A/N: My heartfelt apologies for the length of time that has passed between the posting of this and the last chapter. My muse has completely left me for this story and I'm really struggling with it, trying to get back in the swing of things. I apologize if the chapter sucks-I really tried.
A spoiler of sorts found its way to me via Buddy TV and led me to believe that I had to hurry up the ending of this before hellatus is over. I seriously think someone writing Supernatural is stealing my ideas!
The incantations and summoning spells are parts and pieces gleaned from several different installments on Khakani's Mystic World website and the gun cleaning instructions are from an ehow website.
Not so much Wincest here but a necessary chapter to end a particularly painful storyline. And just an FYI, I hate research and facts! Just putting that out there.
*
*
The night comes into the forest on soft paws, stealthy and sly, picking its way carefully across the moss covered ground.
Sam waits by the fire, watching as the dark seeps in heavy, curling around the trees, the twilight blurring and smudging the edges, the silence surrounding him almost eerie because there's not a sound, not a breath. The normal night creatures are quiet, the crickets, hoot owls, and peepers vanished and there's not even the flutter of wings from an errant bat to mar the total hush.
There's only the crackle of the fire that keeps the dark at bay, that breaks the stillness, the heat on his face and the smell of cedar ash the only reminder that this is real, not the fanciful dream state it feels like. The light from the flames play on the trees, dancing shadows on the ground as the sparks fly into the night, into the dark where they fizzle away as if they never were.
His voice, when he uses it, is rusty, hoarse against the air, "I know you're there."
The soundlessness presses in on him from all sides, heavy against his ribs and he knows.
Knows he's not alone, feels the eyes watching him, avid and feral, barely blinking as they follow his every move, trace the lines of his body as he sits, the hunger pulsing and vibrating across the air and he waits.
The prey stalking the predator this time and Sam shakes back his bangs, scanning the trees, the dark for any sign, any glimpse, the movement of a branch, the shine of eyes staring back at him, the sound of a twig snapping-
Nothing.
Without the fire, the world would be a vacuum, black hole in space and how the fuck is Pan silencing even the insects?
Ok, time to up the stakes.
Sam stands, shrugging off his jacket and tugging his t-shirt up and off, letting it fall to the ground. He turns in a slow circle, hand sliding over his bare abdomen and up to his chest and his voice is soft, languid, "Is this what you want? You need to come and take it 'cause I'm right here just waiting for you…"
The hushed void gets heavier, tense and Sam can feel the arousal throbbing into the air around him, can smell it, and a sudden rush of wind blows back his hair, makes him squint against it and then it's gone as fast as it came, stillness surrounding him once again.
He turns, his skin picking with awareness, and he feels the ravenous eyes boring a hole in his back now as he walks slowly towards the tent and stops, swinging back around to give the watcher one last look at his naked flesh before crawling into the tent.
Sam lights the lantern, turning the inside of the tent orange and yellow, flickering shadows playing against the walls and bouncing back. He shucks down his jeans and underwear, positions himself in front of the lamp and lets his hand stroke himself, a slow and lazy pull up, not wanting to reach orgasm but trying to hold out for a long as possible, just wanting to give a good show.
He's bait, after all.
*
Two nights ago
*
James finds Sam asleep on the forest moss, rousing him with difficulty, the stupor that still clouds his mind making his limbs heavy and useless and James's half-drags, half-carries Sam back to the cabin.
He lets Sam sleep it off until morning and, while he's making breakfast, the smell of strong, sweet coffee and frying bacon penetrates Sam's foggy slumber and he appears in the kitchen, rubbing his eyes awake, ravenously hungry. While Sam packs away enough food for three men, James chugs down hot coffee, picks at the bacon and shows Sam the finished translation from the parchment Pan's flute had been wrapped in.
Sam's eyes are dull because he's starting to lose hope that they'll ever get Dean back and he misses his brother, God damn it! He stares at the spell, dejected. "Great. Now we just gotta figure out how the hell we're going to use it when every time we turn around, Pan's got us fucking each other."
James dips his head, fingers tightening around the coffee mug, "Well, I actually had an idea about that…"
When Sam raises an eyebrow at him, James bites at his lip for a moment, uncertain if he should proceed and then letting it out in a rush of breath, "I'm thinking the only way to defeat a God is to enlist the help of another God. Maybe we should summon up another diety to keep Pan occupied while we bind his spirit back into the flute."
