Title: The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep
Author: Wysawyg
Summary: Sam Winchester was beginning to wonder whether the demon had forgotten his plans for him. Sam Winchester had forgotten that the demon played a long game. Dark!fic. Multi-chapter. Not WIP.
Disclaimer: Everything the light touches belongs to someone else. The darkside too. It's all Kripke and the guys and gals at the CW.
Warnings and notes: Multiple character death. Dark fic.
Timeline: Diverges AU from season 2. Approximately after Born under a Bad Sign but before Heart.
Beta: Beta'd by the wonderful TraSan who is a wonderful writer and beta but does torture flame-retardant ducks hence proving that no-one is perfect.
Feedback: Makes the hamsters in my head dance, especially concrit.
Chapter 13
Dean was catnapping in the main room when Marco returned; two days later than he should have and sporting a black eye and fourteen stitches. Dean heard the door open but didn't bother looking up from where he sat, leaning back on a chair, eyes closed, chin tucked to his chest and legs up on the table.
As it turned out, that was a mistake as only a brief rattling served as warning before he was hit squarely between the eyes by his new bottle of pills. The impact combined with his startled flail was enough to tip the chair backwards and Dean and chair hit the ground with a solid thump.
"Polo! Shit, sorry man." Marco offered a hand up to the felled Winchester, "I was sure you'd catch them."
"Reaction times still a little off." Dean yanked himself up off the tension in Marco's arm and was promptly manhandled into the nearest chair.
"Bobby mentioned in his message you'd been doing the amazing vibrating Winchester impression again." Marco studied his friend's face, making sure he was okay and then cuffed up on the upside of the chin, "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I think I was thinking I wanted to go and play outside with all the other boys, Mom," Dean snarked before noticing Marco's irritated expression. "Fine. I was trying to make sure I had a reserve in case shit hits the fan... again. I just figured a seizure within the walls of the White Spot wouldn't be that serious. It's not like we can just nip down the pharmacy and pick up some more pills each time I run out."
Marco grabbed a nearby chair and span it around to straddle the seat, arms resting on the back, facing Dean, "You realise what a seizure is, Polo? Your brain is practically electrocuting itself?"
"Eugh, electrocution is not fun."
"Why am I not surprised you've been electrocuted before? Seizures are temporary abnormal electro-physiologic phenomena of the brain, resulting in abnormal synchronization of electrical neuronal activity. You get what that means, right? Seizures are your brain fucking itself up."
"Did you eat an encyclopaedia while you were out there?"
"Yes, it was chewy delicious." Marco deadpanned. "So you missed me?"
"Of course," Dean said, grinning at Marco's surprised expression. "I was a day away from being force-fed another one of Jefferson's concoctions."
"Didn't the last one put you in a coma for a week?"
"And the one before that made me throw up continually for twenty four hours. The vomiting wasn't so bad. It was the stomach ache that lasted four days afterwards which was hell."
"Has anyone considered the possibility Jefferson is working for the other side?" Marco wasn't serious but he pitched his tone quiet in case. Accidentally overheard jests had caused trouble before.
"If he was, he'd be trying to take out Bobby, not me."
"Pfft. You are practically our very own five star General."
Dean snorted, "I think I prefer the ranks Ash made up."
"I don't think Stoner, Chief Stoner etc are confidence inspiring. When's Ash back from the other White Spot anyway?"
"Because I'm sure in this post-apocalyptic paradise, people are still sternly disapproving of drugs," Dean smirked. "Ash'll be back in a few days to spout the latest statistics on just how far up the creek without a paddle we are."
"You'd be surprised at how normal people try to make this world," Marco pointed out. "You should see the long runs that I made, I sometimes sneak into some of the captured towns and man, you should see it. All these idiots wandering around the town like everything is normal, ignoring the fact that there are demonic forces ruling where they live."
"I've said it before. Demons I get, people are just damn odd." Dean popped the pill bottle open and peered down at the contents, "How many in here?"
"Dunno. Source said about thirty. I want to get them tested first."
"Thought all your sources were reliable."
"He usually is which is why the fact he was acting edgy is all the more suspicious. I just don't want a repeat of last time."
The last time that Dean had ended up with a batch of spiked pills, they'd been laced with LSD. Bobby had ended up strapping him down from the bed to stop him racing around the camp chasing after butterflies. It had been amusing to the group right up until the drugs messed with his brain chemistry and sent him into a full grand mal seizure. They'd had to hastily loosen the restraints before he ripped his arm out of its socket. As it was, Dean ended up with black and blue bruises where the leather straps had been and a dislocated shoulder.
