AN: Guys, we've reached the penultimate (I love that word!) chapter. Next will be the last one. There I will tie up all the loose ends, but for now: shit gets real.
As Sam's head hit the footboard with a crunch, his only thought was, Well, that went wrong quickly.
With the final word of the summoning, he collapsed. Gabriel had warned that this would happen. Thinking ahead, he had sat on the bed; however, he didn't realize his height would cause his head to hit the edge of wooden footboard. If he woke up with a concussion or something worse from this stupid mistake, Dean would never forgive him.
Sam was holding the Staff of Moses in one hand and parchment with the Angel of Death's named scrawled in lamb's blood in the other. Gabriel and Balthazar had spent the last week smearing lamb's blood on all the houses they possibly could. They were still out there now, reaching as many last minute houses as possible. Gabriel had enlisted the help of a young angel named Samandriel, and Balthazar had bribed a young angel named Hael. The two older angels claimed they would feel the spell's completion, and promised to return as soon as they could. Meanwhile Sam sat on the bed and chanted. It was a long and complex chant that even Gabriel did not know the full translation to, but Sam read all of it and was now passed out on a bed, barely aware of the bright light streaming around him.
When he gained awareness again, he was still sprawled across the small motel bed with an intense migraine. He blinked and massaged his stiff neck as he glanced around the room. Nothing seemed different. The angels were still out, the curtains were drawn, and Death was slurping from a large White Castle cup across the room. With an angry groan, Sam wondered if his chant had worked at all. If he had mispronounced something –
"Wait," Sam's mind screeched to a halt. "Death?" he exclaimed in a tone somehow perplexed, nervous, and reverent all at the same time.
"Sam," the impossibly old man replied with a nonchalant nod.
"Wh-what are you doing here," he asked, "sir?"
"It was your idea to summon the Angel of Death. What do you think I'm doing here?" Death said taking another sip of his drink.
"You're the Angel of Death?" Sam asked cautiously, drawing a hand across forehead in confusion.
"No, I'm Death, the horseman." Sam stared at him blankly. "Honestly, Sam! I thought your brother was the thick-headed one. I'm here to reap who you point at."
Sam breathed a deep sigh of relief at the answer that did come from Death and asked, "So where's the Angel then?" rubbing his forehead briefly as he did so.
Death put the cup on the nearest surface with a soft clap and stared at Sam through aggravated, narrowed eyes. "Really?"
Sam asked slowly, "Really, what?"
Death scrutinized him for a moment before asking with incredulous exasperation, "You really have no idea what's going, do you?" He became angry as he asked, "You just chant funny sounding words and hope it all works out?" Sam stammered an unintelligible answer. "You are the Angel, you simpleton!" he exclaimed. "Why do you think that summoning you used was so difficult? You didn't just call him down; you summoned him to enter your body so that he may do your bidding and called upon his advocate to purify the remains or, as you would say, clean up the mess."
"But – but Balthazar said... and Gabriel translated..." Sam trailed off, not sure what he was even trying to say.
Again, Death waited a moment before asking calmly, "You trusted two runaways?" emphasizing the last word. "One a foot soldier and the other a renegade who hasn't done anything in eons?" Death asked dryly with an eyebrow raised in judgment.
"Well, they're the best help I have!" Sam defended himself.
"Oh, I understand," Death said calmly retrieving his beverage and slurping. "I'm just surprised you did not do more homework yourself, Samuel."
Death's sudden calm, non-judgmental state confused and worried Sam further, but he tried not to dwell on that discomfort. Instead, he thought about how little research and work he had actually done in the previous weeks. Now that he pointed it out, Sam was pretty surprised, too. He justified himself with the thought of how anxious he had been and still was; he wouldn't have been any good help to Balthazar and Gabriel if he tried.
Death sensed this and sighed. "I know what you want to do, and I'll try," he said.
Sam prompted, "But?" He could hear the negative clause coming in the man's tone. He held his hairline in an attempt to keep a migraine at bay.
Disown him, an innominate directive sounded in Sam's ear.
