go in and nab Sam?"
Cas appraised the building and frowned. "It is heavily warded. No angel can enter."
Dean scrunched his brow in confusion. "But isn't Lucifer an angel?"
"Yes. He cannot enter either."
"Fuck!" Dean breathed. That means something weird is going on. Like any rescue mission for Sam was gonna be easy…
"I'm sorry, Dean, but you must go in alone if you wish to retrieve your brother."
Dean closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "Alright. But you better not move from that spot."
"I won't. I promise."
"You better pinky promise," Dean grumbled under his breath as he turned to walk up the steps. He pulled out the demon blade and a flask of holy water before adjusting the duffle bag on his shoulder. Turning the doorknob, he wasn't sure if he should be pleased or concerned that the door was unlocked. He looked back to Cas, who nodded in encouragement.
The smell of stale food and spilled beer hit him like a baseball bat. Empty boxes, cartons, and bottles were strewn about the once-nice room. The furniture bore witness to a number of messy activities. Dean grimaced and carefully stepped through the living room, flinching when he heard a loud clunking noise from upstairs, like something heavy had been dropped. Not Sam's body, he prayed. He poked his head into the dining room but it was similarly empty of bodies, full of trash. He withdrew his 1911 and tucked it into his belt then deposited the bag at the bottom of the stairs. Chances were he would need full mobility.
He ascended the staircase one step at a time, trying to minimize the squeak of the wood. About halfway, he heard the pleading voice of a woman, though her words were unintelligible through her sobs. He moved faster, hoping to spare the victim too much more trauma. He followed the woman's pitiful whimpers to an open door at the end of a short hallway. He pressed himself up against the wall and slid along it, doing his best to maintain the element of surprise. When he got to the doorway, he paused a few moments to gather his wits, then stuck his head around the corner.
He did not expect the sight spread out before him and for a few moments, his brain couldn't even comprehend it.
Random rays of daylight evaded the control of the heavy curtains and speared through the dark space, illuminating several bodies on the floor in various states of disarray. An older black man merely looked like he was sleeping, but the others displayed obvious signs of violence. A suavely dressed middle-aged white man lay disemboweled in one corner. A blonde teenager sat crumpled against the bedframe, her ribcage splayed open and blood pooling in her lap. Bloody handprints adorned the comforter, leading Dean's gaze to a handsome Asian man lying on the bed, his throat slit and a dark red stain blooming from his groin.
A weak, strangled "help me!" drew his attention to what looked to be a recessed powder room. It was too dark to see anything clearly. Dean stowed the holy water and the knife, withdrew his gun and aimed towards the room. Crossing his left arm under his right, he switched on all the lights and was immediately confused by the scene. There was a body splayed in front of the entryway. Dean recognized him as the businessman demon that had grabbed Sam in Donohue. A bright red stain adorned his neck and suit coat. Looking up, Dean saw Sam, or who he guessed had to be Sam judging by the state of his filthy, torn clothes and long, messy hair, kneeling in front of the woman, his head seemingly resting on her knee. She called out to him again, pleading for release. The dark-haired woman was handcuffed to the armrests of a chair and she was struggling to escape. He looked to her face and in the bright light, he saw the beetle black of her eyes. Sympathy for her drained away and went entirely to his brother.
"Sammy!" Dean cried out, lowering his gun as he raced across the room. He was halfway when Sam stood up and turned. One glance at his brother's gaunt face stopped him dead in his tracks.
Bright red blood was smeared around Sam's mouth, dribbling down his neck and onto his shirt. Sharp cheekbones edged alarming angles. But when he got to Sam's gaze, expecting to see the luminous hazel of his eyes, Dean felt his world flip upside down as cold, malevolent black stared back at him.
"S-Sam?" Dean queried, his voice almost a whisper. Fear was coiling up his throat, threatening to silence him.
Sam cocked his head to the side slightly, the small smile crossing his face somehow distorting his features into a grotesque, almost feral expression. "Hey, Dean. Long time, no see," he drawled, almost tauntingly. "If you don't mind, I was kind of in the middle of something. Need to finish powering up." He gestured behind him to the whimpering demon.
Dean shook his head. "No, I can't let you poison yourself anymore." Dean took a step forward then felt his legs unable to move. He looked down then back at Sam, who was grinning, red staining his teeth. What the fuck?! "Is this you? Are you doing this?"