"I'm sure no-one does," was all Dean said. "You gonna go check it out?"
"Yep. Going to head back out in a few days. Take a few more people and if it looks like he's about to turn tail then we clean out his stock. Fancy tagging along? I'm sure he's got some more Dilantin hidden there."
"If my mommy and daddy will let me," Dean joked. "Only fair I help out with all the trouble to get my stupid pills."
"Mommy and Daddy, eh? What does that make me? The cool uncle."
"You know you are at least a decade younger than me, right?"
"Physically but not mentally, old man. What else could I be?" They both knew younger brother was off limits.
"What's wrong with cousins?"
"Sounds crap. I'd rather be a cool uncle," Marco stated. "So did you take one of your stupid pills this morning?"
Dean darted his eyes away, "Of course."
"Really?" Marco sounded sceptical. Dean figured he probably deserved that given his recent behaviour. It didn't make it fair. It wasn't like Dean had fucked with his health just for a laugh, his reasons were sound.
"Don't you start!" Dean exclaimed, leaning back against his chair, "It's bad enough having Bobby and Jo count the contents of my pill jar every morning. I agreed to take one a day of my remaining supply and then sort it out from there."
"I'll expect you to take one a day if you come on this mission with me. I don't like my co-pilots getting twitchy."
"Who you calling a co-pilot?" Dean poked the other man. "Five minutes ago I was a five star general."
"Life's a wheel. Lifts you up, grinds you down."
"Very poetic." Dean snorted.
"Thanks. I read it in a fortune cookie."
Dean put on his most serious face, "There's something very important we do need to talk about though." He paused just long enough for Marco to look apprehensive, "What are the latest rumours about me and the Impala?"
"Please don't encourage him," Dean hadn't heard Jo enter the room but she sauntered over to the friends, pulling herself a chair and joining them.
Marco just smirked, "The latest rumour, helped in no way by me this time, is that the Impala is driven by an angel cast out of heaven for wanting to help out the hunters."
Dean clapped a hand to his side and laughed, ignoring the protestations from his sore muscles, "Angel? Must be thinking of my co-pilot here." He leaned over to ruffle Jo's hair in a way he knew she hated.
Jo predictably slapped his hand away and tried to smooth her hair back down, "You know the whole me letting you get away with shit just because you were an invalid is going to stop soon."
"And then you'll just let me get away with stuff because I'm so damn adorable?" Dean said, turning his best smile on Jo.
"That stopped working on me about six months ago." Jo said but Dean could see the tell-tale twitch by her eye and the flare of red on the tips of her cheeks that provoked an answer stab of guilt in Dean. Dean was all too aware of Jo's 'feelings' for him but any possibility of a relationship had come to a grinding halt with the start of the invasion and the dramatic shift of priorities. Dean had tried to cease any flirting with her but old habits were hard to break..
Marco clapped Dean on the shoulder, "As much fun as it is watching you two crazy kids dance around each other, I need to go hit the shower." Marco stood up, grabbing his carry-bag from where he'd dropped it on the floor after Dean's backwards tumble.
"I was gonna say something," Dean smirked. Marco just flipped him off and headed out of the room.
"So me and Marco are gonna go raid a pharmacy, wanna tag?" Dean said in the awkward silence left in Marco's wake.
"Maybe we should spend some time apart," Jo said, glancing down at the ground. "It's not like you and Marco need me for a job like that and I think Bobby is letting things slip around here. He could use a woman's touch."
"Where you gonna find one of them?" Dean teased, "Look what Marco said…"
"Is absolutely true but we're not likely to do anything about it until you finally decide your own life rates above everything else in the world which should be about the time of the end of the world so if you could just give me a call when that happens?" Jo didn't appear to pause for breath at all.
Dean knew better than to make empty promises, "Will do." He said awkwardly and then stood, feeling a stiff ache in his limbs from the tumble. "I'm going to go get my stuff together ready to go out. I guess I'll see you in a few weeks."
It turned out the pills weren't one hundred percent Dilantin but fortunately the other fifty odd percent was just chalk dust so they were safe enough to take, just not as effective. By the time Marco, Dean and a couple of others returned to the contact, he'd cleared out, taking the majority of his stock with him and leaving a few booby traps behind.
