He Who Fights Monsters - Chapter Nine
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CHAPTER NINE
When the sun starts to rise, guilt at having chased away his only ally makes him leave Dean, and step outside. Ruby is sitting on the porch holding a small black box.
"I'm sorry,” he says.
"You're an idiot," she says, not looking at him.
Sam wipes at his brow absently where's a thin sheen of sweat forming and when he brings his hand back down it's shaking. He stares at his trembling fingers like they've betrayed him. It's ironic that the pursuit of power makes him this weak so often. "We only have a few hours. We need to find a crossroads demon. Or eight."
"And risk you being high as a kite for this?" she scoffs. "No."
"But Ruby, I-"
"Lucky for you, I knew you were going to be difficult." She stands and holds out the small box. "And got you a secret weapon."
Sam takes it from her carefully and flips open the lid. The box is made of dark mahogany, the inside lined with white silk, and it holds five syringes, filled with blood.
"What's this?" he asks, even though he can smell the sulfur stink through the glass.
"High-quality stuff."
"How high?"
"Higher than Alastair."
Sam swallows. "How'd you get this?"
"Same way I do everything," she says, avoiding the question. "You've got supporters in every level of Hell, Sam. I just told them what they wanted to hear."
"And what was that?" Sam's voice comes out more of a snarl than he intended, but he can't help it. The itching in his skin is getting worse and he can't stop staring at the contents of the box. He can practically taste the copper-sulfur sting on his tongue. He's salivating.
"That maybe, if they play ball, after it's all said and done, you'll step up to bat." She cocks her head to the side. "Too many baseball metaphors?"
Sam thinks for a moment about prying into her thoughts, about forcing her to tell him the truth, because he knows she's lying. But then he wonders what good it would do. He's so close to the end, he's so close to freeing Dean, and if she won't tell him how she got the box, then it’s because something in his ethical code wouldn't like the answer.
But his damn morals are the reason Dean went to Hell in the first place.
"Okay then," Sam says picking up one of the syringes. He lines the needle up to the vein right by the bend of his arm. It's swollen, offering itself up and the pinch of the needle piercing his skin doesn't bother him in the least.
"Wait,” Ruby says, closing her small fingers over his before he has a chance to push down on the plunger. "Don't give yourself all of it at once. A little at a time okay?"
"But I thought you said-"
"This won't make you see pretty colors for more than a few seconds, but it's strong, Sam. As close to pure hellfire as you can get. It'll send you into overdrive if you don't give yourself time to adjust." She shrugs. "Go too quickly and you might explode."
"Oh good."
Ruby lets go of Sam's hand. "Take it real slow. Eighth of a syringe at first. Wait a few minutes, see what happens." There's no need to remind him of what can go wrong when he takes more than he can handle. He might not admit it, but she knows he still hasn't recovered fully - still sees things that aren't there, and what he's about to inject is even stronger.
Sam nods and pushes down gently on the plunger. The blood burns as it goes in and he sucks in an inhale as he feels it traveling up his arm, traveling along the vein over the curve of his bicep, through his chest, into his heart where it rattles against the ventricle-walls, resonating like an echo chamber.
I should explode, Sam thinks, the pressure inside of him building and building until the next pump of his heart sends the blood out into the rest of him, flooding his whole being with an immediate, intoxicating feeling of strength. His vision sharpens and he can see everything.
Ruby's true face looks up him with a large jagged gash for a mouth and gaping holes for eyes and there's something desperate there, like her life depends on what's happening right now. He looks from her to the wall beyond and sees a colony of termites living deep inside one of the planks near to the ground. The cabin was built from trees, and Sam can see them, knows where they stood and for how long and if he thinks about it he can see them growing and then shrinking back into saplings. His gaze falls on the window and he sees the dark shape of Dean's body on the floor and there's nothing inside, it's completely empty and that knowledge - that certainty - that his brother really is gone makes him angry. Furious. He sees himself pulling the Earth apart, reaching down into Hell and plucking Dean's soul out and he wants it so badly the ground at his feet starts to glow.
"Easy," Ruby says, backing away from the molten soil. "You've got to hold this all in until the fight. Don't waste any of it." She looks into his eyes, searching for something - comprehension, maybe, or sanity.
It's difficult, but Sam pulls his power back deep inside himself and takes a deep shuddering breath as the ground fades back to dusty brown.
"Wait ten minutes, take some more," Ruby says, holding her hand out for the syringe. After a few seconds of delay on Sam's part, she arches her eyebrow and her mouth twists in disapproval.
