Fic: who is left (and who is leaving) 2/2 [Sam/Dean, NC-17]
“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Meg says from her cell. She steps out of the shadow and Sam winces at the deep cut running down one of her cheeks.
Meg grins. “Gruesome, isn’t it? Impressive what an iron knife can do.”
Sam looks down at his feet, trying to ignore the guilt tugging at his stomach. He and Meg had been almost like allies, once, and he doesn’t like to see anything tortured.
“Relax,” Meg says. “I’m a big girl. You’re not responsible for this.”
“Not directly,” Sam says. “But I work for him, don’t I?” He’s been thinking about that a lot since Leon asked him about Crowley, about exactly how far darkside he can go without losing track of himself, even with the best intentions. He’s been thinking about what Dean would think of him sitting in his comfortable corner office and taking orders from the King of Hell.
Meg shrugs. “It’s not what I would do, for what it’s worth. Crowley’s an idiot.”
“Says the girl in his prison,” Sam says.
“If I recall correctly, I ended up here because I agreed to act as a diversion for you. Even so, if it’s not me who takes Crowley down it’ll be someone else soon enough.”
“I don’t know,” Sam says. “He seems pretty secure to me.”
“He’s cocky. He’s fighting a war on at least three fronts. His ambition will get the best of him. I just hope I’m alive to see the empire collapse.”
“You’d do the exact same thing if you were him!” Sam insists. “You want to rule Hell just as much as he does.”
“Yeah, but Hell would be enough for me. Crowley already has Hell, made a stab at Purgatory, and is having you wipe out all the other monsters so he can have Earth all to himself, too. He’d try to take on Heaven if he thought he stood a chance.”
“And you’d leave Earth alone, would you?”
“Well, not completely,” Meg says. “I’m no saint. But I wouldn’t upset the balance so drastically. There’s a natural sort of, uh, symbiosis, between demons and humans and monsters and angels. It’s like an ecosystem, right? And between the Leviathans and Crowley’s megalomania, it’s completely fucked. I’ve seen ambition trip up everyone else - Azazael, Lucifer, even little Castiel - and I’m not interested in overreaching.”
“You’ve got this all thought out,” Sam says, kind of impressed.
Meg stretches out her arms. The tips of her fingers nearly touch the bars on either side of her cell. “I’ve got a lot of time to think,” she quips. “No, if I were Queen I wouldn’t rock the boat. I’d sit on my really big, cushy throne and enjoy a long and comfortable reign.”
“Cushy, comfortable jobs are kind of overrated,” Sam says, thinking about his new leather rolling chair.
“Maybe for those of you with morality,” Meg says. Her voice goes serious. “Any progress on breaking your brother and the angel out?”
Sam shakes his head. “Crowley says he has a lead, but he hasn’t given me any details.”
“And he never will,” Meg says.
“He’s all I’ve got,” Sam mutters.
“Is he, though? Seems to me he’s no expert on Purgatory.”
“What do you think I should do?” Sam asks.
“Think like a demon, Sam,” Meg says with a sly grin. “Double-cross him.”
The invitation arrives on the last afternoon before he’s set to leave on the second leg of his testing mission. It’s printed on thick paper with glossy red ink that looks disturbingly like blood. At least Sam hopes it only looks like blood.
“We’ve been invited to dinner with my boss,” Sam says over the phone.
“Oh goody,” Leon replies, reaching impressive levels of sarcasm. “I’ve so been looking forward to meeting him.”
“I don’t think we can get out of it,” Sam says apologetically. “Seeing as you’re coming with me on work business and all.”
Sam can hear the smile in Leon’s voice. “I’m all packed and ready to go. Hey, have you ever considered using a water pistol full of holy water?”
“Tried it once,” Sam replies. “Took too long to pump the thing up.”
“Oh,” Leon says. “Okay. Just a thought. Anyway, yes, I’ll go to dinner with you. It’s a date.”
“Okay,” Sam says, trying not to let the word fluster him. “And, uh, you should probably buy a suit.”
Sam leaves work early to make sure he’s on time, and ends up arriving at the restaurant fifteen minutes early. Crowley is already there. He’s easy to spot because he’s the only person in the dining room.
“You buy the place out?” Sam asks.
Crowley shakes his head. “Haven’t you heard? Series of “animal” attacks in Chicago tonight. Citizens advised to stay in the safety of their homes.”
“Leviathans?” Sam asks.
Crowley shakes his head. “Vampires. I think our friend the Alpha is trying to send me a message.”
“He’s figured out you don’t plan to stop using the additive,” Sam says.
“He has. My sources tell me he’s formed an alliance with the wolves, and maybe the shifters. I hope the new formula you’ve been working on is effective. My plan, not to mention your job, depends on it.”
“It’ll work,” Sam says, feigning confidence.
“Good,” Crowley says. “As I mentioned, if you’re successful I may have some valuable information regarding your brother.”
“I know,” Sam says, gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into tight fists under the table.
“Am I late?” Sam and Crowley both look over to the doorway, where Leon stands, uncertain. He wears a dark fitted suit over a green shirt that confuses his eye colour, and when he arrives at the table Sam catches the scent of his aftershave and it makes his mouth water.
