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ratherastory) wrote2010-07-09 12:57 am
ratherastory) wrote2010-07-09 12:57 am
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Nihil Inherit, Chapter 7: Vulnerant Omnia, Ultima Necat (Part B)
Chapter 7 (Part A)
Master Post
*
Things get less confusing when Sam is asleep. Sure, his dreams aren't exactly relaxing most of the time ―watching his brother die is pretty much the definition of his worst nightmare, and the rest of the nightmares and visions all seem to involve bloody death of some kind― but there's no sense of wrongness about the dreams the way there is about his waking hours. He sleeps more because, in his dreams, he doesn't have to fight to keep himself anchored in reality. When he awakens, reality hits him like a sledgehammer: the headaches double in intensity and frequency, and sometimes he imagines he can see the second timeline unfolding just out of the corner of his eye, that if he just turns his head, the entire world will turn itself upside down and plunge him right back into the abyss he thought he'd left behind.
He's not sure if it's Dean or Bobby who calls in reinforcements, but his money's on Bobby: Dean has always been a little too keen on trying to work things out on his own to be comfortable asking anyone else for help. The first indication Sam gets that they might not be entirely on their own is awakening on Bobby's sofa ―he must have drifted off again, he thinks fuzzily― to the sound of quiet voices nearby.
“Shouldn't we wake him?” the voice is soft, definitely feminine.
“Let 'im sleep for now. He's exhausted. They both are, but Sam's worse off. Ain't nothing we can do tonight anyway. May as well all get some shut-eye before the shit really hits the fan.”
“Where's Dean?”
“Out under the hood of one of the junkers out back. Sulkin', I'm guessing, after everything that's happened. That demon girl got him turned around six ways until Sunday, and he ain't takin' it too well.”
Sam shoves himself up onto his elbow. “'s not his fault,” he mutters, scrubbing at his eyes. “She lied.”
“Hey Sam,” the owner of the first voice crouches next to him, comes into focus a moment later. “I'm sorry we woke you.”
“It's okay, I sleep too much anyway, these days,” he smiles, trying to wipe the worried expression off Ellen's face. “It's good to see you again,” he adds.
To his surprise, she gathers him into a fierce hug. “You too, kiddo.”
There's a soft laugh. “Hey, do I get a hug, or am I just chopped liver over here?”
His head snaps up. “Jo!” He's on his feet in a flash, so fast that Jo actually takes a step back, startled, and he wavers, trying to find his balance. Once he's sure he's not about to fall over, he takes a step toward her, hesitates as, fleetingly, an image of Jo lying on the floor of a hardware store, blood saturating a makeshift bandage around her stomach, superimposes itself on his vision. “Uh, I―” he stops entirely, hand stretched toward her, feels a little foolish, and she misunderstands his hesitation.
“It's okay, Sam. I don't blame you, or anything. You were possessed, right? Wasn't your fault.”
She closes the distance between them, and lets him put a tentative hand on her shoulder. He swallows a sob that threatens to tear itself loose from his chest, scrubs at his eyes, gathers her into a hug. She feels terribly small and fragile in his arms. So easily broken. “I didn't think I'd ever see you again.”
Jo rolls her eyes. “God, are you always this melodramatic?” she pokes him gently in the ribs, and he huffs a small laugh.
“No, sorry. I just... things happened differently the last time,” pain spikes in his head as he speaks, the sound of snarling hellhounds echoing in his ears, Jo screaming as invisible claws tear open her stomach, spilling her intestines into the air.
“Sam?” she staggers a bit as he's suddenly forced to lean on her for balance. “Maybe you'd better sit back down...”
Bobby catches him by the elbow, pushes him back onto the sofa. “You need anything, Sam? Your meds?”
He shakes his head. “No. I... I just... they're dead. So I have to get used to them again. That's all. I'm okay.”
“What are you talking about?” It's impossible to miss the worried look Jo gives her mother and Bobby. “We're not dead. We're right here.”
“Is he always like this?” Ellen asks, and Bobby nods.
“Pretty much. It's hard to make any sense of what comes out of his mouth these days. Some days are better than others.”
Sam pulls his hands away from where they've been pressing against his eyes, a feeble defense against the vertigo that keeps threatening to make him keel over. “I'm right here, you know. Can understand everything you're saying. I'm not crazy, and I'm not stupid. It's just hard to sort out which memories are real, that's all.”
Jo slides next to him on the sofa. “Sam, that's pretty much the definition of crazy. You know that, right?”
“Right,” he presses the heel of his hand to his forehead. It's become an automatic gesture now, although it does nothing to help the pain or the feeling that he's about to throw up. “I know. Can't help it. It sounds crazy, but it's not.”
“Bobby's told us some of it. You think this might have something to do with those visions you get?” Ellen asks, and he shrugs.
“Indirectly, maybe. I can't explain it right. I ―my thoughts go all screwy when I try. It's... I've lived through all of this before, except the further I go, the more it all changes,” he swallows hard as his stomach roils in protest, and the image of Jo sitting next to him on the sofa begins to fade, replaced by its more horrific counterpart. He closes a hand around her wrist, feeling for her pulse, trying to anchor himself, leaning back against the sofa cushions, eyes slipping shut.
“Sam?”
“Making sure you're real,” he mumbles. “I keep seeing the other you, the one the hellhounds got, when we went after Death. She seems more real than you, even though you're here. God, my head hurts. Sorry. Side effects. Castiel told me it's because the other reality's more real to me than this one. That's what's screwing me up. I'm sorry, I can't―”
“You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault,” Jo gives his knee a squeeze. She's humouring the crazy guy, he can tell, but he can't really blame her. “You should go back to sleep. We'll find Dean, have him fill us in on the rest.”
“Rufus has been keeping us up to date, for the most part,” Ellen says to Bobby, but loud enough for Sam to hear. “We're running out of time, aren't we?”
Sam's already having trouble keeping his eyes open when Bobby's answer registers dimly. “Yeah, we are.”
*
Ellen and Jo take Castiel's appearance a lot better than Sam would have given them credit for. Then again, they took it well the first time, too. The angel is sitting at Bobby's kitchen table, stiff and awkward in his trench coat, but he's smiling uncertainly as Ellen lines up a row of shots of tequila before him.
“Is this a rite of passage?” Castiel inquires.
“Something like that,” Ellen grins, and drains one of her shot glasses without batting an eye.
Sam gets up from the sofa, heads over to the old cassette player that's collecting dust on one of Bobby's shelves, and pulls out some of the cassettes that Dean has left here over the years. He sorts through them, finds the one he wants, and soon the strains of Santana's “Oye Como Va” are drifting through the room. Dean drops onto the sofa, beer bottle in hand, and throws him a quizzical look. He shrugs, smiles.
“It just seemed like something was missing. I figured Santana was a good way to go.” He catches sight of Bobby in his study, stretching up on tiptoe to grab a book off a shelf, and has to fight away the sudden certainty that it's all wrong, that Bobby shouldn't be able to do that, not now, not here. That he should be in a wheelchair and that it's Sam's fault.
“Good to know my taste is finally rubbing off on you,” Dean smirks, but his expression says he hasn't missed Sam's falter.
Castiel is methodically draining the tequila shots while Ellen looks on approvingly and Jo gawks, her beer forgotten in her hand. “I think I'm beginning to feels something,” he tells Ellen seriously after his seventh shot, and Sam brushes by, snags a beer from the fridge before sinking down on the sofa next to Dean.
“Even when he was mostly human, it took an entire liquor store to get him drunk. I don't think it's going to work. Angels don't get drunk. It's a shame, it'd probably help.”
“Sam.”
He twists off the cap, takes a drink. “Last night on earth. I figure it's worth a beer.”
Dean turns to look at him. “You know something I don't?”
It's too hard to explain. Instead he slides over until he's pressed up against his brother, leans against his shoulder. “I know lots of things you don't. Nothing specific. Just remembering the last time this happened.”
“You know you're not making sense, right?” Dean's hand comes up to rest briefly on his head, the gesture rough and comforting.
“Haven't made sense in weeks,” he takes another drink, which is a little harder to manage while cuddled up against his brother. He figures Dean has to be worried, if he's letting him get away with this. He grins as another memory surfaces. They should be at a table for this, but he'll take what he can get. “Thank you for your continued support.”
Dean snorts. “Moron,” he says fondly, clinks their beer bottles together. “You shouldn't be drinking.”
Sam ignores him, reaches up to toy with the amulet still around Dean's neck. “Glad you kept that. It's not useless, you know.”
His brother shifts uneasily under him. “Of course I kept it. What's with you tonight?”
“Nothing. Just taking advantage... I'm glad you're not gonna throw it away this time. You won't, will you?”
“Don't be stupid. I'd never do that.”
He huffs a laugh. “No, I guess you wouldn't. Not now.”
At that moment Bobby comes back into the living room, brandishing a camera and a tripod. “All right, everybody get in here, it's time for the line-up. Usual suspects in the corner.”
Ellen rolls her eyes and laughs. “Oh, come on, Bobby. Nobody wants their picture taken.”
“Hear hear,” Dean says over Sam's head.
“Shut up, you're drinkin' my beer,” Bobby grumbles good-naturedly. “Anyway, I'm gonna need something to remember your sorry asses by. I plan out outlivin' all of you damn fool chuckleheads.”
Ellen snorts as she pushes Castiel and Jo ahead of her, while Dean shakes his head with a smile, and pulls Sam to his feet, leaving their beers behind. “Always good to have an optimist around,” she says, settling into place in the center of the frame.
