Disclaimer All recognizable characters/settings belong to their creators. The stories listed here are transformative works, from which I've made/am making no financial profit.

Warnings Language; references/allusions to torture and non-con.

6. Promises to Keep

Sam has to fold himself practically in half to fit into Ruby's car, and she smirks at his clumsiness.

"Maybe we should cut off your legs at the knees," she jokes as she peels out of the parking lot.

Sam looks at her, thinks about climbing trees made of razor blades while vultures swoop in and tear strips off him. She stares back briefly, and then flicks her gaze to the road ahead.

"So," she says after a moment of quiet. "When you called, you said you think this business in Duluth could be Lilith trying to draw your brother out."

"It makes sense." Sam slants his eyes sideways, fishes, "You said you'd follow up some leads. Anything turn up?"

Ruby shakes her head. "Nope. And to be honest, it lacks her usual finesse."

Sam snorts and she throws him an irritated look. "I'm just saying," she snipes. "Don't go all shock and awe on me. But I guess if he's still using the hexbag, she can't find him. So in that way it makes sense that she might take the scenic route." She scrunches her nose up thoughtfully before she continues. "Though it seems like a lot of trouble to go to. I mean – he isn't that important, Sam. It's not as if he has the juice to stop her, is it? He knows it too, that's why he's staying out of the fight. It's common sense when you're outmatched." She thinks on it for another minute. "He is still using the hexbag isn't he?"

For a second Sam is flummoxed, has no idea. He tries to visualize the pouch hanging around his brother's neck and finds he can't. "I'm pretty sure he is, but he wears it inside his shirt," he offers. "Wouldn't you know if he didn't have it on him? Wouldn't he trip your radar?"

Another headshake. "I haven't looked for either of you since I gave you the hexbags after Alastair tracked your brother down in Greybull. I just wait for you to call me."

Throwing up a hand, Sam pushes, "Can you sense him now?"

Ruby frowns, and her eyes darken for a second. "It's faint. But I think it's him. Smells like the Pit, anyway."

Sam's mouth freezes open in an O of disbelief for a good twenty seconds, and then the sick, helpless feeling that overwhelmed him as Dean poured it all out is suddenly lost in a bright flare of anger that his brother cares so little for his safety, cares so little for himself, thinks he doesn't matter, just like he thought he didn't matter when he made the deal. "Christ," he spits out, slamming his fist on the window. "Fucking idiot. Stupid fucking idiot. What the fuck does he think this is, some kind of joke? He knows he isn't safe without it… why can't he just do as he's damn well told for once, what the hell do I have to—"

"Hey, calm down, Sam," Ruby cuts in. "I said it was faint. The mojo could just be wearing off the bags. They fade. I'll make you some fresh ones."

Sam's irritation with his brother still hums through his whole body, tension streaking up through his neck so that his head starts to ache with it. "I know him," he grits out. "He will not be told, has to be in control. Jerk. He's ditched the damn thing. I know it." He taps his hand on his thigh, thinks past his brother's vulnerability to a possible solution. "Can you look for her?"

"Lilith?" Ruby grimaces. "Nope. She shut me out the second I went rogue."

"And you couldn't locate her with that flaming map thing?" Sam persists. "Like you did to find Dean?"

Ruby's response is smooth but firm. "Only works on people. Anyway, I do have a sense of self-preservation."

It falls quiet, and after miles of endless road Sam thinks to ask her something he never has before. "When Lilith took your other meatsuit, she sent you back to Hell."

Ruby doesn't answer him for a second, but when she does her tone is guarded. "Yes, she did."

"That means you were down there with Dean," Sam says flatly, and he sees her knuckles flex and whiten on the steering wheel.

"Hell's a big place," she says matter-of-factly. "I know where you're going with this, but I never saw your brother. And even if I had, Lilith wouldn't have let me anywhere near him."

It makes sense, Sam supposes. "In case you helped him."

"Yeah." Ruby nods slowly. "I'd have helped him, Sam. There are ways out. Gates. You know that. I'd have helped him. Helped you get him back inside his body."

It's an unwelcome memory of the days after, the books, the spells, the bottomless black pool inside him that Sam willingly dove into; the desperation, the dying hope that he might be able to summon his brother back to the world, the nightmares where he reanimated a soulless, rotting husk that never slept and stared at him with dead, empty eyes until he sent it back. He swallows dryly. "What is it like down there?"