“Not at all darling,” Crowley says. “You’re right on time.” He snaps his fingers and the chair next to Sam pulls itself out from under the table. Leon raises an eyebrow, then sits down carefully. The chair pushes itself in.
“Thanks,” Leon says.
“Just compensating for your incompetent boyfriend. Chivalry really is dead.”
“Sorry,” Sam mutters, but Leon just smiles and takes Sam’s hand under the table, twisting his fingers out of their fists.
“Ah, young love,” Crowley says, as a black-eyed waiter pours wine into their glasses. “How perfectly quaint.”
“How about you mind your own business?” Sam snaps.
“Ah but Leon here is my business now. Tell me, how do you feel about being Sam’s new hunting partner? You’ve got some big shoes to fill, and you know what they say about big shoes.”
Leon’s good hand twitches. “I’m looking forward to killing some monsters,” he says, not rising to the bait. He looks more serious than Sam has ever seen him before, eyes narrowed and jaw tense.
“Ah,” Crowley says. “So the resemblance is more than skin deep, I see.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sam warns.
“Relax, I meant it as a compliment.” The waiter returns with a platter of appetizers, and Crowley serves himself as he continues. “Dean is also very attractive,” Crowley says conversationally, to Leon. “Could be a real stunner if he cleans up a little. Nice suit, by the way.”
“Stop it,” Sam orders, but Crowley ignores him.
“He’s smart too, smarter than I gave him credit for at first. And he’s a killer when you cross him. Getting between these two, it’s like standing between a mother bear and her cub.”
“Don’t you mean was?” Leon asks. “Dean was very attractive or whatever.”
Crowley answers without hesitation. “Right, of course.” He raises an eyebrow at Sam only when Leon is looking down at the appetizer tray. “Because Dean is dead, of course. Which is a lucky thing for you because you don’t have to stand between them.” His smile is particularly sadistic.
“Listen,” Leon says, his mouth full of some kind of cheese. “I’m not interested in the past. Dead people are dead, and all we can do is grieve them, avenge them, and then try to move on.”
“That’s a very healthy attitude, even if factually untrue,” Crowley says. ‘I do hope you’ll have a positive influence on our Mr. Winchester. Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have some work to do. Please enjoy your meal - it’s on me - and have a productive trip.”
He vanishes without warning, leaving behind the faint scent of sulphur.
Leon loosens his tie and then opens the menu. “I’m ordering the most expensive thing on here,” he says spitefully.
Sam gets his ass kicked by a rugaru. He has a blowtorch on him, of course, but he doesn’t want to use it. This specimen was near impossible to track down, and if he doesn’t test the additive on this one he probably won’t get another shot for months.
But the thing’s stronger than him, and faster, and he hadn’t expect it to transform. He’d just been planning to interview the guy, to figure out what he was getting up against and sneak the chemical into his food or something, avoid a fight if possible. Only now he’s backed against a wall in a hay-filled barn in the middle of fucking nowhere, and even if he uses his blowtorch to save his ass he’ll have to set the whole place on fire.
The rugaru closes his fingers around Sam’s throat and squeezes, just hard enough to immobilize but not kill him, because these things like their food really really fresh. Sam kicks out desperately and lands a pretty solid blow near the guy’s junk, but he doesn’t even react.
“Hey,” Leon says from the doorway, just as Sam’s vision starts to go black around the edges. “Over here.”
The rugaru loosens his grip just enough for Sam to take one gasping breath. He sees Leon raise something to his mouth and then the Rugaru startles, stiffens, and drops Sam before dropping to the ground, foaming at the mouth.
“Your chemical stuff definitely works,” Leon says, crouching next to Sam.
“What did you do?” Sam says, his voice coming out hoarse.
Leon holds up a small wooden tube. “Blowgun,” he says. He points to a clump of red feathers stuck in the rugaru’s neck. “Poisoned dart.”
“That’s genius,” Sam says, struggling to his feet.
“Yeah well I try,” Leon says, putting a supportive arm around Sam’s back. “Can we have Chinese tonight?”
“Why do you watch the news so much?” Sam asks near the middle of their second week on the road. “It’s not like any of those talking heads know what’s really going on.”
“I know,” Leon answers. “That’s not what I’m watching for.”
“Then what?” Sam asks, before popping an entire oreo into his mouth.
Leon hits mute on the remote, then falls back against the mattress and covers his face with the thin motel pillow. “Okay,” he says, his voice muffled. “I guess I know your secret so it’s only fair.”
Sam puts down the tray of cookies. “Alright, you have my attention.”
“I didn’t leave my job because I felt like going on a road trip. And it wasn’t just bad luck that those demons nabbed me. I was sort of, uh, looking for trouble at the time.”
“Why?” Sam asks.
“My sister. A week before you found me, we were walking back from a concert when we were attacked.” His voice is quiet and strained, barely more than a whisper, so that Sam has to lie down beside him to hear through the pillow he’s still holding over his face. He describes what happened methodically. “They pushed me down, and before I could do anything one of them bit Linda, then made her drink blood from his wrist. I was too frozen in shock to do anything until they were gone. They took her with them.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam says.
“Yeah, I know,” Leon says. “So you aren’t the only one with a dead sibling. Well, mine might not be technically dead. Being a vampire is worse than that.”