Dean puts an arm over her shoulders and another around Jo's waist ―eliciting a smack on the wrist when his hand strays a little too far and a mocking laugh. “You wish, jackass,” she smirks, and he just shrugs and grins back.
“Can't blame a guy for trying.”
“Try again and you're going to lose the arm. Then my mom'll castrate you.”
Dean flinches, and Sam laughs. He stands behind Castiel, accustomed to standing at the back of photographs since he grew over a foot at the age of sixteen. Castiel is looking awkward, but not nearly as much as the last time they did this.
“It'll be nice to have everyone smiling this time,” Sam says. The angel nods, and Sam feels a surge of gratitude that, for once, he's not the only one who understands what he's saying.
Bobby sets the timer, and hurries back in time to stand between Castiel and Ellen. “All right, everyone say whiskey!”
Sam smiles as the flash goes off.
*
Ellen comes to find him on Bobby's porch. He's sitting on the top stair, leaning against the railing, staring up at the stars, leaving Dean to hit unsuccessfully on Jo. He's relaxed, smiling, and Sam can't remember the last time he saw Dean this much at ease, so he quietly removes himself. No sense in reminding Dean of all the reasons he has to be tense and unhappy.
“Sam, honey, are you all right?”
He doesn't move. “You mean right now?”
She lowers herself onto the porch next to him. “Sure, let's start with that.”
He lets a smile play over his face. “I'm okay. Watching the stars. Haven't done it in a while.”
“They're very pretty,” Ellen says noncommittally.
“Dean taught me when we were kids. Only ever learned three constellations. Always meant to learn more of 'em. I can always find the North Star, though. Foolproof.”
“Yeah?”
He nods carefully. “Trick is to remember to look for it. Otherwise it's easy to get lost. Forgot that for a while.”
“What are you saying, Sam?”
He shrugs. “It's hard to explain. I kind of,” he pauses, trying to find words that will make sense to both of them, “I kind of got lost for a while. It's why I had to come back, this time. Do it differently. I screwed it up, last time around. “
Ellen sighs. “You're not making much sense. What do you mean?”
Sam chews on his lip, closes his eyes as Ellen's face swims out of focus, becomes tear-stained and fearful, her hand wrapped around a detonator as she waits for the hellhounds to come through the door. He feels sick.
“Sam?”
“I just don't want everyone I love to get hurt or die anymore.”
He can't help but flinch at the first feel of her fingers against his face, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “I know you still feel bad about your father, Sam, but it wasn't your fault. He made his choice a long time ago.”
He huffs a laugh at that. “I keep forgetting most of it hasn't happened yet.” He opens his eyes, sees the incomprehension on Ellen's face, and tries to explain himself again. “I'm sorry, I know how crazy I sound. I just... it's hard. It's getting harder to tell things apart, and I can't ―I keep seeing the wrong things. Saying the wrong things. I can't tell what's real anymore.” He searches her face for a sign of comprehension, sighs when he sees none. “I'm still not making sense, am I?”
“I'm sorry, sweetie, but you're not.”
“Sorry.”
“It's not your fault, Sam. We're just worried about you.”
“I know,” he lets his eyes close again. It's easier to focus on the present when he's not seeing two realities fight for dominance with each other. “I didn't think it would get this bad. Still would have done it, though. It's the only way to put things right, you know?”
Ellen smooths his hair again, but doesn't say anything.
“Ellen?”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“If this,” he makes a vague, all-encompassing gesture with one hand. “If it doesn't get better... I asked Bobby to look out for Dean, but I think it might be at least a two-person job.”
“Don't talk like that, Sam. You're going to be fine.”
He snorts. “Everyone keeps saying that. I'm just hedging my bets, 'kay? Cas will help too, if you let him.”
“The angel?” Ellen sounds dubious.
Sam grins at the memory. “He's all right, for a nerdy dude with wings. And he's... I don't know. But he'll want to help, if it's for Dean. Will you do it?” he fixes her with a stare, waiting for her answer.
“You don't even have to ask, you know we'll look after your brother. You boys are the closest thing I have to sons.”
He nods, feeling the last of his energy reserves draining already. It's depressing, he thinks, how quickly he gets exhausted these days. “Thanks.”
“You ready to head inside?”
“Nah,” he tilts his head back toward the sky. “Think I'm gonna stay out here for a while. Tell Dean not to worry?”
She gets to her feet, pats his shoulder. “That'd be about as useful as asking a fish to breathe out of the water.”
With a last, sad smile in his direction, she turns and heads back into the house, leaving him alone to stare at the stars.
*
“Ruby's still in the picture? How is that even possible? And boy, don't make me kick your ass by telling me you've stayed in touch.”
“Come on, Bobby, it's not like I'm palling around with her! She had my number before, and I didn't exactly have time to change it the last few days.”
Dean is pacing again, back and forth in front of the sofa where Sam has been spending most of his waking hours, his cell phone lying shut on the table. Ellen, Bobby and Jo have seemingly taken up permanent positions at Bobby's large table, maps and books spread out haphazardly over the surface. Castiel has pulled a vanishing act, presumably off defending more Seals, or something, while the rest of them try to figure out the last pieces of the puzzle. Sam stares at his brother mutely, trying to rid himself of the image of wrapping his hands around Dean's throat in a hotel room far away, choking the life out of him, trying to prove how weak and wrong he his. Shards of the broken mirror litter the floor of the honeymoon suite he rented for himself and Ruby.
“You don't know me. You never did. And you never will.”
“You walk out that door, don't you ever come back!”
His breath catches in his throat, and he forces himself to breathe through the memory. It's not real anymore, he reminds himself. Just a bad day. A very bad day. Nothing he's said has made any sense, and Castiel isn't there anymore to make things clear. Dean is still talking.
“She says she knows where Lilith is going to be. We know Lilith has to break the final Seal, right? So why shouldn't we use the insider information?”
“Well, because it's a trap, for one,” Bobby says, rolling his eyes.
“Of course it's a trap, but if we know it is, then we can go in prepared.”
“No, you can't! She knows you're onto her, and that should be enough to tell you that no matter what you think you're up against, it's going to be worse, and they're going to be ready for you. You go after Lilith, you die. End of story.”
Dean smacks a fist into the nearest wall.
“Watch the drywall, boy. You break that, you're redoing all of it.”
“We can't just sit here and do nothing!”
“You think nothing is what we've been doing for the past three days?” Jo snaps. “I get that you're worried, Dean, and we all know what's at stake here, but going off half-cocked isn't going to help. If our positions were reversed, you'd say the same to me.”
“Yeah, well, they aren't reversed.”
“Sam, honey?” Ellen breaks in before Dean and Jo can start yet another argument. “You with us?”
He nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Lilith is dying against the altar, laughing, taunting him."You turned yourself into a freak. A monster. And now you're not gonna bite? I'm sorry, but that is honestly adorable." She's skinny, skinnier even than Ruby, and he wonders if she got her taste for possessing skinny blonde women from possessing Ruby's body that one time. Before that, it was always little girls. It's easier to kill her, this way.
“You got anything to say, Sam? 'Cause now would be a good time to weigh in,” Dean snaps.
"Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."
“No going back,” Sam repeats quietly.
“Fuck!” Dean looks as though he's about to punch the wall again before thinking better of it.
“Sam, honey,” Ellen repeats, her voice soft, as though she's talking to a frightened animal or a slightly retarded child. “Do you understand what we're saying?”
He nods. “Yeah.” One-word responses are safe, easy enough to manage.
“Okay, good. You said you've dealt with Ruby before, right? That whatever happened to you, or didn't happen, or whatever, she was there, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. So... is she on the level with this? Does she know where Lilith is?”
“Uh...” he scrubs at his face. “Yeah.”
“You don't even know how hard this was! All the demons out for my head. No one knew. I was the best of those sons of bitches! The most loyal! Not even Alistair knew! Only Lilith! Yeah, I'm sure you're a little angry right now, But, I mean, come on, Sam! Even you have to admit: I'm ―I'm awesome!”
“It's wrong, though,” he manages. “Can't trust her. Lying.”
“But she's telling the truth about this,” Dean insists. “I know she is. We can go in, take Lilith out. End of problem.”
Ellen rises from the table and draws Dean aside by the elbow. Sam is pretty sure she doesn't mean for him to overhear them, but amidst the fog of all his thoughts, their voices are clear as warning bells.
“Are you sure that this is really about killing Lilith?”
“What else would it be?”
“Dean, sweetie, I know we haven't known each other that long, but I know ―knew― your father, and you're a lot like him. You think we can't see what this is doing to you?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Dean says stubbornly.
“I'm talking about Sam,” she says gently. “He's a lot worse now than he was before. I know it has to be tearing at your heart, sweetie. Killing Lilith might stop Lucifer from being freed, and I'm not saying that's not a good thing, but you have to be realistic about this, too. Whatever's wrong with Sam, getting rid of Lilith might not stop it.”
“I know that!”
“Do you?” she counters, her voice still impossibly gentle.
“I still have to try. Look at him ―I promised my Dad I'd keep him safe, and I'm failing. It's the only job I ever had that mattered, and I'm failing, Ellen. He died, and there was nothing I could do, and now I've got him back... I can't let him go again. Not like this. If killing that demon bitch doesn't work, I'll just find another way.”
Sam raises his head, sees his brother staring at him, chewing on his lip. He smiles at Dean, but the smile fades when Dean averts his eyes, ducks his head to avoid meeting his gaze, and he thinks that maybe, after all this, he's lost his brother after all.
