"Third Time Pays For All" Gen Sam and Dean
Title: Third Time Pays For All
Author: candygramme
Rated: gen
Word Count: 3,623
Notes: I wrote this after the end of Season 2, for a zine called "Rooftop Confessions." I have no idea why I never posted it before now. It's been well and truly jossed, but I still like it.
Just look at him.
Dean Winchester, supplicant, standing bereft and needy there at the juncture between his past and his future.
Dean, stripped of all artifice, reduced by loss to raw pleading, voice thick with tears. Child of destiny, brought to his knees and oh, so delicious.
He is everything we've worked to create, and the pain that emanates from him is so satisfying that I almost want to keep him to myself.
I could reach in and squeeze his heart, but that would be a single moment’s pleasure, so I merely smile, and when he kisses me, it sears the bargain between us.
He will be mine, and I will end him, and it will take forever.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
And sometimes, everything you’ve lived for is over, and all that’s left are the questions.
Sam’s questions had waited-waited even though they were burning the backs of his eyes. Now it was time for answers.
He stood in front of Dean, took in his brother’s dirty, bloody face and loved him for the valiant soul he was. Despite the love, he was going to ask. He had to know.
“What happened after I was stabbed?” Tell me, Dean. Tell me the truth. I’m not six years old any more.
“I already told you.” Dean’s retort was as sharp and dismissive as he’d expected.
“Not everything.” And ain’t that the truth? whispered his cynical inner self. Dean straightened up as if he’d been stuck with a pin, and Sam knew this dance. He was going to try the smoke and mirrors now. That’s the way Dean worked. If the half-truth didn’t suffice, he’d go for the diversion.
“Sam, we just killed the demon. Can’t we celebrate for a minute?” As diversions went, that was a doozy, but Dean was not going to get away with it. This was too important.
“Did I die?” There it was, out in the open. No more pussyfooting around the truth. Sam was going to rip this wide open until there was no other choice but the truth. Deep breath and out with it. “Did you sell your soul for me, like Dad did for you?”
“Oh, come on, no . . .” Dean’s words were no answer. The real message was written on his face, and Sam knew-had known for the past few minutes, but now, here, seeing Dean, the truth was incontrovertible.
“Tell me the truth, Dean,” he said, and it wasn’t a plea; it was an order. “Tell me the truth.”
Dean had one last attempt at wriggling out of it. “Sam . . .?” he said, and now he was the one pleading.
“How long d’you get?” Sam’s voice was mild, but his eyes were burning into Dean’s soul, seeing it, understanding it and loving him anyway.
Slumping, Dean gave in. “One year,” he murmured, voice flat with defeat. “I got one year.”
He’d been braced for ten, thought that a bad bargain, but Dean’s words cut him like knives. He gasped, felt dizzy, looked at Dean in horror. ”You shouldn’t have done that. How could you do that?” For me, chimed a tiny, gleeful voice somewhere deep inside him. He did it for me. Man, he’d do anything.
And this is how Dean looked when defeated. This is the way he’d be when he’d lost absolutely everything and given all he had to give. Strange just how much like his everyday brother that seemed. “Don’t get mad at me,” said Dean, still with that oddly flat intonation. “Don’t you do that.” He met Sam’s eyes at last. “I had to. I had to look after you. That’s my job.” As if it were that simple; as if Dean weren’t capable of so much more, if he, Sam, the obstacle, were removed from his path.
That gave him pause. He frowned. “What do you think my job is?” he asked Dean.
“What?” Dean was apparently stunned. It seemed as if that was something he’d never considered. Sam shook his head.
“You save my life over and over. I mean, you sacrifice everything for me. Don’t you think I’d do the same for you?” Dean was looking at him, and somehow he was getting through to him.
“You’re my big brother. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he said, his voice catching on the edges of words as if they hurt.
“Gonna get you out of this, and I don’t care what it takes,” he growled, and his expression told Dean that he had no say in the decision. “Guess I’ve gotta save your ass for a change.”
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
That had been almost a year ago. The eleven and a half months that had passed since then had flown by. Sam had spent as much time as he could researching ways to set his brother free, although Dean seemed content to live through his year and nothing more.
They’d hunted demons, destroyed some on their own and helped Bobby destroy an even larger number. Sam’s single-minded ability to face down and end demons was perfect, save for the fact that somehow he hadn’t managed to find a solution for Dean.