Sam chokes in surprise, swallowing the mouthful of egg before he spits it out all over the table, "And how in hell are we supposed to do that?"
James face is flushed, aware of how ridiculous a suggestion it is but pressing ahead anyway, "I don't know the how of it, but I do know the who. Apollo's the perfect choice."
At Sam's confused look, James ticks off on his fingers, "Look, in his time, he was a great healer, known as the God of Light, and he would always come when summoned, no matter what, so I'm thinking…if being asked for help is nothing new to him, maybe he'll come if we ask him to. It was kind of his thing…he got off on helping people, especially the sick and down-troddened. Also, one of his other names, Alexicacus means 'restrainer of evil' and Pan's got a pretty evil twist to him, you have to admit, taking Dean over and not letting go of him so again, Apollo might really want to get his hand in this. Third thing is, there's no love loss between these two. In all of Greek mythology, Apollo was the only God to best Pan in a…well, I guess you could call it a musical pissing contest. Pan challenged Apollo to a competition, saying he was the best musician in all the land and Apollo kicked his ass by playing his lyre so well, Pan ended up looking like an idiot and victory was awarded to Apollo."
He gives a small shrug, continuing, "According to legend, Pan always wanted a rematch and it was a pretty good bet that Apollo was up for it, too. If you can figure out the how, we may be onto something."
Sam studies James with a new respect "When did you work all this out?"
James grins at him, "While you were snoozing on the forest floor."
Sam abruptly pushes back his plate of food and reaches for his cell phone, "Let me call Bobby."
*
*
"Thanks, Bobby." Sam hangs up the phone and turns to James, "Well, we can't summon a God to come help us but we can invite him, sending him up a 'prayer of request' and offer him something he wants. There's a ritual that has to be performed that I have to research and Bobby's trying to find us the appropriate wording for the prayer but we still have to figure out what Apollo wants and offer it to him. What do you know about him?"
James gives him a look like he's six kinds of an idiot and says, "I know a lot about him. Expert, remember? What exactly are you looking for?"
"Something that would appeal to him and entice him to help us, Bobby said. An object or desire that would please him…"
His forehead curled into a frown, James thinks out loud, "Well, he was shot in the ass with an arrow from Eros after Apollo insulted his archery skills and fell in love with the nymph Daphne but then Eros turned around and shot her with an arrow that made Apollo repulsive to her. They never did get together because she was transformed into laurel tree, at her own request, to get away from Apollo." James dismisses it as quickly as he thinks it, "I really don't think we can get him Daphne. Maybe-"
At his silence, Sam prompts him, "Maybe what?"
James shakes his head, "I don't know…maybe we can offer him Pan's pipe? After we get him back into it, that is. It would be the ultimate insult to Pan and may be rather appealing to Apollo, to keep Pan caged up forever in the musical instrument he lost the contest with. Kinda like shoving Pan's nose in it, you know?"
Sam shrugs, "Well, it's worth a shot, anyway. Now we just have to wait for Bobby to get us that prayer-"
James finishes for him, "And figure out a way to find Pan and hold him long enough for Apollo to restrain him. Easy as pie, right?"
Sam exhales loudly, "There's no fucking way this is gonna work."
*
*
"It's gotta be you, Sam. He's got the hots for you because Dean's got the hots for you and he feels that. He's drawn to you above everyone else so you have to be the one to tempt him, get him to come to you and keep him busy until we can invite Apollo."
Sam shakes his head, "I think we need to invite Apollo first, ask him for the favor and then get Pan to come. If Apollo refuses to help us, we're fucked and then what are we gonna do?"
James bites at his fingernail, brain whirring furiously before he nods, "Agreed."
*
*
The flames of the black candles are the only glow in the darkened house, the shadows from the fire dancing high on the walls of James's living room, the oily smoke from the wax giving off a sickly sweet odor, cloying and heavy. The blue-orange light from the flickering tapirs play across James's face as he stares wide-eyed at Sam across the length of table, the thick cloth covering it etched with ancient symbols.