*
St. Mary's Convent in Ilchester doesn't look as sinister without the bloodied cadavers of nuns strewn about the pews, but the air is crackling with energy as Lilith sets up her altar. She's wearing a frilly white dress with pink trim, and white leather shoes with rhinestones in the shape of a heart on her tiny feet, and her blond hair has been pulled back into two intricate French braids tied together with matching pink ribbons. She uses one white-clad foot to kick the demon at her feet in the ribs.
“I can't reach that high. Hold still so I can stand on you,” she snarls. The voice is a child's, but the tone is anything but childlike.
She clambers on the creature's trembling back, and carefully strikes a match, looking for all the world like just another little girl lighting the candles on the dining room table for a fancy dinner party thrown by her parents. She turns, still standing on the demon's back as another of her servants approaches, shaking with fear, and hands her a blood-filled chalice, which she accepts with all the solemn concentration of a child her age. Then she smiles, bright and happy.
“Don't be afraid,” she says. “We're going to save the world!”
*
“Lilith is the Final Seal. She dies, the End begins.”
*
Sam comes to on the floor of his bedroom, tasting copper in his mouth. Every muscle in his body aches, and as he shifts, he can feel that his jeans are soaking wet, the rough fabric clinging to him. His head throbs, and he blinks painfully against the dim light, his thoughts a shattered mess. He thinks he might be coming apart at the seams, like a rag doll that's been thrown around a few too many times. A few moments later, Jo's anxious features come into focus above him. She puts both hands on his shoulders to hold him down when he tries to sit up.
“Don't move, Sam. You had a really bad seizure, we're gonna call an ambulance, okay?”
“No.” The word comes out as an almost soundless rasp. “Dean. Where's Dean?”
“I don't know. I heard you fall, but he was gone when I came in. I don't know how long he's been gone.”
“Lilith. He's gone after her. We have to stop him. Let me up.”
“No. Let me and Mom and Bobby deal with him, okay? You need a hospital, you've been seizing for over five minutes. You're bleeding, Sam...” she bites her lip, and he can hear the hitch in her voice as she swallows tears. “Please, just let us handle it.”
“Cas...”
“The angel?”
“Is he here?”
“No. Why would he be?”
“Cas! Castiel!” he means to shout, but it comes out as more of a strangled groan. “Please...”
It's enough. He recognizes the almost-silent gust of wind, and Jo gasps. A firm hand wraps itself around his wrist, the grip achingly familiar. This time, he's not dying. Not yet.
“I am here. I am sorry it took so long.”
“We have to go,” Sam tells him, staring directly into the very blue eyes of the angel. “He's making the same mistake I did. I remembered too late.”
“It's not too late. The Seal remains unbroken to date.”
He whimpers. “God, it hurts. I... this is what you meant, right? Why you couldn't tell me.”
“Yes.”
“Not too late?”
Castiel's grip tightens. “Not yet.”
“We have to go now,” Sam lifts his head, pain sparking behind his eyes. “Before I can't anymore...”
“No!” Jo breaks in. “Look at him! He shouldn't go anywhere but a hospital. Just tell us where to go, and we'll do it.”
Castiel just shakes his head. “I will tell you, and you should follow. You will be needed there as well. But I must take Sam ahead. It is why I brought him back. He is the only one who can stop this.”
“It'll kill him!” Jo hasn't broken her tight grip on Sam's other arm. “You can't!”
Sam struggles to a sitting position, frees his hand from Castiel's, and places it on top of hers. “It's why he brought me back, Jo. I have to do this. I'm going to die anyway if I don't go. At least this way there's a chance. I don't know how to explain it so that it'll make sense, but I already died, and... I have to do this so Dean won't. Please, this is his only chance. Do it for him if you won't for me.”
Her eyes shine for a moment, and he knows he's won. She bites her lip, blinks hard, and lets go of his wrist before looking at Castiel. “Where are you going?”
Sam answers, to her surprise. “Ilchester. St. Mary's Convent.”
“How the hell did Dean get there?”
He shrugs. “Don't know. Last time it took me days.”
“Last time?”
“Can't explain it now. Just get there as fast as you can, okay?”
“Okay.” She's already on her feet and out of the room, yelling for her mother and Bobby.
“They'll never make it in time,” he tells Castiel. “Can you come back for them?”
“You will be facing Lilith alone.”
“I've done it before. Besides, I won't be alone. Dean will be there.”
Castiel nods. “Very well.”
Castiel pulls him to his feet, holding him up as though he weighs nothing, though his knees are buckling and he's shaking so hard his teeth click. There's a flash, entirely unlike his visions, and yet there's a comforting familiarity about it. He finds himself standing before the massive wooden doors of the convent, and there's a rush of air as Castiel departs again, leaving him staggering at the sudden absence. He drops to one knee, dizzy, forces himself up again on trembling legs. He half-expects to see Ruby at his side, urging him on.
Here goes nothing, he thinks, and barely manages to get through the heavy doors before they slam shut behind him with a resounding crash.
*
“Dean!”
There’s not much point in yelling. Dean is already pinned to a wall, Ruby’s demon-killing knife lying a few paces away on the stone floor. Lilith has her back to Sam, the hem of her little white dress already stained crimson.
"You're not nice at all," she's saying to him. "You were supposed to come play with me, and bring your brother, too, and instead you brought a big old knife and no cake. I don't like you at all."
"Lilith!" Sam cries. "Wait!"
She spins around, and Dean drops in a crumpled heap to the floor, his eyes glazed. She claps her hands giddily, revealing a row of perfect, pearly little baby teeth. "Oh, you came! Goody! Now we can all have fun together, just like we planned."
"Where's Ruby, Lilith?" Sam casts about, but the demon is nowhere to be seen.
"Oh, I decided I didn't like her anymore. She outlived her usefulness. She was supposed to bring me you, but she brought the useless brother instead." She jerks her head, blond tresses bouncing against her shoulder blades, and that's when Sam catches sight of Ruby in another body -a brunette this time- lying sprawled just to one side of the altar, staring sightlessly toward one wall. "I've been waiting all day for you, you know. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up! And then all my hard work would have been for nothing," she says sulkily, sticking out a very red bottom lip in a pout. "I think I'll kill your brother first. He's no fun, and he said mean things to me. He called me the 'B' word!"
Dean stirs. "Sammy?"
Lilith sneers, and the look is both ugly and terrifyingly wrong. "Sammy's busy playing right now."
"Don't hurt him, please,” Sam hears his voice break. “This is between you and me, Lilith, you know that. You can still walk away from this. You don't have to die."
"Sammy... she's just a kid," Dean is struggling to push himself upright.
"I'm going to snap his neck," the child says calmly. "I like the sound the cartilage makes. Like Rice Krispies. Snap crackle pop!" she giggles, and raises her hand. "You'd better do something, Sam, or your big brother is never going to play with you again!"
He doesn't stop to think about what he's doing. If I look back now, I'm lost. No hesitation. Hesitation means certain death for Dean, and all of this will have been for nothing. He brings up his hand, draws power to himself, and flings the child as hard as he can against the heavy marble altar. Her head collides with the edge with a sickening crack of breaking bone, and he knows that he's just signed the little girl's death warrant as well as Lilith's. He's never heard of any of Lilith's child hosts surviving their possession, and this girl's entire family has likely been slaughtered in front of her eyes, but that doesn't change the fact that he has beyond any shadow of a doubt directly caused the child's death. Lilith slumps at the foot of the altar, mouth agape with surprise, her white dress smeared all over with tiny crimson handprints and the occasional droplet of blood. His head is already throbbing with the effort, and his heartbeat thunders ever more loudly in his ears. Dimly he can hear Dean shouting at him, but all that's left is him and Lilith, life or death, and it all seems inevitable, now. His hand is already up before him, and slowly, excruciatingly, he curls his fingers into a fist, feeling the demon tear itself loose from its dying host. Lilith screams shrilly, white-clad feet kicking incongruously at the floor as black smoke pours from her mouth and her eyes blaze with white light.
Then, mercifully, the screaming stops, and everything is still.
Sam drops to his hands and knees as an impossible amount of blood begins to trickle out from beneath Lilith's corpse, tracing a familiar wheel pattern on the flagstones of the church. The ground begins to tremble, and the air is filled with the shrieking white noise that heralds the imminent arrival of an archangel. Dimly he's aware of Dean scrambling clumsily to his feet and staggering to his side, clutching one arm stiffly against his ribs. Sam is too out of breath, too dizzy to do much except stay exactly where he is and try to catch his breath. Blood drips from his nose to spatter on the floor.
"Sammy?"
He coughs, draws in a shaking breath. "Look, Ma, no magic feather!" he gasps, and giggles a bit hysterically. The noise is almost deafening, but he can still hear his brother, clear as day. He can't see properly, shadows flitting across his vision, giving everything a jerky feel, like stop-motion animation.
"Sammy, what did you do?"
"And it is written that the first demon shall be the last seal. It's prophecy, Dean. I don't know why I thought we'd be able to change it. Not like this. He's coming..."
Dean pulls him up with a grunt of pain, and for a moment they just cling to each other, watching the blood pool before them. "Sammy, I'm so sorry... I was trying to keep you safe..."
Sam just shakes his head. "You can't keep me safe, Dean. No one can. It's okay." He keeps watching the blood so that he won't have to look at the body of the child he's just butchered. "They've needed us from the start. He can't come out unless he has a vessel. Without their vessels, they're nothing. It was all designed to bring us here..."
