-Summary: It's the end of the world and they've got one last card to play. Castiel sends Dean back: back before everything. Now he has time to stop what's coming, but no friggin' clue how to do it. Time travel should really come with a manual. TIMELINE AU
-Reviews: Thank you to all who reviewed. As always, your comments are the highlight of my day. To the guest reviewer who mentioned the titanic in regards to last chapter! Aaaaaaah. Okay, that's going to have to be a deleted scene. Seriously. That's too good to pass up.
-Chapter Warnings: Repeat of last chapter's warnings. Depictions of violence, bit of gore, and torture. Solid T rating here. But it wouldn't be a Supernatural worthy story if there wasn't some humor in there too ;)
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The Road So Far (this Time Around)
Chapter 28
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Sam's head was heavy, chin swaying against his chest with each slow breath and the back of his neck aching at the harsh angle. Waking was a slow thing, his mind groggy and not particularly motivated to leave the cocoon of darkness that surrounded him. It was the invading cold, starting with his toes and crawling up his legs, mirrored in his arms and neck, that finally forced him to open his eyes.
Blobs of grays and blues swayed slowly into recognizable, if not confusing, shapes. The switch over only took a second; the moment of realization that this wasn't a hotel, that he wasn't lying in bed with the covers having slipped off, turned Sam's mind from tired and groggy to alert with whiplash-worthy speed. The hunter jerked forward, constricted lungs drawing in a sudden and forceful breath that was cut short when his ribs had no leeway to expand.
Sam's mind stumbled for a second as he looked down at his chest. Chains looped around his heaving torso, cutting each breath shallow. Both of his arms were included in the bonds, links digging in at his elbows and pressing the limbs tight to his upright body. The hunter quickly glanced over his shoulder at the thick, wooden support pillar he was strapped to. He gave a fierce tug to the chains, straining his muscles against the restraints with little success. The pillar behind him, despite being old and covered in several questionably growing things, was sturdy.
The well-trained hunter turned his gaze to the rest of the room, immediately searching for something to help in his escape. He was in an old building – possibly a hunting cabin – that was poorly lit and succumbing to what looked like years of abandonment. It was a one-room, wooden structure from what he could tell. The majority of the windows were broken, probably from rocks given the shatter patterns of what glass remained. Most of the furniture that was left standing didn't look like it would stay that way for long. Several walls sported graffiti of various forms, from spray paint to splatter that looked a lot like blood, but given the obvious teenage hangout vibe of the abandoned building, Sam guessed was nothing more than red paint.
If there was a door into the cabin, it was behind him where he couldn't see it. There was nothing within reach that was going to help against chains, and nothing he could reach either way, restrained as he was. The stillness of the world beyond the cabin – the rustle of pine trees and leaves, the occasional twitter of a bird or the scuttle of a ground animal – suggested yelling for help was going to be just as useless.
His best bet at this point was his brother.
"Dean."
Sam strained against the chains once more just for good measure as he called out to the older man, who was collapsed, unbound, by the wall opposite Sam. He was slumped against the bare structure, neck tucked to his chest at an angle that suggested someone dropped him without much care. Sam clenched his teeth when his brother didn't so much as move.
"Dean!"
The fact that he wasn't tied up should have encouraged hope. It was probably orchestrated to, actually. But Sam felt the exact opposite. If Dean wasn't tied up, it was because the demon was coming back. Or already watching them. Sam turned his head against the pillar once more, straining to see the rest of the room behind him. But the pillar was the central support for the roof of the large, open room. It was wide, almost as wide as his shoulders, and just as deep. He couldn't see past it.
"Dean, come on, man. At least tell me you're alive."
Sam already knew he was from the steady rise and fall of his chest. But it had never been beneath him to use his brother's hard-coded protectiveness to get what he wanted.
"Dean!"
"'M alive," the man mumbled against his chest, hand twitching where it laid across his chest. The movement distracted the younger hunter for a second and he stared at that hand, knuckles busted, blood scabbed over but fingers still splattered with the evidence of what he'd done. His brother's other arm was motionless on the floor beside him, the white medical cast now covered in streaks of dirt and dotted red with Roger Miller's blood. A crack ran up the side from the force of each punch.
Sam shook himself, pushing his focus back on the problem at hand. Regret could be dealt with later. He glanced over his shoulder again, then back to his brother. "Dean, you need to get up. Right now."