The light waxes and wanes around them and when Sam nods his head, James fumbles with his own matches, the smell of sulfur potent when he finally strikes one lit, the fragrance of cedar filling up the rest of the air as he waves the smoldering sticks over the candles. Into the circle of flames, Sam places a picture of Apollo with his lyre, the parchment from Pan's flute and one of Dean's fake IDs. He begins to chant the prayer Bobby gave him, James circling the incense wands over the center, letting the smoke curl around the picture, the scrap of leather and the square of plastic with Dean's face smiling at them.
I call upon the God of Light, the wondrous God of gracious sight
The healing heart so full of love come down to me from up above
With each word, the air grows heavy, oppressive, until it's pushing down on them with dense weight, pinning them to their chairs and James's eyes grow wider when he tries to stand and can't, starting to struggle but Sam shakes his head at him, telling him with his eyes to stay put and not fight.
It's hard to breathe now, though, the weight of the air pushing against their chests, and the smoke from the candles turns heavy, becomes a thick gray cloud, clogging their lungs. James starts to cough helplessly and Sam's eyes are burning, watering, his voice scratchy deep with hoarseness as he struggles to continue, gasping out the words over the harsh grip on his throat.
Apollo, God of healing grace come here to me, into this place
The smoke rolls across the table in waves, billowing out of the candle, engulfing both of them in a heavy curtain, disorienting and Sam squints through, trying to keep his gaze locked on James, gotta make sure he's safe because he's not a hunter, he's a freaking college professor, doesn't know what he's getting into, doesn't know a freaking thing about all this stuff so gotta protect him-
Sam's stumbling over the words, his throat closing down against the polluted air, can't get in a decent breath-
Across the time and distant land take the offering from my hand
Wheezing with the effort of trying to get out the last few words before his throat shuts down completely, Sam gives a weak cough over the soot in his lungs, staring at James who's turning red, full on hacking and looking like he's gonna pass out from lack of air any second now. Sam feels his vision start to cloud over, the absence of oxygen making him dizzy and unfocused, can barely read the words now, the air is so thick and dense-
I pray…for your strength…and might
He sees James go down, slumping over onto the floor and he reaches out, tries to catch him but he's too slow, too goddamn slow-
Invite you come to me…
Sam collapses down onto the table, managing to utter the last two words before he slides into unconsciousness.
…this night…
*
*
Sam jerks awake, coughing furiously, trying to clear the aching pressure from his lungs, and gratefully takes in a whooping breath of gloriously clean air. James is sitting across the table from him, unblinking stare, rigid posture, barely seeming to breathe and his voice, when he speaks, is ancient, dusty gravel and hot sun, eons of time carved into each intonation.
"Why have you called me?"
Sam doesn't know the proper procedure for asking a God's help, should he bow, genuflect or lower his head in respect? He opens his mouth to speak, to explain when the voice comes again, "Not with your words. Tell me with your mind." And James stretches across the table, laying a palm over Sam's eyes.
Fingers ripple through the card catalog in his mind, pausing and pulling out images, putting them back haphazardly, snatches of memories flashing bright then fading away, replaced with others, all his deep secrets exposed, examined and discarded with a grunt of distast, leaving Sam ripped wide open, humiliated.
Violated without a mark, without a trace.
The pressure on his eyes is gone but Sam won't look, Christ, he feels so fucking filthy-
"Look at me."
He fights against it but the voice is inside his skin, controlling him, raising his eyelids without his consent to seek out the man's face across the table.
"You need not feel ashamed. Your love for your brother is pure and sweet, its light heals both of you so it is necessary, required. Do not explain or defend it, not to anyone…it is yours and yours alone. You will need it to defeat Pan, to save your brother and if you feel guilt over it, you are useless to me. Do you understand?"
Control of his body is handed back over with a flickering of eyes and Sam raises his head high, back straight and shoulders squared. He takes in a deep breath of courage and the shame is gone, his love for Dean flowing back in, surging waves work through his heart until he's full with it, shining with it and he gives Apollo a curt nod.
"Excellent. Here is what we must do."
*
*
He smells Sam as soon as he enters his forest.