Whatever you do, you will always end up... here.
He's watching himself say it, but it's not him, and the thought makes him sick. He feels his knees start to give way, and Dean tightens his grip, holding him up, before his vision flashes white.
*
“Why do you think you were in that chapel? You're the one, Sam. You're my vessel. My true vessel.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, that'll never happen.”
“I'm sorry, but it will. I will find you. And when I do, you will let me in. I'm sure of it.”
“You need my consent.”
“Of course, I'm an angel.”
“I will kill myself before letting you in.”
“I'll just bring you back,” Lucifer says, and sighs. “Sam. My heart breaks for you. The weight on your shoulders, what you've done, what you still have to do. It is more than anyone could bear. If there was some other way...but there isn't. I will never lie to you. I will never trick you. But you will say yes to me.”
“You're wrong.”
“I'm not. I think I know you better than you know yourself.”
“Why me?”
“Because it had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you.”
*
“Sammy, what is that?”
The white noise is impossibly loud, the circle nearly complete, and he's coming apart, feels blood dribbling over his lips and chin. The world flashes white.
*
“You're my true vessel, but not my only one.”
Sam has no memory of his father ever looking this young, but it's not his father, in any real sense of the word. Not this creature that reeks of power and arrogance barely masked beneath a veneer of gentleness. He thinks Dean understands this, too, because his posture is wary, angry.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It's a bloodline.”
“A bloodline?”
“Stretching back to Cain and Abel. It's in your blood, your father's blood, your family's blood.”
*
He's on the floor, the cold from the flagstones seeping into his shoulder blades. He doesn't remember falling, but Dean's got him. Dean's face is pinched, anguished.
“What the hell is this, Sam?”
He swallows a mouthful of blood. “You saw it?” He remembers the séance at Pamela's. It seems like a lifetime ago. Two lifetimes. But for the first time, he thinks Dean might understand. Might see.
“I saw,” Dean is trying to pull him to his feet. “We have to get out of here, Sammy. Come on!”
“It's too late,” he grasps Dean's wrist as white flashes in his mind again, and this time, he feels himself dragging Dean in with him.
*
“You won't shoot me, Bobby.”
“Don't test me.”
“You won't do it. You can't do it.”
“We're trying to help you, Sam.”
“Then shoot.”
He reaches out, pulls the barrel of Bobby's rifle so that it's aimed point-blank at his chest. Finds himself praying Bobby will pull the trigger.
*
“I tried, Sammy. I mean, I really tried. But I just can't keep pretending that everything's all right. Because it's not. And it's never going to be. You chose a demon over your own brother― and look what happened.”
“I would give anything―anything―to take it all back.”
“I know you would. And I know how sorry you are. I do. But, man...you were the one that I depended on the most. And you let me down in ways that I can't even... I'm just―I'm having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here. You know?”
“What can I do?”
“Honestly? Nothing. I just don't...I don't think that we can ever be what we were. You know?”
Sam swallows hard, knowing what's coming.
“I just don't think I can trust you.”
Sam watches his brother walk away.
*
Just -- just listen to me, okay? My name is Cindy McClellan. I'm a nurse in the NICU over at Enfield Memorial. I have a husband named Matthew, okay? We've been married six years. He's got to be worried sick about me. And I don't even know who you are, and I'm not gonna tell anybody anything. Please just let me go. No, no! Please, no! Please―”
*
“Sam, what―”
Sam reaches up to silence Dean with one hand. “Never happened. Not anymore. I meant it, when I said I'd give anything... I never meant to betray you. Please tell me you understand.”
Dean keeps looking over at the opening cage, and Sam can feel the fear that's coursing through him. “You can explain it later, okay?”
“No,” he tugs on Dean's shirt. “There is no later. Dean, please...”
The world shatters again.
*
Dean's body is crumpled amidst the rubble, making a mockery of all of Michael's promises. Sulphur and ozone mingle in the air, heavy under the swirling clouds. It's over, and they've all lost.
He can feel blood oozing from his nose and ears, leaking from the corners of his eyes like tears. He can't move, can only watch the clouds above him, and wait to die. He tries not to think of Dean as he last saw him, arms raised in supplication. He shuts his eyes as lightning arcs through him, searing past his eyelids, and everything goes dark.
A hand clasps his wrist, anchoring him in place, fingers feeling for his pulse.
“Dean?”
“No, it's not Dean. I am sorry.” Castiel's voice is a reassurance, a promise of light in the darkness.
“Where is... did he make it? Tell me he made it.”
“I am sorry.”
His eyes must be gone. He can't cry, can't find it in himself to shed a single tear.
“Am I dead?”
“You will be, soon.”
“I couldn't save him.”
“No.”
“Neither could you.”
“No.”
“I tried so hard...”
“I know. We all did. It was too late, Sam.”
“What if it wasn't?”
There's a pause. “What do you mean?”
“What if we could change it? Go back? Do it differently? Can you do it?”
“I can try. But the consequences will be... severe,” Castiel says. “You will likely not survive. And it might not work.”
“I'm going to die anyway.”
“You are sure?”
“Just... just do it.”
*
“Stay with me, Sam. Please. Sam!”
Sam finds himself clutched in his brother's arms. Dean has stopped trying to get away, is holding him to his chest, sitting on the floor next to where Lucifer's cage is opening. He twists to look at where light is just beginning to seep through the cracks in the floor. He's exhausted, wants nothing more than to curl up against his brother and sink into oblivion. His gaze falls on Ruby's knife, lying where it fell, just outside the circle of blood, and suddenly he laughs.
"Sam, what? What is it?"
"I know how to stop this," Sam says. "But you're not going to like it." He pulls away gently, reaches out for the knife, pulling it toward him with his fingertips.
"Sam?"
He looks past Dean, where Castiel is standing just inside the doorway. He doesn't know how long the angel has been standing there, but he thinks it can't have been long. "I'm right, aren't I? It's what Bobby found, about the vessels. The bond of brotherhood."
Dean half-turns to look behind him, surprise registering on his face as Castiel nods. "The blood of Lucifer's vessel will seal the cage anew," Castiel says, and though Sam is sure he hasn't spoken above a normal tone, his voice rises above the shrieking din like a thunderclap.
Sam presses the hilt of the knife into Dean's hand. “You have to do it now.”
"Sam, no. You can't be serious.”
“It was there the whole time. Bobby's research, you remember? And Michael's spear pierced the Lightbringer's heart, and in fire and blood were the bars of the cage re-forged. None but the bonds of brotherhood can seal the Serpent's cage. It's prophesy.”
Dean is shaking his head mechanically, over and over. “No, there has to be another way."
He doesn't look Dean in the eyes, can't bear to see the heartbreak he knows he's about to inflict. "There is another way. We already tried that. It's why Cas sent me back. Please, Dean. You have no idea what the cost was. We have to do this."
"No. No, I won't let you," Dean is shaking his head, voice breaking with unshed tears. "No."
"It has to be you," he says in Dean's ear. "You're Michael's vessel. It has to be you. Please, Dean. I was there, at the end. I'm going to die anyway, no matter how this plays out. Do you hear me? I don't want to go back to the way it was then. I wasn't me anymore. I was a monster... everything we fought against, all our lives. You're the only reason I stayed human as long as I did ―it was all because of you."
“I can't! I can't. Sammy, don't ask me that. Anything but that, please...”
It's already gone too far, Sam. If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you.
He feels Dean flinch, knows he saw it as clearly as if he was there, that he saw everything. He pulls his brother in closer, feels him shaking. "This is what Dad was talking about, Dean. It's what he meant when he said you might have to kill me. If I could spare you this, I would, I swear to God. I just... need you to do this. Please. I'm not... I can't do this anymore. Please.”
He watches Dean's face crumple in defeat.
“And... and one other thing after that. I need you to promise me something."
Dean's breath hitches, but his voice almost sounds normal, even as light so pure and bright it's impossible to look at directly begins to pour from the circle in the floor. "Promise what?"
"Promise you won't give up. Dad made you promise to save me, and that's what you're doing. Promise me you won't try to get me back, that you'll keep going."
"Sammy..."
"Promise me." He knows it's unfair, but he demands it anyway, knowing his brother has never been able to refuse him anything. "Promise me, Dean."
Dean nods, and this time he sobs once, quietly, into Sam's collarbone. "Okay. Okay, Sammy. I promise. God... I'm-"
"No. Please, don't say anything," Sam interrupts him, rests his forehead against his brother's. "Just do it quick."
Dean has always been the most skilled hunter of their family, the best Sam has ever known. He barely feels the blade slide between his ribs, lets out a surprised grunt of pain as the knife twists in the wound, and withdraws, leaving him feeling oddly bereft. Dean catches him by the shoulders, pull him against his chest. The shrieking noise is already starting to abate, Sam thinks, trying to believe that it's not just wishful thinking as the edges of his vision start to go dark.
"We did it," he says, smiling. Dean is clutching his hand so tightly that under normal circumstances he's sure he'd be cutting off his circulation. He turns his head a bit, sees Castiel standing off to the side, shadows stretching impossibly long behind him. "It worked."
“It did,” Castiel nods.
“You'll take care of him, right?”
“Of course.”
"Sam..." Dean's voice breaks.
"I know. Just... don't let go yet." He closes his eyes, concentrates on the feeling of Dean's fingers clasped over his, tries not to choke as blood wells up in his mouth, feels his heels scrabbling for purchase on the slick stones as his lungs stop drawing in air. Dean holds on tighter, leans down to whisper fiercely right into his ear so he's sure Sam can hear him.