Sam just nods. He figures there’s no point telling Leon Dean was once turned too, not when his sister has undoubtedly already tasted human blood and made the change irreversible. “So you were looking for revenge?”
“Yeah, though I also just wanted answers. Obviously no one believed me when I told them what I’d seen. The cops said I had some kind of stress-induced hallucination, but I knew better.”
“And then you bumped into me and I had those answers. I wondered why you were so eager to hit the road.”
Leon tosses the pillow aside. “Well I did think you were hot, but yeah, I may have had ulterior motives.” He shoots Sam a small smile.
“I feel so used,” Sam declares dramatically, eager to cheer Leon up.
“Dude, you hooked up with me because I look like your hot dead brother!”
“Oh my god are we making jokes about that now?” It seems too late to explain that Dean isn’t technically dead.
“I laugh to keep from crying,” Leon says, straight-faced. “Anyway, I watch the news in case I see her, or her body. Now hand over the fucking cookies.”
Sam does as he’s told, then switches off the television. Leon licks the icing out of the centre of an Oreo while Sam watches.
“You wanna fuck?” Leon asks after he swallows.
“So much yes,” Sam says, leaning in to kiss his chocolate-flavoured mouth.
In Missoula, they stand at the top of a staircase and drop balloons filled with additive-laced water on top of the ghouls. Leon is all for avoiding hand-to-hand combat when possible since he’s still in a cast, and honestly the thrill has mostly gone out of it for Sam, too. The ghouls gasp and shout in surprise, and enough of the additive gets into their mouths because they don’t even make it halfway up the staircase before dropping dead.
“Score another point for Team Us,” Leon says. “That about covers it, doesn’t it?”
“Yup,” Sam agrees. “That’s all the major players. Stuff’s about ready to go into production.”
“You gonna tell Crowley?” Leon asks, grabbing one of the ghouls by its foot. They’ll burn the bodies in the backyard.
“Eventually,” Sam says. “There’s something I need to do first. Meet me back at the motel in a couple of hours?”
Leon narrows his eyes, then shrugs. “Okay, whatever. I guess I can burn these motherfuckers all by myself with a broken wrist.”
“Thanks,” Sam says, dropping a kiss on his forehead. “Order dinner, too, ‘kay?”
Leon rolls his eyes. “I’m not your Stepford Wife.”
“You’re the best!” Sam calls over his shoulder, already halfway to the door.
Sam goes down into a deserted parking garage - people know better than to go underground these days - and dumps a gallon of human blood he’s stolen from a blood bank onto the cement floor.
The vampires arrive in less than a minute, at least six of them, materializing out of the shadows. But they don’t strike immediately. They hesitate, uncertain. Sam knows biting a human is like playing Russian roulette for them these days.
“My name is Sam Winchester,” he calls out to them. “I’m the one who’s poisoning your food supply, and I want you to take me to your leader.”
“I’m glad you finally decided to come to me,” the Alpha Vampire says from the head of the table. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.”
Sam hasn’t forgotten. He hasn’t forgotten the little boy and the teenage girl brainwashed into thinking they’re the vampire’s children, the way he used them as a living, breathing source of clean food, or the way he and Dean had vowed to come after him once the Leviathans were out of the way.
He also hasn’t forgotten that the Alpha Vamp, like all of Eve’s firstborn children, comes from Purgatory.
“You know I haven’t forgotten,” Sam says. “Thousands of your children have died because of my work.”
“I’m aware of that,” the Alpha sneers. “So tell me what’s to stop me from killing you now?”
Sam holds up one hand, his thumb hovering over the ‘Send’ button for the text he’s composed. “I’ve been testing two different formulas. One of them works and one of them doesn’t. You come near me and I’ll tell Crowley which is which.”
“My children are dying anyway,” the Alpha argues. “Your current formula works well enough on us.”
“Crowley plans to replace that formula with this new one,” Sam counters. “Which should wipe out not only vampires, but the rest of the bottom-feeders too. He’s just waiting for my confirmation.”
The Alpha narrows his eyes, takes a slow, thoughtful sip from the goblet of thick red liquid on the table. “I assume you’re willing to send him the incorrect formula,” he says.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Sam says innocently. “For the right price. Now what I want -”
“I know a spell to retrieve Dean from Purgatory,” the Alpha interrupts. “I’ve known for weeks. You took your time meeting with me, Sam.”
“Tell me,” Sam says. It takes all the breath left in his lungs to say the words.
“You won’t like what I have to say,” the Alpha warns.
“Tell me.”
“You first.”
Sam looks down at his phone, changes a few key digits, sends the text. “There. They’ll waste at least a week producing truckloads of useless chemical soup. It won’t so much as leave a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. Your turn.”
The Alpha relaxes, leaning back against his chair. “It’s a charm. Very powerful, very old. I’ve recalibrated it to work across the dimensional divide.” He pauses, as it waiting for Sam to be impressed.
“So?”
The Alpha sighs. “It’s a Latin incantation and a few moderately rare ingredients. I’ve already collected them for you. You could have your brother back within the hour.”
Sam’s heart leaps in his chest.