The booby traps left one of their companions dead, Marco with a broken leg and Dean with a new scar running down his thigh. It was too far to make it back to the main White Spot so they ended up holing up in one of the smaller ones.
It was presided over by the chief medic who almost happened to be a sour-faced old man who had a grudge against the younger generation of hunters and Dean Winchester in particular judging by the way he enjoyed poking and prodding jagged slice on Dean's leg. Fortunately it missed all of the muscles and just left his leg a bit stiffer than normal. He ended up having to leave after a month while Marco stayed to recuperate.
The biggest problem was that Dean's supply of pills was swiftly running low. He'd been taking one every day for the first part of the mission then after his injury when he was delirious, the rebellion members caring for him fed him one a day. When Dean was recovered enough, he tried to string them out but the doctors just found more and more sneaky ways to trick him into having them.
Things were busy back at the headquarters and Dean found himself missing Marco's jibes and jokes more than ever. More attempts to take out of the Demon's lieutenants failed. No matter how cunningly they planned and how few other people they told, they always seemed to know they were coming. Paranoia ran rife through the rebellion, everyone suspected of betraying them. Every day reports came in of more defectors, giving up the hopeless cause.
Dean memorised the names every day and made a note to confront those cowards if he ever saw them.
More worrying that the list of deserters was the list of hunters who were just going missing. The one thing the rebellion had been truly successful at was having eyes and ears just about everywhere who had reported back on the defectors. There was a growing list of hunters who had left the rebellion and not been seen since.
It was a cold winter evening when one of them showed up.
Snow storms had been playing complete havoc with all of the rebellion activities so most of the forces were locked up inside the White Spot. A large proportion of those were sat inside the Roadhouse as the main bar had been informally known. Jo was taking a note from the old days and was dashing about the room serving drinks. Dean had the central table and was entertaining all the hunters with tales about the old days, only partly fabricated.
There was no warning when the door swung open and Esme stepped in. All the hunters knew her face now as one of the missing so it was a matter of seconds before every gun in the room was cocked in her direction. She stepped into the room then froze and peered up at the Solomon's key depicted above her. Her eyes turned to coal black, "Well, That's pesky."
"Don't shoot," Dean ordered, swinging his chair to face the door. "It's still Esme in there."
"Not for much longer," The demon said in Esme's voice before lifting up the bottom of her t-shirt to reveal a jagged slice that went from one side of her abdomen to the other, blood seeping slowly out. "It's her own fault," The demon inhabiting Esme's shell said. "He saw what she tried to do and he was not pleased."
"He who?" The question was echoed from various voices in the room.
The demon turned Esme's head to face directly at Dean, "First Lieutenant." The man formerly known as Dean's little brother.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Bobby growled, his rifle held rock-steady on the figure in the doorway. "What the hell did Esme try to do?"
Dean already knew. The events of almost nine months ago had never really faded from his mind. Waking up with a gun pointed at your head was hardly something you just forgot. He and Esme had never talked again about it except for a brief conversation where Dean made it clear that he wasn't about to hold the incident against her and Esme mostly apologised.
He mentally ran through the list of missing hunters and inwardly cursed. He should have seen the connection earlier. All of the missing were hunters that had threatened him at some point. Unsurprisingly, he didn't feel like revealing that information, not just for the impressive size of the list.
The demon wasn't about to give him an easy ride as it turned to face Dean, "He knows."
A lot of faces turned towards Dean but none were particularly suspicious. Dean had earned his place in the rebellion a thousand times over and the fact he was related to Sam Winchester now just brought pity, not suspicion.
Dean made a show of inspecting his fingernails before speaking, seeking higher ground for this conversation but rapidly feeling like he was standing on the crest of an avalanche, "I have a suspicion but no idea how Sam knew." Most of the rebellion only called Sam First Lieutenant these days, refusing to acknowledge that Sam had once been one of them. Dean refused to call him the First Lieutenant as if that was too much of an admittance that his brother couldn't be saved.
The demon chuckled, the voice pitched lower than Esme's natural tones, "You haven't worked it out by now? First Lieutenant always knows. Why do you think your pathetic little attempts to kill the other lieutenants always fail?"
"Sam's death visions," Dean blurted out without thinking. "That's how you know? He saw how they could die?" The idea that Sam would betray the hunters to that level was like a stab in the gut, they'd lost dozens to the attempts, hunters that Sam knew, friends.
