Chapter title is from song by Scorpions.

78

House of Cards - Scorpions

Cain was waiting for them outside the motel, leaning casually against a sweet ride of a bike.

Cain slowly took off the aviator shades that shielded his eyes from the world, or the world from him. Those cold blues scanned over their little group, fixing searingly on him and peeling off a layer of skin.

"How."

The next thing he knew he was inside the motel room, the impact of slamming into the wall shattering against his spine, with Cain's forearm crushing his throat. He kicked out, but his feet made no contact with the ground. In the distance he could hear Sam yelling, feel Cas trying to do something, to break down the door, to bust through the window, but this was Cain.

"Ho…w….wha…t?" He choked out.

"The spell." Cain snarled, the studs on Cain's leather jacket digging into his larynx. "How did you trigger the spell?"

Cain spit the last word out, and he wasn't sure how Cain was doing it, but the edges of the room grew blurry. Like he was being deprived of air, when he didn't need to breathe. He gripped onto Cain's forearm, where the Mark had once lived, and tried to pry Cain off his throat to no avail. The window came crashing in, and Sam burst through it, followed closely by Cas, by Zee, but Cain didn't even turn around before they were all flying up against the opposite wall.

Dean yanked harder. When that failed again, he reached out with his right hand for the First Blade, only to have it slammed ruthlessly into the wall above his head.

"No." Cain snapped. "You don't use my weapon against me. Not until I tell you to. And I don't tell you to."

Cain pressed closer, until he was nose-to-nose, Cain's eyes boring into his face.

The world swam.

He'd been to Hell. Felt his skin flayed into embers by fire. Had his meat torn from him in strips, knife steady under Alistair's hand. Been left broken into pieces and panting, then put back together, just to have it start all over again.

But none of that was this.

Now faded away in the burn of Cain's eyes, murder locked onto his, fading out the rest of the room. A hot sun was beating down on his shoulders, the air desert dry, and his hands were wet.

With blood.

A heartbeat fading under his hands.

Uncomprehending eyes reflecting the cloudless sky stared up at him, Abel's hands slippery, scrambling at the bone whiteness of the donkey's jawbone sunk deep beneath his ribs, Abel pawing at him, twitching, leaving streaks of blood on his arm, down over the raised scar of the Mark, red stains smeared into the sand roughness of his tunic. Abel's weight, heavy and heavier in his arms. He held on as gently as he could, letting his brother's head loll against his shoulder, resting his cheek against Sam's always too long hair, listening as Sammy's breaths wheezed wet and slowly to a stop, Sam's weight lapsing softly into his arms, this one last time.

His entire being shuddered, torn apart. The hell of a single moment, burning bright and eternal, not something done to him, but something he had done.

A memory.

Fact.

Inescapable.

Dean kicked out blindly, not caring that it hurt. He tried to turn his head away, close his eyes, do something, anything that would take him away from what was in Cain's heart.

One everlasting moment.

Hell.

"I gave you the Mark, because I thought you might be worthy." Cain spat out, the words a razor cutting into his skin. "How could you?"

He strained every muscle against however Cain was holding him and got nowhere. He wanted to look across the room to check on Sam, but he was afraid to. Afraid of the memory clouding his mind that wasn't really a memory, at least, not yet. He tore his shoulder out of the socket attempting a punch to get free.

"How…could….I…what?"

He had no idea what Cain was talking about. They hadn't broken Metatron's spell yet, hadn't even got near it. And if push came to shove—he wasn't going to have a choice. The fate of the world, of Heaven and Hell, hung on their getting the Book closed. He'd tip his ass over the edge using the First Blade to do what he had to do—become whatever he had to become, but Sam—no. He had a plan for that. He wasn't going to hurt Sam.

"You don't know."

He gasped air, because Cain eased up. Slightly. Stopped crushing his windpipe as much so he could get a breath. Why did he need a breath?

"You don't know about the spell."

"What spell?" He slid to the ground with a thump as Cain released him.

"The spell to remove the Mark."

Dean thumped back into the wall on his own. From across the room he heard Sam pant out eagerly, "There's a spell?"

Cain's face was like granite. "There's a price."

No.

"What is it?" Sam persisted.