"It's okay, Sammy. I got you."
*
Master Post
*
Things get less confusing when Sam is asleep. Sure, his dreams aren't exactly relaxing most of the time ―watching his brother die is pretty much the definition of his worst nightmare, and the rest of the nightmares and visions all seem to involve bloody death of some kind― but there's no sense of wrongness about the dreams the way there is about his waking hours. He sleeps more because, in his dreams, he doesn't have to fight to keep himself anchored in reality. When he awakens, reality hits him like a sledgehammer: the headaches double in intensity and frequency, and sometimes he imagines he can see the second timeline unfolding just out of the corner of his eye, that if he just turns his head, the entire world will turn itself upside down and plunge him right back into the abyss he thought he'd left behind.
He's not sure if it's Dean or Bobby who calls in reinforcements, but his money's on Bobby: Dean has always been a little too keen on trying to work things out on his own to be comfortable asking anyone else for help. The first indication Sam gets that they might not be entirely on their own is awakening on Bobby's sofa ―he must have drifted off again, he thinks fuzzily― to the sound of quiet voices nearby.
“Shouldn't we wake him?” the voice is soft, definitely feminine.
“Let 'im sleep for now. He's exhausted. They both are, but Sam's worse off. Ain't nothing we can do tonight anyway. May as well all get some shut-eye before the shit really hits the fan.”
“Where's Dean?”
“Out under the hood of one of the junkers out back. Sulkin', I'm guessing, after everything that's happened. That demon girl got him turned around six ways until Sunday, and he ain't takin' it too well.”
Sam shoves himself up onto his elbow. “'s not his fault,” he mutters, scrubbing at his eyes. “She lied.”
“Hey Sam,” the owner of the first voice crouches next to him, comes into focus a moment later. “I'm sorry we woke you.”
“It's okay, I sleep too much anyway, these days,” he smiles, trying to wipe the worried expression off Ellen's face. “It's good to see you again,” he adds.
To his surprise, she gathers him into a fierce hug. “You too, kiddo.”
There's a soft laugh. “Hey, do I get a hug, or am I just chopped liver over here?”
His head snaps up. “Jo!” He's on his feet in a flash, so fast that Jo actually takes a step back, startled, and he wavers, trying to find his balance. Once he's sure he's not about to fall over, he takes a step toward her, hesitates as, fleetingly, an image of Jo lying on the floor of a hardware store, blood saturating a makeshift bandage around her stomach, superimposes itself on his vision. “Uh, I―” he stops entirely, hand stretched toward her, feels a little foolish, and she misunderstands his hesitation.
“It's okay, Sam. I don't blame you, or anything. You were possessed, right? Wasn't your fault.”
She closes the distance between them, and lets him put a tentative hand on her shoulder. He swallows a sob that threatens to tear itself loose from his chest, scrubs at his eyes, gathers her into a hug. She feels terribly small and fragile in his arms. So easily broken. “I didn't think I'd ever see you again.”
Jo rolls her eyes. “God, are you always this melodramatic?” she pokes him gently in the ribs, and he huffs a small laugh.
“No, sorry. I just... things happened differently the last time,” pain spikes in his head as he speaks, the sound of snarling hellhounds echoing in his ears, Jo screaming as invisible claws tear open her stomach, spilling her intestines into the air.
“Sam?” she staggers a bit as he's suddenly forced to lean on her for balance. “Maybe you'd better sit back down...”
Bobby catches him by the elbow, pushes him back onto the sofa. “You need anything, Sam? Your meds?”
He shakes his head. “No. I... I just... they're dead. So I have to get used to them again. That's all. I'm okay.”
“What are you talking about?” It's impossible to miss the worried look Jo gives her mother and Bobby. “We're not dead. We're right here.”
“Is he always like this?” Ellen asks, and Bobby nods.
“Pretty much. It's hard to make any sense of what comes out of his mouth these days. Some days are better than others.”
Sam pulls his hands away from where they've been pressing against his eyes, a feeble defense against the vertigo that keeps threatening to make him keel over. “I'm right here, you know. Can understand everything you're saying. I'm not crazy, and I'm not stupid. It's just hard to sort out which memories are real, that's all.”
Jo slides next to him on the sofa. “Sam, that's pretty much the definition of crazy. You know that, right?”
“Right,” he presses the heel of his hand to his forehead. It's become an automatic gesture now, although it does nothing to help the pain or the feeling that he's about to throw up. “I know. Can't help it. It sounds crazy, but it's not.”
“Bobby's told us some of it. You think this might have something to do with those visions you get?” Ellen asks, and he shrugs.
“Indirectly, maybe. I can't explain it right. I ―my thoughts go all screwy when I try. It's... I've lived through all of this before, except the further I go, the more it all changes,” he swallows hard as his stomach roils in protest, and the image of Jo sitting next to him on the sofa begins to fade, replaced by its more horrific counterpart. He closes a hand around her wrist, feeling for her pulse, trying to anchor himself, leaning back against the sofa cushions, eyes slipping shut.
“Sam?”
“Making sure you're real,” he mumbles. “I keep seeing the other you, the one the hellhounds got, when we went after Death. She seems more real than you, even though you're here. God, my head hurts. Sorry. Side effects. Castiel told me it's because the other reality's more real to me than this one. That's what's screwing me up. I'm sorry, I can't―”
“You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault,” Jo gives his knee a squeeze. She's humouring the crazy guy, he can tell, but he can't really blame her. “You should go back to sleep. We'll find Dean, have him fill us in on the rest.”
“Rufus has been keeping us up to date, for the most part,” Ellen says to Bobby, but loud enough for Sam to hear. “We're running out of time, aren't we?”
Sam's already having trouble keeping his eyes open when Bobby's answer registers dimly. “Yeah, we are.”
*
Ellen and Jo take Castiel's appearance a lot better than Sam would have given them credit for. Then again, they took it well the first time, too. The angel is sitting at Bobby's kitchen table, stiff and awkward in his trench coat, but he's smiling uncertainly as Ellen lines up a row of shots of tequila before him.
“Is this a rite of passage?” Castiel inquires.
“Something like that,” Ellen grins, and drains one of her shot glasses without batting an eye.
Sam gets up from the sofa, heads over to the old cassette player that's collecting dust on one of Bobby's shelves, and pulls out some of the cassettes that Dean has left here over the years. He sorts through them, finds the one he wants, and soon the strains of Santana's “Oye Como Va” are drifting through the room. Dean drops onto the sofa, beer bottle in hand, and throws him a quizzical look. He shrugs, smiles.
“It just seemed like something was missing. I figured Santana was a good way to go.” He catches sight of Bobby in his study, stretching up on tiptoe to grab a book off a shelf, and has to fight away the sudden certainty that it's all wrong, that Bobby shouldn't be able to do that, not now, not here. That he should be in a wheelchair and that it's Sam's fault.
“Good to know my taste is finally rubbing off on you,” Dean smirks, but his expression says he hasn't missed Sam's falter.
Castiel is methodically draining the tequila shots while Ellen looks on approvingly and Jo gawks, her beer forgotten in her hand. “I think I'm beginning to feels something,” he tells Ellen seriously after his seventh shot, and Sam brushes by, snags a beer from the fridge before sinking down on the sofa next to Dean.
“Even when he was mostly human, it took an entire liquor store to get him drunk. I don't think it's going to work. Angels don't get drunk. It's a shame, it'd probably help.”
“Sam.”
He twists off the cap, takes a drink. “Last night on earth. I figure it's worth a beer.”
Dean turns to look at him. “You know something I don't?”
It's too hard to explain. Instead he slides over until he's pressed up against his brother, leans against his shoulder. “I know lots of things you don't. Nothing specific. Just remembering the last time this happened.”
“You know you're not making sense, right?” Dean's hand comes up to rest briefly on his head, the gesture rough and comforting.
“Haven't made sense in weeks,” he takes another drink, which is a little harder to manage while cuddled up against his brother. He figures Dean has to be worried, if he's letting him get away with this. He grins as another memory surfaces. They should be at a table for this, but he'll take what he can get. “Thank you for your continued support.”
Dean snorts. “Moron,” he says fondly, clinks their beer bottles together. “You shouldn't be drinking.”
Sam ignores him, reaches up to toy with the amulet still around Dean's neck. “Glad you kept that. It's not useless, you know.”
His brother shifts uneasily under him. “Of course I kept it. What's with you tonight?”
“Nothing. Just taking advantage... I'm glad you're not gonna throw it away this time. You won't, will you?”
“Don't be stupid. I'd never do that.”
He huffs a laugh. “No, I guess you wouldn't. Not now.”
At that moment Bobby comes back into the living room, brandishing a camera and a tripod. “All right, everybody get in here, it's time for the line-up. Usual suspects in the corner.”
Ellen rolls her eyes and laughs. “Oh, come on, Bobby. Nobody wants their picture taken.”
“Hear hear,” Dean says over Sam's head.
“Shut up, you're drinkin' my beer,” Bobby grumbles good-naturedly. “Anyway, I'm gonna need something to remember your sorry asses by. I plan out outlivin' all of you damn fool chuckleheads.”
Ellen snorts as she pushes Castiel and Jo ahead of her, while Dean shakes his head with a smile, and pulls Sam to his feet, leaving their beers behind. “Always good to have an optimist around,” she says, settling into place in the center of the frame.