The potent musk of the brother's sweat slicked flesh, heated and aroused, calls to him, rolling in his nostrils and waking up his nether regions and he waves a hand, immediately silencing the creatures in the woods. He wants to hear the frantic patter of Sam's heart, the sharp inhale and exhale of breath as Sam pushes down his fear, willing himself calm and keeping a tight reign on his emotions. And when Sam hears the curtain of silence fall over the forest, his panic shines through, just for a moment, terror surging up as he searches the trees for the cause, eyes flicking and darting fast and frantic. The roar of blood surging through Sam's veins, the quickening thud beating under Sam's ribs, it's music to Pan's ears and he can smell Sam's fright, taste it on his tongue, it's pungent, sticky sweet and black and the God hungers for more, so much more-
He swings silently through the trees, hidden in the foliage, comfortable in the night, in the branches, trailing behind as Sam carries a thick sack on his back and another in his hand. He follows closely, sniffing after Sam's scent in the still air, the flavor sending licks of arousal into his loins and when Sam stops in a small clearing to set up camp, Pan settles down on his haunches on a low branch to watch.
He stares in growing lust at the smooth back muscles, the strong biceps, the thighs that strained with effort as Sam sets up the tent, carries rocks to make a fire pit and wood to build a fire. When Sam tugs over a heavy log to sit on, bent over low with his backside in the air, it's all Pan can do not to jump down and take him right there, shove Sam down on top of that log, rip off his pants and thrust his member deep inside Sam's sweet hole, making the brother cry out in pain and delight.
He gets himself under control with difficulty, pushing down a palm against his hard length and biting down on his lips to calm his ardor, watching Sam stack the wood into a pyre and lighting it with a stick of flame. Pan allows it, letting the wood burn so the brother will have warmth and light against the darkness, feeling an odd benevolence towards Sam that he's never felt before for anyone, human or beast. It confuses him, he doesn't want it inside him because it clouds his judgment and dulls his senses and he's sure it's coming from the other brother, the iron will of the man almost impossible to suppress.
It takes up almost all of Pan's energy just to keep Dean back, away because even though he's possessed this man's body for days now, Dean will not stop fighting him. Normal humans would have given up within the first day, understanding that the will of a God can never be challenged and there would be no salvation for them, nothing left for them but to let go, slide away into the darkness and never return.
But not this man.
If anything, Dean's will gets stronger with each defeat, with each insurmountable cliff Pan puts in his way and he's stubborn as an ass, a formidable rock of suppressed fury and he absolutely will not quit.
He won't let Pan hurt Sam. Pan understands this absolutely, unequivocally that if he tries, Dean will stop him. He found that out the last time he coupled with Sam. Sam had insisted he let Dean out and he had, to a certain extent but Dean hadn't wanted to, had resisted so it was Dean's voice, Dean's words but Pan drove it, drove it all, gleaning the nickname Dean had for Sam from his memories, quickly riffling through their recent past to act accordingly, to respond to Sam like Dean would.
But, when he'd wanted to push Sam away from bringing him to orgasm, when he'd been ready to turn Sam around and shove into him hard and fast, wanting to hear him scream, Dean had stopped him.
Pan still couldn't believe it, that a mere human had managed to come between him and what he desired. Dean had somehow taken over, taken control, and pushed his climax forward, caressing Sam's head instead of pushing it away and let the precious seed be wasted in Sam's mouth.
Stunned, shocked at the power of Dean's will, Pan had been too surprised at the shift in possession to react and Dean had pressed ahead, asking Sam to take him, fondling Sam's hardness, whispering words of love and letting himself be spun around and bent over. Pan's curiosity got the better of him then, wanting to know what it would be like on the receiving end of Sam's arousal and at the first lick of tongue around his opening, he was lost in a sea of desire, coming together with Dean, both spirits moving as one, breathing as one. When Sam had shoved inside him, the pain of it was almost unbearable, so hot, so bright his first reaction was to yank the brother off with his mind and throw him back into a tree, breaking him. Dean clamped down on him, holding him hostage until they breathed together, relaxed together and slowly, gradually, the burn had changed to warmth, curling through the body and something inside was flicking bright spots of color, of electricity through him, building in him. When Sam had reached around to pull on his shaft, it was like fireworks bursting through and he rode the wave with Dean, thrusting into Sam's palm with abandon, the hardness filling him from behind too much, too sharp and he (they) broke, spilling seed everywhere, sanity lost in the pleasure.
Dean had been lulled, relaxed and Pan seized the opportunity, swooped in, caged the defiant spirit and pushed him back, slammed him down into the dark recesses and regained control.
The lesson had been learned, however. If Pan tries to hurt Sam, somehow, someway, Dean will stop him.