As the final month began, Dean stayed away from the seedy motels and cheap lodgings more than usual, finding himself willing, pretty partners on a regular basis. Sam couldn’t complain. If these were the last few days of his brother’s life, he wanted him to have everything that might possibly make him happy.
It was two weeks into the final month. Dean was sweet talking a very well built blonde, when Sam saw a flicker of red in her eyes as she smiled up at his brother and murmured, “You are so going to hell.”
“I know,” said Dean, his trademark sassy grin not quite making it to his eyes. After that, he stayed out of the bars, stopped chatting up the girls and stayed close to Sam, quieter than usual, eyes always on Sam as he worked, watching as his brother’s long, strong fingers coaxed secrets from the internet.
He’d become virtually mute, speaking only when it seemed expedient, and it seemed to Sam that it was time to quit fucking around and do something drastic.
Fourteen days were all he had left to rescue his brother, but he knew that he would do it, or go with him down to hell. He’d promised Dean that he wouldn’t leave him, and Sam had decided that meant never. He’d never bargained on his brother leaving him.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Six days left, and Sam was beginning to panic. They’d exorcised a banshee in McHenry, Maryland the night before, and the struggle had left them exhausted and filthy. Dean had sat patiently as Sam stitched up a deep scratch on his right shoulder, and then lain back on one of the beds, arm held stiffly at his side. “We’re close to the ocean,” said Dean. “Dude, I sometimes think that it’d be nice to feel sand between my toes, know what I mean? How long is it since we were anywhere near a beach?”
“It’s been a while.” Sam hadn’t looked up from the computer he seemed to have growing from his fingertips these days. He was red eyed and sleepless, having spent pretty much every minute he wasn’t killing demons looking for a way out for his brother.
“Do you remember when we were kids-I think I was about eleven, which means you were around seven or so-dad took us to that place outside of Shalotte in North Carolina? Oh, man, the sand there was like powder, and we spent the day playing in it while Dad offed that water sprite. That was nice.”
“Yeah. You buried me up to my neck. I remember.” Sam’s lips quirked unwillingly. “That was an awesome day.” He studied Dean for a few moments, wondering where this was leading, but Dean said no more, and Sam returned to his research. He was following something he hadn’t seen until now, when Dean spoke again, soft and uninflected, as if he were musing to himself rather than to another.
“Sammy, when I’m gone I want you to go back and find that Sarah girl, marry her and have a couple cute kids. Will you do that for me?” Dean’s voice was pleasant, and he might just as well have been discussing the weather, or which of them would spring for coffee.
“Dean, I . . .” Sam jerked his head up, looking at his brother with shocked eyes.
“I mean it, Sammy.” Sitting up, Dean spread his hands, and, for once, he allowed Sam to see the raw emotion warring in his breast, causing Sam to feel a spark of anger ignite the feelings he’d been ruthlessly suppressing for so long.
“So do I, Dean. It’s not going to happen.” If Sam knew anything, it was that. He knew bone deep that for sure Dean belonged to him and no demon in hell could have him.
And that was it. That was the answer, he was sure. He wouldn’t say a word to Dean until he knew for certain, but he would test his theory out in the morning. He had all the things he needed, and all it would take to make sure was a trip to a crossroads.
Sadly, in the morning, Dean was gone.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Dean had left him a note, and the bulk of his money, a stack of credit cards-one of them in the name of J. J. Hackensack, which made Sam smile briefly-and the keys to the Impala, which was something that hurt Sam in a place down deep where he hadn’t thought anyone would ever reach.
The note said only:
Dear Sammy,
I know you don’t wanna let me go, but you have to. It’s easier this way. Live for me, dude. Have kids, and get fat, and quit huntin’, and I’ll know it wherever I am. That’s all I want.
Dean.
Sam sat down and cried for his brother, then he wiped away the tears and snot and squared his shoulders. He had a job to do.
He gathered his things together and went looking for a crossroads. It took him only a few moments to bury his offering.
When she came, he hadn’t expected her to be wearing Jess’s face, and for a moment, it knocked him sideways. If Dean had been watching, he’d have recognized the expression on his little brother’s face and advised the demon to give up while it was still ahead.