Dean puts an arm over her shoulders and another around Jo's waist ―eliciting a smack on the wrist when his hand strays a little too far and a mocking laugh. “You wish, jackass,” she smirks, and he just shrugs and grins back.
“Can't blame a guy for trying.”
“Try again and you're going to lose the arm. Then my mom'll castrate you.”
Dean flinches, and Sam laughs. He stands behind Castiel, accustomed to standing at the back of photographs since he grew over a foot at the age of sixteen. Castiel is looking awkward, but not nearly as much as the last time they did this.
“It'll be nice to have everyone smiling this time,” Sam says. The angel nods, and Sam feels a surge of gratitude that, for once, he's not the only one who understands what he's saying.
Bobby sets the timer, and hurries back in time to stand between Castiel and Ellen. “All right, everyone say whiskey!”
Sam smiles as the flash goes off.
*
Ellen comes to find him on Bobby's porch. He's sitting on the top stair, leaning against the railing, staring up at the stars, leaving Dean to hit unsuccessfully on Jo. He's relaxed, smiling, and Sam can't remember the last time he saw Dean this much at ease, so he quietly removes himself. No sense in reminding Dean of all the reasons he has to be tense and unhappy.
“Sam, honey, are you all right?”
He doesn't move. “You mean right now?”
She lowers herself onto the porch next to him. “Sure, let's start with that.”
He lets a smile play over his face. “I'm okay. Watching the stars. Haven't done it in a while.”
“They're very pretty,” Ellen says noncommittally.
“Dean taught me when we were kids. Only ever learned three constellations. Always meant to learn more of 'em. I can always find the North Star, though. Foolproof.”
“Yeah?”
He nods carefully. “Trick is to remember to look for it. Otherwise it's easy to get lost. Forgot that for a while.”
“What are you saying, Sam?”
He shrugs. “It's hard to explain. I kind of,” he pauses, trying to find words that will make sense to both of them, “I kind of got lost for a while. It's why I had to come back, this time. Do it differently. I screwed it up, last time around. “
Ellen sighs. “You're not making much sense. What do you mean?”
Sam chews on his lip, closes his eyes as Ellen's face swims out of focus, becomes tear-stained and fearful, her hand wrapped around a detonator as she waits for the hellhounds to come through the door. He feels sick.
“Sam?”
“I just don't want everyone I love to get hurt or die anymore.”
He can't help but flinch at the first feel of her fingers against his face, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “I know you still feel bad about your father, Sam, but it wasn't your fault. He made his choice a long time ago.”
He huffs a laugh at that. “I keep forgetting most of it hasn't happened yet.” He opens his eyes, sees the incomprehension on Ellen's face, and tries to explain himself again. “I'm sorry, I know how crazy I sound. I just... it's hard. It's getting harder to tell things apart, and I can't ―I keep seeing the wrong things. Saying the wrong things. I can't tell what's real anymore.” He searches her face for a sign of comprehension, sighs when he sees none. “I'm still not making sense, am I?”
“I'm sorry, sweetie, but you're not.”
“Sorry.”
“It's not your fault, Sam. We're just worried about you.”
“I know,” he lets his eyes close again. It's easier to focus on the present when he's not seeing two realities fight for dominance with each other. “I didn't think it would get this bad. Still would have done it, though. It's the only way to put things right, you know?”
Ellen smooths his hair again, but doesn't say anything.
“Ellen?”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“If this,” he makes a vague, all-encompassing gesture with one hand. “If it doesn't get better... I asked Bobby to look out for Dean, but I think it might be at least a two-person job.”
“Don't talk like that, Sam. You're going to be fine.”
He snorts. “Everyone keeps saying that. I'm just hedging my bets, 'kay? Cas will help too, if you let him.”
“The angel?” Ellen sounds dubious.
Sam grins at the memory. “He's all right, for a nerdy dude with wings. And he's... I don't know. But he'll want to help, if it's for Dean. Will you do it?” he fixes her with a stare, waiting for her answer.
“You don't even have to ask, you know we'll look after your brother. You boys are the closest thing I have to sons.”
He nods, feeling the last of his energy reserves draining already. It's depressing, he thinks, how quickly he gets exhausted these days. “Thanks.”
“You ready to head inside?”
“Nah,” he tilts his head back toward the sky. “Think I'm gonna stay out here for a while. Tell Dean not to worry?”
She gets to her feet, pats his shoulder. “That'd be about as useful as asking a fish to breathe out of the water.”
With a last, sad smile in his direction, she turns and heads back into the house, leaving him alone to stare at the stars.
*
“Ruby's still in the picture? How is that even possible? And boy, don't make me kick your ass by telling me you've stayed in touch.”
“Come on, Bobby, it's not like I'm palling around with her! She had my number before, and I didn't exactly have time to change it the last few days.”
Dean is pacing again, back and forth in front of the sofa where Sam has been spending most of his waking hours, his cell phone lying shut on the table. Ellen, Bobby and Jo have seemingly taken up permanent positions at Bobby's large table, maps and books spread out haphazardly over the surface. Castiel has pulled a vanishing act, presumably off defending more Seals, or something, while the rest of them try to figure out the last pieces of the puzzle. Sam stares at his brother mutely, trying to rid himself of the image of wrapping his hands around Dean's throat in a hotel room far away, choking the life out of him, trying to prove how weak and wrong he his. Shards of the broken mirror litter the floor of the honeymoon suite he rented for himself and Ruby.
“You don't know me. You never did. And you never will.”
“You walk out that door, don't you ever come back!”
His breath catches in his throat, and he forces himself to breathe through the memory. It's not real anymore, he reminds himself. Just a bad day. A very bad day. Nothing he's said has made any sense, and Castiel isn't there anymore to make things clear. Dean is still talking.
“She says she knows where Lilith is going to be. We know Lilith has to break the final Seal, right? So why shouldn't we use the insider information?”
“Well, because it's a trap, for one,” Bobby says, rolling his eyes.
“Of course it's a trap, but if we know it is, then we can go in prepared.”
“No, you can't! She knows you're onto her, and that should be enough to tell you that no matter what you think you're up against, it's going to be worse, and they're going to be ready for you. You go after Lilith, you die. End of story.”
Dean smacks a fist into the nearest wall.
“Watch the drywall, boy. You break that, you're redoing all of it.”
“We can't just sit here and do nothing!”
“You think nothing is what we've been doing for the past three days?” Jo snaps. “I get that you're worried, Dean, and we all know what's at stake here, but going off half-cocked isn't going to help. If our positions were reversed, you'd say the same to me.”
“Yeah, well, they aren't reversed.”
“Sam, honey?” Ellen breaks in before Dean and Jo can start yet another argument. “You with us?”
He nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Lilith is dying against the altar, laughing, taunting him."You turned yourself into a freak. A monster. And now you're not gonna bite? I'm sorry, but that is honestly adorable." She's skinny, skinnier even than Ruby, and he wonders if she got her taste for possessing skinny blonde women from possessing Ruby's body that one time. Before that, it was always little girls. It's easier to kill her, this way.
“You got anything to say, Sam? 'Cause now would be a good time to weigh in,” Dean snaps.
"Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."
“No going back,” Sam repeats quietly.
“Fuck!” Dean looks as though he's about to punch the wall again before thinking better of it.
“Sam, honey,” Ellen repeats, her voice soft, as though she's talking to a frightened animal or a slightly retarded child. “Do you understand what we're saying?”
He nods. “Yeah.” One-word responses are safe, easy enough to manage.
“Okay, good. You said you've dealt with Ruby before, right? That whatever happened to you, or didn't happen, or whatever, she was there, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. So... is she on the level with this? Does she know where Lilith is?”
“Uh...” he scrubs at his face. “Yeah.”
“You don't even know how hard this was! All the demons out for my head. No one knew. I was the best of those sons of bitches! The most loyal! Not even Alistair knew! Only Lilith! Yeah, I'm sure you're a little angry right now, But, I mean, come on, Sam! Even you have to admit: I'm ―I'm awesome!”
“It's wrong, though,” he manages. “Can't trust her. Lying.”
“But she's telling the truth about this,” Dean insists. “I know she is. We can go in, take Lilith out. End of problem.”
Ellen rises from the table and draws Dean aside by the elbow. Sam is pretty sure she doesn't mean for him to overhear them, but amidst the fog of all his thoughts, their voices are clear as warning bells.
“Are you sure that this is really about killing Lilith?”
“What else would it be?”
“Dean, sweetie, I know we haven't known each other that long, but I know ―knew― your father, and you're a lot like him. You think we can't see what this is doing to you?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Dean says stubbornly.
“I'm talking about Sam,” she says gently. “He's a lot worse now than he was before. I know it has to be tearing at your heart, sweetie. Killing Lilith might stop Lucifer from being freed, and I'm not saying that's not a good thing, but you have to be realistic about this, too. Whatever's wrong with Sam, getting rid of Lilith might not stop it.”
“I know that!”
“Do you?” she counters, her voice still impossibly gentle.
“I still have to try. Look at him ―I promised my Dad I'd keep him safe, and I'm failing. It's the only job I ever had that mattered, and I'm failing, Ellen. He died, and there was nothing I could do, and now I've got him back... I can't let him go again. Not like this. If killing that demon bitch doesn't work, I'll just find another way.”
Sam raises his head, sees his brother staring at him, chewing on his lip. He smiles at Dean, but the smile fades when Dean averts his eyes, ducks his head to avoid meeting his gaze, and he thinks that maybe, after all this, he's lost his brother after all.
