A/N: Wah sorry for the long wait between chapters. This one's a bit longer if that's any consolation. A million than-yous to Maddy77 and Mikey, who Beta'd for me!
Reviews are treasured like a well-behaved child. Perhaps more ;D
"I'm sorry," he whispered aloud to the emptiness.
"Too little too late, I'm afraid," a voice drawled back.
Sam's head snapped around just as a craggy-faced man in a suit stepped out from behind a tree. He was well-groomed, bordering on immaculate, with a clean shaven face and close cropped hair. In fact, he looked just like your average businessman. Except for the yellow glow in his eyes.
"You-" Sam choked out, letting go of Dean's head with one hand to scramble furiously in his jacket pockets. There's gotta be something here. Anything. Make it up to Dean, even a little…
The yellow-eyed demon sighed, pulling the Colt out of his waist band. "You know Sammy, this is the only way you can kill me." He gesticulated vaguely towards himself, "I'm Azazel by the way. Pleasure to finally meet face-to-face. I've heard a lot about you."
"How?" Sam spat. He realized that he was clutching Dean's hair in his fist as he rocked forward into a crouch. "What does it matter anyway, huh? You got what you wanted right? My brother's-" but the words stuck in his throat and Sam slumped back down. He's not dead. At least, he won't be for long. A plan was slowly forming in his mind, cold hard determination steeling over his molten grief.
"I want to trade places with him."
"Oh?" Azazel cocked an eyebrow.
"You're a demon right? Let's make a deal."
Yellow-Eyes smirked, "How predictable, Sammy. You Winchesters are all the same- sacrificing yourselves of the sake of one another over and over. Honestly, could you at least try to be more than a walking cliché?"
The muscle in Sam's jaw twitched, pulling the skin taught against his scar. "I'm not playing around here. I know who you are and what you did and in any other circumstance I'd kill you before you even opened your filthy mouth."
"If you had the means to kill me that is," Azazel reminded him, wagging the colt under his nose. "I'm sorry Sammmy boy, but Hell just ain't all that interested in your soul."
Looking back, Sam wished he'd stopped there, left the demon in the woods and carried Dean's body back to the Impala. He wished he'd driven off, dropped the girl at a hospital, buried his brother and left the whole mess behind him. It's what Dean had wanted. But instead, filled with pain that was slowly twisting into a ball of hard anger, he asked, "And why not?"
"Finally, someone starts asking the real questions." He snapped his fingers, his pointer and thumb forming a make believe gun. "Now settle down Sam, it's story time. And believe me, you'll want to hear every minute of this one."
Sam glared at the demon but made a conscious effort to slow his breathing, focusing on twisting Dean's amulet around his fingers. "I'm listening."
"That's better. Now think back, hmm… ten years. You met a friend of mine. Well, I say 'friend'. More of a liege-lord. Anyway, he held you in a basement for a while. Ring any bells?"
"Valefor," Sam breathed. Dad had been gone too long and Dean was so busy with his community service at the hospital. Sam had figured it out all by himself, went to go check out the statues by city hall when something hit him from behind. Valefor, Duke of Hell and patron of thieves. He'd stolen John and then he'd taken Sam as well. If Dean and Cas hadn't shown up…
"And we have a winner!" Azazel punched a fist in the air mockingly. "Now, why do you think he came after you?"
Sam shrugged. "We were getting too close. Had to stop us before we got in the way."
Azazel merely chuckled. "Please you were what, thirteen? 120 pounds? I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that."
Sam stared at him blankly. "He was after Cas. Valefor stole his grace, but he needed an angel to actually work the mojo right? And we figured that out and tried to stop him."
The demon shook his head, yellow eyes glowing in the darkening woods. "But why kidnap you, Sam? John didn't know about the angel bit, but he could've taken him down regardless. You weren't a threat."
"I don't know!" Sam's voice rose sharply.
"When did you start having visions? I'm betting it wasn't six months ago like all the rest of the psychic kiddos." His grin was turning into a leer.
Sam froze. Impossible. He never told anyone.
"I had the first one after Dean stitched me up," Sam murmured cautiously, studying Azazel's face for a reaction. He could have sworn the demon's mouth twitched upwards for a brief second. "I saw Cas getting his grace back, being swallowed by this white light. And our dad lying in the parking lot. I convinced myself later that I was too doped up from the painkillers, that I remembered things out of order, but…"
"Yes?"
Sam felt himself speak, compelled by what force he couldn't say. Here I am in the woods, holding my brother in my arms and spilling my guts to a demon, he thought detachedly. It was almost funny. "I think I saw Dean make the deal. The doctors pulled him away to talk and he left me sitting in the waiting room. My head was pounding, but I figured that was from the concussion. I saw these little flashes, heard someone say that dad was hurt really bad. That he might not make it, and they were going to split us up. Then I saw Dean in a church. I thought I must've had a nightmare because when I woke up dad was fine." God, it all makes sense now, Sam thought, digging his palms into his eyes. Dean's exhausted smile, the fidgeting, later the screaming at night and the paranoia. When I left for Stanford… That must have almost killed him.
"Good, good. Thanks for sharing with the class." Azazel was closer now; Sam could feel his breath prickling the back of his neck. "In fact, Sammy, I think I might be able to pull a few strings for you. Let you see Dean one last time."
"Oh yeah? Why the sudden generosity?" Sam snarled.