“Well, well, well, Sammy Winchester,” purred the demon, and it wasn’t Jess, wasn’t Jess at all. His Jess had never used that sultry drawl, had never worked her body quite that way, all sleaze and promise. His Jess had never had eyes that glowed red as the coals of hell. “I can’t tell you what a pleasure this is.” She walked around him, surveying him with pursed lips, and Sam got the feeling she already felt that she owned him.
“Don’t tell me,” she murmured. “Let me guess. You can’t imagine how life will be without your big brother, and you’ve come to beg me for his life.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Sam’s usually serious face split in an amiable smile. “But you’d be wrong.” His voice began to develop an edge, and she hissed a little, took a step backwards. “I’ve come to tell you that you can’t have him.”
“Oh? And why would that be, may I ask?” Her voice was still honeyed, but the poison in the honey was plainly audible as her smile grew angry enough to cut glass.
“Because you can’t buy what doesn’t belong to the vendor, and Dean belongs to me. He always has.” Sam nodded. “Body and soul. He's been mine ever since he was four, and that’s a vow that’s been renewed over and over again.” It was so simple. The promise had been made again and again, and had been sealed with fire and his mother’s blood.
For a moment, the demon’s face twisted, Jess’s pretty face momentarily altered, lengthened, turned ugly as she snarled. A black, forked tongue writhed, and yellowed teeth like tusks suddenly showed, protruding from thin, pale lips drawn back over a bony jaw.
Sam laughed. “So you can’t have him. I didn’t release him, and he’s mine.”
“There was no blood exchanged. The pledge carries no weight.” Jess’s eyes sparked fury, but her face had returned to its usual aspect.
“How can you be sure of that? I say there was.” In truth, Sam didn’t know, but he thought that Dean might, if he could find him, and he trusted his dad to have done whatever ritual it was that had bound Dean to him most thoroughly. The fact that it had robbed Dean of any life he might have had on his own was immaterial. Sam could use it now, and he’d go through the courts of hell, if that was what it took.
“We’ll find out, won’t we?” She’d recovered some of her composure, or so it seemed, and was now smiling at him again, almost, but not quite his lost love. “Bring him here in five days’ time, and there will be a ruling on this. You win, and you both go free. You lose, and you’re both mine.”
“You bet your demon ass I will,"
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Stumbling away from his tryst, Sam was faced with a new problem. He needed Dean, and Dean had gone. He had five days to find him, and then it would be too late. Trust Dean to complicate things, the stupid, loving asshole!
Sam loaded his gear, and the things Dean had left behind into the Impala and sat behind the wheel. Their conversation of the night before floated back to him, and he found himself annoyed that he hadn’t listened more carefully, contributed more.
Sand-there had been sand, he remembered that. Dean had been talking wistfully about the day they’d spent on a beach back in their childhood. Where had it been? He couldn’t quite remember. Somewhere on the east coast, he thought, starting up the car and pulling away. He was almost out of Maryland, sitting in a diner eating a burger when it finally came back to him.
North Carolina! Now he remembered. Dean had mentioned Shalotte, and that was in North Carolina. The name of the beach floated up then-it had been called Sunset Beach, and the sand had been like sugar. He didn’t have time to mess around searching, but he knew his brother. He would bet his soul-he was betting his soul on that being the place he’d find him.
Gritting his teeth, he began to drive.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Sunset Beach had changed little. When Sam finally found Dean, a day and a half later, his brother didn’t seem at all surprised to see him.
“Sammy, want me to bury you in the sand again?” Dean’s face was already tanned, and he looked boyishly happy as he put the finishing touches to a vast, elaborate sand castle.
“That’s okay, dude,” said Sam, unable to hide the relieved smile that was plastered across his face. “It was your turn to be buried anyway.”
“Got to finish this first.” Dean’s tongue was between his teeth, his air of concentration total as he excavated a tiny drawbridge. “There. What do you think?”
“You’re very talented, dude. I always knew that.” Sam felt the tears spring to the backs of his eyes, and he blinked rapidly in an effort to prevent them from spilling over. “Dean, we’ve got to go back. I found a way.”
“Sorry, Sammy. No can do. I’m at peace with things, and so should you be.” Dean didn’t look up from his task.
“I went to see the crossroads demon,” said Sam, and he saw reality hit Dean like a ton of bricks.
“Sammy, no!” Freckles stood out, livid against the sudden pallor of Dean’s face. “Tell me you didn’t give yourself. Tell me . . .”