It didn't take long for the significance of that to sink it but it was Jo that connected the dots all the way, "Esme tried to kill you?" She asked in a shocked voice.
"A long time ago," Dean excused Esme's actions. "And before she understood the whole situation."
"I always knew she was nervous around you. I just figured she had a crush." Jo said.
"Enough of the soap opera," The demon complained, "I'm here to deliver a message from the First Lieutenant. He wants you all to know that he wants his brother back and he'll kill anyone that gets in his way. You have a week before he'll send the next one of your hunters back to you." Before anyone had any time to comment, Esme's head tipped back and a stream of black smoke came out of her mouth, coiling away into the air.
The black seeped away from Esme's eyes, turning them back to hazy green and she clutched her hands to her stomach, watching the blood seep over her fingers, quickening now without the demonic presence holding it back. "What?" She asks, sounding like a lost little girl.
Dean was the first to regain the use of his muscles, ironic as that was, and he dashed over to Esme, catching her just as her knees gave way under her. "Hey there," He said, sweeping his hand to push her long hair out of her eyes, "I'm so sorry. I never wanted this."
She blinked up at him once, twice and then was gone. Body turned nerveless and eyes lifeless. Dean stood, Esme's body lolling in his arms, which turned out not to be the best idea as searing pain shot through his still recovering leg, turning his vision to scattershot white. He felt someone take Esme from him and then arms guided him back to a chair.
"You okay, Dean?" Jo's familiar voice asked at his ear.
"Fine," Dean lifted his eyes to Jo as his vision cleared once more, wondering if they looked as dead as he felt. "What could be wrong?'
"Esme's not your fault," Jo glanced around, most of the group had since dispersed or moved off to other corners to the bar to discuss events. "None of this is."
"Funny because that demon disagreed with you," Dean said, rubbing at his shoulder. "Either way, I guess the decision is made for me."
"You can't honestly be thinking of going to Sam? You'd be the last person I'd pick to turn deserter."
"I'm fairly sure Sam only wants me so he can kill me then put me back together better, stronger, faster so it's hardly deserting and at least this way if I do get Sam, it'll give us a fighting chance."
"And by get Sam you mean?" Dean had a feeling that Jo already knew what it meant but was just trying to make sure.
"Save him or kill him, just like I promised." Just saying those words made Dean feel overwhelmingly tired.
"Dean, you don't have to do this."
And Dean wanted to laugh in that moment, "I don't? Excellent, I'll just stay home, shall I? While the demons kill each of the hunters they've captured and then who next? You? Bobby? Ash? Marco? Random people who make the mistake of crossing their paths sent to the White Spot to die?" He turned his head down to Jo and spoke again low and soft, "What do you think would happen if I took a quick poll of the people in this room? Do you honestly think it'd come out in my favour?"
"We need you," Jo says, matching her tone to his. "A living, breathing fighter, not a pointless martyr. God knows we've enough of them."
"But if what the demon says is true, I'm more of a liability than an asset at the moment. Every time I put myself in a situation where I could die, Sam is going to see it and he's going to tell them."
"You could just stop putting yourself into situations where you might die. Become a stay-at-home general like Bobby."
"I think I'd rather die," Dean said drolly but truthfully.
"Does it sound like I'm giving you that option?"
Dean turned to glare at Jo, "Do I need you to give me options? Last time I checked, I'm my own person."
"No, you aren't," Jo disagreed, "You aren't since the first meeting we agreed to use the Impala as a symbol of the rebellion, you belong to the rebellion now and we don't give you permission to go out and get yourself killed in a completely moronic fashion."
"How about a perfectly sensible fashion?" Dean asked then frowned, "That didn't come out right. All I know is that I have to stop Sam, he's my responsibility."
"You can't take responsible for what he's doing," Jo sounded exasperated over the old argument.
"Can't I?" Dean said, equally frustrated with Jo's refusal to understand. "He's my little brother and I didn't notice what was happening to him until it was too late. I promised my Dad… I promised him that I'd watch out for him and I failed." Dean suddenly felt like the exertions of the previous month caught up with him all at once and he turned with half-lidded eyes to Jo, "Can't we just discuss this in the morning?"
Jo didn't look like she wanted to back down but finally saw the sense in acquiescing. Dean stood and headed towards his bed. In his head he was already making plans. Come the morning, he'd be sat in the Impala on the road to where he needed to be.