Pan pricks up his ears as Sam speaks out loud, speaking to him but Pan remains motionless, barely breathing and when Sam stands, strips off his shirts and taunts him with words, his hardness is swift, his frustration crawling on his skin like ants and he wants to have the brother, rough and fierce, take Sam's breath away with his plunging shaft and make him swallow his mocking tone with whimpers and gasps.
He swings silently to the ground when Sam goes into the tent and moves closer, close enough that he can smell the brother's sex, hear the slick slap of hand on flesh-
The brother is touching himself.
He can see his shadow clearly, larger than life, hand sliding down his sleek torso, over the hard stomach and down to the jut of phallus, so hard, so erect that Pan feels the spit gather in his mouth, imaging the taste of it, the feel of it. He reaches a rough palm down to his own length, dragging and pulling the skin until his back arches with pleasure.
Sam's voice is contemptuous, scornful, "Come on, you fuck. Here I am…come and get me…"
And he edges closer to the tent, watching the shadow stroke himself, the soft gasps of lust sending him over the edge of control and before he knows it, he's inside, mouth gaping open as he stares at the beautiful body in front of him and Sam's eyes flash hatred, glittering at him in the flickering lamplight, hand smoothing down on velvet skin, so red and engorged, it's almost throbbing at him-
"You want some of this?" Sam's voice is a hiss of seduction, teeth clenched in an effort to hold back and Pan nods, reaches behind to take out his flute-
"No!" Sam's reaction is sudden, harsh, "No fucking music, no fucking magic. Just you and me."
Pan's fingers tremble over the pipes, unsure. With no melody to bind Sam to him, it will be free will and he knows about humans, they are tricksters and liars, untrustworthy and if the brother is anything like Dean, he is cunning, sly and will stop at nothing to capture him, best him.
Sam gives a nasty chuckle and dares Pan, his voice full of contempt, of disdain, "What's the matter, can't get your dick up without some supernatural help? Need to hypnotize someone to get laid?" He shakes his head, "What's your real dick look like anyway? Must be small if you gotta take over my brother's just to get you some-Aaahh-"
With a cry of rage, Pan attacks, the anger that's been simmering inside his gut at the brother's blatant disrespect, his arrogant insolence boiling over, and he flexes his mind, throwing Sam backwards and pinning him to the sleeping bag, arms and legs stretched akimbo, erection straight up like a flagpole.
A proper offering for a God.
"Let me the fuck up, you son of a b-" Sam bellows and a wave of Pan's hand silences the barrage, binding Sam's lips shut as Pan crawls over to him, kneels between his legs and runs a sharp thumbnail down the sensitive underside, Sam's phallus jerking and bobbing with reaction. He cups Sam's scrotum, rolling the balls in his palm, earning a moan with each flex of his fingers and he bends his head, inhaling Sam's scent deep into him before tonguing the length of the velvet flesh, sliding up to the tip and circling around, letting his tongue flick back and forth across the slit and just underneath. Sam's hips buck up into him, sensual movement so hot, so delicious that Pan almost forgets his anger but no-
The brother must be punished. Impudence cannot be condoned.
Before Dean can stop him, Pan flips Sam's body over with his mind, reaches towards the belt still curled in Sam's jeans and pulls it out, through the air. He curls his hand into a fist, nails digging into his palm and the belt rolls and snaps, coming down on Sam's back with a loud slap of flesh, leaving a red welt behind.
Sam's head tosses back and he grunts in pain, unable to yell because his mouth is sealed shut but puffing out breath through his nose, trying to gasp through it. Pan lands three more slashes to Sam's flesh before Dean comes roaring to life and they grapple for control, the belt falling harmlessly to the side, Sam's mouth finally working as Pan loses his grip and he rolls away, crying out with the sharp pain in his back.
*
*
Holy shit, Pan's having some sort of seizure, Sam thinks dazedly as he watches the figure pull and claw at himself, raking long red lines down his throat and chest. Sam scoots back, hoping to hell that James is taking care of shit before Pan comes back to himself and decides Sam needs more of a beating. Jesus, his back is on fucking fire and he'd been unprepared-he'd expected Pan to fuck him, not to whip him and it hurt like a mother-
Pan collapses, head hanging down near his knees, back bowed as if under an incredible weight, breath panting out in stuttered gasps and when he raises his head, his eyes are bright, victorious and he smiles at Sam, motioning with a finger towards the belt and it raises up, snapping a sharp blast into the air, making Sam flinch away, raising an arm to cover his face in defense.