“Of course I didn’t. Not like you did, anyway,” he amended, guilt welling in him as he remembered the terms they’d agreed to. “I found a loophole that’s almost a hundred percent proof, but we have to be back to the crossroads to verify it on Thursday, or I lose, and we both go down.”
Sam saw the weight descend onto Dean’s shoulders again-saw it and ached.
“Okay,” said Dean softly and turned to find his boots. Once he’d put them on, he systematically kicked his castle to pieces, returning the sand to the state in which he’d found it.
Dusting off his hands, he walked away, pausing only to call back to his bemused brother.
“Come on, Sam. What’re you waiting for?”
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
They arrived back at the same motel they’d stayed in following their battle with the banshee, with six hours to spare. Dean had been silent for the past several hours after Sam had told him everything about the encounter he’d had with the demon.
He said nothing now, merely tossed his duffel bag onto one of the beds and vanishing into the bathroom. Sam let him go, wishing that this could be over soon. He had always been impatient, and the wait was driving him crazy.
As dusk came, the two of them headed out, Sam driving and Dean lost in his own thoughts, face carefully blank.
When she came, stepping out of the shadows to confront them, she was once again wearing Jess’s face, and Dean was the one that gasped this time, horrified on Sam’s behalf.
“Here you are,” she murmured, and for some reason those words filled Sam with dread. He reached to clutch at his brother’s hand, something he hadn’t done since he was about nine years old.
“What? Did you think we’d miss it?” Dean sounded bored, and his game face was firmly in place. “Don’t be dumb. Consorting with demons is our favorite thing-at least when we’re not gouging out our own eyeballs with sharp sticks it is.”
“Yeah, we’re here, and so are you, but who’s going to do the judging? Not you.” Sam was angry, chin jutting and eyes flashing.
“You don’t trust me? How hurtful.” She walked around, leaned up against Sam, golden hair tickling his nose and making him pull away in distaste. “But don’t worry, my fine crusader against evil. It’s not going to be me.”
“So who . . .?” Sam was anxious now, wondering whether they’d been set up.
There was a shimmer in the air, and a glowing figure emerged from somewhere, and this being wore the face of John Winchester.
“Dad?” Dean’s voice was slightly hoarse.
“Not exactly,” said the creature, managing to whisper and yet shake the trees with the sound of its voice. “But I have your father’s memories. He’s proud of you-of you both.” He looked around at the three others. “But I am told that there is a dispute that requires adjudication. Who is the plaintiff?”
“I am.” The demon stepped forward, hands on her hips. “A year ago, I struck a bargain with Dean Winchester. He was to have a year of life with his brother and then come to me. The year is up.”
“And why am I called to judge?” The creature no longer looked quite so much like John. It was taller, sterner than John had ever been. Sam held up a hand.
“Because Dean’s life wasn’t his to give; he belongs to me. He was given to me over and over, both by him and by dad.” Dean nodded slowly, affirming that.
“There was no blood exchanged,” said the demon, interrupting. “I sought through his memories, and he has no exchange of blood. It was no oath. He is mine.”
There was a long pause, and then the judge-there was no longer any trace of John left in his features-lifted his head. “A binding ritual was enacted when Sam was a year old. A talisman was given to Dean in earnest of the pledge. It seems that John Winchester foresaw this happening. The child Dean promised himself to his little brother, was so pledged by his father, and wears the mark of his servitude to this day.”
Both Sam and Dean looked shocked. The talisman was just something Dean had always worn-something that his father had given him, and he had looked no further than that. The demon, however, let out a scream of rage.
“What happened to, what’s dead should stay dead, Dean?” it snarled.
“What happened to losing with grace?” asked Dean, lip curling in contempt. He turned back to the glowing creature that was watching them. “What happens now?” he asked it, and shivered as his father’s well-loved features reappeared from within the glowing aura.
“What happens is that you go and live out your allotted spans. There will be no repercussions. Your adversary will return to its own place.” The creature waved a hand negligently, and the demon screamed, apparently furious as it faded away. A moment later, and the vision of their father was gone too, swallowed by the night, which had now completed its descent.
Turning to his brother, Sam stepped forward, enfolding him in a tight embrace. “Come on, dude. We’ve got to pack.”
“Pack? Why?” Dean looked utterly confused and there was a gleam in Sam’s eye as he replied.
“We’ve got a sand castle to rebuild, bro. It’s important.”
The sound of Dean’s laughter was warm on the night air as the two of them went to find the Impala, and their future, together.
