Dean arrived at the uptown apartment building an hour later. Parking down the street, Dean approached the building on foot taking in the expensive cars, private side gardens and upscale retail shops. Dean tried to quell the apprehension in his gut as he approached the address Sam had given him. A short doorman in red opened the door for him, eyes flashing completely black before saying, "Good evening, Mr. Winchester. Mr. Laezaz is expecting you. 32nd floor."
Dean nodded, moving into the lobby of the building. There were several ornate chairs and couches scattered about, all holding a variety of large, beefy men, most of them with guns. As Dean headed to the elevator, he kept his head down. Pushing the button for the top floor, he chanced a look back and plastered a smirk on his face as he saw every man had risen to their feet, every eye completely black and full of hatred. As the door shut, Dean let go of his false bravado, leaning against the back of the elevator in relief. "Jesus Sammy, what the hell are you doing?" Dean muttered to himself.
A moment later the elevator opened into a posh entry hall. Shiney marble floors were perfectly accented with gold and cream wallpaper. Dean stepped hesitantly into the hall, calling out a soft, "Hello? Damien?" before moving into the main living room. Dean couldn't help but admire the low black leather couches, the 64" flat screen, the crackling fire in the brick fire place. Apparently, evil pays a lot better than good does, Dean thought sarcastically. Dean heard a noice behind him and spun around, instantly on alert. There stood Sam.
Coming from another room, Sam was buttoning up what looked like a dark silk shirt, which he wore with brown kackis and Italian loafers. This was the first time in weeks that Dean had seen him in person and he took a moment, simply drinking in the sight of him. He looked exactly the same – but completely different.
There was no denying that this was Sam Winchester. The same Sam Winchester Dean had nursed through colds and helped with homework. The same Sam Winchester who had fought with their father every day from age 13-18 and yet wouldn't let Dean search for him by himself. He was the same Sam that Dean had always known and yet he was someone Dean had never met.
This Sam was darker, more dangerous. It was more than the dark stubble on his face and the bright glitter in his eyes. It was the way he moved, carried himself. He radiated the raw power of a predator. This Sam had a magnetism that couldn't be denied. No longer self conscious of his height, Sam stood straight, confidence pouring off him. This was someone who inspired instant respect along with a healthy dose of fear.
Dean suddenly realized he was staring and started to say something. However, the words died on his tongue as a leggy, half dressed redhead came giggling through the door behind Sam.
The redhead noticed Dean and stopped, eyes wide. Turning to Sam, she said, "Oh! I'm sorry Mr. Laezaz. I didn't know you had company. . . ." Dean pretended he didn't hear the edge of fear in her voice.
"That's alright, Brittney," Sam said smoothly, moving to the bar and fixing himself a drink. "But why don't you head on home."
"Of course," the girl said quickly heading back towards the way she came. "I'll just let myself out . . ." she mumbled contritely disappearing into the room.
Dean was completely non-plussed. He said the only thing he could think of. "Nice."
Sam turned from the bar, two whiskeys in his hands and smiled dryly. "Power does have its priviledges."
Handing one to Dean, Sam sat on the couch, leaning back with his right ankle on his left knee. When Dean didn't follow, Sam raised his eyebrows and motioned him to the opposite couch. Dean took one last look around, sipped his whiskey (which was excellent) and slowly sat.
For the first time in three years, Dean had no idea what to say to his brother. Taking a deep breath, Dean went with, "You look good, Sam."
Sam smiled. "Thanks. You look . . .well, honestly, you look like hell. What? Did you give up sleep for lent or something?"
"Naw – you know you were the only one who went in for that kind of thing . . ." Dean's voice trailed off, not sure if that was the right thing to say. Feeling uncomfortable, Dean drained his drink in one gulp.
Sam laughed softly, did the same and got up to refill both the drinks. Taking the glass back, it was Dean's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Wow, Sam. Two whiskeys in ten minutes. I'll be picking you up off the floor, here in a minute."
Sam sat back down. "Yeah, well, I have a much higher tolerance than I used to."
"I'll bet." Dean answered quietly, aware of the double meaning of his comment.
Both men were quiet for a moment. – both waiting for the other one to speak.
Sam started this time. "So, what you been up to?"
"Oh you know, fighting the good fight, protecting the weak, killing the evil things that go bump in the night, same old shit."
Sam smiled at Dean and then grew serious. "Does that include me?"
Dean looked up surprised. "What?"
"Killing the evil things . . . am I in that category now?"
Dean stood up suddenly, pacing to the window, before saying, "Nice view."
Sam sighed. "I missed that."
"What?" Dean said turning.
