Act IV

See disclaimer for details…

Sam paged through the spell book wildly, his brain going in a hundred different directions. After flipping and then re-flipping past the same 50 pages, he found the spell he was looking for. He slammed the opened book down triumphantly on the table and then took a moment to skim the ingredients he would need to summon the demon. He scanned the room, seeing if he could use anything.

"Sammy, you're making my head hurt, man," came the scratchy, breathy, freaked out voice of his brother.

"We gotta summon this demon before the Uturu reforms and takes you out for good," said Sam anxiously as he ripped through his duffle bag, looking for supplies.

"That won't take much," murmured Dean.

There was enough edge in Dean's voice that it caused Sam to stop what he was doing and look at him. His brother's eyes were glassy and his breathing was ragged and downright painful sounding. His face had gone totally white and he was bathed in sweat. He looked like he was either about to throw up or pass out, or maybe both. But there was a determined crease in his brow that told Sam that while his brother may be down, he wasn't out. Not yet anyway. Dean struggled to stand, ready and willing to fight if needed. Never mind that his arm was hanging limply and uselessly at his side or that he was grimacing in obvious pain at the mere effort of trying to straighten up.

"Take it easy, man. Just sit there," said Sam. He watched as Dean visibly relaxed and slumped back against the bookcase. But not before reclaiming his iron knife off the floor and shoving it into his waistband. He had to smile at his brother's stubbornness.

Sam grabbed the salt out of his duffle and poured it out onto the floor in a pattern matching the drawing in the book perfectly. "Okay," he whispered as he glanced at the book to see what else was needed. "Blood of the summoner." He picked out another knife from the duffle, gritted his teeth and ran it over his arm, grimacing slightly as the blade slit through his skin and blood seeped out. He angled his arm over the center of the salt pattern and let a few drops drip down.

That done, he went on to the next item. He stepped over to Dean, knife in hand. For a moment, Dean's eyes flashed in fear. Sam reached down, ignoring Dean's flinch, chopping off a few strands of Dean's hair.

"Dude, haven't I been through enough today? Do you have to take away the one thing I have left to hold on to?" said Dean.

"And what would that be?" asked Sam.

"My physical beauty," answered Dean.

"I'm gonna need your lighter," said Sam, ignoring him. "And your flask too."

"My flask?" said Dean, reaching for his lighter and handing it over to Sam.

"Got whiskey in it, right?" said Sam. "Spell calls for barley."

Dean rolled his eyes. He pulled out the flask, took a swig and hesitantly handed it over. "Whatever."

Sam set the hair, lighter and flask on the table and then glanced again at the spell book. "Garlic, daisy petals and nutmeg."

"What are you Martha Stewart now?" asked Dean.

Sam thought for a moment and then hurried over to Dean, pulling him up to his feet. Dean groaned, unsteady. "Sammy, what the…"

"There's dead flowers that looked like daisies in the sitting area and there's a spice rack in the kitchen," said Sam as he took most of Dean's weight.

"And I have to come along because?" asked Dean.

"Because every time I leave you alone, that thing attacks," said Sam as he more or less dragged his brother out of the den.

They got out to the sitting room, where Dean grabbed the dead flowers out of one of the vases sitting on the end table. He handed them to Sam. "There, I helped," he said listlessly.

Sam got Dean into the kitchen and settled him up against the counter. Then he examined the spice rack, pulling out a jar of nutmeg. He then began searching through shelves in the pantry, discarding ancient boxes of cereal, flour and sugar. He finally pulled out a box of garlic croutons that looked to be at least five years old. He shrugged and said, "This'll have to do."

"Make it work," said Dean, looking as if he were about to tip over.

Sam nodded and grabbed Dean, gently yet firmly hauling him back to the den. He deposited his brother onto the couch and then returned to the spell book and his pattern of salt, dumping the hair, nutmeg and daisy petals in the center. He opened the box of croutons and poured a few on top of the pile. Then he opened Dean's flask and poured the whiskey over everything, ignoring Dean's audible sigh of disgust.

"Alright," said Sam, glancing at Dean. "You ready for this?"

Dean fingered the iron knife in his pocket. "Not really."

"Good, neither am I," said Sam. He grabbed the Colt and set it next to him on the table. He tossed the demon killing knife to Dean. Then he picked up the spell book, ready to get summoning. "Here goes nothing," said Sam, using Dean's lighter to fire up the contents in the salt pattern. The ingredients blazed up in a quick flash as Sam read the summoning spell out loud.

The flame suddenly fizzled out and then all was still. The brothers exchanged glances.

"Maybe it was the croutons," offered Sam.

A beat passed and then there was clapping. Max Gibbons appeared sans wheelchair. "Bravo Sam Winchester, bravo. You figured it out."