Ruby's head snaps around and her eyes are black for a few seconds. "You never asked me that before," she says. "Even after they dragged him there, you never asked me that."

I didn't want to know, Sam thinks. "Well, I'm asking you now," he tells her. As he speaks, her eyes soften to liquid brown again and something more, because he has seen exultation, excitement, fury, scorn, and lust shine out of them, but he thinks this might be the first time he's seen sadness in them.

"Oh, Sammy," she murmurs, and he sees her grip the steering wheel more tightly. "There aren't words."

The echo of his brother's sorrow twists Sam's stomach as he stares out the window at the landscape streaking by.

"You know, if it is her this could be a big break for us," Ruby follows up after a short time. "We could stop her. Stop her breaking the seals. Stop the apocalypse."

"How many seals are left?" Sam asks, and her lips quirk in a smile.

"Shouldn't you know that, Sam?" she mocks gently. "Shouldn't your brother's angel boyfriend be telling you this?"

"Just shut up and drive," Sam parries, irritable with it because he's seen the way Castiel fixes on Dean like he's all there is, seen the way Dean stares back sometimes like he's lost in the angel's gaze. "Dean doesn't swing that way."

"You're out of the loop," Ruby observes a few miles later.

Sam scowls. "I think I'd know if Dean swung that way."

"Loser," she snorts. "I mean the seals. It's probably need-to-know. I bet Dean's out of the loop, too." She pulls the car over onto the verge, shuts off the engine. "One," she says. "I've heard that one is all that's left. One standing between us and Armageddon, Sam. We'll all be Hellbound then."

One left, and Sam's mind is racing headlong through all of the possible scenarios that might result from his broken brother charging headlong into the fray to defend the final seal against the demon who dragged him kicking and screaming to Hell. "One," he breathes. "Are you sure about that?"

"It's what I've heard," Ruby says, intense. "If it's right, well… it's looking pretty serious, Sam. I can't believe the angels haven't said anything about it."

"They aren't exactly chatty," Sam grunts.

"Didn't they say their garrison was taking some pretty serious knocks?" she ventures. "Isn't that what this whole mess with Alastair and your brother was about? Something killing angels? Sounds to me like they're dropping the ball." She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. "You could stop it, Sam," she continues.

Sam stares at her, speechless for a minute. "I don't," he starts. "I can't—ready. I'm not ready… am I?"

Ruby unbuckles her seatbelt, wriggles nimbly across onto his lap, catches his face between her hands. "You can be ready, Sam, you know how… you could stop her. It might be her. In Duluth. You could go there, you and Dean, and stop her."

That prospect sends a curl of horror winding nimbly through Sam's gut, and he pulls her hands away, shakes his head. "No, not Dean. He's still mending, he isn't… he's—I can't lose him again."

Ruby's brows pull down. "But you have to take him with you, Sam. If it's her, she'll only show herself for Dean. She wants him, wants him back, wants to—"

"Fuck, no," Sam cuts her off, his hands flying up to grip her shoulders. "What the fuck did you just say?" he spits out sharp and savage. "Wants him back? What the fuck does that mean? I thought she just wanted him dead." He's appalled, horrified, fucking furious if he's honest, and all he can see shining in Ruby's eyes is his brother's unhappy, worried expression as he implores Sam to leave him clothed because they're coming back for him.

"Dean isn't important in the scheme, Sam," Ruby races out. "He doesn't matter in the big picture, he can't fight Lilith. But she's a really bad loser… so if this is her, then this isn't just about killing him. She's doing it because she wants him back downstairs where he belongs." She cocks her head. "Didn't you know that?" she says softly. "Didn't he tell you? Or maybe the angel never told him…"

"What?" Sam gasps. "Told him what?"

"This isn't just about Lilith ending your brother," Ruby says, low and confidential, like she's afraid someone might be listening. "A deal is a deal. The angel may have pulled Dean out, but Hell is where he's supposed to be and he's going back there unless you kill Lilith. Stopping the apocalypse is the bonus."

Sam digs his fingertips hard into her skin, feels the bone beneath the dead flesh. "But I promised him," he hisses. "I promised him he was never going back there."

Ruby leans close, and her hair curtains her face and his. "And you can keep your promise this time," she breathes into his ear. "You can stop it. But you need to be strong for it, Sam. You need to be strong to face her, you need to be strong to save your brother, you know you do…"

And she presses his face into her and he doesn't even have to think twice before he bites down into the sulfurous flesh and blood, and loses himself in her.