*
St. Mary's Convent in Ilchester doesn't look as sinister without the bloodied cadavers of nuns strewn about the pews, but the air is crackling with energy as Lilith sets up her altar. She's wearing a frilly white dress with pink trim, and white leather shoes with rhinestones in the shape of a heart on her tiny feet, and her blond hair has been pulled back into two intricate French braids tied together with matching pink ribbons. She uses one white-clad foot to kick the demon at her feet in the ribs.
“I can't reach that high. Hold still so I can stand on you,” she snarls. The voice is a child's, but the tone is anything but childlike.
She clambers on the creature's trembling back, and carefully strikes a match, looking for all the world like just another little girl lighting the candles on the dining room table for a fancy dinner party thrown by her parents. She turns, still standing on the demon's back as another of her servants approaches, shaking with fear, and hands her a blood-filled chalice, which she accepts with all the solemn concentration of a child her age. Then she smiles, bright and happy.
“Don't be afraid,” she says. “We're going to save the world!”
*
“Lilith is the Final Seal. She dies, the End begins.”
*
Sam comes to on the floor of his bedroom, tasting copper in his mouth. Every muscle in his body aches, and as he shifts, he can feel that his jeans are soaking wet, the rough fabric clinging to him. His head throbs, and he blinks painfully against the dim light, his thoughts a shattered mess. He thinks he might be coming apart at the seams, like a rag doll that's been thrown around a few too many times. A few moments later, Jo's anxious features come into focus above him. She puts both hands on his shoulders to hold him down when he tries to sit up.
“Don't move, Sam. You had a really bad seizure, we're gonna call an ambulance, okay?”
“No.” The word comes out as an almost soundless rasp. “Dean. Where's Dean?”
“I don't know. I heard you fall, but he was gone when I came in. I don't know how long he's been gone.”
“Lilith. He's gone after her. We have to stop him. Let me up.”
“No. Let me and Mom and Bobby deal with him, okay? You need a hospital, you've been seizing for over five minutes. You're bleeding, Sam...” she bites her lip, and he can hear the hitch in her voice as she swallows tears. “Please, just let us handle it.”
“Cas...”
“The angel?”
“Is he here?”
“No. Why would he be?”
“Cas! Castiel!” he means to shout, but it comes out as more of a strangled groan. “Please...”
It's enough. He recognizes the almost-silent gust of wind, and Jo gasps. A firm hand wraps itself around his wrist, the grip achingly familiar. This time, he's not dying. Not yet.
“I am here. I am sorry it took so long.”
“We have to go,” Sam tells him, staring directly into the very blue eyes of the angel. “He's making the same mistake I did. I remembered too late.”
“It's not too late. The Seal remains unbroken to date.”
He whimpers. “God, it hurts. I... this is what you meant, right? Why you couldn't tell me.”
“Yes.”
“Not too late?”
Castiel's grip tightens. “Not yet.”
“We have to go now,” Sam lifts his head, pain sparking behind his eyes. “Before I can't anymore...”
“No!” Jo breaks in. “Look at him! He shouldn't go anywhere but a hospital. Just tell us where to go, and we'll do it.”
Castiel just shakes his head. “I will tell you, and you should follow. You will be needed there as well. But I must take Sam ahead. It is why I brought him back. He is the only one who can stop this.”
“It'll kill him!” Jo hasn't broken her tight grip on Sam's other arm. “You can't!”
Sam struggles to a sitting position, frees his hand from Castiel's, and places it on top of hers. “It's why he brought me back, Jo. I have to do this. I'm going to die anyway if I don't go. At least this way there's a chance. I don't know how to explain it so that it'll make sense, but I already died, and... I have to do this so Dean won't. Please, this is his only chance. Do it for him if you won't for me.”
Her eyes shine for a moment, and he knows he's won. She bites her lip, blinks hard, and lets go of his wrist before looking at Castiel. “Where are you going?”
Sam answers, to her surprise. “Ilchester. St. Mary's Convent.”
“How the hell did Dean get there?”
He shrugs. “Don't know. Last time it took me days.”
“Last time?”
“Can't explain it now. Just get there as fast as you can, okay?”
“Okay.” She's already on her feet and out of the room, yelling for her mother and Bobby.
“They'll never make it in time,” he tells Castiel. “Can you come back for them?”
“You will be facing Lilith alone.”
“I've done it before. Besides, I won't be alone. Dean will be there.”
Castiel nods. “Very well.”
Castiel pulls him to his feet, holding him up as though he weighs nothing, though his knees are buckling and he's shaking so hard his teeth click. There's a flash, entirely unlike his visions, and yet there's a comforting familiarity about it. He finds himself standing before the massive wooden doors of the convent, and there's a rush of air as Castiel departs again, leaving him staggering at the sudden absence. He drops to one knee, dizzy, forces himself up again on trembling legs. He half-expects to see Ruby at his side, urging him on.
Here goes nothing, he thinks, and barely manages to get through the heavy doors before they slam shut behind him with a resounding crash.
*
“Dean!”
There’s not much point in yelling. Dean is already pinned to a wall, Ruby’s demon-killing knife lying a few paces away on the stone floor. Lilith has her back to Sam, the hem of her little white dress already stained crimson.
"You're not nice at all," she's saying to him. "You were supposed to come play with me, and bring your brother, too, and instead you brought a big old knife and no cake. I don't like you at all."
"Lilith!" Sam cries. "Wait!"
She spins around, and Dean drops in a crumpled heap to the floor, his eyes glazed. She claps her hands giddily, revealing a row of perfect, pearly little baby teeth. "Oh, you came! Goody! Now we can all have fun together, just like we planned."
"Where's Ruby, Lilith?" Sam casts about, but the demon is nowhere to be seen.
"Oh, I decided I didn't like her anymore. She outlived her usefulness. She was supposed to bring me you, but she brought the useless brother instead." She jerks her head, blond tresses bouncing against her shoulder blades, and that's when Sam catches sight of Ruby in another body -a brunette this time- lying sprawled just to one side of the altar, staring sightlessly toward one wall. "I've been waiting all day for you, you know. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up! And then all my hard work would have been for nothing," she says sulkily, sticking out a very red bottom lip in a pout. "I think I'll kill your brother first. He's no fun, and he said mean things to me. He called me the 'B' word!"
Dean stirs. "Sammy?"
Lilith sneers, and the look is both ugly and terrifyingly wrong. "Sammy's busy playing right now."
"Don't hurt him, please,” Sam hears his voice break. “This is between you and me, Lilith, you know that. You can still walk away from this. You don't have to die."
"Sammy... she's just a kid," Dean is struggling to push himself upright.
"I'm going to snap his neck," the child says calmly. "I like the sound the cartilage makes. Like Rice Krispies. Snap crackle pop!" she giggles, and raises her hand. "You'd better do something, Sam, or your big brother is never going to play with you again!"
He doesn't stop to think about what he's doing. If I look back now, I'm lost. No hesitation. Hesitation means certain death for Dean, and all of this will have been for nothing. He brings up his hand, draws power to himself, and flings the child as hard as he can against the heavy marble altar. Her head collides with the edge with a sickening crack of breaking bone, and he knows that he's just signed the little girl's death warrant as well as Lilith's. He's never heard of any of Lilith's child hosts surviving their possession, and this girl's entire family has likely been slaughtered in front of her eyes, but that doesn't change the fact that he has beyond any shadow of a doubt directly caused the child's death. Lilith slumps at the foot of the altar, mouth agape with surprise, her white dress smeared all over with tiny crimson handprints and the occasional droplet of blood. His head is already throbbing with the effort, and his heartbeat thunders ever more loudly in his ears. Dimly he can hear Dean shouting at him, but all that's left is him and Lilith, life or death, and it all seems inevitable, now. His hand is already up before him, and slowly, excruciatingly, he curls his fingers into a fist, feeling the demon tear itself loose from its dying host. Lilith screams shrilly, white-clad feet kicking incongruously at the floor as black smoke pours from her mouth and her eyes blaze with white light.
Then, mercifully, the screaming stops, and everything is still.
Sam drops to his hands and knees as an impossible amount of blood begins to trickle out from beneath Lilith's corpse, tracing a familiar wheel pattern on the flagstones of the church. The ground begins to tremble, and the air is filled with the shrieking white noise that heralds the imminent arrival of an archangel. Dimly he's aware of Dean scrambling clumsily to his feet and staggering to his side, clutching one arm stiffly against his ribs. Sam is too out of breath, too dizzy to do much except stay exactly where he is and try to catch his breath. Blood drips from his nose to spatter on the floor.
"Sammy?"
He coughs, draws in a shaking breath. "Look, Ma, no magic feather!" he gasps, and giggles a bit hysterically. The noise is almost deafening, but he can still hear his brother, clear as day. He can't see properly, shadows flitting across his vision, giving everything a jerky feel, like stop-motion animation.
"Sammy, what did you do?"
"And it is written that the first demon shall be the last seal. It's prophecy, Dean. I don't know why I thought we'd be able to change it. Not like this. He's coming..."
Dean pulls him up with a grunt of pain, and for a moment they just cling to each other, watching the blood pool before them. "Sammy, I'm so sorry... I was trying to keep you safe..."
Sam just shakes his head. "You can't keep me safe, Dean. No one can. It's okay." He keeps watching the blood so that he won't have to look at the body of the child he's just butchered. "They've needed us from the start. He can't come out unless he has a vessel. Without their vessels, they're nothing. It was all designed to bring us here..."
Whatever you do, you will always end up... here.