Reluctantly, Sam hands it back, and reminds himself again why he's listening to her. She's brought him this far, hasn’t led him wrong. Tonight, Dean will be free. Dean will be alive again and no matter what Bela said, they'll find away to fix whatever Hell to did him. Everything Sam did, every drop of blood, every round in the cage, every punch, every kill - it'll all have been worth it.
The time between doses passes, though halfway through the second syringe Sam can't tell minutes apart from seconds or hours anymore. The visions come quickly and fade just as fast, but there's a truth to them that sets Sam's teeth on edge. Every injection peels back the skin of the world, showing him all the bone and filth underneath, and he keeps seeing deeper, more than his mind wants to hold. There's an endless well of pain beneath his feet, all the billions of souls in Hell, and if he closes his eyes he can hear them and if he doesn't shut them out fast enough he can hear Dean's voice mixed in with the others calling his name. It's a cry for help, an accusation, a threat.
Sam doesn't want to hear any more and he stumbles back into the cabin. It's a mistake, because he can still hear Hell and worse yet he can see Dean's body. He sees how empty it is, how hollow and no matter how much he longs for it, it won't sit up and smile at him. It just lies there, rotting in reverse, Ruby's magic knitting together Dean's cells, a miniature flesh-loom.
His sorrow wells up, unbidden, and Sam has to force himself to look away from Dean's hollowed shell. Tonight, he reminds himself, tonight, he will win. He has to. He'll do anything. Whatever it takes.
Ruby hands him the last syringe back. He's down to the last dose. Sam lines up the needle, pushes the liquid fire into his veins and closes his eyes, listening to the souls beneath him raise their voices in a fevered pitch. He falls to his knees and forces his eyes open. The wailing chorus grows louder and he can see them again - a seething morass of damned souls as black as their eyes.
"Dean," he says, and the word spills out of him in fat yellow drops, melting through the floorboards like lava. The mass of souls undulates as the word seeps into them, their cries turning to peals of laughter. In the center of the darkness a light forms, a small star in an otherwise empty universe and Sam reaches for it, because he knows what it is, who it is. Sam reaches down, fingers sliding through the aged wood like it's water. The damned souls move away from his touch as the ball of light floats higher, towards his outstretched hands. Dean's soul is shining and beautiful and untouched by Hell and Sam picks it up, cups it in both palms.
"Let's talk strategy," Ruby says. Her voice pulls Sam out of his reverie and the pureness of Dean's soul turns to ash in his hands.
::: ::: :::
Sam’s stubborn and won’t let Ruby touch Dean’s corpse. Dean’s better, his color a nearly imperceptible shade warmer, his chest rising and falling, too slow and measured to be truly alive. She watches Sam lift Dean’s blanket-wrapped form and is struck by how effortless it is for Sam. Sam cradles Dean against his chest, one arm wrapped around Dean’s back, the other hooked under bent legs.
Sam slides Dean carefully onto the back seat of the Ford pickup she’s borrowed from the motel parking lot. He arranges Dean’s feet so the door won’t hit them when he shuts it and his brother looks as comfortable as a six-foot-one guy can possibly be sprawled on the backseat. The blanket covers Dean's body but leaves his head exposed. Sam had insisted Dean be allowed to breathe and Ruby didn't feel like arguing. He wasn't alive yet in the strictest sense of the word, but if Sam wanted to think so, well, there wasn't any harm in it. Sam stands there for a few seconds, hand resting loosely against the car, eyes focused on his brother and then pulls away with a full-body shudder. He closes the door with a bit more force than necessary and slides into the passenger's seat. She doesn't even have to convince him to let her drive this time.
When she climbs in next to him, she can tell he’s still uncomfortable, but there’s not a whole lot he can do about it. She reaches out, squeezes Sam’s knee. “It’ll be over soon. Ready for the endgame?”
Sam meets her gaze - there are little pinpricks of gold in his black irises - and nods.
::: ::: :::
The atmosphere in the arena is different tonight. The moment she and Sam enter the main room, she can feel it. The air itself feels different. Normally it's charged with anticipation, bloodlust of the sort only demons can truly appreciate, but tonight… tonight it feels like a temple. Something important is happening, and every wretched soul in here knows it. The seats are packed, but every demon is sitting still, focused on the cage with respect and a hint of fear etched on each of their faces.
Lilith is waiting for them and she's the only one who speaks when they enter the cage: "Took you long enough."
"Sorry," Ruby says, eyes downcast. "We didn't want to attract attention." She nods towards Sam, indicating he should set Dean down.
