Fic: By the Grace of You
365 days of traveling around the country. Exorcising demons inadvertently let out of the gate, hunting creatures straight out of nightmares. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business.
525,600 minutes of Sam at his side, alive and well, protecting his back. Sam, his brother, his whole purpose for living, and everything good about his life.
One year. The last year of his life.
Now counting down the last minutes alone.
Seemed only fitting to end it like it started, back in Wyoming. Not at the cowboy cemetery though; guarded as it was by the huge Devil's Trap, for Dean to hide out there could have been construed as trying to welsh on the deal. Instead, Dean found himself taking temporary refuge in one of the old churches constructed by Samuel Colt that made up the points of the iron pentagram.
The building was old and basically deserted, but solid and still in fairly good repair. Dean sat on one of the pews, the sanctuary lit only by the palm gleam of the waning moon. He tried not to look too hard into the creeping shadows, or listen to the wind outside that echoed with the distant sound of howling.
It was funny, in an ironic sort of way, that for all his professed disbelief, Dean did believe in the power behind the church and its faith. Not in God, because Dean had yet to see proof that He existed or cared, but in belief itself. Like a tulpa, the power came from people and their faith in their own belief. That, Dean could believe in, because he could see the results of that power every time the Latin prayers rolled off his tongue to send a demon back to hell.
Now, he believed that power could protect him, if he chose to let it. He could stay here and the demon and her hell hounds wouldn't be able to touch him. But that protection would come at the cost of Sam's life. For Dean, that was simply too high a price.
His watch gave the only artificial light in the place, counting down the remaining minutes to midnight. Dean didn't know when they'd come for him, but that's when he planned to leave, to wait for them out on the road. Not quite a crossroads, but it would do.
Looking up at the cross hanging from the wall, Dean considered praying. But to whom? Who would listen to a man who had bartered away his soul to a demon, let alone take pity on him? There was no one to help him.
God knows Sam had tried, though. Dean couldn't fault his brother for that. He knew that Sam had combed every single resource possible, devoting himself to saving his brother even as he made sure to keep Dean as ignorant as possible. But every lead petered out, every hope squashed, and Dean knew it even before last week, when Sam had hung his head and admitted in a low, painful voice that he didn't know how to save him.
A long howl split the uneasy night silence, and Dean shivered. He'd left Sam at a motel, not wanting his brother to see this, but he admitted to himself that he wished he wasn't alone. He wanted to hold Sam close to him one last time, feel him alive and whole in his arms, smell him in and hope that memory would hold him for eternity . . .
Reaching over to his leather jacket bundled on the seat next to him, he traced the outline of his cell phone. He'd called Bobby earlier, telling him where Sam was and to look out for his brother after . . . He could take it out, call Sam and tell him where he was, spend his last minutes alive with the one person he loved most . . .
The door creaked loudly as it opened, shredding the quiet of the church and making Dean jump nearly out of his skin. For a wild moment he thought of belief, that it failed him again, that the demon had crossed sacred ground to collect his debt. The next second he thought that maybe there was a God who heard and granted the prayers of a desperate man, because Sam was walking towards him up the aisle.
He waited until Sam stood before him, looking down at him with dark eyes shimmering with moonlight. "How'd you find me?"
"I'm your brother," Sam said as if that was all the answer he needed. And maybe it was.
Neither spoke for several long moments, everything they needed to say right in their eyes. Then Sam sighed and knelt down before his brother, looking up into his eyes. "Dean, I promised I would save you."
"I know, Sam. It's okay." Offering absolution when he had none for himself.
"No," Sam insisted, blinking harshly as if fighting back tears. "No, it's not okay. You sold your soul for me, and --"
"Don't get mad at me," Dean cut him off, refusing to acknowledge the burn at the back of his eyes. "I did what I had to do, and I don't regret it." He reached out and placed his hand on the side of Sam's neck, fingers lightly petting. He didn't see a single reason now for not indulging his desire to touch his brother, to memorize the feel of him and touch the pulse lightly thudding against the soft skin.