Bobby doesn't know how much time has passed, doesn't want to move, even though his knees are cramping and his back is killing him, but he manages to maneuver himself around onto his backside. He leans against the bed and puffs out through the sting of blood racing through thirsty veins and arteries, as he unfolds his legs and eases them down flat.

Dean lies heavy in his arms and heavy on his heart, cradled against his chest, and for a second Bobby gets a flash of himself opening the door, seeing Dean standing there, uncertain. His cheeks had been pink with the sun, like he'd just gotten back from taking a vacation somewhere hot, and Bobby almost chuckles at the irony.

He leans his head back against the mattress, thinks about small hands fisted in his shirt, wonders whose hands he really sees when he daydreams. In truth, it has been so long now that he has to break out his shoebox of old Polaroids if he wants to remind himself what his real boy looked like; and in so many ways, this one is his real boy now, and Dean is blended into those memories, so that the voice calling him daddy merges into a voice calling him uncle Bobby, and if he ever imagines his real boy as a full-grown man, this is who he sees. So Bobby grips on tight and waits for his boy to wake because this time Dean will wake, this time he isn't cradling something empty and broken beyond repair, isn't looking at shredded meat. He lays his cheek down on top of Dean's head, feels welcome heat. "Last time I held you like this, you were gone, son," he murmurs. "I sat in your car, and you on the back seat all covered up, like it was some bad horror movie and you were about to sit up and reach out for me."

Dean shifts in his arms, mutters something, and Bobby leans closer, looks into drowsy eyes, a slow smile.

"Stupid old man," Dean says softly, and he wriggles himself away so that he's beside Bobby, leaning up against him shoulder-to-shoulder.

"That I was," Bobby muses. "And I wanted to get out, start walking, keep walking, just leave it behind me. And I did get out." He sees Dean slant his eyes over, and he nods in confirmation. "And I got in the back there with you," he goes on, "and I held you in my arms, like just now, and I kept thinking about those times when you were just a kid, after your dad left you and Sam at the lot, and I'd drink myself comatose every damn night." He thinks about it now, about how he would wake with a small, warm body nestled up against him, and he smiles. "And when I came round the next day, you'd be curled right there on the couch with me, sleeping through the stink of my liquor and vomit, with your hands hanging onto my shirt so tight I couldn't loose them. Like you were afraid to let go."

Bobby has to stop and take in a deep breath as emotion threatens to overcome him. "And so I sat there with you in the back of the car, and I thought maybe if I went to sleep I'd wake up and your hands would be hanging on just like that, like it never happened. And I closed my eyes…" His voice trips up, chokes him, and he's aware of Dean looking down, a muscle jumping in his cheek. "And there were a few seconds there where I could swear I felt you grab on tight," he goes on finally. "But I opened my eyes and you hadn't moved at all." He stares ahead at the other bed. "You broke my heart boy. You broke my heart."

It's still and quiet for a minute, just soft breathing. And then Dean reaches across ad fists a handful of Bobby's shirt.

Ruby drops Sam off on the side of the road and he walks the rest of the way, skulking outside the motel room for ten or fifteen minutes until Bobby comes out.

"What the hell are you doing hiding out here?" the old man queries gruffly.

Sam shrugs helplessly. "I don't know. I'm not. Hiding, I mean. I'm just, I don't know, just…"

Bobby is as blunt as ever. "Working up the guts?"

Sam smiles ruefully. "Jesus, Bobby. I'm so sorry. It just came out, it just… it's been me and him together, pretty intense." He throws up his hands. "I – forgot you were there, I think." He walks to the curb, sits down there. "So… how mad is he?"

Bobby's knees creak as he sits down beside Sam. "He isn't mad. He's just tired. And you know he feels bad about Pamela too. He's exhausted by it all, and depressed." He nudges his knee against Sam's. "He was asking for you. He isn't mad Sam, honest. I think he's relieved if anything. Maybe this'll help. Carrying that round inside him, he never should have—"

"Made the deal," Sam says, because he knows that's where the old man is going, thinks it himself. "He never should have made the deal. What's dead should stay dead. He said that. After dad did it for him. And even after dad… he still did it. He still did it. I don't understand that."

Bobby blows out a long exhale, shakes his head. "You know why he did it, Sam," he says. "He was out of his mind with it. You know what that feels like. And it was wrong, what he did, but it's done, and he did it for love, boy. The sun always did rise and set with you as far as Dean was concerned."