Sam doesn't react. His eyes are locked on Lilith, and as Ruby watches they shift from gold-flecked black to a brighter shade of yellow. His rage is a tangible thing; she can feel it churning inside of him, leaving trails of high-definition black in his veins where it travels from his heart to his fingers.
If she doesn't get him back on track, this could all end very quickly and very badly for all involved. "Sam," she says.
But his eyes are still focused on Lilith, still growing brighter.
Lilith grins up at him, all unaffected little girl, and looks to Ruby. "Is there a problem?"
"No," Ruby says. She moves next to Sam and snaps her fingers in front of his face. "Sam!"
The sound draws his attention and he looks at her, the yellow retreating from his pupils.
"You need to put Dean down now so Lilith can bring him back."
A slight flare of his nostrils is the only reaction she gets, but it's enough. Sam understands, and he kneels down, laying Dean on the floor of the cage as gently as he can. Like it matters.
"You don't look so good, Sam," Lilith says. "You sure you're up for this?"
Anger tinges Sam's cheeks and ears. "Yes."
"Okie dokie," Lilith says.
Is he ready? Lilith asks Ruby. Her voice echoes in Ruby's head, seeking out its own answer.
More than ready.
::: ::: :::
Sam can't look away from Dean's body. Although Dean’d been slowly regaining some color over the past couple of hours, he looks so hideously gray in the bright fluorescent arena lights that Sam wonders if Ruby’s potion is even working.
Lilith smiles beatifically at Sam and rises up on her tiptoes to trace her fingers against his cheek.
He doesn't flinch away, or strike out, or do anything else he wants to do to the demon queen, because this is it. This is Dean's freedom, within reach, and Sam isn't going to let his own pride fuck that up. He consoles himself and the power screaming inside of him to rend and tear her apart that he will. When the time is right.
Lilith gives him a knowing wink and then turns away from him, kneeling down next to Dean. She scoops up his torso and drags him, little arms wrapped around his shoulders, to the edge of the cage, laying him down next to the warded referee box. It's an odd sight, a little girl moving a full-grown man so easily.
Lilith spins around, white dress billowing, and claps her hands, excited. "Now for the fun part!"
Her eyes glow bone-white and she begins to chant in a language Sam's never heard before. Something old and guttural.
The air wavers, and he's pretty sure it’s not just in his head. There's a sound like rustling dead leaves and then a slim ancient man in a suit appears. A reaper. Lilith snaps her fingers and what looks like a leash made of shadows appears around the old man's neck. She wraps the leash around her wrist and walks up to the old man and hisses, "Namm tarr."
The old man kneels next to Dean and lays his hand on his forehead. He gives Lilith one last withering look over his shoulder and then Dean's body begins to glow. The glow spreads from Dean's head down his body and into his hands and then he's gasping for air.
He's alive.
Sam's heart lurches and he stumbles forward, needing to be at his brother's side.
"No," Lilith says, and Sam stops in his tracks, just inches away from a nearly invisible barrier in the air. She reaches her fingers out and touches the air between herself and Sam. Between Dean and Sam. It shimmers red and gold, a web made of sigils that look like a mishmash of runes, hieroglyphs and Enochian. "You cross this line before the match is over and Dean will go right back down the hole. He's here as an incentive." She grins that little-girl grin. "So you remember why you're fighting."
"Like I'd ever forget," Sam growls.
The reaper eyes him, completely uninterested, and turns to Lilith questioningly. She snaps her fingers again and his leash disappears. A moment later, so does he.
"Dean-" Sam says, because his brother is right there. He's alive. And Sam needs to know that it's real, that he's not just seeing things. "Dean, it gonna be okay."
Dean's eyes flutter open and he turns his head slow, like it hurts to move, like he doesn’t have full control of his body. Through half-lidded, pain-glazed eyes he sees Sam and his mouth opens. He speaks, or tries to, but no sound comes out, just a ragged breath.
"It's almost over," Sam tells him.
"Cocky," says a new voice, manifesting just feet away from Sam.
The audience cheers wildly, and Sam tears himself away from Dean to find his new opponent smiling at him. A shark's smile, all teeth and hunger.
"I'm Alastair, Dean's teacher. It's a real pleasure to meet you, Sam. I've heard so much about you."
There's a moan from Dean, and when Sam turns back, Dean's on his side, rolling himself onto hands and knees, clearly in pain at the movements. His terrified eyes are fixed on the newcomer.
Alastair raises his hand and waves at Dean, nothing more than a wiggle of his fingers.
Dean fumbles and pushes himself to sitting or tries to. His shaky arms can't support him, and he collapses back onto the mat with a soft grunt that trails into a whimper.