“There’s just one catch,” the Alpha continues. “The law of conservation of matter. You can’t just go around throwing the universe out of balance. Everything you remove from Purgatory must be replaced by something else - swapped out, if you will.”
“Fine,” Sam says, grimacing. He’ll trick a demon into trading places with Dean.
“You don’t understand,” the Alpha says, as if reading Sam’s mind. “You can’t use just anyone. You need a sacrifice, and a powerful one, to bridge the gap between Earth and Purgatory. It takes a lot of juice to open that door, as you know.”
Sam doesn’t like the sound of that. “What do I need to do?” he asks, mouth already going dry.
“You need to give up your most beloved - whomever on Earth you hold most dear. If you send them to Purgatory, you can extract one being from its depths in exchange.”
Sam’s blood runs cold.
“Do you know who your sacrifice is, Sam?” The Alpha is somber; Sam sees a flicker of something like sympathy in his eyes.
“Yes,” Sam says. “I know who you mean.”
“I’m sorry,” the Alpha says, and Sam nearly believes him. “There’s no other way. I don’t make the rules.”
“I know,” Sam says. A vampire moves from the side of the room, offers Sam a piece of parchment covered in Latin scrawlings and a small burlap sack. “Thank you,” he says, taking them.
“Good luck,” the Alpha says as Sam turns to leave. “Come back and visit again soon. And bring Dean with you.”
Sam doesn’t answer. Instead he hurries out of the mansion, kneels on its perfectly manicured lawn, and vomits into the grass.
Leon is less than perfectly happy to see him when he arrives back at the motel, hours of aimless driving later.
“Jesus Christ, Sam, where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling you for an hour,” he snaps.
“Sorry,” Sam says, forcing his voice to stay neutral. “I got caught up in something.”
Leon stares up at him, and Sam has trouble meeting his eyes. It’s always been Leon’s eyes that seem wrong to Sam, because they aren’t the right color, aren’t Dean enough. And looking at them now reminds Sam just how easily he could trade Leon’s blue eyes for the ones he really wants to see, would die to see again.
“You’re not going to tell me what’s going on, are you?” Leon says, and Sam can only shake his head. “Alright. Keep your secrets. I guess I have to trust you.”
If there was anything left in his stomach, Sam would need to throw up again. “Did you burn the bodies okay?” he asks.
“Of course I did; I’m not an idiot. Here, eat, though it’s totally cold.” He shoves a carton of Chinese food at Sam - sweet and sour pork, his favourite.
“Thanks,” Sam says.
“Did you get in touch with Crowley?”
“Yes,” Sam says, and he’s technically telling the truth. “We should head back first thing in the morning.”
“Sure,” Leon agrees. “Whatever you say. Listen, it’s late and I’m tired. I’m gonna turn in.”
It’s not like Sam has any right to feel hurt, not given the choice he’s considering. He may not know it, but Leon has every right to be angry at Sam, every right to feel betrayed by his silence and dishonesty. So when Leon strips down to his boxers, switches out the lights, and climbs into bed without speaking ,Sam does the same, lying safely on his side of the single king bed they routinely book in their motel rooms, careful not to touch.
The silence is heavy between them. Sam knows Leon isn’t sleeping by the tension in his muscles, by his quick, anxious breathing. Finally, after what feels like hours, Leon sighs heavily and turns to face him.
“Oh Sam,” he says. “This is one screwed up relationship.”
“I know,” Sam answers, relieved that the silence is broken. “It’s mostly my fault.”
“You’re right about that.” Leon laughs, but there’s a heaviness in it, like the joke isn’t really funny. “It’s pretty much impossible to compete with a dead guy.”
“Sorry,” Sam says. But he recognizes just how right Leon is, just how obvious Sam’s choice is and always has always been. Leon is beautiful, funny and kind and has the makings of a damn good hunter in him, but Sam would choose a single day with Dean over a lifetime with anyone else.
“Alright,” Leon says. It doesn’t sound like forgiveness, just temporary acceptance. “C’mere.”
There’s a sadness in Leon’s kiss, like he’s saying goodbye, like he already knows what Sam is going to do. They roll together until Leon is flat on his back with Sam above him. Leon sighs as Sam buries his face in Leon’s throat so he doesn’t need to see his face.
The next morning is quiet, methodical. They’ve been together long enough for a routine to sneak up on them and solidify, but today it’s less than comfortable. Leon packs his duffel and cleans out the mini-fridge in silence, chewing on a granola bar. Sam doesn’t bother asking if he wants to stop at a diner for breakfast.
It’s grey and humid outside. The air feels thick with moisture, cold and slimy on his skin. He turns on the heat inside the car, even though it’s too early in the year for that. Part of him hopes it will help warm the chilly atmosphere in the car.
“So,” Leon says after an hour on the highway, “was Crowley excited about the formula being finished?”
“He approved,” Sam answers. “Though he won’t once he realizes it doesn’t work.”
“What are you talking about?” Leon asks. “We saw it work.”
Sam nods. “I gave him bad information. You were right. I’m not the type to work for a demon.”
Leon smirks, and Sam is grateful for anything remotely resembling a smile. “You realize,” he says, “that you haven’t just put yourself at risk, right? Crowley knows who I am. You screw him and you screw me too.”
