Thanks so much to all the readers, and to my wonderful beta, Maygin!
"It's not your fault Dean, you didn't do anything wrong. How could you even think such a thing?" Sam ignored his brother's calming words, shouting loud enough he figured it had to get through to Dean.
"I don't Sam. They do, that's the point. I don't think I did a thing wrong, and I'd do it all over again. The only thing I'd change would be letting you walk out of the store that day alone. But the fact is we have to work with how they feel."
Sam couldn't stop his breathing from quickening he didn't even want to try. Chest pumping, he grabbed Dean's arm roughly. "You ARE NOT going to sacrifice yourself to them in some twisted plan to fix something they think were done to them." He jerked on Dean's arm again. "You're not."
"Where do you come up with this stuff? No, I'm not."
"Promise me." Sam hissed.
"Sammy…"
"God dammit Dean, promise me right now." He growled. The surprised look was all Sam really needed. Dean would, to save Sam, give himself up to the spirits. That was unacceptable. There was no way Sam would lose his brother to them. He hadn't before, and hadn't come this far or suffered this much to be left alone because of the McCreedys and Redding.
Dean nodded, glancing down before lifting his eyes to meet Sam's. One hand came up to rest against the side of Sam's neck, sending tendrils of warmth, confidence and reassurance through Sam.
"I'm not going anywhere Sam. But we are going to figure out how to do this. If that means I have to grovel a little to ensure you're safe, then I don't care, I'll do it." He took a deep breath, staring intently at Sam. "But I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not letting them win Sammy."
Sam believed his brother. Believed him with everything he had, believed him and in him. Some of the knots in Sam's chest released, letting him breath freer.
"Let's get set up for the ritual." Bobby said. Sam had almost forgotten about him.
Dean set about laying down a partial salt ring while Bobby copied the words to the rituals they'd need on index cards, those would be easier to keep in their pockets if things got dicey. Sam readied the stone and the makeshift alter they'd use to trap the spirits. From there the stone would have to be carried into the circle and it completed.
Kneeling on the ground, sitting back on his heels, Sam watched his brother work in the adjoining room. They were putting the salt circle under the Devil's Trap. None of them knew if it would help, but it couldn't hurt. Dean was diligent and exacting when it came to salt rings, it made Sam smile, watching him, how he bit his lower lip when he concentrated, pulled his eye brows together just a small amount. The same diligent way Dean cared for their car…their home…cared for Sam. If Sam could be granted any wish in the world it would be that Dean would learn to care for himself the same way. Sam did the best he could to make up for what he considered something lacking in his brother. If Dean wouldn't be diligent in caring for himself, Sam would be doubly so in caring for Dean.
You'd die for him.
Glancing around Sam saw no one; neither Dean nor Bobby seemed to have heard the voice. He knew the voice. He'd spent nearly a week fearing that same voice six months ago. Drawing a deep breath, Sam had to warn his brother, Bobby.
Say a word and he dies where he stands.
Sam wasn't so sure the spirit could actually do such a thing, but he wasn't going to test his theory.
You'd die for him.
Nodding the smallest amount, Sam whispered, "Yes." Careful not to alert the other two men.
Kill yourself for him? Burn for him?
He couldn't help jerking around to look for the source of the voice. "Yes." Sam could barely get the word out. He'd made Dean promise he wouldn't sacrifice himself, and what was Sam doing now, but the same thing he'd feared Dean doing. He believed in Dean. Believed enough to do what he had to to spare his brother. Believed in Dean, believed Dean wouldn't let him burn to death.
He won't know until it's too late. He'll watch you burn.
Compelled to move without knowing why, Sam's feet carried him, silently, through the kitchen, out the back door. Dean promised, wouldn't do it, wouldn't sacrifice himself to the spirits, he'd promised, he wouldn't.
Funny, he didn't ask the same of you.
Sam stepped down the back stairs pausing on each one. His eyes slid first to the left, then right. No one was with him. Dean hadn't asked. The thunderbolt hit Sam, Dean wouldn't think to ask, he'd never think anyone would sacrifice themselves for him.
Prove him wrong. You'd die for him. Do it. Do it or he dies where he stands. Do it and I'll go away forever.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, hearing the voice above the rushing of blood in his ears, the pounding of his heart in his chest, throat, stomach. Fists clenched against the shaking that gripped his entire body, Sam opened his eyes as he took another step. He was beyond knowing what was real, what wasn't. Arty, or maybe it was Joey, both were Abaddon as far as Sam was concerned, had stripped him of reason, defenses. They'd worked hard on it. Sam was tired, ready to give up, give in, let go. Standing on the ground now, Sam stared at what was in front of him, not knowing if it were real or not. It didn't matter. The effect would be the same.
If Dean died, they won. If he died, and Dean lived maybe they would still win, but they wouldn't continue to exist. Dean would see to that. Do it for Dean. A voice whispered; his or Abaddon's Sam had no idea. In his head, or from the apparition hovering before him, he didn't know. It didn't matter. If it could do this, what it had been doing to them both, it could kill Dean with a thought, Sam was sure of that now.