Author: candygramme
Rated: gen
Word Count: 3,623
Notes: I wrote this after the end of Season 2, for a zine called "Rooftop Confessions." I have no idea why I never posted it before now. It's been well and truly jossed, but I still like it.
Just look at him.
Dean Winchester, supplicant, standing bereft and needy there at the juncture between his past and his future.
Dean, stripped of all artifice, reduced by loss to raw pleading, voice thick with tears. Child of destiny, brought to his knees and oh, so delicious.
He is everything we've worked to create, and the pain that emanates from him is so satisfying that I almost want to keep him to myself.
I could reach in and squeeze his heart, but that would be a single moment’s pleasure, so I merely smile, and when he kisses me, it sears the bargain between us.
He will be mine, and I will end him, and it will take forever.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
And sometimes, everything you’ve lived for is over, and all that’s left are the questions.
Sam’s questions had waited-waited even though they were burning the backs of his eyes. Now it was time for answers.
He stood in front of Dean, took in his brother’s dirty, bloody face and loved him for the valiant soul he was. Despite the love, he was going to ask. He had to know.
“What happened after I was stabbed?” Tell me, Dean. Tell me the truth. I’m not six years old any more.
“I already told you.” Dean’s retort was as sharp and dismissive as he’d expected.
“Not everything.” And ain’t that the truth? whispered his cynical inner self. Dean straightened up as if he’d been stuck with a pin, and Sam knew this dance. He was going to try the smoke and mirrors now. That’s the way Dean worked. If the half-truth didn’t suffice, he’d go for the diversion.
“Sam, we just killed the demon. Can’t we celebrate for a minute?” As diversions went, that was a doozy, but Dean was not going to get away with it. This was too important.
“Did I die?” There it was, out in the open. No more pussyfooting around the truth. Sam was going to rip this wide open until there was no other choice but the truth. Deep breath and out with it. “Did you sell your soul for me, like Dad did for you?”
“Oh, come on, no . . .” Dean’s words were no answer. The real message was written on his face, and Sam knew-had known for the past few minutes, but now, here, seeing Dean, the truth was incontrovertible.
“Tell me the truth, Dean,” he said, and it wasn’t a plea; it was an order. “Tell me the truth.”
Dean had one last attempt at wriggling out of it. “Sam . . .?” he said, and now he was the one pleading.
“How long d’you get?” Sam’s voice was mild, but his eyes were burning into Dean’s soul, seeing it, understanding it and loving him anyway.
Slumping, Dean gave in. “One year,” he murmured, voice flat with defeat. “I got one year.”
He’d been braced for ten, thought that a bad bargain, but Dean’s words cut him like knives. He gasped, felt dizzy, looked at Dean in horror. ”You shouldn’t have done that. How could you do that?” For me, chimed a tiny, gleeful voice somewhere deep inside him. He did it for me. Man, he’d do anything.
And this is how Dean looked when defeated. This is the way he’d be when he’d lost absolutely everything and given all he had to give. Strange just how much like his everyday brother that seemed. “Don’t get mad at me,” said Dean, still with that oddly flat intonation. “Don’t you do that.” He met Sam’s eyes at last. “I had to. I had to look after you. That’s my job.” As if it were that simple; as if Dean weren’t capable of so much more, if he, Sam, the obstacle, were removed from his path.
That gave him pause. He frowned. “What do you think my job is?” he asked Dean.
“What?” Dean was apparently stunned. It seemed as if that was something he’d never considered. Sam shook his head.
“You save my life over and over. I mean, you sacrifice everything for me. Don’t you think I’d do the same for you?” Dean was looking at him, and somehow he was getting through to him.
“You’re my big brother. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he said, his voice catching on the edges of words as if they hurt.
“Gonna get you out of this, and I don’t care what it takes,” he growled, and his expression told Dean that he had no say in the decision. “Guess I’ve gotta save your ass for a change.”
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
That had been almost a year ago. The eleven and a half months that had passed since then had flown by. Sam had spent as much time as he could researching ways to set his brother free, although Dean seemed content to live through his year and nothing more.
They’d hunted demons, destroyed some on their own and helped Bobby destroy an even larger number. Sam’s single-minded ability to face down and end demons was perfect, save for the fact that somehow he hadn’t managed to find a solution for Dean.