“Trust me,” Sam says, keeping his eyes carefully fixed on the road. “That’s not going to be a problem for long.”
He can feel Leon staring at the side of his face. “Alright,” he says finally. “I shouldn’t trust you, but I do. You’ll tell me if there’s anything I need to know?”
Sam nods, swallowing back his guilt.
An hour later they make a rest stop at a gas station with a sign so old Sam can’t even tell what the place is called, and when he gets out of the washroom Leon’s leaning against the hood of the car, with two steaming hot cups of coffee.
“You got a text,” he says. “Charlie doesn’t know how you tracked him down, but he gave you an e-mail address.”
“Oh. Good,” Sam says, taking one of the coffees. It’s so hot it burns his tongue.
“Who’s Charlie, Sam?” Leon asks. There’s suspicion in the question, but it’s such an ordinary, mundane kind of jealousy it makes Sam want to laugh.
“Charlie is a friend of mine,” Sam says. “A hacker. I want her help with something.”
“Okay,” Leon says, still tense.
“Also, she’s a lesbian,” Sam adds.
“Oh,” Leon says, and Sam grins at the way his grip on the styrofoam coffee cup relaxes.
“I can’t believe you’re actually jealous,” Sam says with a grin. “You’re planning to break up with me once we hit Chicago, anyway.”
Leon’s sharp inhale confirms Sam’s suspicion. “Even if that were true,” Leon says carefully, setting down his coffee, “it doesn’t mean I can’t object to to you finding somebody else already.”
Sam puts down his coffee and leans in close against the cold, damp air, holds Leon’s cold cast-free hand between his own. “I know I’ve been the world’s worst boyfriend and I don’t blame you for ending it, but I need you to know you really do matter to me,” Sam says.
Leon looks down at his feet, awkward. Public displays of affection aren’t usually their style, especially not outside of the safety of the car or motel rooms.”Okay,” he says. “Whatever.”
“I mean it,” Sam says. He takes Leon’s coffee away from him, sets it down on the hood of the car. “In a less tragic universe I think we might have been able to make this work.”
“I know,” Leon says. “We don’t need to talk about it.”
“I want to. I think you deserve to know that I love you, at least as much as I’m capable of it.”
Leon looks up, surprised. “Why are you telling me this now?” he asks. “It’s kind of mean.”
“Do you love me too?” Sam asks, cupping Leon’s face in his hands so that he can’t avoid eye contact.
“I’m not answering that, asshole,” Leon answers, pulling away violently. “Can you drop it now?”
“Yeah,” Sam agrees, picking up his coffee and walking around to the driver’s side of the car. He hopes he knows what the answer is, even if Leon can’t say it.
Sam doesn’t bring a gun, though he does tuck the last vial of the working vamptonite in the back pocket of his jeans, and the demon-killing knife into the inside pocket of his best blazer. He’s not sure how he’s going to sneak the knife past security, but if worse comes to worst he’ll resort to violence.
He makes sure the attachments are all there before he sends an e-mail to the Alpha vampire, via the secure, untraceable connection Charlie had provided for him.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Leon asks. They’re back in Sam’s usual Chicago motel room, but neither of them expects to spend the night together. Leon plans to leave him after this last mission and Sam, well, Sam knows he’s not going to be around long enough for that to happen, anyway.
“No, I need to do this on my own,” Sam says. “You just meet me in the warehouse by 11:30, okay?”
“I know. You’ve reminded me about a thousand times. Though I’d really like to know what we’re supposed to be doing there.”
“You’re helping me with a spell. Just do this one last thing for me and you’ll never see me again, I promise.”
Leon bites his lip. “Whatever you say, Captain Cryptic.” He switches on the television, over-casual, flipping past the late-night infomercials already flooding the channels. He’d had his cast taken off two days ago, in the same hospital he’d originally received it six weeks before. “See you in an hour.”
Sam wants to say something else. Wants to confess, apologize, beg for understanding or forgiveness. But instead he just leaves quietly.
He checks that the incantation and the burlap sack of ingredients are safely stowed in the backseat before he starts the engine, heading toward the outskirts of the city and Crowley’s mansion.
The butler demon at the door doesn’t look surprised to see Sam, and doesn’t bother searching him for weapons. When Sam demands an audience with the boss he merely smirks, before turning and gesturing for Sam to follow.
He shows Sam into Crowley’s empty office, dimly lit in the evening. Sam remembers first walking into this room months ago and begging for a job. It looks just the same, from the long polished table to the cushy chairs and the decanter of obviously expensive scotch on the side table.
Crowley keeps Sam waiting for a full fifteen minutes, and Sam struggles to keep from checking his watch every thirty seconds. The ritual needs to be performed at midnight, when the veils between the worlds are thinnest.
“Sam,” Crowley says. “What an unexpected surprise.” Crowley appears without warning across the room. “Care for a drink?”
Sam shakes his head, so Crowley walks to the side table and pours himself a generous portion of scotch, drinking it down in one long swallow.
“You knew the bone would backfire on Dean,” Sam says. It’s the first time he hasn’t felt guilty saying his brother’s name since it happened. “You knew all about Heavenly weapons.”