They both hear it at the same time-
The thrum of music just outside the tent, the strings of a lyre plucked and stroked with graceful fingers, a rich tune, melancholy and comfort, sharp notes with soft undertones works its way towards their ears through the still night air. Sam feels it in his bones, images of concubines and masters, lovers and orgies swirling through his brain and it makes him hard, rock hard in an instant, wanting his brother like he never has before and the pain in his back is sharper, more intense, adding to his arousal and he drops his arm, rising up towards Pan's belt, welcoming the sting of it-
The lash never comes. Pan's back is rigid, eyes disbelieving, fingers clenching and unclenching at the forlorn melody plunking and humming around them, "No. NO! It can't be-"
"PAN! Come out and face me, you cloven hoofed heathen! All these centuries you've wanted to try your hand at me again! Lo, here I stand so come, let me trounce you again with the strings of my lyre for my music can charm the very rocks themselves. You and I both know that I am the best of us in all heaven and earth!"
Pan is out of the tent in an instant and Sam yanks up his pants and underwear, bounding outside right behind him. Pan is still wearing Dean's jeans, the pipes stuffed into his back pocket and his dick is hanging out the front, unnoticed by either God.
"Apollo, it is you. How have you come to be here? Who summoned you?"
"That's not your concern. Shall we play?" And Apollo, in James's skin holds the lyre to his chest, strumming across it.
"You will just play it upside down again, just to best me. You know I can't play my syrinx on my head-"
"Ah-" Apollo laughs heartily, "I had forgotten. I cede you that point, flute-player. I will stay on my feet."
At once Pan yanks his pipes out of his pocket, putting them to his lips and gives Apollo an evil grin, "Then we play."
As soon as he blows across the pipes, Sam starts chanting in a sing-song tone, desperately trying to shut out the sounds of the flute that dance and sway on the air. He keeps his voice low so Pan won't hear, almost incoherent, but his tone grows in volume with each repetition, words becoming distinct and clear, until they're echoing in the forest around them.
By basilisk and bloodstone, by the garlic in the fields
by the poppies and what they yield, invisibly I make my shield
to detect thee and deflect thee, I banish thee, I banish thee
Back into the chamber from whence thy came
Return and be bound, I erase thy name
I cut the cord and unlock the chain-Back into the chamber from whence thy came.
Sam struggles to control his lust, that fucking flute making him so horny, so goddamn hard that he can barely think, barely focus on what he's supposed to be doing because all he has right now are images in his brain of Dean's skin on his, Dean's hot mouth sliding on his dick and Christ, he just needs to fill his mind with something, anything to stop that insidious music from tickling into his brain-
Dean…Dean teaching him how to clean a pistol…remove the magazine, make sure it's empty, remove the barrel, push the cleaning brush through the barrel in the direction the bullet travels, soak the cleaning rod with solvent and pass it through the barrel five times…
He stumbles to his feet and begins to circle the two entities, the lodestone that James had lain down while Sam was keeping Pan busy in the tent effectively binding the two Gods inside. His breath is closed up into a tight fist in his chest and he's steamy, so fucking turned on but he can't touch himself, can't let go of the thread he's clinging to because if he so much as brushes against his dick, it'll be all over, he'll be falling to his knees and jerking himself to orgasm.
Clean the slide and frame with solvent, use Q-tips to clean the grooves and rails…
He chants the words over and over.
I cut the cord and unlock the chain-Back into the chamber from whence thy came.
Finally, it's Apollo's turn to play and thank Christ because Sam almost broke with the last few notes, catching himself just shy of rubbing on his rock hard dick and he can't take much more of this-
The strumming of the lyre flutters over him, soothes his soul, tames the fire in his loins and he takes a deep breath, echoing the incantation as fast as he can.