Sam's nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath. "Uh-huh." His tongue playfully licked at some blood decorating his lips.
Dean pushed past the nausea rising in his throat. "H-How?"
"Turns out I could do a helluva lot more once I gave in."
"Gave in?" Dean repeated, terror now making him go numb.
"Yeah, once I accepted the power as a part of me, stopped fighting it. Besides saying 'no' to Lucifer, this is all I am. Azazel's freak."
"No, Sam, that's not true. Come with me and we'll figure this out."
He scoffed loudly. "Come with you? Yeah, not happening."
"Why not?"
"Hmm well let's see… One…" He suddenly whirled on the demon still whimpering behind him and twisted his hand, her neck snapping like a twig. A part of Dean told him to run before the same thing happened to him, but he just couldn't make himself do it. He'd finally found Sam after all these months. He wasn't leaving him now, demon or otherwise. Sam turned back around and looked at Dean solemnly.
"One, you're gonna try to cut me off. And no matter how you slice it, withdrawal is Hell." Dean couldn't argue with that. "Two, I like this, Dean. I want it. With everything that I can do now, and without those assholes drugging and sedating me six ways from Sunday, I can finally protect myself." Drugging and sedating him? What exactly had been going on?! "Three, to get me to go with you, you're gonna have to kill me."
"What?!" Dean exclaimed, his face blanching. "Why the hell would I do that?"
Sam walked over to Dean, his expression hardening in anger. Dean's mind screamed to retreat but he couldn't move even if he'd wanted to. Besides, he was determined to do whatever was necessary to get Sam back. They'd fix this. They always did.
Sam leaned into Dean's space, their faces a few inches from touching, his black eyes making Dean's soul squirm. "Because, if you try to get your little brother back…" He sighed, clearly searching for the right words. "Fuck, the way he shrieks in misery whenever he surfaces… It'd be enough to drive you insane, too. You're gonna have to get used to either killing him yourself or cleaning up his brains when he eats his gun. It's the only rest he gets, besides me, of course." He straightened his posture then took a few steps back. "So, two options here: you show me you can man up and kill me, or I walk outta here." He held his arms out, making himself a large target.
Tears were welling up in Dean's eyes. "I-I can't kill you… I can't kill Sam."
Sam shrugged and dropped his arms to his side. "That settles that, then."
"Sammy, please," Dean begged, a tear slipping down his cheek.
Sam shook his head. "See ya, Dean. Best of luck with the Apocalypse." He started to walk forward.
God, please forgive me, Dean prayed. Before Sam could move past him, Dean raised his gun and fired two bullets into Sam's heart.
The hold on Dean's legs released as Sam dropped. Dean wasn't fast enough to catch him and his body loudly thumped against the floor. He realized now that the sound he had heard downstairs was likely the body of the businessman hitting the floor after Sam had drained him. His legs became weak and he collapsed, allowing his head to fall such that he could see Sam. He looked over at him, morbidly entranced by the blood slowly pooling by his head. Dean could have sworn there was a faint smile on his face. He did at least look peaceful. Even though his eyes were closed, Dean couldn't get the inky blackness out of his mind, couldn't forget Sam had been drinking that demon when he came in. Fire churned up his throat and he turned away to puke. Of all the ways he'd imagined his search for Sam ending, this hadn't been one of them.
But here he was, about to carry out his dead brother's body, the brother who had died at his own hand. It didn't make a difference that he would be resurrected within a day; Dean had still killed Sam. He knew what his nightmares would be for the next ever.
As his gaze lazily followed the creeping spread of Sam's blood, a flash of metal at the edge of the pool caught his eye. He reached out and picked up the object, not realizing what it was until it was too late. The little silver spikes and blood soaked black leather could only be one thing: the collar he had seen earlier around Sam's neck. He twisted his hand to read the dangling nametag, bold black letters etched into shiny silver reading "FREAK". Dean pressed his eyes closed as he bit his fist, suppressing the scream welling up from the depths of his soul. He turned to his brother and decided they needed to be away from this place as fast as possible.
He hoisted Sam's body over his shoulder, stood up, and carried him out fireman style. The fact that Sam was so easy to move grieved Dean; it meant Sam had lost an alarming amount of weight. His fit, toned, health-nut brother was now a fragile famine victim. It would take months to put enough meat back on his bones to look normal.