"Kay," came the muttered reply, though his brother didn't move for another second. Sam's leg started jiggling anxiously, but Dean's arm twitched again and then he was struggling upright with a momentous groan. "'M up."
Glazed green eyes opened to slits, taking in the room around him slowly and with the rote movements of someone not fully awake.
"S'm?"
"Over here," he supplied, watching his brother closely. Sluggish movements, delayed reactions, slurred words; he looked drunk. Concussion then. Sam wasn't surprised, given that Dean's right cheek was a blossom of vibrant purples and blues, swollen twice in size and constricting at least some of his vision out of that eye. Sam remembered the way his brother's head had bounced off the linoleum tile of Roger Miller's kitchen.
He swallowed heavily. Well, at least Dean had woken up at all.
"Wha's goin' on?" Dean sat on the floor, upper body swaying as he stared up at his younger brother.
"We need to get out of here," Sam answered softly, not trying to baby his older brother but aware how unpleasant loud sounds were for a head wound. "You're not tied up, but I am. Think you can get me free?"
"Not a child," his brother muttered moodily, climbing to his feet in a single movement that made Sam grin. The way he swayed and stumbled back into the wall after coming to his feet was somewhat less encouraging. But the hunter knew his brother was tougher than nails and he had every faith in him.
"Whoa," Dean mumbled as he righted himself against the wall. His eyes narrowed as he stared at his brother, who seemed miles away given how much of a challenge standing had been. "Concussion?"
"Concussion," Sam confirmed with a twitch of his lips.
His older brother gave a firm nod, then immediately groaned in regret of the action. Muttering about head wounds, he made his way across the ten feet of distance separating him from Sam. The younger of the two tried not to rush him, knowing he was probably seeing three of everything, at a minimum. Not to mention the room would be swaying like a ship on rough seas.
Dean managed the voyage in a few long strides, and Sam was relieved to see a little more clarity in his eyes as he got to him. Calloused hands ran over the chains briefly, giving a quick tug before following them around to the back, where Sam assumed they were locked together.
"What happened?" Dean asked, words still slurred but sounding stronger.
"Azazel." Sam grit his teeth, closing his eyes against the memory of Max Miller's neck snapping and his lifeless body hitting the floor. "He must have knocked us out."
Dean grunted from behind the pillar, hands wrapping around the key-release padlock that hooked together two ends of chain. He scanned his still blurry vision around the room in search of a key, but came up empty. The yellow eyed bastard probably had it on him. Alright, plan B. He scanned the room a second time for anything he could use to pick a lock.
"Why don't you wear hairpins?"
Sam frowned, out of sight of his brother. His worry for Dean's mental condition ratcheted up another level. "What?"
"Hair's long enough for 'em," Dean continued mumbling as he moved away from the pillar and back into Sam's vision. He was patting himself down even as he crossed over to the half-standing dresser, and Sam realized he was looking for his lock picks. Dean mentally catalogued what he found - car keys in the wrong pocket (if that fucking bastard touched my car I'm gonna make him glad demons don't have a god damn afterlife), phone, and wallet. No lock picks, no weapons. "Would keep that shit out of your face at least."
"Gee, I'll keep it in mind for our next hunt," Sam answered back with an eye roll his brother didn't see.
Dean started pulling open drawers, running his hands along the surface top, and then dropping to the ground with a grunt as he searched for anything – nails, a thin piece of wire, a sturdy enough splinter, an old bobby pin left behind by some teenage girl losing her virginity to a pimply jock in an abandoned cabin in the woods. Anything. All the while, he muttered about his moose of a younger brother getting a haircut if he wasn't going to at least hide lock picks in that bird's nest he called hair. He then proceeded to ramble, more to himself, about how they could get him some real pretty ones. Sparkly. Dress him up right.
If looks could kill, Sam would have murdered his only chance at escape some time ago.
"Ha!" The hunter stumbled back to his feet with a noise of triumph immediately followed by a noise of pain. Dean swayed dangerously for a moment before he righted himself and headed back to his brother like he was right as rain. He was holding an old hair clip in his hand, a small bejeweled butterfly at the end suggesting it was less likely lost by some blushing virgin and more likely a pre-teen or single digit who'd come with her big sis or bro to the creepy cabin in the woods where the big kids hung out.