"But," Death admitted unaware of the whispered words that hung in the air around Sam, "I'm not sure it will work. He is the oldest son in the Winchester line after all. No matter what stands between Dean and Beelzebub, Dean will always be your elder brother."
Sam blew out a long, frustrated sigh, focusing on Death and ignoring the disembodied voice he wasn't sure he even heard. "But you said you have to kill who I point at."
"No," Death said. He slurped again then continued with a clenched jaw. "I said I would reap those you pointed at. You are the Angel, Sam. You kill people. Even if you didn't, how am I to know if you are pointing at Dean or Beelzebub when they share one body? It's not actually as simple as pointing! In tradition, I've been given a list of family names to ravish. Do you know Beelzebub's surname? I think not! I'm a not a toy you boys can continue to abuse, Sam! If you wanted me to kill Beelzebub you simply needed to call me and ask. I would have taken great delight in doing so. But instead, you summoned the Angel of Death and started something you don't even understand! You have to kill someone tonight before the Angel takes over and distinguishes an entire generation." The older being was almost bursting with anger again, and his mood swings were incredibly disconcerting.
Sam stared speechlessly at Death. No; apparently, he really didn't know what he was getting into. This situation was much deeper and much more complicated than he thought it was. Now he needed to figure out a new plan before anything went seriously awry. He was going to kill those angels when they returned. Paranoid, he changed the wording of that thought and glanced again at Death to see if he took it as a command.
Massaging his temples and head in thought, Sam began to worry about Gabriel and Balthazar. He asked: "Those two runaways are out marking doors in lamb's blood right now. Will that actually do anything?"
"Yes, it will prevent those families from being hurt," Sam breathed a sigh of relief, "if and only if they have faith," Death finished and Sam tensed again. "Good try though." He sipped his soda again.
"Thanks," Sam bit out sarcastically.
"Look," Death sighed in tired frustration, "we can try to kill Beelzebub, but I'm doubtful it will work. If it does, I'll show you how to get rid of the Angel again. If not, I'll make you wear the Angel for the rest of your life as punishment for your idiocy."
"Make me wear him?" Sam repeated sitting down again, unsure when he had stood, and putting his head in his hands.
"Yes. Right now, you're wearing the Angel of Death," Death said emphatically, "or rather, the Angel of Death is wearing you." He paused a moment, then asked, "Feels powerful doesn't it? That power will kill you if not filtered correctly. You and your brother need to stop playing God." Sam could not stop himself from rolling his eyes. "You're walking a dangerously thin line, Samuel!" Death spat.
"I know, but it was all I could do!" Sam shouted, jumping off the bed again. "The logic sounded right to me, and I had to keep the Angel from Beelzebub somehow!"
Disown him! The directive was practically screamed at Sam this time.
"But you haven't kept him away at all!" Death berated. Sam stared at him in anxious confusion. "All you've done is made yourself the Angel. Now, when Beelzebub is ready to summon the Angel of Death, he will summon you. You will be dragged into this and forced to kill! He will kill by your hand!"
Sam hopelessly stared into Death's challenging eyes. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his breathing, not sure when it had increased. He rubbed his forehead, stretched his neck, and rolled his shoulders for something to do, but only succeeded in making himself disoriented. His quick move to grasp back of a chair did not escape Death's notice, but the older being did not comment on it either. Sam sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and stared up Death with that same hopeless expression, but he received no sympathy. Instead, Death knocked his cane against the floor twice and motioned for Sam to follow him.
With a hand in his hair, Sam walked with Death across the parking lot, down a street, through a park, until, suddenly, they were standing in front of a new motel. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary about this motel except for the blood smeared on every door but one, room number 3. Immediately, Sam knew that this was the room where Beelzebub was hiding. Besides the common sense he would've followed to understand that, the new supposed-Angel part of him just seemed to know. He looked at Death uncertainly, but was only given an expressionless quirked eyebrow in response.
"This is it, isn't it?" Sam asked Death, with his eyes trained on the motel door.
"Yes, sir, it is," Death responded, staring at Sam with an inquisitive expression.
