Keeper of Souls
Disclaimers: I own nothing.
Keeper of Souls
“One Alpha Werewolf. Kibble’s on the house.” Dean toed the gigantic creature lying at his feet. The Big Bad was locked down with more than fifty chains with its veins pumping full of some kind of go-to-werewolf-dreamland concoction they’d had to go to Granpappy for. Not that Dean relished going to Samuel for anything, but getting his brother’s soul back took priority over his distaste at working with the old man. Hell, he’d been timeclocking for a demon. Why quibble?
Looking down at the Alpha Were, Crowley snapped his fingers and several demons appeared, wrenched the werewolf up as Dean backed away, and in a flash were gone just as quickly.
The whole thing was unnerving, but Dean crossed his arms, hiding his anxiousness. The wooded area they were in was still as though the very air held its breath. This was it. It’d taken three months to track down the Alpha and another week of trailing it, trying to discover exactly how to take it down, without actually taking it out so the beast would be undead and healthy enough to trade for Sam’s soul.
“Get to snapping those digits again, Fergus,” Dean growled, keyed up in his worry that everything might go south now that they were so close. God, in mere moments he could have his brother back. It took everything he had to keep from bouncing on his feet. “Sam’s soul for the Alpha. That was the deal.”
Crowley’s hands slipped into his coat pockets. His gaze swept over the leaf-litter where the werewolf had just been. “Well, the thing about that is . . . there’s a bit of red tape I have to get through first.”
“He’s lying,” Sam spoke up. He’d been silent during the entire exchange, long hand pressing a bandana to his side where the Alpha Were got a good swipe in. His eyes narrowed on the self-proclaimed King of Hell. “He never did have it.”
Dean’s heart rate ramped up in speed. He imagined if there were any lingering minor werewolves in the area, it would sound like the frightened pulse of a wounded animal. He stepped up to Sam’s side. Robo Sam was a lot of things Dean hated, but his methodical brain read body language like mathematical equations. “How can you tell?”
“He looks down first, then stares you straight in the face when he hands you the lie.”
Crowley’s gaze flipped up. He stepped right up beneath Sam’s face and poked a finger at the hunter’s side. “Best take care of that. Wouldn’t want any careless infections to drag you back before you get your soul free and clear.”
Sam didn’t even blink. “Now he’s deflecting.”
Which wasn’t at all what Dean wanted to hear. He wanted Crowley to have Sam’s soul. Crowley was a son of a bitch, but he was a son of a bitch he could deal with. Demon or no demon, Dean lunged forward and grabbed Crowley by his lapels. “You slimy piece of crap-“ His hands were suddenly clutching air and he was stumbling forward.
Crowley stood several feet away, smoothing out his jacket, his face red. He lifted a hand toward Sam, though he looked at Dean, roaring, “I warned you once what would happen if you lost composure and acted like you!”
A jangling sound tinkled across the air.
Dean and Crowley both jerked their heads toward Sam. Sam held his key ring up, the keys he no longer needed to the crappy Charger that Castiel took a header onto.
Crowley huffed. “Going for a drive, are you?”
Sam’s features stretched into his new bitchface. Not the old one that used to pack all his annoyance into one expression, but this new one that appeared more as a facial shrug as Pinocchio attempted to convey any type of emotion that he thought he was supposed to show. It gave Dean the chills.
“Not me.” Sam wiggled the keys, catching glints on the metal in the moonlight. Looking closer, Dean saw a few other trinkets hanging from the ring. A small cross, a few other religious symbols, something that looked like a curved tooth?
“See.” Sam stepped closer to Crowley, dangling the keys right up into the demons face. “I remember Hell. All of it. All the blood and gore and screams and bones and torture.” Dean’s hands clenched, going numb. His throat muscles swelled, choking. He never wanted to hear this, especially not the way his brother recited it as though it was inconsequential. So calmly. It ripped Dean to shreds. “I remember other things too. Hell’s walls are paper thin. You can hear everything.”
“By design, Moose.” Though it was said with venom, even Crowley seemed uncertain listening to Sam. “Thin walls and you get to hear all the fun the couple in the next room are having. Did you enjoy the other screams? The bones snapping?”
“Once you learn to tune that out, you can hear things beyond. Voices. Whispers. Plans. Knowledge. There’s knowledge in Hell.”