Dean disappeared back behind the pillar again, and Sam heard the telltale clicks and scrapes of his brother picking a lock. The larger man fidgeted in the chains, trying and failing to exercise patience. Dan knew what he was doing, and Sam would be free in just another couple seconds.
"Oh shit."
Sam tensed at the shaky whisper that came from his brother, all sounds from behind him ceasing. He tried to turn in the chains, to see past the pillar. "What? Did you drop it?"
He didn't know what it was; if it was his hunter's instinct suddenly screaming at him; if it was how well he knew his brother and the way Dean's breath shuddered as soon as the room had silenced; or maybe it was the way his brother had gone absolutely still. Whatever it was, Sam knew before his brother said it that they weren't alone in the cabin anymore.
"He's here."
"Well, look who's up and at 'em!"
Dean suddenly yelped, but before Sam could ask what happened, he felt an intense heat around his middle. He let out a cry of his own as the chains flashed burning red for a moment, sizzling against his flesh. The intense, burning heat vanished as quickly as it had come, but it accomplished Azazel's goal. Dean stumbled into Sam's field of vision, away from the padlock and his restrained brother.
Despite the fierce sting across his arms and chest, the sight of his older brother, mostly unharmed, added a modicum of relief to Sam's ratcheted tension. Dean stumbled another couple feet back, eyes darting around for a weapon.
"I should have known better than to underestimate that Winchester gumshoe."
Sam tried to turn against the pillar once again, straining to see the owner of the disembodied voice. Dean's hardened, slightly panicked gaze over his right shoulder told Sam the demon was probably just past the pillar, barely out of his view. There was something about not being able to see the bastard that made his helpless situation all the worse.
"Dean," he cautioned, voice strained. His brother was in serious danger here, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to help. The fact Azazel had left Dean untied once more poked at his attention and he tried to ignore all the very dark reasons his brain supplied for why the demon would do that.
His older brother had only a moment to shake his head minutely in Sam's direction before he was blasted back, flying across the length of the cabin to crash into the wall he had woken up against.
"Dean!"
The hunter managed to protect his head from the impact, forcing his chin to his chest to avoid adding another bump to the skull. His neck protested fiercely, but at this point he would take whiplash over a secondary concussion. Dean's vision still darkened momentarily and he started to slump forward, sliding off the wall, before an invisible pressure caught him and splayed him against the surface.
Azazel strolled across the room, bending down a few feet away from Sam to pick up the hair pin Dean had dropped in the sudden attack. He whistled merrily as he twirled the device in his hand. Both brothers watched, eyes wide, as the little pin lit up as red as the chains had, metal softening and then liquefying in the demon's grip. The molten material slipped through his fingers and splattered on the ground, butterfly jewel bouncing off the wood seconds later.
"That would have been inconvenient," the demon mentioned casually as he strolled across the room towards the pinned hunter. He paused before he reached him, glancing over his shoulder at the equally straining younger brother. Sam snarled at the sudden attention. Pale yellow eyes faded out to normal human pupils and darted down to the chains wrapped around his captive. "Sorry 'bout those, sport. Couldn't risk you biting the hand that feeds ya, and all."
Sam frowned at his words, but the glare in his eyes never lessoned as Azazel turned back to his brother. Dean tried to lean away from the demon, but his pinned position didn't allow for much movement, and all he managed was turning his head ever so slightly away from the yellow eyed bastard. Azazel reached out and Sam's heart leapt at all the ways the monster could hurt Dean.
"Why?" The words were out of his mouth before he'd registered them. All he had thought was he had to keep Azazel's attention on him. If he was talking to Sam, he wasn't hurting Dean. Hand still splayed towards his brother, the demon paused, glancing over his shoulder with a questioning brow. Sam swallowed thickly, his brother catching his eye and shaking his head. He ignored him. "Why did you kill Max? Wasn't he one of your…your kids?"
Azazel laughed, turning back to Dean. Sam's heart pounded, mouth opening to try again, but all the demon did was start rooting through his brother's pockets. "That sniveling brat?"
Dean squirmed under those hands, body twitching in result against the power pinning him to the wall. The demon ignored him for the most part, movements halting as his hand slipped into the human's front jean pocket. Dean stilled, body freezing up as the bastard grinned up at him with a malicious smile that absolutely did not make every muscle in his body shake and his stomach twist unpleasantly. He still had all those memories from Hell, he reminded himself. There was nothing this bastard could do to him that hadn't already been inflicted a dozen times over.