He moved towards Sam, one hand out, trying to do the impossible and keep Sam from asking more questions.

"Sam, no." He barked, for all the good it did him, because Cain had those cold eyes fixed on Sam now, and no.

"A soul for a soul."

He didn't have to turn around to know what expression was on Sam's face. Eager. Too eager. He didn't want to see the consideration on Cas' face, thinking what necessary sacrifices could be made.

"Any soul?"

Cain's brief smile was mocking. "It's not that simple. You think you would get off that easy? No. The sacrifice must go both ways—" Cain considered him almost clinically. "A soul you cannot bear to lose, and a soul given willingly. The bond between you, strong enough to erase the darkness."

"No."

His single articulated word was steel. He had learned to live with Dad's sacrifice burning a hole in his conscience. He had Sam to look after. But this. Just no. He backed away from Sam as he said it. The room was too small, there wasn't enough space, wasn't enough distance between them. He couldn't be here.

He ran.

There was an empty space where Dean had been just a moment before.

"How?" Cas asked Cain. "Souls are indestructible. The Mark is indestructible."

"Exactly." Cain replied grimly.

"But…" Sam tried to pull his mind off the distraction of Dean pulling a runner. He turned towards Cain. "How? You said Dean already knew about the spell. He doesn't. We don't."

"He must. Or he can't be doing what he's doing." Cain snarled. "He's dead. No matter what Crowley's said, this isn't some kind of afterlife. Dean's a demon. His body is a meatsuit. And yet," Cain's eyes narrowed. "He breathes. He thinks he needs it. He uses the First Blade—" Cain studied him critically, reading the affirmation in his expression, "—without losing control. That takes centuries, if it happens at all."

"Maybe for you." Sam retorted.

"It. Takes. Centuries." Cain repeated flatly. "And that's without Ramiel's meddling."

"This is a trap." Cas said slowly. "This is the trap."

"At last, the light dawns."

"That's why the Fallen—what you said about Suriel's 'offer', Sam. If you try to remove the Mark—" Cas stopped, sighed, and bowed his head. "—if you trade your soul for Dean's, if you try—"

"You'll still lose. If you trade in your soul for Dean's, your brother goes off the ledge. And when Dean loses it, and the Mark takes over… well. Ramiel thinks they'll be polar opposites." Cain scoffed, a bitter, mocking laugh. "The little he knows. Because Ramiel isn't Hope. But if Dean loses it, Dean will be Despair. Do you understand, Sam? True Despair. It means your brother is going to go on a killing spree like no one's ever seen before. He won't stop after he's taken out the Fallen, he won't stop after destroying the zombies. He will keep going, until he's wipe the earth clean. And then he'll move on to Hell, to Heaven. He will take out everything. Everything." Cain paused, stern. "But he's not there yet. Dean's still afraid of the angel blade, which means the demon knows it can still die. You need to stop him. Now. While you still can."

"No."

"You have to." The set of Cain's face brooked no latitude. "You promised him as much."

Sam clenched his hands into fists, because there was no way—no way he could do that now, not when there was another option open to him. And what tethered Dean to the world wasn't him.

"How is it done, this spell of yours?" Zee's voice cut clear across the room. Cain turned slowly to face her, eyes drifting over her head to foot as if he were just noticing her for the first time.

"It's simple. Put your hand on the Mark. If the ties exist that bind you, then those ties will bind you, and the Mark's hold over Dean will be broken."

"That's it?" Cas asked skeptically. "What happens to the soul?"

Cain turned away and stared at the wall. "Lost. Scattered as dust and starlight across the infinity of the universe. Forever falling into darkness." The ghost of something flickered across Cain's face. "This was the only secret I ever kept from Colette. And now, that arrogant angel and your brother are threatening her soul in Heaven. I won't allow it." Cain straightened, the shadows on the wall behind him suddenly looming and dark. "You know what you have to do."

They didn't try to stop Cain when he walked out the door. Sam wasn't sure they could have anyway.

"Sam." Cas said slowly. "Why does Cain think the spell's already been started?"

"I…I'm not sure." A flash of light, blindingly bright, and Dean's eyes green again when he picked up the First Blade. Sam shook his head to get rid of the image, and squared his shoulders. "I have to do this."