"Time to see if this stupid idea'll even work."
Sam was about to step forward when five and a half feet of angel suddenly appeared in front of him.
"Where do you think you're going?" Gabriel asked.
"To finish this," Sam stated, eyes still trained on room number 3.
"Like hell you are!" Gabriel protested, reaching for Sam's arm, but Sam shoved him aside with disturbing ease.
"Sam, stop," Balthazar pleaded from a distance behind Sam. The man turned to face the angel. "You don't know what you're doing. I'm sorry. We were wrong. There has to be another way. We'll get that damned angel nuke out of you and configure a new plan. Call Castiel back from Heaven and all."
"Don't you see?" Sam hissed. "There is no other plan! None! This is our one and only shot! Shouldn't you still be out marking houses?"
"Samandriel and Hael are still out there," Balthazar said but was interrupted by Gabriel.
"Yeah, but don't mind us," the archangel called angrily from the ground where he hadn't bothered to get up. "We're just doing as we promised – returning after the spell finished and making sure you're not about to do anything stupid."
"We'll just be going now," Balthazar added. "Go ahead, finish your kamikaze mission."
Sam stopped. He held his head and breathed deeply, trying to see past the haze clouding his vision and judgment. The angels were there to help; what was he doing? He shook his head and groaned as his head started pounding and his ears whistling. He rubbed his forehead, and he cracked his eyes open when he felt a hand on his elbow to see Death looking up at him with unmoved concern.
"I have to do this," he bit out. Sam shrugged away from Death and faced the two nervous angels. "I'm sorry, but I have to. We've come this far..."
After sharing a look with Balthazar, Gabriel shook his head and rolled his eyes. "If you get me killed again, I swear to my father, Sam, I'll…"
"Make my life hell from wherever it is dead angels go?" Sam guessed. "You don't have to come in there with me. In fact, don't. I don't know what's going to happen, and I'd rather not have your blood on my hands twice."
Balthazar argued, "Like hell you're going in there alone."
"He won't be alone," Death said coldly.
Gabriel's eyes widened as he noticed Death for the first time. "Hey there, Death! Long time no see," he greeted in an attempt to hide his slight fright.
Balthazar gaped. "You're Death?" he asked in reverent disbelief.
"Yes, I am," the eldest being simply answered. "I will accompany Samuel into the room to kill Beelzebub. You may wait out here. I suggest, however, that you return to marking houses. As pointless as it may prove to be, it has the potential of succeeding."
"Yes, sir. Good to see you, sir. Break a leg, sir," Gabriel stuttered, moving quickly toward Balthazar.
"You know very well that I cannot break my leg, Archangel," Death silenced Gabriel, ignoring the idiomatic meaning he knew was implied.
"Please, guys. It's fine. Just go," Sam said gently, glancing at Death disapprovingly. After Balthazar nodded solemnly and whisked Gabriel away, Sam turned to Death and asked, "Why don't you like them?"
"Oh, I do like them," Death said with the faintest hints of smile. "It's why I'm keeping them out of harm's distance."
Understanding flashed in Sam's mind before it was consumed by the haze again. The Angel desperately wanted in that motel room. He could sense Sam's desire to kill and was itching to carry out the act. Without a word to Death, Sam let the Angel take over. He had no idea what the angel was doing – and much less what he himself was doing – but he had no other choice at this point. Sam rolled his shoulders and straightened his posture, then stalked forward toward the motel room. The blinding light he had felt when he passed out what seemed like hours ago emanated from him, and the door swung open as he approached it. He took a deep breath before crossing the threshold, afraid of what he was about to find.
"Hey, brother," Dean greeted. "It's about time you got here."
The voice hit Sam's ear in an unpleasant way. It was so close to his brother's voice yet so far from it, too. The older Winchester was sitting in the middle of the motel bed with his legs crossed, hands folded, and elbows resting on his knees. His jeans weren't ripped. His shirt wasn't wrinkled. His plaid over-shirt was straight, and its sleeves were rolled up neatly. A gleeful smile spread across his features when Sam stopped in front of him, and his head tilted to the side. So much was wrong with this appearance. Sam wanted to wretch at how completely unnatural the actions were for his brother.