Azazel smirked as he slowly pulled out the hunter's phone, purposefully dragging out the movement before he spun back around to his real interest in all of this. Dean sagged against the wall and Sam glared fiercely at the demon who flipped open the device and started keying through the various menus.
"Sure, he was one of mine," Azazel continued, speaking directly to Sam though his gaze remained on the phone as he started scrolling through contacts. "But that whining mess of a human never stood a chance. I had hoped abusive parents would bring out some anger in the boy – real sociopathic tendencies, you know?"
Sam clenched his jaw as the demon prattled on about Max's life like it was an experiment gone wrong. Max had turned into a murderer, but Sam couldn't help but sympathize with what had driven the kid there. To listen to the yellow eyed monster so callously disregard the hardships he'd put Max through…
How many more lives had that creature ruined?
"He couldn't even kill those abusive bastards without a push. Multiple pushes!" Azazel threw his arms out, as if he was the victim here. "I spent more time trying to train up that sniveling brat... Ah, well. He had his use in the end, mmh? Got you going, Sammy."
The demon waggled a finger in his direction, the same glee in his eye as had been there in the muddy church parking lot. But Sam wasn't paying attention to the demon. He turned wide eyes to his brother, breath slowing with realization. Azazel was the reason Max had moved early. Why Sam had had his vision sooner in the timeline than was right, why Cassie had called while they were already on the road. Azazel was their butterfly.
Sam could tell by the panic in his brother's gaze that that was absolutely not good news for them.
"Why?" Sam asked again, voice doubled in anger and desperation. He hated the latter, the plea that was included in the rage. But he wanted to understand, to comprehend what could possibly be worth running their lives twice over. Even if he already knew the answer, and still couldn't understand.
"Because I need that anger," Azazel responded easily, oblivious to the silent exchange between brothers. He was downright elated, like the answer was obvious but no less exciting. He pushed away from Dean, crossing the distance between the two. The phone was still in his hand, but Sam had captured his attention away from it for now. "That's the problem with you humans. You're like kicked dogs; always crawling back to daddy for approval. Too many of you spend years sniveling, begging for treats, scrambling to please the guy beating the crap out of you."
The demon laughed, inches away from the hunter's face. Sam had never wanted to punch someone so much in his life.
"I need someone who won't take it. Someone who's got the anger, the drive, the balls, to stand above all that. Bite that hand that feeds you. Rip it right off." The demon turned away from the boy again, though didn't leave his side as he brought the phone back up. "Someone like you, Sammy."
"What?"
"Sure, the kid had spunk enough to ice his family, but it took him so damn long to do it!" Azazel kept on as if he hadn't heard Sam's breathless question. "I'm looking for someone whose anger always trumps the family card. And that's you, Sammy-boy."
He tapped the phone against the hunter's chest with a wink.
"Walked away from your father – your brother – more than once. Not afraid to take what you want, do what needs to be done. Blood ties be damned." Azazel sucked in and released a breath of air like a father would in the middle of a speech about his oldest son's recent achievements. The grin on his face was so sickeningly proud that Sam had to turn away from it.
"You're wrong."
"Am I?" The demon tilted his head, brow raised. "Demon blood don't add to you, Sammy. It only brings out more of what's already in there."
"Don't listen to him, Sam." The barked command drew both hunter and demon's attention back to the wall, where Dean remained pinned. His anger was focused solely on the demon, but his fierce gaze flickered to Sam, a promise in his eyes that the younger Winchester hardly understood, but instantly believed.
Azazel clucked his tongue in a moment of silence, then flipped the phone shut and strode across the room towards the older hunter. Dean pulled back as the murderer drew closer, pressing himself more into the wall than the demon already had him.
The grey blue eyes of his human form disappeared, replaced in a blink with the pale yellow irises that had been the last thing Mary Winchester ever saw. Dean clenched his teeth, staring at the demon that he swore, no matter what it cost this timeline, he would kill again.
A smile broke out across Azazel's face, and he raised the phone in his hand, waving it tauntingly. "You'll see soon enough."
He flipped the device open, standing back from the pinned hunter. With a single button press, he raised the phone to his ear, glancing over his shoulder at Sam and waggling his eyebrows in the younger Winchester's direction.