Sam's first instinct is to run to his injured brother’s side, but he remembers the barrier, and Lilith's words, and can't do a thing but watch as Lilith goes to Dean instead and grabs his chin with her small hand, jerking his head up.
"Shhh," she says, finger to her lips. "You be a good boy, now, okay? Don't want to make mommy mad, do you?"
Dean shakes his head as much as he can in her hold and clenches his eyes shut. His whole body is trembling. He knows who she is, knows it on a level Sam can't even imagine, and at that moment Sam knows that death isn't enough for Lilith. He's not just going to kill her; he's going to make her scream loud enough for all of Hell to hear. He's going to make her beg for death.
"Lots of potential," Alastair says, pointing a long bony finger in Dean's direction. "But he doesn't have the focus. Too distracted by his memories… memories of you." He laughs to himself. "Well, the few he has left anyway."
"What do you-"
An eardrum-piercing sound cuts off Sam's question and Lilith smiles wide when he stares at her. She's holding an innocuous looking whistle, hanging from a chain around her neck. "Time to play!" She says. "Wait until I say 'Go' though."
Incredulously, Sam watches her as she climbs into the Plexiglas box and hoists herself up onto the seat, legs dangling off the edge. Once comfortably seated she throws her arms upwards with a "Go!"
Alastair rumbles another laugh and thrusts out his hand. Sam can feel the power push into him, but he holds his ground, and doesn't give an inch.
"Impressive," the demon says. "Dean told me you were an overachiever."
Sam gets ready to strike back, but his focus falters. Dean's huddled form draws Sam's attention every few seconds and Sam wants to get his brother out of here and fix whatever Hell had done. His rage has been rolled under by panic - the way Dean had followed every command of Lilith's obediently, too broken to even look her in the eyes, the way he'd moved with the agonizing slowness of torn muscles. This Dean is broken in ways Sam can't even begin to understand.
Alastair whistles sharply, and Sam turns back to face him. The demon smirks and his eyes bleed milky white. "Dean's looking well, don't you think?"
Sam's rage comes flaring back to life and he clenches his fist, feeling his power pool there, ready to lash out.
"Nuh-uh," Alastair says, wagging one long finger back and forth. "You hit me with that, and it’ll hit everything in this ring. "Me. You.” A pause. “Your dear brother. Wouldn't want that, now would we?" He huffs a laugh. "I mean, you'd be fine, I'm sure, and we both know I can take a licking. But him?" He shrugs and starts to walk towards Dean.
"No," Sam says, stepping between Dean and Alastair. "Don’t you dare touch him.”
Alastair laughs again, loudly. "Bit late for that, I’m afraid. I’ve already touched him in every way you can imagine." He smiles a toothy grin and continues. "Dean was mine. For decades.” Another pause. “He was my star pupil. Top of his class." The demon takes a few steps closer, rises on the balls of his feet, and peers at Dean over Sam's shoulder. "No. The only one that can hurt him today is you."
A flare of fury runs through Sam and he snarls, "You really think my self-control is that shitty?"
Alastair chuckles and holds up his hands in a full body shrug as he turns away from Sam. "That's the popular opinion."
"I won't hurt my brother," Sam says. "But I'm going to tear you apart. He lets raw power pool in his fingertips, enough that he can see a flicker of gold around the edges of his vision. The injections Ruby gave him are so potent he feels like he could snuff Alastair out in two seconds flat. He raises his hand, closes his fingers and begins to squeeze Alastair's soul. Dean starts to scream. Instantly, Sam stops, whips his head around, and watches in horror as Dean cowers, covering his face with his hands, still making agonized sounds.
"Oh that was a bad one." Alastair coughs, a puff of smoke coming from his mouth before it curves into a grin. "An early one, too."
"What are you talking about?" Sam says and he can barely hear his own voice over the pounding in his ears. He wants to grab Alastair, sink teeth into his throat, and drink him down as he burns through his soul, because he can. He'd felt the demon's soul start to give way in his grip. But Alastair’d done something, had bound Dean to himself in some way. "What did you do?"
"Hell is forgetting," Alastair says. "Can't be a human and survive down there. Not for long. Your brother held out a long time, too. Thirty years he held out, my blades cutting him to ribbons. Thirty years of crying your name until one day he finally figured out you weren't coming."
Sam's anger spikes, filling the air in the arena with pressure. The cage rattles, the door closest to Sam flies open violently, barely held on by one hinge, and two dozen of the demons in the audience directly behind him light up flash-bang white and die instantly. The survivors scramble away from their seats, moving into the aisles. They're too curious to leave.
"Oh yes. Admirable self control," Alastair says, winking at Sam.