Crowley shrugs. “So I did,” he says. “You never asked. And honestly, I can’t be blamed for your lack of thoroughness in your research, or your angel’s addled brain.”
“You could have warned us,” Sam says, voice rising. “You could have prevented all of this!” He reaches into his jacket for the knife.
“It worked out rather nicely for me,” Crowley says. “You’re quite useful with big brother out of the way.”
Sam pulls the knife out, relishing the way it warms immediately in his hand.
“Sam,” Crowley says calmly, “You’re not going to kill me. You forget that I have a pet prophet. You can try to take your revenge, but he assures me you’ll fail.”
Uncertainty momentarily grips Sam’s heart. But then he laughs. After all, he has absolutely nothing to lose.
Crowley pours himself another drink. “Have you finally gone mad?” he says. “Was it the prospect of killing your little boyfriend?” He sounds practically gleeful, losing all his dignified calm and revealing himself as just another sadistic demon. It makes Sam feel a little sad, but it also strengthens Sam’s resolve. Crowley had known about the spell then, and he hadn’t told Sam.
Sam opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by a yell from downstairs. The butler, he knows. This is followed by a chorus of strangled yells and high-pitched screams, and the stomping footsteps of Crowley’s security force springing into action, much too late.
There will be vampires at every door and window to the mansion by now, and werewolves too, armed with all the holy water and salt they can carry. Sam had provided both the floorplans and the weapons.
“What the fuck is going on?” Crowley yells, and Sam knows from his expression and the undignified way he spits when he talks that Kevin hasn’t warned him about this.
“I think I’ll make my exit,” Crowley says. He snaps his fingers...and nothing happens.
Sam smiles, walks across the room, and lifts up the corner of the thick rug Crowley is standing on. Underneath, the corner of of a white demon’s trap painted onto the hardwood floor peeks out at them both.
“Thanks for keeping me waiting,” Sam says. “I had plenty of time to do a good job on this thing.”
Crowley practically growls, but he doesn’t have time to say anything before the door to the office bursts open, flying off its hinges. The Alpha vampire stalks into the room in the wake of the blast.
“Well, well, well,” the Alpha purrs. “It appears the hunter has become the hunted. Thank you for your assistance, Sam. I’m glad we’ve set our differences aside.”
Sam nods, tightening his grip on the demon-killing knife.
“You’ve killed thousands of my children with your little potion, demon,” the Alpha vamp says. “Now you’ll die like the coward you are.”
Crowley scoffs, eyes narrowed with absolute hatred. “You think aligning with the vampires is any better than working with demons, Sam?,” he says, ignoring the Alpha entirely. “You think Dean would be proud of you?”
“Maybe not,” Sam says, stepping forward. “But Leon will be.” He stabs Crowley through the throat, echoing the way Dean had finally killed Dick Roman. Evil dictator bastards are all more or less the same, as it turns out.
The familiar white electricity surges through Crowley’s body, radiating from the knife. The demon is dead, but the Alpha vamp can’t help himself, can’t let Sam have all the glory. He rushes past Sam and leaps on the empty vessel, tearing hungrily at its throat.
Less than five seconds later he pulls away, rigid and gasping. There’s blood on his face, but in the corners of his mouth the flesh sizzles and peels.
“Be careful,” Sam says belatedly. “I think there might have been something in Crowley’s scotch.”
He steals Crowley’s keys out of his vest pocket and drops the empty vamptonite vial on the Alpha’s lifeless body as he leaves. “Now that Dean will be proud of,” he says to the empty room, before he breaks into a run.
There are no guards in Crowley’s dungeon; they’re all busy fighting upstairs, not yet aware that their king is dead.
“Sam!” a voice calls out in the dark when he arrives, and for once it isn’t Meg. “Sam! Did it work?”
Sam hurries to Kevin’s cell and unlocks it, wincing at the bruising on the kid’s face. “He’s dead,” Sam says, and Kevin practically sags with relief. “I lied,” he says. “I told them the truth a thousand little times until they trusted me. I saved up for one big lie.”
“Well, I sure am glad you used it on me,” Sam says, helping Kevin to his feet. Upstairs, he hears howling and screaming as the leaderless armies tear each other apart.
Sam walks back to the closest cell to the staircase.
Meg raises one eyebrow at him. “Being a hero, Winchester?” she drawls. “I guess it’s in the blood.”
Sam fumbles with Crowley’s keys and unlocks the cell. “Your majesty,” he says, bowing deeply to her. “The king is dead, and I hereby name you his successor.”
Meg grins as he hands over the demon-killing knife, hilt-first. “Does this mean you solved your Purgatory problem?” she asks.
“Sort of,” Sam answers. “But it’s only good for one.”
Meg practically pouts. “Poor angel,” she says. “I kind of liked having a pet.” She grips the knife tight. “But if I have to I’ll do this all on my own.”
“I’m counting on it,” Sam says. “Do me a favour?”
“I guess I owe you one,” Meg says.
“Get the kid out of here alive,” Sam says, gesturing at Kevin. “And don’t let ambition get the best of you.”
“You bet,” Meg calls after him, as Sam makes a break for the stairs. “All I want is a really fucking comfortable throne.”