-o-o-o-
John spread the map across the hood of his truck, staring down at the continental United States and the maze of back roads and highways he'd endlessly traversed for twenty-two years in search of his prey. He slammed his fist down on the center of the map and the metal underneath vibrated with the hit. Tilting his head back, the former marine took in a deep, calming breath and forced himself to release the tension in his shoulders that crawled up his neck like a cancer.
He'd lost Yellow Eyes' trail. The last omens after he'd left his sons had been four states over in Ohio. But by the time he'd arrived, it was nothing but a regular demon, mulling about the town. John made swift work of it, but not before the hell spawn had spat that he knew all about his son. All about Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood.
'You don't even know what's coming, do you?'
The thing had gone to hell laughing at him. John took in another breath and added a ten count. It should have gone screaming.
The hunter straightened his head slowly, rapping his knuckles against the map instead of punching it like his bunched up muscles wanted so badly to do. Part of him had thought, with the Colt tucked against his side as a reassuring weight, that his hunt was almost over. But now, it was like starting all over. The demon was making himself scarce. It had only been a couple of days, but in the last six months this thing hadn't stopped for even twenty-four hours, let along almost a week.
John gritted his teeth, hand resting on the hilt of the Colt, tucked into the waistline of his jeans. It was like the bastard knew he had it, and was purposefully hiding from him.
A ringtone cut through bitter thoughts, and John pulled his phone from his coat pocket with a sigh. Dean's name flashed on the small screen as he stared down at the device. He considered ignoring it, even turning the thing off. He knew his eldest would have nothing but angered words for him, and he didn't need to hear them right now or waste time getting in another fight.
But Sammy was traveling with Dean, and if something had happened… John huffed a breath, counted to ten, and raised the phone to his ear.
"Yeah?"
"John? Is that you?"
The coy, taunting voice that rang slightly tinny through the small speaker was not his oldest son, and John straightened, fingers digging into the plastic edges of the device.
"Who is this?"
"Oh, I think you know. Still, I'll give you three guesses." The smug grin coming down the line was sickening to the hunter and he grit his teeth. He sure as Hell did know. Only question left was what that yellow eyed bastard was doing with his son's phone. "Though, each guess you get wrong, Dean-O here's gonna pay for."
"You touch my son and I'll kill you."
The demon laughed loudly, a false sound that turned John's stomach. "John, John, John. You were gonna do that anyway. Or do you think I don't know about that special gun you have?"
The hunter swallowed, hand curling around the hilt of the Colt protectively. His mind raced. Had the boys told the demon about it? Were they coerced into talking, or had the bastard already known about the gun?
"Word travels fast about things like that," the demon drawled, answering the hunter's unvoiced question. "Now! I'm sure you can imagine what comes next, Johnny-Boy. I want the gun; I have your children. Let's…make a trade, hm?"
"I want to talk to Dean."
"Oh, I don't think Dean's earned speaking privileges. Hasn't been the model prisoner, you know. Tried to help his brother escape, keeps talking back." John's fist tightened on the hood of the car, map crinkling beneath his aching grip. "I can still give you proof of life, though."
John's breath left him like a punch to the gut as his eldest son's voice came through the line in a harsh, cut off grunt. The old marine could tell his son was holding back a hell of a lot more than some pained groan, and his heart hurt to think what that bastard could be doing to him.
"I don't think that was loud enough, Dean-O. Your dad wants to know you're alive. Let's try again."
"No, wait-"
There was a distant crack down the line and this time Dean screamed. John had to lower the phone away from his ear. He raised his fist to his forehead, knocking against his own skull several times as he fought with every fiber of his being to stay in control of the mounting rage and panic.
"Hear that, John?"
The hunter counted to ten and let out a breath, before he opened deadly calm eyes and raised the phone back to his ear. "Yeah, I heard."
"Good. So, Dean's alive and well. Mostly. And Sam's obviously fine; no need to hurt my favorite boy just yet."
John clenched his teeth around his tongue, the sharp pain the only thing keeping him from promising that son of a bitch that it didn't matter where he went or who he used as a shield. He was going to die. Instead, he bided his time with his silence, despite every second of it that killed him.
"I want the Colt," the demon soon enough continued once he realized he had the hunter's attention. He rattled off an address in northern Michigan, about four hours away from John's current position.
The hunter stared at the map still spread across the hood of the truck, corners curling in the gentle breeze. He tapped the phone with a single finger, plans rolling through his head.
"Did you hear me, John?" Dean made a pained noise in the background.