"Sam. You heard what Cain said. You can't. I know I'm not…" Cas paused, "…'a real boy', but maybe…"

"No, Cas. It has to be me. It makes sense, doesn't it? There's a kind of balance to it. The Mark was given to Cain to kill Abel, and I save Dean. A soul for a soul."

Cas tilted his head gravely. "He'll see you coming, Sam. There's no way he'll ever let you get close enough. But with the grace Hannah left me…"

"No. I can't let you take the fall for me, Cas—and, I'm sorry, but we're not even sure that'll work. We're only going to get one shot at this. We've got to be sure. It's gotta be…"

"Sam."

Zee's voice cut through the onrush of his words. Sam's stomach flipped. He sat down on the closest chair.

Zee stepped forward from where she stood by the broken window. As she moved, the light glinted off the silver hex around her neck. Cas glanced at her briefly, and stopped.

"Is that a…"

"Yes." Zee cut Cas off. "After Dean's broken Metatron's spell—that Nephilim shield—and we get your grace back, can you restrain him for a second, even with the First Blade in his hand?"

Cas considered it. "Maybe."

"And can you send a soul back in time while you're doing that?"

Cas frowned. "I think so."

The corners of Zee's lips twitched, not exactly a smile. She turned away from Cas, and looked at him.

"Then tell him when and where, Sam."

No.

"We've met once, before Dolgeville, haven't we, Sam? Somewhere you remember, and I don't. Some time. Your past, my future."

No. He hadn't done this. He hadn't screwed Dean over like this.

"That's why from the jump—it's always been, 'What are you?—not 'who'."

"No."

He threw the word into the room, trying to ward off the tide with a pebble. He clawed his fingers through his hair and jerked up, pacing from one wall to the other then the other, banging around the room like a bee trapped in a jar, trying to find a way out into sunlight.

He spun around, facing Zee.

"Dean's a demon. And you know demons. They don't feel…he can't…you…Dean can't possi…"

He talked himself to a full stop, because Dean was too obvious. A blind man could see it, how his brother felt. The question had never been that. The question had always been her.

And her expression was peaceful. Serene.

Relieved.

As if this was the preferable option.

Oh God.

Oh God.

He sat down heavily. He had been blind.

So blind.

The breath drained from his body, understanding too late why things with Dean had felt so much easier. Why in these last weeks, whenever they hunted, Zee never left Dean's side.

And he finally understood what had gone down, back in Billings. What Dean had asked her to do.

And why, after everything they'd been through, she'd finally bolted.

He understood why she came back.

Maybe he should have always known she would.

She had been way too easy to find.

"Dean doesn't know, does he? He can't see it." It was obvious. It should have been obvious, even to his pigheaded, stubborn ass brother. He looked up at Zee, his voice pleading. "Please. You have to tell him. He needs …"

Zee just looked at him. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to.

Because the only way Dean wouldn't fight her on this, the only way Dean would let her get close enough—was if Dean thought he was just a job.

God.

Looking into her eyes now, all the unsaid things were as clear as day.

Look after him, Sam. Keep him safe. Keep his soul safe.

Sam clawed his fingers through his hair again, making a tangle of it, because it goddamn hurt to breathe. No secrets,he had told Dean. He had made Dean promise. And this…this…

"He'll hate me." He bowed his head, and put it in between his hands, watching his dreams go up in flames, taking with it his hope and his redemption. "And I'll deserve it."

He didn't expect the gentleness in Zee's hand on his head, brushing the hair off his forehead where he had let it fall. She tipped his face up by his chin, and he let her, because there was no place to hide, because he'd built her this trap, and the least he could do was face her. She smoothed the wetness off his cheek with her thumb.

"This is our best shot, Sam, and you know it. This is the way it was always going to be. It's not on you."

"Zelda, you do still have a choice." Cas interrupted, staring at the silver hex around Zee's neck. "You can choose not to go back. This timeline will unravel. None of it will come to pass for you. You need never meet."

Zee looked away for a long minute.

"Yes, Cas." Her lips curved with a luminous smile that would have told Dean everything he needed to know had Dean been there to see it. "I know."