He's watching himself say it, but it's not him, and the thought makes him sick. He feels his knees start to give way, and Dean tightens his grip, holding him up, before his vision flashes white.
*
“Why do you think you were in that chapel? You're the one, Sam. You're my vessel. My true vessel.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, that'll never happen.”
“I'm sorry, but it will. I will find you. And when I do, you will let me in. I'm sure of it.”
“You need my consent.”
“Of course, I'm an angel.”
“I will kill myself before letting you in.”
“I'll just bring you back,” Lucifer says, and sighs. “Sam. My heart breaks for you. The weight on your shoulders, what you've done, what you still have to do. It is more than anyone could bear. If there was some other way...but there isn't. I will never lie to you. I will never trick you. But you will say yes to me.”
“You're wrong.”
“I'm not. I think I know you better than you know yourself.”
“Why me?”
“Because it had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you.”
*
“Sammy, what is that?”
The white noise is impossibly loud, the circle nearly complete, and he's coming apart, feels blood dribbling over his lips and chin. The world flashes white.
*
“You're my true vessel, but not my only one.”
Sam has no memory of his father ever looking this young, but it's not his father, in any real sense of the word. Not this creature that reeks of power and arrogance barely masked beneath a veneer of gentleness. He thinks Dean understands this, too, because his posture is wary, angry.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It's a bloodline.”
“A bloodline?”
“Stretching back to Cain and Abel. It's in your blood, your father's blood, your family's blood.”
*
He's on the floor, the cold from the flagstones seeping into his shoulder blades. He doesn't remember falling, but Dean's got him. Dean's face is pinched, anguished.
“What the hell is this, Sam?”
He swallows a mouthful of blood. “You saw it?” He remembers the séance at Pamela's. It seems like a lifetime ago. Two lifetimes. But for the first time, he thinks Dean might understand. Might see.
“I saw,” Dean is trying to pull him to his feet. “We have to get out of here, Sammy. Come on!”
“It's too late,” he grasps Dean's wrist as white flashes in his mind again, and this time, he feels himself dragging Dean in with him.
*
“You won't shoot me, Bobby.”
“Don't test me.”
“You won't do it. You can't do it.”
“We're trying to help you, Sam.”
“Then shoot.”
He reaches out, pulls the barrel of Bobby's rifle so that it's aimed point-blank at his chest. Finds himself praying Bobby will pull the trigger.
*
“I tried, Sammy. I mean, I really tried. But I just can't keep pretending that everything's all right. Because it's not. And it's never going to be. You chose a demon over your own brother― and look what happened.”
“I would give anything―anything―to take it all back.”
“I know you would. And I know how sorry you are. I do. But, man...you were the one that I depended on the most. And you let me down in ways that I can't even... I'm just―I'm having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here. You know?”
“What can I do?”
“Honestly? Nothing. I just don't...I don't think that we can ever be what we were. You know?”
Sam swallows hard, knowing what's coming.
“I just don't think I can trust you.”
Sam watches his brother walk away.
*
Just -- just listen to me, okay? My name is Cindy McClellan. I'm a nurse in the NICU over at Enfield Memorial. I have a husband named Matthew, okay? We've been married six years. He's got to be worried sick about me. And I don't even know who you are, and I'm not gonna tell anybody anything. Please just let me go. No, no! Please, no! Please―”
*
“Sam, what―”
Sam reaches up to silence Dean with one hand. “Never happened. Not anymore. I meant it, when I said I'd give anything... I never meant to betray you. Please tell me you understand.”
Dean keeps looking over at the opening cage, and Sam can feel the fear that's coursing through him. “You can explain it later, okay?”
“No,” he tugs on Dean's shirt. “There is no later. Dean, please...”
The world shatters again.
*
Dean's body is crumpled amidst the rubble, making a mockery of all of Michael's promises. Sulphur and ozone mingle in the air, heavy under the swirling clouds. It's over, and they've all lost.
He can feel blood oozing from his nose and ears, leaking from the corners of his eyes like tears. He can't move, can only watch the clouds above him, and wait to die. He tries not to think of Dean as he last saw him, arms raised in supplication. He shuts his eyes as lightning arcs through him, searing past his eyelids, and everything goes dark.
A hand clasps his wrist, anchoring him in place, fingers feeling for his pulse.
“Dean?”
“No, it's not Dean. I am sorry.” Castiel's voice is a reassurance, a promise of light in the darkness.
“Where is... did he make it? Tell me he made it.”
“I am sorry.”
His eyes must be gone. He can't cry, can't find it in himself to shed a single tear.
“Am I dead?”
“You will be, soon.”
“I couldn't save him.”
“No.”
“Neither could you.”
“No.”
“I tried so hard...”
“I know. We all did. It was too late, Sam.”
“What if it wasn't?”
There's a pause. “What do you mean?”
“What if we could change it? Go back? Do it differently? Can you do it?”
“I can try. But the consequences will be... severe,” Castiel says. “You will likely not survive. And it might not work.”
“I'm going to die anyway.”
“You are sure?”
“Just... just do it.”
*
“Stay with me, Sam. Please. Sam!”
Sam finds himself clutched in his brother's arms. Dean has stopped trying to get away, is holding him to his chest, sitting on the floor next to where Lucifer's cage is opening. He twists to look at where light is just beginning to seep through the cracks in the floor. He's exhausted, wants nothing more than to curl up against his brother and sink into oblivion. His gaze falls on Ruby's knife, lying where it fell, just outside the circle of blood, and suddenly he laughs.
"Sam, what? What is it?"
"I know how to stop this," Sam says. "But you're not going to like it." He pulls away gently, reaches out for the knife, pulling it toward him with his fingertips.
"Sam?"
He looks past Dean, where Castiel is standing just inside the doorway. He doesn't know how long the angel has been standing there, but he thinks it can't have been long. "I'm right, aren't I? It's what Bobby found, about the vessels. The bond of brotherhood."
Dean half-turns to look behind him, surprise registering on his face as Castiel nods. "The blood of Lucifer's vessel will seal the cage anew," Castiel says, and though Sam is sure he hasn't spoken above a normal tone, his voice rises above the shrieking din like a thunderclap.
Sam presses the hilt of the knife into Dean's hand. “You have to do it now.”
"Sam, no. You can't be serious.”
“It was there the whole time. Bobby's research, you remember? And Michael's spear pierced the Lightbringer's heart, and in fire and blood were the bars of the cage re-forged. None but the bonds of brotherhood can seal the Serpent's cage. It's prophesy.”
Dean is shaking his head mechanically, over and over. “No, there has to be another way."
He doesn't look Dean in the eyes, can't bear to see the heartbreak he knows he's about to inflict. "There is another way. We already tried that. It's why Cas sent me back. Please, Dean. You have no idea what the cost was. We have to do this."
"No. No, I won't let you," Dean is shaking his head, voice breaking with unshed tears. "No."
"It has to be you," he says in Dean's ear. "You're Michael's vessel. It has to be you. Please, Dean. I was there, at the end. I'm going to die anyway, no matter how this plays out. Do you hear me? I don't want to go back to the way it was then. I wasn't me anymore. I was a monster... everything we fought against, all our lives. You're the only reason I stayed human as long as I did ―it was all because of you."
“I can't! I can't. Sammy, don't ask me that. Anything but that, please...”
It's already gone too far, Sam. If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you.
He feels Dean flinch, knows he saw it as clearly as if he was there, that he saw everything. He pulls his brother in closer, feels him shaking. "This is what Dad was talking about, Dean. It's what he meant when he said you might have to kill me. If I could spare you this, I would, I swear to God. I just... need you to do this. Please. I'm not... I can't do this anymore. Please.”
He watches Dean's face crumple in defeat.
“And... and one other thing after that. I need you to promise me something."
Dean's breath hitches, but his voice almost sounds normal, even as light so pure and bright it's impossible to look at directly begins to pour from the circle in the floor. "Promise what?"
"Promise you won't give up. Dad made you promise to save me, and that's what you're doing. Promise me you won't try to get me back, that you'll keep going."
"Sammy..."
"Promise me." He knows it's unfair, but he demands it anyway, knowing his brother has never been able to refuse him anything. "Promise me, Dean."
Dean nods, and this time he sobs once, quietly, into Sam's collarbone. "Okay. Okay, Sammy. I promise. God... I'm-"
"No. Please, don't say anything," Sam interrupts him, rests his forehead against his brother's. "Just do it quick."
Dean has always been the most skilled hunter of their family, the best Sam has ever known. He barely feels the blade slide between his ribs, lets out a surprised grunt of pain as the knife twists in the wound, and withdraws, leaving him feeling oddly bereft. Dean catches him by the shoulders, pull him against his chest. The shrieking noise is already starting to abate, Sam thinks, trying to believe that it's not just wishful thinking as the edges of his vision start to go dark.
"We did it," he says, smiling. Dean is clutching his hand so tightly that under normal circumstances he's sure he'd be cutting off his circulation. He turns his head a bit, sees Castiel standing off to the side, shadows stretching impossibly long behind him. "It worked."
“It did,” Castiel nods.
“You'll take care of him, right?”
“Of course.”
"Sam..." Dean's voice breaks.
"I know. Just... don't let go yet." He closes his eyes, concentrates on the feeling of Dean's fingers clasped over his, tries not to choke as blood wells up in his mouth, feels his heels scrabbling for purchase on the slick stones as his lungs stop drawing in air. Dean holds on tighter, leans down to whisper fiercely right into his ear so he's sure Sam can hear him.
"It's okay, Sammy. I got you."
*
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