"Okay! I heard you. I'll bring you the colt." The hunter licked his lips, running a hand through his hair. "It's gonna take me about a day's drive to get there."
On the other end, the demon just hummed and his son cried out again. He could hear Sam yelling in the background. John's hand shook around the phone, but he willed his voice to remain steady and silently apologized to Dean for the bluff he would bear the brunt of.
"I'm halfway across the country, and I can't just carry a gun on a plane!" The thing about a bluff was it was only good if you played it all the way through, no matter the cost.
"That's okay." The demon sounded genuine, which immediately set off warning bells in the hunter's head. Dean stopped making that noise, though. His barely audible panting in the background at least confirmed he was still alive. "Take all the time you need. I'll just be here with Dean. I'm sure we'll find ways to pass the time."
The line clicked dead and John slammed the phone as hard as he could into the hood of the truck, denting one and shattering the screen of the other.
-o-o-o-
Sam clenched his teeth and kept his mouth shut, though just barely, as he searched the room desperately again and again for something – anything – he could use to get the demon away from his brother. If he could wound Azazel enough, distract him enough to get Dean back up, maybe his brother could get away. Unfortunately, the demon had all but eliminated a repeat of their last escape attempt and Sam had little hope of them getting out together.
He would happily give his freedom if it meant that bastard didn't lay another hand on his brother.
The demon stepped away from Dean as he shut the phone, letting the hunter slide down the wall and crumple to the floor in a heap. Sam bit his tongue, straining against the chains as his brother groaned and didn't try to get up. His good arm was awkwardly wrapped across his chest to hold onto his left. The cast lay in pieces several feet away, and his previously injured arm now sported two breaks. The first fracture, having spent the last week healing as much as it could from the hunter's prior demonic encounter, had given easily beneath Azazel's tight grip. The second, clearly visible in the unnatural angle of Dean's wrist, had been delivered when the re-break was not been enough to make the hunter scream.
Dean didn't bother getting off the floor. Instead, he rolled onto his back, clutching the ruined limb as hard as he was clenching his teeth and focused on breathing through the pain. He'd had far worse.
"Well, that was fun." Azazel set the phone down on the dresser. He glanced over at Sam with a winning smile, and the hunter jerked in his chains.
"I'm going to kill you!"
"That'd be a neat trick." The demon turned his full attention on the young psychic, leaning back against the wobbly furniture and crossing his arms. A mock idea lit his face with all the sincerity of a lying rat, and he leaned forward far enough to reach behind him and pull a gun from his back. It was Dean's, the ivory laid grip a dead giveaway. He held it out in his open palm. "Here ya go. Make the gun float to you there, psychic boy."
Sam clenched his teeth, raising his chin against the demon's taunt. He couldn't help his eyes darting down to the weapon and back to steel blue irises.
Azazel just shrugged when he didn't take the bait. "Wouldn't have done you much good anyway, o' course. This here ain't a special gun. Not like the one your daddy's bringing me."
"Still would have put a smile on my face."
The demon turned slowly to Dean, who had managed to right himself up against the wall. He was still holding his broken arm – no point in pretending it wasn't what it was. But he looked up at Azazel with a glare and a grin that was practically trade-marked Dean Winchester.
"Bullet straight through one of those ugly ass eyes?" Dean let out a laugh, masterfully hiding the wince that followed as he jostled his limb. He kept that cocky grin locked on the demon looming above him. "Woulda done me some good."
"Is that so?" Azazel wrapped his hand around the grip of the gun, leveling it at the downed hunter. Dean stared straight down the barrel, aimed perfectly between his eyes.
"Dean." Sam pulled against his chains again, gnashing his front teeth together. He desperately switched between the yellow eyed bastard and his brother, praying to God he wasn't about to watch his brother take a headshot.
Would telekinesis work on a speeding bullet?
Sam tried to take a deep breath. The rational part of his brain fought for control over the panicking side. Dean had said they were both needed for the apocalypse. Sam by Hell, Dean with Heaven. That meant that the angels, even if they were dicks (Dean's words, not his), wouldn't let his brother die.
They couldn't. Right?
Only Dean had definitely skimmed over some things in the car on the way to Max's house. He hadn't been wrong – Dean, that is – about the trip being too short to cover it all. And it was more than just the twelve hours he had to explain it. It was the time Sam needed to assimilate it.