Sam’s gaze shifted to his key chain and Crowley visibly paled. One side of Sam’s lip twitched up. “Should have taken better inventory of what’s yours, laddie.”
Crowley went to snatch the key chain, but Sam pulled it back high out of his reach. “Did you really think I would let you walk away from Scotland with all of your bones?”
Dean looked at the little tooth swaying from the ring. Not a tooth. A bone.
Crowley rolled his eyes. “So what, you have my big toe. Going to make me stub it? Oh. My. That’s going to hurt.”
Sam stared at him and began reciting Latin.
“What’s that?” Crowley took a step back. “What are you doing?” He looked to Dean. “What is he doing?”
Dean shrugged, enjoying the demon’s discomfort. “What are you doing, Sam?” he asked blandly.
“Burning the rest of Crowley’s bones.”
Crowley whirled back. “That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” Sam went back to his recitation. “All I need is one piece to set off the others.”
“Why you sodding little prick!” Crowley stepped forward. “I’m going to send you back to Hell right now.”
Dean shouldered between them. Shifting back, Sam lifted the keys. “Just one word left, Crowley.”
The demon stopped.
“The incantation’s in place. Just one word and your bones are toast. And I can still say it from Hell, so if you want to send me back, go ahead.”
Crowley glared. Finally he rolled his head, cracking his neck before straightening his collar. “Fine. You win this round.”
“Yep,” Dean said. “Looks like you’re our little bitch.”
Crowley’s lips pressed into a thin line. Dean smiled widely. He was loving this. He rubbed his hands together, getting some warmth with the friction. “Now you listen to me, you punk-ass demon. You’re done playing us. No more lies. Where is Sam’s soul?”
Crowley’s eyes bulged even larger. “I don’t know.”
Sam lifted the keys, lowered his head, and said one syllable in Latin.
“All right! Just stop.”
Sam stopped.
“I really don’t know the whereabouts of said soul. Just wait.” Crowley flung out a hand. “I can tell you where it’s not. It’s not in Hell. Not in any nook, labyrinth, fire pit, or Lucifer’s cage. Never was. As it turns out, Hell wasn’t equipped to contain a soul that didn’t belong there. Got spit out almost immediately.“
Dean looked to Sam for confirmation.
Sam shook his head, his forehead creasing. “He’s not lying.”
“So where’d it go?” Dean turned back to get more answers, but the demon was gone. Guess Crowley felt he fulfilled his bitch quota for the day.
“Dude!” Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder. “That was awesome! So now we have Crowley on the collar?”
“At least until he figures out that I was bluffing.”
Dean stilled. “There is no bone burning spell?”
Sam shrugged.
“Is that even his bone?”
“Yeah. I thought it might come in handy for . . . ” Sam grimaced, pressed the bandana more firmly to his side. It was saturated with blood.
Dean frowned. “Oh, here. You should sit down.”
Sam put his hand out, stopping Dean from assisting him. “I got it,” he said, lowering to the ground on his own steam.
“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, hurt by the reminder that this was still not his brother and the best lead they had to getting his soul back had just gone bust. He still hovered though, still lowered to his knees beside Sam, because . . . well, dammit, because soul or no soul, this was still part of Sam and he was still hurt . . . besides, well, when he got his brother’s soul back, he was going to need his body in one piece. So Cyborg Sam could just deal with Dean worrying.
He about jumped out of his skin when Sam’s hand clamped over his forearm.
“Dean. I’m afraid.”
The quiet admission made him flinch, made his heart collide powerfully against his ribcage. It sounded so much like his Sam, it felt like the world had come to a complete stop. Dean’s gaze lifted to Sam’s and his muscles turned to gelatin. Sam’s brows were drawn down over troubled eyes.
“Sammy?” Dean heard himself whisper.
Sam’s head tilted. “I wasn’t lying to Crowley. I do remember Hell and . . .” His eyes darted. “I’m not afraid afraid. Yet I am.” He lifted his bloody hand from his side. “This hurts and it doesn’t bother me, not really, but I know that anytime I get hurt, I can die, and I will be ripped back to Hell. Hell hurts. That bothers me on some level.” His brows squeezed harder in the way they did when Sam tried to verbalize what he couldn’t feel. “That makes me afraid.” He looked up at Dean as though Dean could make some sense out of it. “I think. At least I think what this is . . .” His hands swirled around in front of his chest. “. . . inside is fear.”
“You think it’s fear.”