Sam curls his fingers into fists, and digs his nails into his skin to keep from lashing out again. "What. Did. You. Do. To. Him?"
"You can hurt me," Alastair says. "But every time you do, Dean remembers something from when he was human. Those ... special moments that made him the broken shell of a man he is today. That one right there-" The demon points at Dean, who’s turtled up, hands pressed against his eyes, ears, back bowed as he curls over his knees, breath hitching wetly. "-Is the night your mommy died. The night Daddy shoved you into his arms and made him stand in front of your burning house. He'd forgotten the smell of her flesh, the heat of the flames, the way your daddy screamed. Now he remembers, thanks to you."
"That happened because of Azazel!" Sam shouts. One of the huge overhead spotlights begins to sputter. "Because he killed her!"
"Yes. And he killed her because of you," Alastair says. He shakes his head. "It's incredible how many of his truly awful memories involve you." He walks closer to Sam. "I pulled them out of him one by one. Like a cancer. Made him what he should’ve become. But you just can't leave well enough alone, can you?"
"I'm not leaving him," Sam says, his gaze flicking to Dean. His brother is quiet, now, but he’s curled in on himself, pressed against the fencing, arms wrapped around his head, fingers laced behind his neck. And Sam hears Dad’s voice in his mind’s ear, all snarling marine-drill-sergeant: Curl up and dig into the ground if you have to. Protect your face, your head, your neck.
"Because his life with you was so much better." Alastair grins up at Sam as he pulls back his arm, and lands a hard punch on Sam's jaw.
The impact rattles Sam's skull, blinding him for a few long seconds. He staggers back and hits the fence, head bouncing off the wire mesh. His gaze falls on Lilith, watching him from inside the warded referee box with a soft smile on her borrowed face. She's the picture of innocence - a girl of no more than eight with two blond pigtails and a white poofy dress, complete with scratchy tulle petticoat underneath.
Time slows, and a vision unfurls:
Lilith is in a garden, a full-grown woman, nude and beautiful. She walks through lush green grass, under trees heavy with fruit. There's a man there, as naked as she is, and she mounts him. They move together, faces flush with lust, but when he tries to turn them over she refuses. The image shifts and Lilith is lying on the ground, underneath an apple tree. A large serpent slithers through the long blades of grass and wraps itself around her body, curving up between her breasts and down into her open mouth. As its tail disappears behind her lips, her eyes shift from sky-blue to a cloudy white.
We were all human once, adult-Lilith tells Sam, speaking right into his thoughts. All of us.
Sam blinks as Alastair’s fist charges into his stomach, a freight train of power that knocks his breath out of him for a moment. Still gasping, he counters the next punch and the next, and then grabs the demon by the throat.
Lilith, a little girl once again, jumps up and down, clapping her hands in excitement as Sam tightens his grip on Alastair's throat, lifting him off the floor. The demon's brow furrows in confusion as Sam slips into his mind.
There's a dark haze around Alastair's thoughts, centuries upon centuries of pain and bone and screams and power. Hell has redefined him, wrapped him in layers of violence and torture and Sam has to push deep until he finds what he's looking for.
Alastair was human once too. A father. A minister. A murderer. He’d killed his first man out of revenge, but then he got a taste for it. He’d known he was damned, and he embraced that fate wholly, running into Hell with a grin on his haggard face, but before that, before he’d shattered, he'd known hope and love.
It was his daughter's death that broke him.
Sam reaches into the core of Alastair's mind, plucks out an image and pulls, holding it in front of the demon until it's all he can see: a young girl, with bright brown eyes and dark brown hair. Her smile is so full it brings dimples to her cheeks. Alastair's eyes widen and his façade starts to break. His carefully woven spell begins to falter.
And, then, Sam can see threads of spell-work running from Alastair's soul to Dean's. They're hair-thin strands of red light, stretched tight and ready to snap. Sam touches his fingertips to one after the other and they crumble away.
Dean lets out a surprised gasp of relief, and lowers his arms to stare up at Sam in wonder that shifts quickly to horror before burying his face again.
With no reason left to hold back, Sam sends a torrent of power into Alastair. Sam's veins are filled with fire and he welcomes it, lets the wrath burn through him until he can see it pushing against his skin - thick black ridges running down his arms, energy pooling in his hands, searing Alastair's skin. The power bursts out of Sam's fingertips as sulfurous yellow light, hungry and all consuming. It burns into Alastair, devouring flesh and bone alike. He screams and Sam digs into him deeper, clawing into the demon's soul. Then he rips him to shreds.
::: ::: :::
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