The younger hunter hadn't asked much more after the bare bones of the apocalypse were laid out before him. He'd had his questions about it, absolutely. But honestly? He needed half that ride just to process what he'd been told. Sam knew there were parts he didn't understand. Hell, he didn't understand most of it. He'd just wrongly assumed he'd have time to talk to his brother about everything he didn't know.
Like the fact that they both would obviously survive long enough to start the end of the world and then take down Lucifer. Dean had been clear on that part. They were both there to take down the devil they'd set free. So that meant they would be fine up until that point. They had to be. Neither Heaven nor Hell could afford to kill them if they were the only ones who could get that show on the road.
That was why Dean knew he could piss the demon off as much as he wanted, and he wouldn't take that shot. Right?
Azazel clucked his tongue and released the hammer of the gun. He grinned down at the older Winchester, who didn't so much as blink as the weapon was lowered away from him. Sam got out a single breath of relief before his big brother opened that damn mouth of his again.
"What? You don't have the balls if I'm not pinned the ceiling?" Dean let out a little laugh that was dark and dangerous. "Or is it cuz I'm not a woman?"
Oh, hell, who was he kidding? Dean would run his mouth whether or not he had immunity. Dean would run his mouth right past immunity, do not pass Go, do not collect your free pass of not dying.
"Dean!"
Sam's warning went unheard as Azazel set the gun back on the dresser and Dean suddenly straightened against the wall, back rigid and head snapping upright. It was clear within seconds that he couldn't breathe, as his mouth flapped like a fish trying to suck in water where there was only air. Sam strained against the chains holding him. Dean's face started to redden, but it wasn't until his brother started sliding up the wall and towards the ceiling that true fear took hold.
Sam tried to tell himself again that this wasn't where his brother died, at least according to Dean and his 'first time around' crap. Of course, that voice was a tiny thing in comparison to the one screaming he was going to watch his brother die here and now if they kept making changes to the timeline.
Dean's head hit the ceiling, neck bending awkwardly as his body continued moving upward, transitioning onto the roof of the cabin. Sam thrashed against his restraints, his brother starting to panic. His face was an alarming shade of red, going purple and puffing up with the need for oxygen.
"Stop!" Sam finally yelled. "You can't kill him. You need him!"
The cabin silenced as Azazel halted, Dean stilling on the roof. The demon turned slowly to look at the younger hunter, a calculating and dangerous look in his eye. It was Dean's turn to utter a warning, though his was garbled by the fact he couldn't actually access any of the depleting air in his lungs.
"You need us both," Sam continued on, heedless of his brother's slightly panicked gaze in his direction. "John won't deal if you kill him. You won't get the Colt unless we're both still breathing, and you know it."
Yellow Eyes didn't respond, just continued to stare at the boy. Sam tilted his chin up, pushing back all those thoughts of alternate timelines and destinies. He focused all of his confidence into feeding the bluff, which really wasn't that much of a bluff after all.
"Without us as leverage, he'll just kill you instead." Sam narrowed his eyes at the demon, refusing to let so much as a tremor of adrenaline affect his voice or his body. "You need him."
Dean hit the floor, unable to hold back a sharp cry as he broke a ten foot fall with a twice-over broken limb. But he was breathing – hacking, really, after spending so long without oxygen – and that was all Sam cared about for now.
"Fair point, Sammy-boy." Azazel turned his full attention on his favorite kid, who sagged against the pillar in relief. The demon ignored the heaving man behind him. He'd deal with him in good time. "I can't blow the grand finale before the guest of honor shows."
Dean gave a grunt and a strangled, "oh come on" as he was flung back up, off the floor and pinned to the wall once more. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'one-trick pony' but if Azazel heard it, he didn't bother responding. Instead, the demon moved right into the hunter's space, stopping only once his face was scant inches from the hunter's own.
"Dude, personal space," Dean mumbled, and winced as a spike of something angry flashed through his chest.
Azazel's gaze flickered yellow.
"But I bet," he continued on as if their conversation hadn't paused so he could toss the hunter around some more. He raised his arm and Dean's abused arm scraped up the wall in tandem, the hunter wincing with every jostle. "Big brother can take one hell of a beating and keep right on kicking. Can't you, boy?"
Dean set his jaw. He pulled his head off the wall as much as he could, fighting the demon's overpowering strength with sheer stubborn will. The man from the future locked eyes with the demon that had nothing on him when it came to surviving torture.
"Gimme your best shot."