Sam gave him that new bitchfaceshrug. “Best I can do. It’s in my head. And it’s in my chest. But the two aren’t quite connecting. I’m sorry.”
Dean hated when Sam said he was sorry like that, because he wasn’t sorry. He couldn’t feel being sorry. But this other stuff, afraid of Hell’s pain . . . well, Dean guessed that was large enough to put the scare in anyone’s bones, even soulless Sammy bones.
He placed his hand on the younger hunter’s shoulder whether Sam wanted him to or not. “Don’t worry about this. You’re not going back to Hell. And Cas . . . Cas can fix this up.”
“I’m not worried.”
“No. But you’re afraid,” Dean countered, and wasn’t it a crazy screwed up thing that Dean felt even remotely happy about his little brother being afraid. “Cas!”
#
"Thanks for coming, Cas."
"Of course." The angel had zapped them from the woodland to their current hotel room. "Are you certain Sam's soul is no longer in Hell? You know demons lie."
Dean glanced over at Sam, fully healed and rummaging through his tidy pack for a fresh unbloodied shirt. "Of course I know demons lie. Everyone lies. Angels too. No offense. But on this, I don't think so." Dean scrubbed a hand back through his hair. "So where else could it be? 'Cause, Cas, we got nothing. No leads -"
"There's one resource." Castiel blinked out of sight, kicking up an unseen flutter of wings in his wake.
"That's just great," Dean muttered, turning toward Sam, but coming face to face with Castiel instead. He had a hold of the angel-turned-dealer Balthazar by the arm.
"You call this being even?" Balthazar shook his arm out of Castiel's grasp.
"I'll owe you another favor. This is important," Castiel nearly growled.
Balthazar's lips puckered. "Oh I like that. Sherriff of Heaven owing me. All right then. What'd you need? I'm guessing it has to do with these two mucking up the title fight of the millennium. You know I had good money wagered on that."
"You're breaking my heart," Dean grouched.
"What were the odds?" Sam drew near.
"Sam!" Dean snapped.
Sam shrugged. "Just wondering."
Castiel's lowered eyes jerked up. "Balthazar, you've been dealing for souls to sell. Have you had any dealings to do with Sam Winchester's soul?"
Dean went very still, waiting for the angel to answer.
"Who . . . and several whats . . . hasn't offered me a deal to get it for them? Multiple parties are after Sam Winchester's bright and shiny."
"Why?" Sam's head cocked.
Balthazar stared at him. "You really have no idea, do you? Think your soul's all tarnished and banged up, is it? That those souls who have only known good, made all the correct choices, worked at soup kitchens in their spare time would have more value?
"Where you, someone who has screwed up time and time again, yet in the end, redeemed himself would have no worth? You monkeys have no comprehension of what makes something valuable. Compared to the soul of a redeemed man, those other souls are like the flame of a lit match next to the sun.
"I get requests daily for just one piece of your soul, and I'll tell you in truth, I'd barter for it in a heartbeat." Balthazar turned to Castiel. "But I don't know where it is."
"Who's looking for it then?" Castiel leaned into Balthazar's face. "Names."
"Broker, client privilege, old fella." Balthazar looked at the shine of his nails like he was bored.
Castiel wasn't so easily put off. "Names. Now."
"You know I won't do that. My discretion is what keeps me in business. Besides, it doesn't matter. No one has it. Not through me at any rate. And it's all kinds looking for it. Demons, Witches, Demi-gods, Alphas, Angels. No one knows where it is, which is rather odd, considering a soul that radiant couldn't just be bouncing around the world without throwing off a beacon like a radioactive lighthouse."
"It has to be contained somewhere. Hidden." Castiel frowned, making lines crease his forehead.
"So we find out who hid it?" Dean zeroed in on the main point He'd been following the angel's conversation with growing apprehension. It wasn't bad enough he'd been stuck with Wooden Boy as a sidekick, but all the usual fuglies were still after his brother's soul. Would the kid never catch a break? "If it's throwing off such a large spark, there shouldn't be that many places to hide it. Narrow down the possibilities."
"That's exactly the problem." Castiel whirled away and started pacing. "If Hell didn't have the resources to contain it, there really can't be too many other possibilities."
"Heaven?"
"Nope. Not there," Balthazar was quick to answer. "I've searched."
"Bet you have." Sam's voice went quiet. "Then what about Purgatory?"