Their lives should never have been like this. They shouldn't have spent their lives on the road. They shouldn't have lived out their childhoods in crappy motel rooms like the one they were standing in now. They shouldn't have had a father like John. They should've grown up with a mother and learned how to properly talk about their feelings in the way that normal guys do. They should've been normal guys. He and Dean should have been normal; but they weren't. No, they were so very far from it. This Dean should never have been his brother. His brother should have been boy who looked after himself more than his kid sibling. His brother should have gone to school and been smarter than him just because he was older. His brother should have found a partner, married, and settled down.
Disown him. This time, Sam gave the directive to himself.
This Dean wasn't his brother. The Dean that never was was his brother.
"You're not my brother," Sam deadpanned.
"Sure I am! We're both Winchesters here – well, there is a Winchester in here somewhere," Beelzebub grinned, "I think."
"If he's dead," Sam started.
"You really shouldn't make empty threats, brother," Beelzebub said cheerfully. "If I haven't killed him yet, you're about to. Besides, I thought I wasn't your brother? Why so sentimental now?"
He needed a deep breath, but Sam managed to say, "I'm not." He clenched his fists at his sides, digging his blunt nails into his palm deep enough to slice the skin.
"Not what?" Beelzebub asked playfully.
"Becoming sentimental for a relative," Sam explained. "I'm simply trying to warn you what will happen if you have killed yet another innocent in your exploits."
"An innocent?" Beelzebub guffawed loudly. "As if this man, this Dean Winchester," he sneered the name, "was at all innocent. Do you have any idea what thoughts are constantly floating around his head?" Beelzebub perfectly imitated Dean's voice as he ranted: "I hate myself! I'm so stupid. My poor baby brother! Look after Sammy! All I have is that little shit! Dad obviously loved him better! I'm nothing!" Then the demon began to coo: "Oh, Castiel, you're so gorgeous! Shit, I'm not supposed to like guys; I'll go to Hell! I'm in love with an angel, woe is me!" He returned to his own voice to comment, "Honestly, as if hating your family or liking the same sex would send you to Hell. No, Dean here is going to Hell because of all the people he's killed or hurt in the last year alone, isn't he? Don't even get me started on the rest of his life. Please! This man is anything but innocent."
"Regardless," Sam shouted to end Beelzebub's tirade, "if he has been added to your casualties, there will be consequences."
"Consequences? You're about to kill me! What else can be done after that?" Beelzebub laughed.
"Plenty can be done to you in Hell," Sam said calmly. "Did you forget that the residents there do not take kindly to failures who return?"
"But if I killed Dean Winchester, I wouldn't be a failure, would I?"
"But if I retrieved him from Hell, you would be, wouldn't you?"
"And how would you do that, you mortal man? You're being possessed now; that indefeasibility won't last long for you, Sam."
"I'm not alone, remember? It must be hard to when no one will associate with you willingly."
"Sam," Death said quietly from a corner behind him to remind the man to finish what he came to do.
"So are you really going to do it?" Beelzebub asked with an unconquerable smile. "Are you about to kill demon and brother?"
"No, I'm not," Sam said again.
"Not what?" Beelzebub repeated.
"About to kill my brother. You are certainly not my brother, and this man is not my brother. A brother wouldn't leave a brother in hell for two years or kidnap him and force him into a life he never wanted."
Beelzebub looked at Sam as curiously as Sam wanted to look at himself. He had no idea where these words were coming from, but he suddenly felt the weight of them. Abruptly, he felt nothing for Dean, nothing at all.
Acting not upon his own accord, Sam stepped forward and placed his hand on Dean's forehead. A brilliant light and Dean's scream were the last things he witnessed before collapsing again.
Oh, and in case you were wondering - that research paper that I neglected for this story... I left it until the night before to write, left out a conclusion because I ran out of time, and still managed to get an 81/100 on it. How that even happens, I don't know. I'm just so over the moon right now; this is brilliant!
Also, guess who officially applied to university? This girl!