Azazel ran his tongue lightly over his lower lip and grinned. "We need you, buddy. All the other little psychic freaks had their part to play, but you… You're the big Kahuna. Valefor picked you out special." Sam opened his mouth, but the demon held up a finger. "Don't get ahead of me, now. I'll explain. You see, all those years ago, I paid you a little visit on Valefor's orders. Stood over your crib, bled in your mouth. The whole fire bit, that was my idea," he chuckled fondly. "Anyways, that demon blood has been inside you all this time, Sammy. And when Valefor kidnapped you? I'll bet he gave you a second dose. Make ya bigger and stronger than all the rest."
Sam clutched Dean's jacket in his fists, twisting and untwisting the fabric. Glad he was dead. Glad he couldn't hear the poison spilling from the demon's lips. He wanted to run, to hide, to cover his ears and curl up and make it all go away. Because Yellow Eyes was right. Sam could feel it within him; a dark writhing shadow lurking on the periphery. It had always been there and he'd pushed it down, buried himself in school and friends, reaching for a normalcy that never existed.
"Fuck you!" He burst out, rage writhing in his gut. "I never wanted to be part of your stupid plan. Yeah, maybe I do have demon blood in me but I'm not going darkside. It's not what Dean would have wanted."
"Who said anything about going darkside?" Azazle spread his palms, raising his eyebrows in a picture of injured innocence. "I just need to do this one little itty bitty task for me. In return, you can have your brother back. For a few hours."
Sam stared at him stone-faced. "And what if I refuse?"
Azazel shrugged. "Then I let you go your merry way. You live out whatever ya got left of that pathetic life of yours and Dean rots in Hell; never hearing the words that went unsaid between the two of you. I mean, clearly you had something to apologize for, right?"
Sam looked down at Dean, his face twisted in pain, his eyes dull. I'm sorry you had to hide this from us. I'm sorry dad and I didn't listen. I'm sorry you were always in the middle. I'm sorry I left for Stanford. I'm sorry we didn't get to go to Vegas. I'm sorry I was born.
"What do you want me to do?"
The voice was faint and far away. Sam felt like he was already a spirit, floating above the little patch of ground where his brother lay dead. Where he was, in essence, making a deal with the devil. He was burnt out, done; a dry husk battered by the events of the past few hours. It feels like days. If he had the energy, Sam would have laughed: the Winchester trifecta of self-destruction. The family business was sacrifice, it would seem. Take the colt and unlock the door. That's all I need to do. Then I can see Dean. Then I can sleep. Sam found himself walking along a set of railroad tracks, a half-empty bottle of whisky dangling loosely in his grasp. I'm drunk, Sam marveled, trying to piece together the fuzzy bits of his journey. He'd buried Dean, yes, after the demon left. For a brief moment he'd considered turning the Colt against himself, screw Azazel and the whole damn plan. Lie down to rest beside his brother in bed of pine needles. But he figured they'd just find another poor sap with tainted blood and it get on regardless. I'm doing this for you, he told Dean as he patted down the dank earth. You can kick my ass in hell.
The gate loomed in front of him; a behemoth carved in grey stone, bearing down a thundercloud. A door constructed of heavy iron, with a hole in the center for the colt. Sam did as he'd been told, inserting the gun, jimmying it ever so lightly until her heard a click. The empty graveyard lay hushed for a moment, until the doors were ripped open with a savage burst of energy. Black smoke filled the air, and Sam could hear insane laughter and primal snarls as the jets hissed past his head. Demons. His blood went cold. This must be a passage into hell. I can find Dean, save him… Sam ducked low, bent against the onslaught of souls that were forcing their way out. He stood, fingers grasping the solid metal door, as he tried to peer down into the abyss. The smell of sulfur made his eyes water.
"Dean?" He cried out over the hiss and sizzle of flames, the eager yelps of demons going topside for the first time in thousands of years. No answer. Sam felt his heart pounding in his ears. With fear yes, but also… excitement? I'm coming for you. Together we're going to make this right. And with that, Sam stepped off the mortal coil and into the bowels of Hell.
Voices shrieking screams a flash of white light heat so hot burning falling dark.
Azazel allowed himself a smug smile of satisfaction as he pulled the Colt loose; gingerly pushing the door shut as he did so, carefully avoiding the iron. Everything had gone according to plan. Better in fact, because dear old sorry-sack Sam Winchester had decided to play the hero and jumped right into the belly of the whale. He was well on his way to becoming Hells' golden boy. And then there was his brother Dean, who should get the apocalypse under way any minute now. Azazel patted the bullets in his chest pocket. He was unstoppable now. Valefor had never taken the proper precautions and that had been his downfall. Azazel had learned from those mistakes. And now look where he was- no longer a peon working for some puffed up Duke of Hell. He was well on his way to becoming king. Check and mate.
Moonlight frosted over the silent tombstones, the air limp and saturated with smoke. A lone figure made of silver and dust broke the stillness. His head hung low, stubbly chin nearly touching his chest. On his knees in front of the gates to Hell, he was the picture of defeat. Save for his hands, clenched at his sides and mangled from the long climb topside. His sons were lost now, sure. But that didn't mean he could quit. Yellow-Eyes was still alive and kicking after all. Even in death, he couldn't let that go. John Winchester raised his face to the night sky, his insubstantial body shifting around him like he was made of sand. With a wordless oath, born of blood and battle, he vanished.