Sam clamored for the Colt, but Max knocked it out of his hands, sending it flying across the room. "If you had just let things be, Sam, you could've walked out of here with half of the million dollars. You still could." She gave him a chilling smile.

Dean took the opportunity to go at her with the knife. Unfortunately, she anticipated the move and flung Dean out into the foyer, the knife flying out of his hand. "Sorry honey, the get out of jail free card doesn't apply to you. Hopefully, my little darling will make it quick and painless. Then again that does depend on you, doesn't it?"

She snapped her finger and Sam watched with horror as the burning man rose out of the floor. It grabbed a struggling Dean and dragged him out of sight. "Dean!" yelled Sam. He glared at Max. "Why him and not me?"

"You're Lucifer's vessel, Sam. I realized who you were after we met. I have no interest in making enemies. I run a mom and pop business down here. I just want to be left alone. Killing you would bring a lot of unnecessary attention on me. Plus it would almost certainly guarantee my death," said Max.

Sam gritted his teeth. It was times like these that he missed his powers. He knew it was wrong and he hated himself for thinking it, but it was the truth. If he used his powers, he and Dean would be out of this mess and be safe. But that wasn't an option. It could never be again. He wouldn't let it be. So, he had to use the next best thing, which was his own human wiles and prowess.

He glanced nonchalantly at the fallen knife out in the foyer and then took a deep breath, purposefully trying to relax himself and change his demeanor. "So you're really going to let me walk out of here, huh? Half a million bucks in my pocket?"

"Fortunately for you, Max Gibbons is a very rich lady. And I am a creature of my word. Half a million dollars for you to leave here alive and hush up about it. I've got a good thing going. It's like community service. I'm giving back to my kind by getting rid of your kind," said Max. "Plus, letting you go could help curry favor with Lucifer."

"I'm guessing that could be a real bright feather in your cap, huh?" said Sam, inching towards the foyer.

"Why yes," said Max.

Sam nodded and then looked away for a moment as if he was contemplating a monumental decision. He looked back at her, forlorn. "I'm guessing my brother is already dead…which, there's nothing I can really do about now. I might as well make it out of here alive, right? And with a little extra dough?"

Max smiled brightly. "I'm glad you see things my way, son."

"I'm just trying to be logical, here," said Sam as he got closer and closer to the knife.

"Very wise. These are war times we're living in. Sometimes you have to form unlikely alliances and practice a little restraint," said Max.

"Yes indeed, ma'am. Yes indeed," said Sam. He grabbed the knife and shot up, ready to stab the life out of the demon possessing Max Gibbons.

****

Dean felt helpless as he was dragged from the foyer and into the dining room, the door slamming shut behind him. He was unceremoniously thrown into the dining room table with such force it knocked the table back a few feet. Dean lay in a broken pile on the ground, stunned and starry eyed, oxygen a luxury. After he was able to greedily gulp in a few mouthfuls, his vision started to clear. The Uturu was standing over him. And he looked just like Sam.

"Hello Dean," said the spirit in Sam's voice.

But it wasn't Sam's tone or inflection. It was Lucifer's.

Dean's eyes made the mistake of meeting Lucifer's eyes and a wince shook through him in pure reflex. He quickly looked away as his stomach balled into a cramped, agony filled knot. Seeing Lucifer in Sam like this, even if he knew damn well it wasn't real, was exquisite torture for him. It was the absolute worst thing he could ever imagine happening. It was his biggest fear. It meant that not only had he failed in a hunting and saving the world capacity, it meant that he had also failed in the big brother capacity. But even more than that, it meant that Sam was gone. And the thought of that broke his heart. Sam was his brother and his best friend. He loved him more than anything. He always had and always would, no matter what happened. Seeing his body taken over, defaced by Lucifer, was like watching his brother get raped. It made him sick.

And it was in that instant that Dean suddenly realized he had to keep fighting. Because he would do anything in his power to prevent this moment from ever happening in real life. Not because it was his job or because he was supposed to save the world or because his dad told him to or because he was some kind of hero. It was because Dean truly loved his brother and would do anything to protect him. He hadn't sacrificed his life or gone through all the pain and loss and guilt and blame and responsibility just to walk away and let this evil son of a bitch take his own family away from him without a fight. Even if he lost Sammy in the end. Even if he lost the whole damn world. Even if he lost himself. He had to try. He had to keep trying.

"Cat got your tongue?" said Lucifer.

"We're gonna find a way to kill you," said Dean, his voice shaky, but his conviction clear. But he still couldn't look him in the eyes.

"That's it, son. Fall off the horse and get right back on," said Lucifer. "I admire your spunk. But you're not gonna kill me. We both know that."

"Do we? You gotta have an Achilles heel somewhere. We'll find it," said Dean, still not meeting Lucifer's eyes.

Lucifer picked up on this and put his head close to Dean's so he was forced to look him straight in the eyes. Sam's eyes. "I even smell like him, don't I?" said Lucifer.