"The way you just ignore a question you don't want to answer." Sam still sat on the couch. While his words sounded vulnerable, his body language still spoke of power and patience. "Six months ago I had to stop you from murdering Gordon Walker in cold blood because he tried to kill me. Now . . . six different hunters have tried to take me out in four weeks and you were no where to be found. Where were you, Dean? What happened?"
Sam's words tore at Dean's heart and guilt crawled through his gut. Dean turned back towards the window to hide the clouding in his eyes. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he went on the offensive.
"You know damn well what happened. You made a damn deal. You took not just any demon but a demon prince inside you – willingly. You gave up everything you were and the minute you did that you stopped being Sam."
Sam leaned forward and put his drink on the coffe table. "Is that what you think? That I'm not Sam? I may not be the 'Sammy' you knew but I'm still me, Dean. You know what the real difference is? For the first time in my life, I'm free of the fear. Fear of losing you. Fear of ever loving someone. Fear of losing control of myself. I finally have the power to protect myself – and those I care about. Is that so bad?"
Dean whirled around to face Sam. "You know that's not it. It's the price you paid, man. You gave up your humanity. And don't get me wrong – I get it. Believe me, I get it. Lilith was coming round the bend, Jack was in bad shape and I was on the highway to hell ahead of schedule and you couldn't do anything to stop it. I'm not mad at you Sam. I'm just sorry as hell. I wanted to save you . . ."
"Damnit Dean. Look at me!" Sam demanded, standing up with his arms wide. Slowly turning in a circle, he said, "Do I look like I need saving? I am fine. Hell, I'm better than fine – I'm great. You are the only one in this room that needs saving. You are the one with a deadline looming."
"We both know there's nothing you can do to save me."
"Maybe before – but now . . . now I can. Dean, I know who holds the contract on you. It's Lilith - the same bitch who has been stalking me for the last year. The same one I've been trying to kill for the last three weeks. She's been hiding from me and I think I know why." Sam looked intently at his brother. "I think I can take her."
"Oh you can take her, huh, Van Dam?" Dean yelled. "And what about the people who happen to get in the way, Sam? What about all the people that got in the way over the last three weeks?"
Sam's shoulders fell. He heaved a sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose in a gesture so familiar that Dean's heart ached. He almost reached out when Sam said, "All those people were HER people. I mean, yeah, some innocents got in the way. But, damn it Dean, this is war. And has there ever been a war where there weren't people who got caught in the cross-fire? It's regretable but it happens."
"It happens?" Dean said incredulously. "It happens that children die in their sleep because their fathers are bad guys? Actually that hasn't happened since Pharoah in Egypt. And the last time I looked, you weren't Moses. You ain't even Charlton Heston!"
"Don't you see? It's either them or us! I'm doing this to protect what's mine. I won't lose you like I've lost every other person I've ever loved! I'm doing this for you."
Dean closed his eyes as Sam's words hit him like a punch to the stomach. "Ahh Sammy. Don't say that. Please don't say that this is for me . . ." Dean sat down as if his legs wouldn't hold him any longer.
"Dean . . ." Sam reached out but Dean's weary voice stopped him.
"Okay, let's just suppose for a moment that you could stop the deal. Then what?"
"What do you mean, then what?" Sam asked confused.
"Then what?" Dean asked in a stronger voice. "Then what happens? I mean, things are obviously not going to be the same. What? You're going to keep hunting? I'm sure your entrourage downstairs is going to love that."
"No, once this bitch is dead, I'm done hunting."
"Then I just come and live the high life with you? Maybe bang Lindsey Lohan?"
Sam's voice took on an edge of excitement. "Why not, Dean?"
Dean huffed and turned away angrily but Sam persisted.
"No, really! Why not? Dean, don't you think we've done enough? Lost enough? Don't you think you deserve to have a real life? A home? A family? I can give you all that Dean. There's nothing I can't give you."
"Oh so now you're my own personal Djinn?"
Sam grinned. "Sorta. Listen, we never chose this life. Dad chose it for us. You've been doing this since you were twelve years old, Dean. Not because you wanted to but because you didn't know anything else. Didn't you tell me you were tired? Tired of the job and tired of the life? Don't you think it's time to let it go?"
"And do what, Sam!? Do what? Go to Broadway show openings and Museum fundraisers? I think I'd rather go to hell – unless that is hell – which it could be."
Sam rolled his eyes at the commentary. "You could just live, Dean. You could open a garage and restore classic cars. You could go to college. You could just retire and spend the rest of your life mowing the lawn." Sam's voice took on a pleading tone. "We could be together. Hell, Dean. I wouldn't admit it if I didn't have to but I miss you, man."