He made it down the stairs and grabbed the duffel bag. He pushed through the front door, relieved to see Castiel standing exactly where he had left him.
Castiel smiled at first, then frowned as he took in the state of Sam's body. Dean walked over to Cas, who wordlessly flew them back to the Impala. Dean hastily deposited his brother in the back seat, draping a blanket over his body.
Castiel was peering in the window, so close to Dean that he backed up directly into the angel.
"What happened, Dean?"
Dean ran his hand over his face, oblivious to the tracks he was drawing with Sam's still-warm blood. "I—he—Cas…" Dean leaned against the Impala and hung his head. "He had black eyes…"
"Are you sure you saw correctly?" Dean didn't miss the alarm in Castiel's usually stoic voice.
Dean lifted his head to stare at the angel. "Yes, Cas, I'm sure. He… he was drinking demon blood and he can do things with his powers that he couldn't before. He stopped me from moving – like actual demons do." He dropped his gaze to the ground. "What if we're too late? What if Sam, the real Sam, is gone?"
Castiel mulled over this for a moment then shook his head. "I don't think so. Sam is strong. I believe he is still in there somewhere. If you would like, I could seek out his soul."
Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This all seemed too surreal. "Would it hurt him?"
"Not if he is dead, as you say. And how exactly did that happen?"
Dean swallowed down the regret growing in his throat like a tumor. "He, well, demon-Sam said that he wouldn't go with me because he didn't want to stop. That I'd have to kill him to prove I have the guts to deal with Sam if he ever resurfaces because he's so messed up from everything that's happened. I don't know if he was bluffing but he started to leave, and Cas, I just couldn't let him go, not when I was standing three feet away from him after so long, so I, I did it, I shot him…" Dean's voice had dropped to a painful whisper and he looked about ready to collapse.
The angel leaned forward and firmly gripped Dean's shoulder. "You did what you had to do, Dean. My guess is that the real Sam, if he is even aware, will not fault for you for it one bit. Do not let this guilt consume you. You have more important things to worry about." He tilted his head towards the backseat. "Now, do you want me to check on him?"
Dean took a few deep breaths to collect himself then stood up straighter. "Sure. Can't hurt to have more intel." Dean slid out of the way.
Castiel nodded and opened the door. He gently lifted the blanket off Sam's body and placed it to the side. He inhaled fully and went to place his hand on Sam's chest.
Bright light erupted from the point of contact and Castiel jolted back, hitting his head on the roof of the Impala. Consternation splashed across his face and he leaned forward again to repeat the motion, only to receive a more violent reaction. Pulling his hand back, it was bright red and blistered.
"What the hell, Cas?!"
Castiel withdrew and further inspected his hand. "I am not sure, but it appears that Sam is very powerfully warded against the touch of an angel. This was likely done in an effort to repel Lucifer."
"So you can't even heal him?"
Castiel had the grace to look apologetic. "I'm afraid not, Dean. Not until the warding is reversed."
"How?"
He shook his head minutely. "You must learn what was done to enact the wards. It could be a spell, a talisman, or a physical mark such as your anti-possession tattoo."
"The fucking hunters that took Sam said they kept notes and they'd be sending them to me in a few days. But I don't know if they'll include that!"
"Why are you so concerned about healing him? Lucifer won't let him die so you need not fear losing him from mortal wounds."
"Gee, thanks, Cas, that's really reassuring. Maybe Lucifer doesn't give a shit about the burn marks on his neck and all the other crap I'm sure is wrong with him. Maybe I just want Sam to be comfortable because I care about him!"
Castiel's brows knit together as he regarded Dean's increasing anxiety. "We both know what is next. There will be no comforting Sam while his body is purified of the demon blood."
Dean gripped his hair in frustration. "You think I don't know that?! Detox is going to be a fucking bitch this time around. But, hey, at least I know Lucifer won't let him die so he can suffer endlessly!" he threw back at Castiel angrily.
"Dean, I am on your side. It brings me no pleasure to see Sam this way. He does not deserve this. It is probably best that you return to Bobby's before Sam is resurrected. I am not sure what to expect. Call on me if you feel I can be of assistance."
Dean sighed again and nodded. "Thanks. I know, you're right… It's just…"
"We will get him back. You survived Hell. He will survive this."
"I hope so. See you later, Cas."
"Goodbye, Dean."