As the final month began, Dean stayed away from the seedy motels and cheap lodgings more than usual, finding himself willing, pretty partners on a regular basis. Sam couldn’t complain. If these were the last few days of his brother’s life, he wanted him to have everything that might possibly make him happy.
It was two weeks into the final month. Dean was sweet talking a very well built blonde, when Sam saw a flicker of red in her eyes as she smiled up at his brother and murmured, “You are so going to hell.”
“I know,” said Dean, his trademark sassy grin not quite making it to his eyes. After that, he stayed out of the bars, stopped chatting up the girls and stayed close to Sam, quieter than usual, eyes always on Sam as he worked, watching as his brother’s long, strong fingers coaxed secrets from the internet.
He’d become virtually mute, speaking only when it seemed expedient, and it seemed to Sam that it was time to quit fucking around and do something drastic.
Fourteen days were all he had left to rescue his brother, but he knew that he would do it, or go with him down to hell. He’d promised Dean that he wouldn’t leave him, and Sam had decided that meant never. He’d never bargained on his brother leaving him.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Six days left, and Sam was beginning to panic. They’d exorcised a banshee in McHenry, Maryland the night before, and the struggle had left them exhausted and filthy. Dean had sat patiently as Sam stitched up a deep scratch on his right shoulder, and then lain back on one of the beds, arm held stiffly at his side. “We’re close to the ocean,” said Dean. “Dude, I sometimes think that it’d be nice to feel sand between my toes, know what I mean? How long is it since we were anywhere near a beach?”
“It’s been a while.” Sam hadn’t looked up from the computer he seemed to have growing from his fingertips these days. He was red eyed and sleepless, having spent pretty much every minute he wasn’t killing demons looking for a way out for his brother.
“Do you remember when we were kids-I think I was about eleven, which means you were around seven or so-dad took us to that place outside of Shalotte in North Carolina? Oh, man, the sand there was like powder, and we spent the day playing in it while Dad offed that water sprite. That was nice.”
“Yeah. You buried me up to my neck. I remember.” Sam’s lips quirked unwillingly. “That was an awesome day.” He studied Dean for a few moments, wondering where this was leading, but Dean said no more, and Sam returned to his research. He was following something he hadn’t seen until now, when Dean spoke again, soft and uninflected, as if he were musing to himself rather than to another.
“Sammy, when I’m gone I want you to go back and find that Sarah girl, marry her and have a couple cute kids. Will you do that for me?” Dean’s voice was pleasant, and he might just as well have been discussing the weather, or which of them would spring for coffee.
“Dean, I . . .” Sam jerked his head up, looking at his brother with shocked eyes.
“I mean it, Sammy.” Sitting up, Dean spread his hands, and, for once, he allowed Sam to see the raw emotion warring in his breast, causing Sam to feel a spark of anger ignite the feelings he’d been ruthlessly suppressing for so long.
“So do I, Dean. It’s not going to happen.” If Sam knew anything, it was that. He knew bone deep that for sure Dean belonged to him and no demon in hell could have him.
And that was it. That was the answer, he was sure. He wouldn’t say a word to Dean until he knew for certain, but he would test his theory out in the morning. He had all the things he needed, and all it would take to make sure was a trip to a crossroads.
Sadly, in the morning, Dean was gone.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Dean had left him a note, and the bulk of his money, a stack of credit cards-one of them in the name of J. J. Hackensack, which made Sam smile briefly-and the keys to the Impala, which was something that hurt Sam in a place down deep where he hadn’t thought anyone would ever reach.
The note said only:
Dear Sammy,
I know you don’t wanna let me go, but you have to. It’s easier this way. Live for me, dude. Have kids, and get fat, and quit huntin’, and I’ll know it wherever I am. That’s all I want.
Dean.
Sam sat down and cried for his brother, then he wiped away the tears and snot and squared his shoulders. He had a job to do.
He gathered his things together and went looking for a crossroads. It took him only a few moments to bury his offering.
When she came, he hadn’t expected her to be wearing Jess’s face, and for a moment, it knocked him sideways. If Dean had been watching, he’d have recognized the expression on his little brother’s face and advised the demon to give up while it was still ahead.
“Well, well, well, Sammy Winchester,” purred the demon, and it wasn’t Jess, wasn’t Jess at all. His Jess had never used that sultry drawl, had never worked her body quite that way, all sleaze and promise. His Jess had never had eyes that glowed red as the coals of hell. “I can’t tell you what a pleasure this is.” She walked around him, surveying him with pursed lips, and Sam got the feeling she already felt that she owned him.