If she says anything else Sam doesn’t hear it. He ignores the chaotic battle still raging around him, sneaking out a back entrance and around to the Impala, where he’d left the keys in the ignition. The tires squeal as he speeds out of Crowley’s twisted driveway, and toward a nearby abandoned warehouse.
It’s half an hour to midnight.
Leon is sitting cross-legged in a shaft of moonlight when Sam arrives, burlap sack and parchment gripped tightly in one hand. Sam is relieved to see him; he had worried (or maybe hoped) Leon might realize something was wrong and decide not to show up.
The fact that he trusts Sam won’t make this any easier, but it will probably make it more likely to work.
Leon stands when he sees Sam, but Sam doesn’t have time for a greeting. He pulls powders and plants and dark, foul-smelling liquids out of the sack, dumping them together into a copper bowl. He lights a candle.
“What are you doing?” Leon asks. He’s very pale. “Did it work?”
“Crowley’s dead, and the Alpha vamp too,” Sam answers. He doesn’t have time to look up from the chalk outlines he’s copying onto the cement floor, but he hopes that makes Leon smile, makes him feel a bit better about his sister.
“That’s good, right? So why are you so freaked out?”
“There’s no time,” Sam says breathlessly, checking his work. He’s drawn two chalk circles on the ground, two feet apart. There’s a set of complicated runes bordering each, slightly different. The tiny differences are all-important. One of the circles represents Earth, and the other Purgatory.
“Stand here,” Sam says, dragging Leon by the arm until he stands in the centre of his circle.
“Why?” Leon asks, his voice shaking. “Sam, what are you doing to me?”
Sam’s stomach twists. He doesn’t like to think about that. Instead, he stays busy, placing the copper bowl between the two circles, and letting the candle float on its surface, as per the instructions on the parchment.
He hands the parchment to Leon, takes off his jacket and sets it aside, then stands in the other circle. “Read this,” he orders.
“It’s not even in English,” Leon objects. “ Sam, you’re scaring me.”
“Just sound it out,” Sam says, glancing down at his watch anxiously. Two minutes. “And when you finish there’ll be this guy with you, okay? He’ll probably be wearing a trenchcoat and he’s a little weird, but he’s a friend. You won’t be totally alone.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Leon screams. The candle flame flickers.
“Do you love me?” Sam asks. He looks into Leon’s blue, blue eyes one last time.
“Yes,” Leon says. “God help me, yes.”
“Then read,” Sam says, already on autopilot. And Leon does.
Sam closes his eyes against the rhythmic Latin, lets it sweep him up. A loud boom like a thunderclap drowns out the beeping of the watch on Sam’s wrist, and then the ground shakes violently and he falls.
When Leon opens his eyes the first thing he sees is the candle, snuffed out and rolled into the chalk circle with him. He coughs violently, clearing dust from his lungs, then sits up.
Sam is gone. In his place in the other chalk circle is a man also in the process of getting to his feet. He has dark hair and is wearing a dirty trenchcoat and what look like formerly-white hospital scrubs. The warehouse is still pitch dark but for a few shafts of moonlight, so Leon can’t have been unconscious for long.
“Who are you?” Leon calls towards the strange man, but he doesn’t answer. He bends over the copper bowl, its contents spilled, and dips one finger into the mixture before bringing it to his mouth. He frowns at its taste, then retrieves the crumpled parchment Sam had made Leon read from the ground.
“These notations are in Sam Winchester’s handwriting,” the man says, his voice deeper than Leon expects. “You sent him to Purgatory?”
“What?” Leon gasps. He feels dizzy and nauseous and profoundly cold. “No, I didn’t! I mean, I don’t know what I did.”
The man nods. “Winchesters aren’t fond of direct communication,” he says. “Based on these instructions it appears that you - apparently unwittingly - pulled me from Purgatory and sent Sam there in my place.”
Leon shivers with horror. “I don’t understand,” he says. “Why would he ask me to send him to Purgatory?” He can’t stop shivering.
“I suspect,” the man says, picking Sam’s jacket up off the ground and offering it awkwardly to Leon, “because he wanted to be with Dean.”
“Dean’s dead!” Leon exclaims.
“Is that what he told you?” the man asks, tilting his head to examine Leon like a specimen under a microscope.
Self-conscious, Leon shoves his shaking hands into the pockets of Sam’s jacket, and comes out with a set of keys and a note scribbled onto motel stationary. He doesn’t really want to read it, but he also doesn’t feel like he has a choice.
I’m sorry it reads, and thank you. I’ll let you decide what to do with this.
Underneath is a set of letters and numbers Leon knows must be the formula for the chemical they’d tested for Crowley, and three phone numbers, labelled Charlie and Sheriff Mills and Meg, respectively.
The strange man is suddenly standing too close to him. “My name is Castiel,” he says, too loud. “I’m an angel of the Lord.” Castiel was one of the words Leon had read off the parchment, one Sam had inserted into the other, unfamiliar looping script. The blank, Leon realizes, Sam had filled in.
“I’m Leon,” he says.
“Sam must have meant a great deal to you, for this spell to have succeeded,” Castiel says. “It’s powered by emotion.”
Leons swallows hard. “We hunted together,” he says simply. He tucks the note carefully back into its pocket.