Dean swallowed hard, trying to desperately to detach and see this situation for what it really was. This wasn't even Lucifer. It wasn't real. It didn't matter if he killed this thing. He wasn't really killing Sam. His brain knew it. But the rest of him didn't. He shook as his hand fumbled for the knife he had tucked in his waistband.

As if the Uturu sensed what he was up to, Lucifer's visage quickly changed. "Dean, wait," said Lucifer. Dean made the mistake of looking the thing in the eyes again and this time saw his brother looking back at him.

"Sammy?" said Dean, his voice choked with unshed tears.

"He tricked me Dean. I'm still in here. I'm still alive, bro. If you kill him, you'll kill me too," said Sam.

Dean hesitated pulling out the knife, his hand still shaking. "Sam'd want me to kill him if it ever got this far," he said, not knowing who he was trying to convince more, himself or Lucifer.

"Oh hell, you're probably right," said the Uturu, devil mask back in place. He flicked his wrist and Dean flew hard into the wall on the other side of the room. But he didn't fall to the ground. Instead, he stayed pinned to the wall like an insect.

"You should've made your move when you had the chance," said Lucifer. "Your love for your brother and your lack of sack to kill him is going to be the death of you."

Dean took in a shaky breath as he felt himself slide up the wall.

"I say we end this where it all began so long ago for you, Dean," said Lucifer. "In a blaze of fire on the ceiling."

Dean's back was suddenly flush against the ceiling. A second later, he felt a sharp clawing pain in his belly. It was like he was being ripped apart. He gasped as warm blood seeped out of him, dripping down onto the table and floor below.

"Any last words, Dean?" asked Lucifer. He made a poof motion with his hand and suddenly Dean felt the heat of flames pool around him.

****

Max realized what was coming about a second before it happened and tagged Sam hard, sending him sprawling out on the floor. He held onto the knife in spite of the whack, desperate not to let her get her hands on it. He tucked it protectively in the waistband of his jeans as he pounced again towards Max.

The demon retaliated by waving her hand, sending Sam into a wall. "I don't want to have to kill you, Sam. Believe me, I don't. But I will if I have to."

"No you won't," said Sam. He pulled the knife out of his pants and leapt towards her in an adrenaline fueled charge. He tackled her easily with his larger body and stabbed the knife into her chest. They both fell to the ground as the demon within Max lit up like a Christmas tree and then fizzled out.

****

Dean clutched a hand around his middle, the pain starting to numb, the fight seeping out of him along with his blood. Then he saw it. It was a temporary flash. As if the Uturu disappeared for a moment and then reappeared. Like the flicker of lights. Lucifer's face even balked for the briefest of milliseconds.

Dean's hand grappled for the knife. He pulled it out of his pocket and got his hand in a position of leverage. "Sorry Sammy," he whispered. Then he threw the knife at Lucifer. His brother's eyes widened in realization. And then the Uturu exploded into a pile of dust.

Dean lingered on the ceiling for a moment as a sob of relief escaped his lips. Then he fell to the ground, his feet using the table to break his fall. The wood crumbled under his weight and he sank to the floor. He curled into himself as tears trickled out of his eyes and down his cheeks. Then in a great burst, the tears poured out of him, his whole body shaking, as the events of the last few weeks…hell of the last few years…spewed out of his heart and soul in a huge rush of release.

****

Sam sighed in relief and pulled the knife out of Max. She was gone. She lay on the floor like a withered old woman, her eyes open and focused dead on the ceiling.

"Sorry Max," said Sam. He reached down and closed her eyes with his hand. Then he hurried over to the dining room door, his heart pounding in fear, dreading what he might find on the other side. There was silence on the other side and he didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing. He cautiously opened the door. "Dean?"

He saw Dean crumpled on the floor amongst the shattered table, blood smears on the wood around him. "Dean!" he said in a concerned tone as he stepped closer to his brother. He realized Dean was shaking like a leaf. "You alright man?"

He was taken aback as Dean put his hand out as if to shield himself. It was then that Sam realized his brother was crying.

"Hey," he said softly as he approached Dean with more caution, trying not to startle him or overwhelm him. "It's over Dean. It's all over."

He knelt down next to his brother and gently put a hand on his quivering back. Dean flinched and then seemed to accept the touch. Sam carefully pulled Dean into an embrace, taking care to never expose his brother's face. Instead, he simply covered Dean's body with his own. Dean tensed for a moment, the shaking stopped, a hitch of tears in his breath. "It's okay, bro," whispered Sam. He felt Dean relax and then the shaking started up again as Sam felt his shirt dampen with his brother's tears. Sam held on to his brother for dear life, giving him all of the strength and comfort that he had inside himself to give. His brother deserved it all. And so much more.

TBC