Tiny ribbons of smoke registered in his brain. That part was real. Whether the rest was for show or not, Sam had no idea.
NOW!
Biting his lip Sam took another step. The rest of the world swung out of focus, the only thing he saw was the pyre in front of him. He was going to die. Burn, he was going to burn up, die engulfed in flames. Sam didn't want to die, but Dean dying wasn't an option, so he had to do this. Do it to keep Dean safe from them, to make them leave him alone. To make them leave. Eyes traveling up to the torch planted in the ground beside the pyre to the small flame there Sam took another step. Die, he was going to die trapped in a prison of flames.
He wanted more than anything to explain to Dean. Say goodbye. Oh, you'll see him. Now, or his next breath is his last. Stepping forward Sam's fingers wound around the torch, pulling it free he watched, mesmerized as it shook in time with his quaking arm. His breath hitched. Squaring his shoulders Sam moved forward until he stood over the pyre.
Sam was more afraid than he'd ever been of anything in his life.
Dean straightened, wiped his hands together to brush off stray bits of salt and surveyed his work. It was a perfect circle. His were always perfect circles no matter how much time he had to lay them. Sam's were usually more like ovals, circles with squishes in the middle, round edged squares. Dean was often harassed over his ability to lay a perfect circle. Sam said he was anal about them. Dean figured if he had to do this job, he was damn well going to do it well. Sam was just jealous he couldn't draw, let alone lay down a perfect circle.
He was going to use his perfect circle to send three souls to where he did not know. The fact was they were more likely going to be destroyed completely. His brother, Bobby and he were going to completely end the existence of three souls. It was disturbing on multiple levels. Dean tried not thinking about it, but the thoughts kept ramming to the forefront of his mind.
Was he any better than they were, than Redding was? Dean would do anything, literally anything, to protect his brother, keep him safe. He didn't have any doubts, if need be he'd kill to keep Sam safe. Was Redding that different? Dean didn't really think so. Like him, that man wanted to protect his brothers, keep them safe. The difference was Redding had let his brothers hurt others, destroy lives, kill. Dean might be willing to kill for Sam, but he wasn't willing to let Sam harm others, he'd stop him, just as Dean had done on the train.
Had Redding, as Dean had, cared for his brothers throughout their lives, raised them? He had no idea, and no way of finding out. One thing was obvious Joey and Arty had meant as much to Mike Redding, he'd loved them as much, feared for them as much as Dean did Sam. At the end Dean couldn't find it in his heart to feel much malice towards Redding, any of them.
However, that wasn't going to stop Dean from stopping them. They weren't going to hurt Sam, or anyone, anymore, ever, end of story.
Picking up the bag of salt, Dean headed toward the other room, to check on Sam and Bobby. Something was niggling at him, he wanted to see Sam, know he was fine. He tried brushing it off as months of not being separated from his brother, of Sam being no more than three steps behind him at all times. Bobby had referred to them as two halves of the same whole when they were kids. Once that had annoyed Sam, now Dean knew it brought comfort to he and Sam both.
More than habit, Dean needed to see Sam, know where he was, see he was safe.
He needed to know now!
The smell of smoke hit him at the same instant as his desperate need to find his brother did. "Bobby," Dean stepped into the other room, Bobby looked up expectantly. "You smell smoke? Where's Sam, I thought he was with you."
"I thought he was with--" Bobby stopped suddenly. "Dean?"
Dean was able to see through the house to the kitchen, out the open door. He froze...Burn him, get you….will he kill himself for you?... torch himself up, nice and bright so you can watch, hear his screams, smell his burning flesh, see the terror in his eyes. And he'll do it all for you, for his big brother…I'll burn him, get you…you'll watch him die…memory of the words, the notes, the spirits hammered his skull. Everything broke with sudden clarity, their plan, what Dean had to do. Pulling in a huge, ragged breath, breaking himself free he yelled for Bobby. "Get a fire extinguisher, hose, bucket of water!"
In motion, running at the back door, this isn't goddamn happening, Dean screamed, "SAM!"
Hitting the top of the steps he jumped the distance to the ground, behind him he heard Bobby's cursing and a distinct, "Oh my God!" Accompanying the footfalls of the other man coming up behind him.
Sam stepped into the middle of the pyre. Carefully he sat, holding the torch in his hand, keeping it up and away from the wood. Dean was going to blame himself for this, Sam knew he would. He wanted more than anything to tell Dean not to do that, to say he was sorry, he didn't want this, not ever.
He'll blame himself anyway.
Hating that voice, fearing it more, Sam closed his eyes, tried shutting off his mind to it. If he had to die at least he was doing it for Dean. Not even trying to stop the choking breath, his shoulders from hitching and jerking, the tears, Sam shut his eyes and let the torch fall to the wood surrounding him.