Dean knew if he didn't move right then, it would be over. He would cave in to Sammy, just like he had been doing since Sam was a baby. It all sounded so good – too good to be true. He was tired. Tired and scared and in spite of Bobby and Ellen and Jack's best efforts, he was lonely – lonely for Sam.
Moving across the room to put some space between him and his brother, Dean asked the one thing that hadn't been mentioned. "What about Jack?"
"What about Jack?"
"Is he going to be a part of this Willie Wonka Chocolate Factory life too?"
Sam shook his head and headed towards the bar to refill his drink. "No, not Jack. Jack can't be a part of this."
Dean's curiousity was peaked. Sam had been close to Jack for much longer than Dean had been. "Why not?"
"It's hard to explain," Sam said rattling the ice in his glass but not looking at Dean. "Jack's not like us. He hasn't lived the life we have. He's young and full of righteous anger and the need for revenge. He would never give up the hunt for the thing that killed his mother. And the demon that killed his mother no longer exists – unless you want to say it's me."
"Jack would never hurt you."
"Oh, you don't know what Jack would and wouldn't do if pushed. You were the one that said it, Dean. Jack has a power – a power he can't control. Even he doesn't know what he could do, how dangerous he could be." Sam's voice had become low and hard, his mouth was set in a grim line.
Dean looked at Sam thoughtfully. Dean knew his brother's face, his voice, better than he knew his own. No matter how much the joining had changed his brother, some things remained. And now, when Dean looked at Sam, he could see that Sam was hiding something – and whatever it was scared him. Was it possible that Jack could hurt Sam? Or could Jack somehow save Sam from himself?
Dean shook his head. He would have to think on it. He changed topics so Sam wouldn't realize he had let something slip. "So, how would this work exactly, with the deal?"
Sam was pulled out of his thoughts by the question. "Well, I would go with you when you went to the crossroads. I think the opportunity to send you to hell plus kill me as a bonus will draw her out."
"And what? You just going to use your x-ray vision and make her explode?"
Sam chuckled and flopped back down on the couch. "I wish it were that easy. No, the first thing we would have to do would be to make sure you could defend yourself if need be."
"And we do that how? I think it's a little late for Tae-kwon-demon lessons . . ."
"It's simple really. We perform a ritual I found in a book a couple of days back."
"And the purpose of the ritual is to . . ."
"Endow you with the same power I have."
"Excuse me?" Dean said standing up.
"What? It's not hard but it will sting a little. Basically, we light some candles, stand in a special sacred circle, make a cut on our wrists, join them, chant a minute and it's done."
"And I repeat: Excuse Me?"
"What's your problem?"
"You want me to cut my wrist and mix your blood in with mine? The same blood that was the way in for old yellow-eyes in the first place? The blood that bound your soul to that thing? No, no, no." Dean said adamantly shaking his head.
"Are you kidding me? You are getting ready to spend an eternity burning in the pit and you're squeamish about a little blood?" Sam said exasperated.
"You know that's not it. You want me to do what you did – bind my soul to this thing – this demon. I won't do it."
"Why the hell not! One way or another, things are going to change. You're either going to hell and becoming a demon after years of torment or you get to keep your soul – slightly modified. Plus you get the benfit of being almost indestructable, unlimited power, wealth. . . ."
Dean looked up, shocked at Sam's statement.
Sam answered the unvoiced question. "Oh I know. I know what happens when a human soul goes to hell. What will happen to you. You may not be happy with this solution but it is the best we've got."
Dean sighed. Tilting his glass up, he finished his drink and stood to set it on the bar. Turning, he pulled Sam to him bringing the younger man's forehead down to touch his own. Closing his eyes, he said, "Sammy? You know everything I've ever done was to protect you, to make sure you were safe, happy. You know, there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you . . ." Dean pulled back so he could look into Sam's eyes. " . . . but I can't do this . . ."
With that, Dean slowly walked out of the room, shutting the front door quietly behind him.
Sam stood there for five minutes, head down. When he finally spoke, it was in a voice that was barely recognizable as human. "Damn," Sam muttered. "Damn, Damn. DAMN! DAMN!" he screamed hurling the glass against the wall so it exploded into dozens of pieces. Sam's blue-green eyes were suddenly replaced with a burning orange flame. Sam picked up the marble coffee table, hurling it through the 32nd story window as if it were a baseball. Every human and demon on the top ten floors screamed as one and fell down dead as blood spurted from their ears and eyes.
Sam took a deep breath, working to get his temper under control. When his eyes had returned to their natural color, Sam got himself another drink. Staring out the shattered window into the night, Sam took a sip. "I won't give up on you, Dean. I will save you. And when that bitch is dead, you and I will rule this Earth, side by side. You don't understand now but this is the way it is supposed to be. The way it was meant to be"