I cut the cord and unlock the chain-Back into the chamber from whence thy c-
Suddenly, Pan whips his head around, eyes gleaming with hatred, with betrayal at Sam and there's a jolt of fear in Sam's gut, he knows, he knows, before Pan lifts his hand, flicks it at him and Sam is thrown backwards into the trees, back hitting hard, knocking out his breath, the pain of impact searing through his body. He's pulled forward and dashed back again, smashing into the pines with a sickening thud, the hard wood busting ribs and smashing vertebrae-
I c-cut the cord and-
The third time he's yanked forward and slung back, his neck snaps and he goes numb instantly, can't feel his arms and legs anymore and his mouth doesn't know enough to stop, still hissing out the mantra even while his body is collapsing into a boneless heap, paralyzed, bleeding internally and as close to death as he's ever been, thinking only of Dean, and wishing he could have seen his brother one more time before-
Wishing he could taste Dean's lips just once more-
-unlock the chain-
His vision is blurring, foggy and he's far away now, cloudy gray and light, floating almost and he gives one last hitch of breath-
Back into the chamber-
-And gives in, letting death take him.
*
*
"Sam! Sammy!" The world is shaking, dark and God, he's blind, blind and there's an earthquake or something-
"Open your eyes, Sam!" And he pries his eyelids up, so heavy, Christ, he's so tired and Dean is looming over him, shaking his shoulders to rouse him.
He pushes at Dean's hands weakly, "Lemme sleep, man-" and then realization hits, memory floods through and he's sitting up, grasping at Dean's arms, "Dean! Is that really you? Are you-?"
Dean nods grimly, "Yup, it's me. Pan's gone, thank Christ cause my dick, man…hurts like hell…he spent most of his time yanking on it-"
Sam laughs at that, giddy almost that Dean's back and here and okay and then-
"Wait, I…what the hell? Did I-?" He searches his memory, "I remember feeling like I was gonna die and then, there's just a dark hole of…nothing."
Dean runs a hand over his hair, "Yeah, you died alright, at least that's what Apollo told me. He brought you back to life, after Pan was bound back into his pipes. You did it, Sam. You managed to say enough of the binding spell to get his spirit back into the flute but not before he broke you up pretty good, the son of a bitch. Apollo said you wouldn't give up, you just kept repeating the fucking thing over and over again, even after he broke your neck…"
Dean wipes his palm over his eyes, the pain in them evident at the words he just spoke, "Jesus Christ, Sammy…he broke your neck, man…and you did all of this just to save me. You fucking idiot, you're not supposed to sacrifice yourself for me, you know that! I should kick your ass. Come on, let me help-"
Sam groans as Dean pulls him upright and tries to smile, "What, you're the only one who gets to die around here? Once more and I get a hat trick, dude and fuck, my back hurts like hell."
"Ok, fine, I'll wait 'till you're better before I kick your ass." And Dean loops Sam's arm around his shoulder, helping him walk forward with tentative steps until he gets his sea legs. Sam sees James standing there, watching him, holding Pan's flute and when they're standing in front of him, James tilts his head, admiration in his voice.
"You did well, Sam. You should be proud of your strength and your iron will, it was the only thing that saved your brother. It would be an honor to serve you again."
And Sam's words are earnest, "I can't thank you enough for your help. It would be an honor to serve you, if you ever have a need of me."
Apollo looks down at his lyre and plucks a string from it, snapping it off and handing it over to Sam, "Strum it if you need my help. It is time I take my leave."
And with a gust of wind, a swirl of pine needles, he is gone and James collapses to the ground, gasping and shaking, staring around him in confusion.
*
The next day
*
Dean throws the duffle bags into the trunk, turning to stare back at Sam and James before climbing into the driver's seat, restlessly waiting, drumming his fingers on his knee and staring at the two men in the rear view mirror. Sam shakes James's hand and slaps him on the back before he's heading over to Dean, head down so Dean can't read his face and he starts the car, letting it idle so it covers the silence with noise when Sam gets in the car.
"Ready." Sam says and looks over at Dean.
Dean studies his face, narrows his eyes at Sam, searching for truth and Sam starts to say something, maybe his name but Dean yanks his gaze away, shoves the car into gear and stomps on the gas, roaring out of the driveway and onto the road.
"Dean? Are you ok?" Sam's voice is worried, anxious.
Is he ok? Christ, how's he supposed to answer that one? He'd seen his brother jerking another guy off, watched his brother have sex with someone that wasn't him (twice), even though it was his body technically but it wasn't him and damn it, Sam should have known that, knew that it wasn't Dean like he knew his own name and-
"No, Sam. I'm not ok, not at all."
*
*