“Don’t tell me,” she murmured. “Let me guess. You can’t imagine how life will be without your big brother, and you’ve come to beg me for his life.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Sam’s usually serious face split in an amiable smile. “But you’d be wrong.” His voice began to develop an edge, and she hissed a little, took a step backwards. “I’ve come to tell you that you can’t have him.”
“Oh? And why would that be, may I ask?” Her voice was still honeyed, but the poison in the honey was plainly audible as her smile grew angry enough to cut glass.
“Because you can’t buy what doesn’t belong to the vendor, and Dean belongs to me. He always has.” Sam nodded. “Body and soul. He's been mine ever since he was four, and that’s a vow that’s been renewed over and over again.” It was so simple. The promise had been made again and again, and had been sealed with fire and his mother’s blood.
For a moment, the demon’s face twisted, Jess’s pretty face momentarily altered, lengthened, turned ugly as she snarled. A black, forked tongue writhed, and yellowed teeth like tusks suddenly showed, protruding from thin, pale lips drawn back over a bony jaw.
Sam laughed. “So you can’t have him. I didn’t release him, and he’s mine.”
“There was no blood exchanged. The pledge carries no weight.” Jess’s eyes sparked fury, but her face had returned to its usual aspect.
“How can you be sure of that? I say there was.” In truth, Sam didn’t know, but he thought that Dean might, if he could find him, and he trusted his dad to have done whatever ritual it was that had bound Dean to him most thoroughly. The fact that it had robbed Dean of any life he might have had on his own was immaterial. Sam could use it now, and he’d go through the courts of hell, if that was what it took.
“We’ll find out, won’t we?” She’d recovered some of her composure, or so it seemed, and was now smiling at him again, almost, but not quite his lost love. “Bring him here in five days’ time, and there will be a ruling on this. You win, and you both go free. You lose, and you’re both mine.”
“You bet your demon ass I will,"
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Stumbling away from his tryst, Sam was faced with a new problem. He needed Dean, and Dean had gone. He had five days to find him, and then it would be too late. Trust Dean to complicate things, the stupid, loving asshole!
Sam loaded his gear, and the things Dean had left behind into the Impala and sat behind the wheel. Their conversation of the night before floated back to him, and he found himself annoyed that he hadn’t listened more carefully, contributed more.
Sand-there had been sand, he remembered that. Dean had been talking wistfully about the day they’d spent on a beach back in their childhood. Where had it been? He couldn’t quite remember. Somewhere on the east coast, he thought, starting up the car and pulling away. He was almost out of Maryland, sitting in a diner eating a burger when it finally came back to him.
North Carolina! Now he remembered. Dean had mentioned Shalotte, and that was in North Carolina. The name of the beach floated up then-it had been called Sunset Beach, and the sand had been like sugar. He didn’t have time to mess around searching, but he knew his brother. He would bet his soul-he was betting his soul on that being the place he’d find him.
Gritting his teeth, he began to drive.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Sunset Beach had changed little. When Sam finally found Dean, a day and a half later, his brother didn’t seem at all surprised to see him.
“Sammy, want me to bury you in the sand again?” Dean’s face was already tanned, and he looked boyishly happy as he put the finishing touches to a vast, elaborate sand castle.
“That’s okay, dude,” said Sam, unable to hide the relieved smile that was plastered across his face. “It was your turn to be buried anyway.”
“Got to finish this first.” Dean’s tongue was between his teeth, his air of concentration total as he excavated a tiny drawbridge. “There. What do you think?”
“You’re very talented, dude. I always knew that.” Sam felt the tears spring to the backs of his eyes, and he blinked rapidly in an effort to prevent them from spilling over. “Dean, we’ve got to go back. I found a way.”
“Sorry, Sammy. No can do. I’m at peace with things, and so should you be.” Dean didn’t look up from his task.
“I went to see the crossroads demon,” said Sam, and he saw reality hit Dean like a ton of bricks.
“Sammy, no!” Freckles stood out, livid against the sudden pallor of Dean’s face. “Tell me you didn’t give yourself. Tell me . . .”