There's an edge to Bobby's voice that has Sam pricking up his ears. "You don't think it should," he says softly.

Bobby shifts uncomfortably beside him. "I can understand him doing it, Sam," he says finally. "But I can't understand him thinking he's worth less. And I don't like him thinking his sole reason in life is you. There's more to your brother than you. Way more. And I'm sorry if this isn't coming out right, but sometimes I wish he'd never gone to look for you. He deserves more than just to – revolve around you. He should have left you." He shrugs. "There you go. I said it."

"But he did leave me," Sam counters. "And I don't think he's worth less than me, Bobby, and I didn't ask him to trade his soul for me. Did he really think I wouldn't be as messed up as he was? It was selfish."

"Well, yeah," the old man concedes. "You could look at it that way, and God knows I'd just as soon not have lived through the last six months. Maybe love is selfish. But you aren't immune from it, Sam. From deals and suchlike."

Sam looks up sharply. "How do you know that? How do you—"

"Come on, Sam," Bobby jumps in, with a sort of mild exasperation. "In Pontiac, when we tracked you down. You said you tried to deal for Dean, get him back, said no demon would do it. Well, what if they had? It isn't any less selfish because it's you doing it." He stops, waits for Sam's reply, continues when Sam is mute. "You think he would have wanted to trade places? Be up out of the Pit knowing you were down there in his place? And let's not forget your little adventure with Roy Le Grange. That is one of the reasons why your brother reckoned he was already living on borrowed time."

Sam scowls at that, and Bobby nudges him.

"I'm not doing you down, boy," he says. "I know you didn't know what was going on with Le Grange. What I'm saying is that it's wheels within wheels, it's you boys never letting go. You aren't to blame for this, and neither is Dean. You just can't let go of each other, and unlike most other folks you have the means at your disposal so that you don't have to."

Sam finally manages to force out words. "I just. I just, I can't… I don't want to think that he went through that for me, that I'm to blame."

Sighing, Bobby repeats, "But you aren't to blame, boy, your—"

"I'll always be to blame, Bobby, and I'll always feel guilty." Sam barks out a hollow laugh. "He did it for me."

Bobby pulls off his cap and rubs at his head and considers his response. "Sam, your brother chose to do what he did. Blame… that's all tied into the life, the way your dad made Dean feel like you were his job, the fact he was left to parent you when he was just a kid himself. Hell, even I'm to blame for some of it."

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Why would you think that?"

"I left him," Bobby says quietly. "After Cold Oak. He was nine kinds of messed up, and I pulled out, left him there by himself with you. I should have known, should have known he'd most likely go and do something stupid." He looks down, shakes his head a little. "And sometimes I wonder if I left him there by himself with you because some part of me did know. When I should have pistol whipped him and burned you."

Something dawns on Sam with the old man's words. "Is that why you didn't pistol whip me and burn him after New Harmony?" he asks, harsher that he meant to. "I told you he'd need his body when I brought him back. Did you let me bury him because you hoped I'd go out and do something stupid, Bobby?"

Bobby stares ahead. "When I opened the door to you and your brother after Cold Oak…" he murmurs. "Jesus. It was the worst feeling, because I knew he'd done something real bad. But seeing you both… it was the best feeling too. And when I opened the door to your brother after New Harmony, it was…" He turns then, and looks Sam straight in the eye. "I can't even begin to tell you what that was, Sam." He smiles weakly. "Seems I can preach as good as the next guy, but I don't think I could let go of your brother if I had the choice."

Sam meets his gaze. "I'm not letting go of him again if I can help it," he whispers.

"And so it goes," Bobby confirms, and for the first time Sam notices that his eyes are watery, pink and puffy. "Wheels within wheels." He stands, reaches down to Sam. "Come on. He's passed out, I need some help to get him up onto the bed."

Sam lets Bobby heave him up. "He isn't sleeping much with the nightmares, Bobby," he says ruefully. "Just a few hours at a time. Maybe we should leave him in peace. It's not like he hasn't slept on the floor before."

The old man eyes Sam, and for just a second he sees the same flash of ice he saw earlier. "The floor's hard, boy. I'd like your brother to sleep it off comfortably."

Sam follows him to the door, and just then Bobby turns. "Sam," he says. "What you said in there. I know it just poured out, and that you didn't think. But you mind me when I say this, son. If I ever again hear you say your brother gave in to thirty years of torture that we can't even begin to imagine, so help me I will knock you into next year. Is that clear?"

Sam swallows. "Yes sir."