Castiel’s gaze is full of too much sympathy. “He must have cared a great deal about you as well, to leave you the keys to his car,” he says kindly.
“Maybe,” Leon says. He squeezes the keyring so hard it digs into his palm. “You want a ride somewhere?”
“Yes, please,” Castiel answers. He follows Leon out into the cool night, climbing into the Impala’s passenger seat with only a moment’s hesitation. Leon starts the engine, and even through his shock and exhaustion a tiny thrill goes down his spine as it roars to life. He really does love this car.
“”So,” he says. “You any good at killing monsters?”
Castiel’s smile is small, but pleased. “Yes,” he says. “I have thousands of years of experience.”
“I’m looking for a hunting partner,” Leon says, voice tight. He doesn’t need Sam to avenge Linda. “Unless you have something better to do.”
Castiel considers it. “I would like that very much,” he says.
Leon nods. “How long were you in Purgatory?” He wants to ask about Dean, wants to satisfy his morbid curiosity about the man he couldn’t compete with, but the name feels off-limits somehow, like it belonged to Sam and now that he’s gone he has no right to say it aloud. “I guess I should catch you up on what you’ve missed.”
Castiel’s eyes glaze over briefly. “The Leviathans are running amok,” he says. “Crowley is dead and so is the last Alpha. You and Sam created the weapon that killed him, that could kill all of them.” He smiles. “And Meg is alive!”
Leon tries not to let his mouth hang open. “How do you know all that?”
“Angel,” Castiel says simply.
Oh, right. Leon remembers the note Sam left him. “Hey, do you want Meg’s phone number?”
“Yes,” Castiel says “We will need to be in touch. What do you know about bees?”
“Uh, not much,” Leon says truthfully. The sudden conversation shift doesn’t even phase him; he feels like he’s stumbled into yet another alternate universe.
“The world’s bee population is declining rapidly,” Castiel says, adopting a professorial tone. “Scientists believe this signals the beginning of a sixth major extinction on the planet. Human beings have destroyed their habitat. There are too few flowers left for them to pollinate.”
Leon waits, but Castiel falls into contented silence. “And?” he says.
“Oh,” Castiel says, snapped out of his reverie. “The bees perform a valuable service. Without them, tens of thousands of flowering fruits and vegetables will struggle to survive. And that in turn will have an impact on your human economy, to the value of nearly fifteen billion dollars per year.”
Leon’s been through a lot tonight, but somehow he doubts this would make sense even if he’d had a full night’s sleep, a good meal, and hadn’t accidentally damned his boyfriend to an eternity in another dimension. “And?” he repeats.
“We’re all interconnected,” Castiel says, practically bouncing in his seat. “It’s beautiful! When you remove one factor its effect on the entire equation is unpredictable and incalculable. “
Leon thinks he’s catching on now. “You’re talking about the chemical, right? You think I shouldn’t use it on the vampires and everything else.”
Castiel grins brightly, glad to be understood. “I think you need to be aware just how enormous a responsibility Sam’s trusted you with,” he says.
“Oh,” Leon says. He hadn’t thought of it like that. “I wish he were here instead of me. He’d know what to do better than I do.”
Castiel hums a little under his breath. “Sam didn’t think so,” he says.
“What?”
“The spell he used could have worked differently,” Castiel says. “You and I could be together in a very different place right now.”
“He could have brought Dean back?” Leon says. Perfect Dean. “Why didn’t he?” Leon knows he wouldn’t have objected, would have played along and stood in the other chalk circle while Sam read the Latin, read Dean’s name where Leon had read Castiel’s.
Castiel puts his feet up on the dash. “Because deep down Sam Winchester isn’t a sinner,” he says. “And maybe because he thinks it’s time to let someone else save the world.”
Leon remembers the way Sam had so casually told him he’d saved the world two or three times already, remembers it as the moment he’d really fallen in love. And he remembers telling Sam that he’d earned the right, then, to be totally and spectacularly fucked up. He thinks of Sam and Dean together in Purgatory and he hopes they both get what they deserve.
Leon reaches down to switch on the radio, then focuses his attention on the horizon and the slowly rising sun. He has work to do.
Even before he opens his eyes, Sam knows the spell has worked. He can feel damp grass under his bare arms, not dry cement. The air smells earthy and a breeze is humid against his cheek. He is very, very cold.
Sam keeps his eyes closed until he hears it.
“Oh my god,” Dean gasps. “Sam? Sammy!”
When he opens his eyes, Dean’s are looking down at him, anxious and confused and blissfully green. Dean’s fingers are hot on his face.
“What are you doing here, Sammy?” Dean says. Sam loves the sound of his voice. “Where’s Cas? What did you do?”
Sam doesn’t answer, reaches up to touch Dean’s face instead. He can see Dean start to figure it out, see the horror dawning on his face. But Sam knows he’s done the right thing. He and Dean have a way of fucking up the world, so the world is better off without them.
In Purgatory they’ll be together forever.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Dean says. His breath is hot against Sam’s face. They are very close together.
“”Dean,” Sam croaks, pulling his brother down into a kiss.
If it makes him a monster, well, he’s already exactly where he belongs.
Part One