"No." Balthazar put his hand up. "Just trust me on that one."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "You know where Purgatory is?"
"I know your soul isn't there and that's all you're going to get." Balthazar looked to Castiel. "One favor, brother. Focus on the problem at hand."
Lips tight, Castiel nodded. "Sam's soul would have to be contained in something that could hold it. Something its equal."
"So . . . " Dean felt like a kindergartner trying to do calculus. "Something large."
"Not necessarily." Cas's pacing slapped across the carpet. "Equal as in likeness. It works the same way as trying to pour new wine into an old bottle. The bottle and wine have to age together or the bottle will shatter, ruining the wine. The container would have to be something that has also known evil, wrong choices, and redemption . . ."
Both Balthazar and Castiel turned to look at Dean. Dean shrank back, not liking the intensity of their stares.
"Has his personality changed at all?" Balthazar stepped closer.
"He is more emotional. He cries a lot."
Dean shifted back. "Screw you. I do not."
"And gets angry."
"And that's not like him?"
"Not to this degree, no. That's the usual . . ." Cas flashed air quotes ". . . MO . . . of Sam Winchester."
"Huh." Sam crossed his arms over his chest.
Both angels moved into Dean's personal space. Balthazar grasped Dean's face, pulled his eyelid up the same way Cas had once done to Sam. "How do you feel?"
"Right now? All kinds of creeped."
He glanced back and forth between two sets of curious eyes. "Oh come on! You think I have Sam's soul?"
"It's possible." Balthazar twisted to look in Dean's ear. "From what I've heard of these two, he'd be so accustomed to his brother, so attuned his entire life, he'd never feel it as anything alien inside him because their souls have always been interwoven."
"You're serious?" As the angels moved closer to Dean, Sam stepped farther away.
All of Castiel's focus seemed to pour into Dean. "It should have occurred to me before. In a very literal sense you have always been the keeper of Sam's soul. Once it was set adrift from Hell, unable to find Sam's body, it would seek out what is familiar. I'm sorry, but it does make a strange sort of logic."
"No it doesn't." Dean backed away until he felt the bed behind him. "Don't you think if I had Sam's soul hitchhiking I'd know it?"
"No," both angels said at once.
"One way to find out." Balthazar extended his hand and Dean jumped onto the bed and scrambled to the other side, snagging a pillow which he put in front of his chest as though that could hold off a determined angel.
"Dean." Castiel moved around the foot of the bed. These were the situations where he really missed his brother, because his Sammy wouldn't just stand there. His Sammy would be shouldering the angels aside or at least trying to reason with Dean with his full on pleading eyes. "Don't you want to know for sure?"
Which was the crux of it. He did want to know. Needed to know the same way his lungs needed oxygen. "Fine." He threw down the pillow. "But you do it, Cas. Don't need a stranger groping around inside all my outstanding wholesomeness."
"Here." Sam had taken off his belt, offered it to Dean. No sorry you have to go through this, I'll be here with you, just hang on . . .
Dean just glanced at him and took the belt, placed it between his teeth . . . and a volcano erupted inside him. Way to give a guy warning, Cas. Holy crap, seeing Cas's arm disappear inside his stomach was one thing, but feeling the appendage actually moving around inside his innards was something else altogether, but it's what his brain decided to focus on because focusing on the pain traveling through his system organ by organ, bone to sinew, clenching his muscles, stealing his breath, was damn near agonizingly more than he could take.
He sagged when Cas slid his hand out. At least Sam was there faster than the floor was, pulling him back to sit on the bed, even though his brother released him a mere second later. Dean pulled hard drafts of air back into his heaving lungs. "At least wash your hands next time, would ya?"
Cas lifted his hands, turning them, a frown marring his forehead. "My hands are always clean."
Dean rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. His stomach hurt so bad he wanted to vomit. "Well?"
Castiel glanced up at Sam. "Sam's soul is inside you. Nestled up tight against yours."
Shocked silence thrummed through the room.
Dean felt his world slowly spin off its axis. Or maybe it was just him as he felt himself lean, swaying to the side. Sam's soul had been with him the entire time and he didn't know quite how to feel about that. Profoundly relieved or impossibly icked out. He shuddered, pushing the weirdness of it all away. Sam's soul was here, with him. Safe. It'd been with him all along.
"So how do we get it out of me and back into Sam?"
Part Two