Before his emotions could penetrate his shock and begin to tear him apart, he called Bobby.
"Dean! Are you alright? Did you get Sam?"
Dean tried to speak but no sound would come out.
"Dean? You there?"
"Yeah," he muttered hoarsely.
"What happened?"
"I got him, but it's bad. He—he had black eyes, Bobby."
"Come again?!"
"He was drinking demon blood when I got there, and his eyes were black. And he… he could do things, Bobby, things that demons can do. He stopped me from moving. I—I don't know if it's even him anymore."
"Jesus. This is new. How is he now?"
"De-dea—" He couldn't make himself say 'dead'. Not after Cold Oak. "I had to kill him. It was the only way he'd let me take him. Said I either had to kill him to prove I could do it when he goes crazy or I let him walk." Sobs started to strangle his voice. "I didn't want to, Bobby, I didn't—I just couldn't let him leave, not after I'd finally found him. I shot him. I had to shoot my little brother."
"Dean, it's okay, you did what you had to do. You got him. Now you bring him home and we'll figure out what to do next, okay? You hear me, son? You bring our boy back here and we'll sort this out."
"How?"
"Don't worry yourself with that now. Your only job is get your ass back here. You can do it. Don't give up now."
Dean nodded vigorously, ignoring the tears flicking of his chin. He breathed in deeply and collected himself. "You're right. I got this. Gonna bring him home, finally. See you soon, Bobby."
"That's my boy. Drive carefully, Dean. Don't need some state trooper pulling you over with Sam in the back."
"Noted."
He ended the call, threw the phone into the empty passenger seat his brother should be inhabiting, and started the car before he could lose himself to grief once again.
Silence encased Dean like a mortuary shroud. Music seemed too invasive, too lively considering the empty shell that rested behind him. Pressure pounded behind his temples, his mind reeling with the events of the past few hours. The two hours of driving had done little to calm his nerves. The sun had set and the world was awash with rural-highway darkness. In a way, he wished this was all some terrible nightmare, or another one of Zachariah's maybe-futures, and that he would wake up and be able to call Sam and avert this disaster. Michael, Lucifer, and the Apocalypse, he could deal with, as long as he had Sam. But if Sam was as broken as the demonic creature wearing his skin had claimed, then what was the point? What had been the point of any of it? Dean thought mournfully. The demon deal had condemned his brother to become this, perhaps independent of either of their actions.
"Shoulda let the dead stay dead, big brother," a sarcastic voice rang out and Dean slammed the brakes out of surprise.
"Sam?!" Dean exclaimed as he turned to look into the backseat. A punch hit him square in the nose and he yelped in pain, white splotches eroding his vision. He heard the door creak open then slam shut. He vigorously rubbed his face to dissipate the sharp pain and restore his sight. Sam was walking down the road in front of him, his tall frame and ragged clothes illuminated by the headlights. "Sam! Wait!" Dean put the car into park and went to open the door but it wouldn't budge. Dean tried rolling down the window but it would only descend a few inches. "Sam! Please! Let's talk about this!" he shouted out the small opening.
His wayward brother stopped walking and stood there a few moments before spinning to face Dean. His eyes gleamed black and the smile on his face was not one of affection. He set his feet as he crossed his arms, his pose authoritative and intimidating despite his sickly appearance. "You know, I underestimated you, Dean. I honestly didn't think you'd have the balls to actually kill me." The corners of his lips turned down in a weird smirk. "I'm impressed. But now that I know you'll call my bluff, I'm gonna have to do what I must to protect myself."
"I can help with that! We'll fix it! You don't have to do this by yourself."
An unsettling laugh rumbled out of Sam. "Fix me? You should know from your own stint in Hell that there is no fixing something like this. You, and Sam for that matter, would be much better off just letting me handle things. Trust me, it's better this way."
"I can't, I can't just leave Sam!"
"Why not? With me, Sam stays buried and safe, Lucifer has little chance of breaking through, and I am a demon-killing machine. What's not to like?" He smiled in a facetious way.
Dean shook his head. "Come on, some part of you has to know this isn't the best way!"
Sam shrugged and uncrossed his arms. "Maybe there is, but it's not the part in control."