“Of course I didn’t. Not like you did, anyway,” he amended, guilt welling in him as he remembered the terms they’d agreed to. “I found a loophole that’s almost a hundred percent proof, but we have to be back to the crossroads to verify it on Thursday, or I lose, and we both go down.”
Sam saw the weight descend onto Dean’s shoulders again-saw it and ached.
“Okay,” said Dean softly and turned to find his boots. Once he’d put them on, he systematically kicked his castle to pieces, returning the sand to the state in which he’d found it.
Dusting off his hands, he walked away, pausing only to call back to his bemused brother.
“Come on, Sam. What’re you waiting for?”
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
They arrived back at the same motel they’d stayed in following their battle with the banshee, with six hours to spare. Dean had been silent for the past several hours after Sam had told him everything about the encounter he’d had with the demon.
He said nothing now, merely tossed his duffel bag onto one of the beds and vanishing into the bathroom. Sam let him go, wishing that this could be over soon. He had always been impatient, and the wait was driving him crazy.
As dusk came, the two of them headed out, Sam driving and Dean lost in his own thoughts, face carefully blank.
When she came, stepping out of the shadows to confront them, she was once again wearing Jess’s face, and Dean was the one that gasped this time, horrified on Sam’s behalf.
“Here you are,” she murmured, and for some reason those words filled Sam with dread. He reached to clutch at his brother’s hand, something he hadn’t done since he was about nine years old.
“What? Did you think we’d miss it?” Dean sounded bored, and his game face was firmly in place. “Don’t be dumb. Consorting with demons is our favorite thing-at least when we’re not gouging out our own eyeballs with sharp sticks it is.”
“Yeah, we’re here, and so are you, but who’s going to do the judging? Not you.” Sam was angry, chin jutting and eyes flashing.
“You don’t trust me? How hurtful.” She walked around, leaned up against Sam, golden hair tickling his nose and making him pull away in distaste. “But don’t worry, my fine crusader against evil. It’s not going to be me.”
“So who . . .?” Sam was anxious now, wondering whether they’d been set up.
There was a shimmer in the air, and a glowing figure emerged from somewhere, and this being wore the face of John Winchester.
“Dad?” Dean’s voice was slightly hoarse.
“Not exactly,” said the creature, managing to whisper and yet shake the trees with the sound of its voice. “But I have your father’s memories. He’s proud of you-of you both.” He looked around at the three others. “But I am told that there is a dispute that requires adjudication. Who is the plaintiff?”
“I am.” The demon stepped forward, hands on her hips. “A year ago, I struck a bargain with Dean Winchester. He was to have a year of life with his brother and then come to me. The year is up.”
“And why am I called to judge?” The creature no longer looked quite so much like John. It was taller, sterner than John had ever been. Sam held up a hand.
“Because Dean’s life wasn’t his to give; he belongs to me. He was given to me over and over, both by him and by dad.” Dean nodded slowly, affirming that.
“There was no blood exchanged,” said the demon, interrupting. “I sought through his memories, and he has no exchange of blood. It was no oath. He is mine.”
There was a long pause, and then the judge-there was no longer any trace of John left in his features-lifted his head. “A binding ritual was enacted when Sam was a year old. A talisman was given to Dean in earnest of the pledge. It seems that John Winchester foresaw this happening. The child Dean promised himself to his little brother, was so pledged by his father, and wears the mark of his servitude to this day.”
Both Sam and Dean looked shocked. The talisman was just something Dean had always worn-something that his father had given him, and he had looked no further than that. The demon, however, let out a scream of rage.
“What happened to, what’s dead should stay dead, Dean?” it snarled.
“What happened to losing with grace?” asked Dean, lip curling in contempt. He turned back to the glowing creature that was watching them. “What happens now?” he asked it, and shivered as his father’s well-loved features reappeared from within the glowing aura.
“What happens is that you go and live out your allotted spans. There will be no repercussions. Your adversary will return to its own place.” The creature waved a hand negligently, and the demon screamed, apparently furious as it faded away. A moment later, and the vision of their father was gone too, swallowed by the night, which had now completed its descent.
Turning to his brother, Sam stepped forward, enfolding him in a tight embrace. “Come on, dude. We’ve got to pack.”
“Pack? Why?” Dean looked utterly confused and there was a gleam in Sam’s eye as he replied.
“We’ve got a sand castle to rebuild, bro. It’s important.”
The sound of Dean’s laughter was warm on the night air as the two of them went to find the Impala, and their future, together.