Sam raised his right arm and Dean suddenly felt rigid pressure closing in around his neck. Instinctively, his hands sprung up to free himself but there was nothing physical there. Just his supernaturally-powered demonic brother trying to kill him. Panic surged through Dean as he recognized that this could not only be the end of his own life, but also the last chance to save Sam from the fate currently befalling him. Dean knew he had to act boldly, and fast. Sam was beyond reason and it wasn't like Dean was able to talk anyway. His best option was to kill him, again, as much as that grieved his heart. But his gun was too far away and no other weapons were immediately available. Well, there was one thing, though he'd never considered it a weapon, per say.
Nauseating dread thundered through him as inspiration struck and he hated everything that had led him to this moment. But it was now or never. Black spots were dancing in his vision as his brain was starved of oxygen. He'd always told himself he would save Sam or die trying. Now was his chance to make good on that promise.
He threw the Impala into drive and whispered "sorry, Baby," as he pressed his foot down on the gas pedal. Air suddenly rushed back into Dean's lungs as he watched a shocked Sam shift his telekinetic focus from Dean to the car. His Baby rattled under him for a moment, spinning her tires, but he coaxed her just that little bit more and they pushed through Sam's resistance. With the distance between them closing more quickly than either could react, Dean would have thought the flabbergasted expression on Sam's face was hilarious had the circumstances not been so damn tragic. Bright lights flared up Sam's body, his eyes gaping like two black holes. Unwilling to have an even more disturbing visual in his head for the rest of his life, Dean closed his eyes and braced for impact.
Dean had never run over a person before, but it was simultaneously as terrifying as he expected and as undramatic as he suspected. The solid thud of Baby's bumper hitting a standing body was quickly followed by another, likely Sam's head hitting the hood of the car as his body bent around the force. The car briefly struggled to drive over the impeding obstacle then was free. With the Impala regaining speed, Dean changed gears and cranked the wheel hard, swinging the car around to face the carnage. He released the wheel then put the car into park before taking a deep breath. Time ebbed around him slowly, stimuli slowly dribbling in. A morbid thought occurred to him and he threw himself out of the car. He should check and make sure Sam was really dead, not suffering out on the asphalt. He braced himself and scanned the road.
About thirty feet in front of him, Sam's mangled corpse lay strewn over the blacktop. Dean approached slowly, knowing there was no way Sam could be alive but needing to confirm it despite everything in him urging him to turn around and run away. Sam's back was clearly broken, as were all his major bones. His jaw was obliterated from where a tire had crushed it into the road. Blood leaked out several ugly wounds, the darkening red glistening in Baby's headlights. Nausea made itself very clearly known and he fell to his hands and knees as he threw up. There wasn't much left except bile but his guts heaved as if trying to expel every horrible sight and memory currently vying for his attention.
As he looked again at Sam's battered body, he had the odd realization that Sam had already experienced such a scene with Dean. Based on the soul-shocking agony he endured when he was ripped apart by Lilith's hellhound, he imagined his body was likely in no better shape than Sam's. Yet Sam had collected Dean and laid him to rest, determined to rescue his brother from Hell. If Sam could do it, Dean could do it.
He went back to the Impala and retrieved the blanket from the backseat. He carefully spread it out on the road and then shifted Sam onto it. He folded it around his disfigured brother, tears moistening his eyes as he continued to assess the damage. He hated himself for doing this and begged whatever good was left in the world that Sam, his Sam, wouldn't remember it. He set the body in the backseat, this time taking the precaution of handcuffing his wrists and his ankles.
Hopeful that he could make it the four hours to Bobby's without incident, Dean settled into the driver's seat. He had momentarily fooled himself that he was okay, that he had done what was necessary, and that everything would be okay. Then he turned on the headlights and saw the dent in the hood, decorated with Sam's blood. His flimsy façade crumbled in an instant, trapping him in its violent landslide. Dean collapsed into the steering wheel and wept openly, his soul buckling under the immense weight of so much grief. He couldn't have come this far only to lose Sam anyway.
Yet the niggling doubt that 'you're too late' took a step forward and dominated his thoughts. What if this was it? What if Sammy, his bleeding heart little brother, the five year old snuggled against his arm as he read him a bedtime story, the eight year old who once cried when someone stepped on a caterpillar, the fourteen year old laughing as they shot cans off a fence post, the stubborn college-bound eighteen year old that Dean was just so damn proud of and he could never admit it to Sam, the young man he had fought side by side with for years, was dead? Perhaps all that remained was evil.
Reviews are taunting smirks from demon-Sam!