"I'm not mad at you. Well, not anymore," Sam amended with a sad smile, leaning into the touch. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, then looked back up at Dean. "You would do anything for me, and you have. What kind of a brother would I be if I wouldn't do the same for you?"
An ugly suspicion rose in Dean's mind, and his hand shifted to grab Sam's collar. "Sam, don't you dare!" he gritted.
Sam shook his head, lips twisting in disgust as one hand clasped over Dean's. "Don't worry, I'm not going to make a deal. I'm sick of playing with demons." He loosened Dean's fist and entwined their fingers, bringing their clasped hands down to rest over his heart. "Dean, I won't let her have you. I can't."
"What can you do, Sammy?" Dean whispered, brow furrowing. "There's no way to break the deal. Not without losing you."
"You're not going to lose me," Sam whispered, inching closer. "And I'm not going to lose you. Have faith."
"That's your job, Sammy." Dean glanced up at the cross again, polished wood reflecting a sliver of cold moonlight. An inanimate relic, by itself useless, powerless. It only meant anything because people wanted it to mean something, to believe in something greater than themselves.
"If you can't have faith in God, then have faith in me."
Their eyes met again, and even in the dim light the gaze Sam leveled at him seemed to cut him straight to his soul.
Now that Dean could believe in. He knew right down in his core that Sam could do anything he wanted, through dint of will, sheer determination brought on by patented Winchester stubbornness. Why believe in an invisible, uncaring God when his miraculous brother was right in front of him?
All he needed to do was believe. Believe in Sam, have faith in his brother, kneeling before him on the floor of this dusty moonlit church like a penitent worshipper. Because with that belief came power. Maybe, just maybe, it could be enough.
"Okay."
That single whisper, a statement of faith, cut through the shadows, made them impotent against the two brothers sitting there in the light. Silence hung in the air, deafening any noises from outside in the dark.
Sam smiled, a graceful twist of his lips as his eyes trailed over Dean's face as if absorbing every detail. Dean felt Sam's heart beat steady and true under his hand, and knew his own was in perfect sync. He believed in Sam, more than he believed in himself. So if Sam said everything would be okay, then it would be.
Slowly Sam wrapped one hand in the front of Dean's shirt and tugged him down until they were face to face. "That bitch can't have you," he whispered, breath a warm puff against Dean's lips. "You're mine. "
Then their lips met, and Dean forgot about the demon, the deal, the darkness surrounding them, everything except the exquisite feel of Sam kissing him. They pressed together harder, Dean feeling as if he could drown himself in his brother, just let himself be wrapped up in warmth and safety he hadn't known since he was four.
The kiss deepened, Sam's tongue tentatively swiping across Dean's lips before they parted with a groan. Licking into each other's mouths, tasting, touching, breathing in each other until they didn't know where one stopped and the other began.
A frizzle of electricity shot through Dean, making his entire body shudder. And suddenly he could feel Sam, everywhere around him and deep inside him, connected on some level so base it amazed him he hadn't felt this before. He could always sense his brother, but it was like listening to music on low from the room at the opposite end of the motel. Now it was as if he was sitting in the Impala, music cranked up so loud his entire being throbbed with it, saturated.
A harsh beeping cut through his awareness, and they broke apart, gasping for breath. Dean glanced down at his watch -- midnight. It was time. Helplessly he looked at Sam, wanting so much . . .
But Sam only stood, smiled. "Trust me?" Dean swallowed hard and nodded, allowing Sam to pull him to his feet. Briefly Sam cupped his face and placed another lingering kiss on his lips, then murmured, "We should go outside."
Straightening his shoulders, Dean settled himself and led the way, Sam a breath behind him, fingers brushing. The doors were stubborn, eventually prying open with a protesting groan, and the brothers Winchester stepped out into the night.
She was there, waiting. Tall, pretty brunette with blood-red eyes, ruby lips flashing him a predatory smile. "Hello Dean. I was wondering if you were going to show." She glanced at Sam, eyes evaluating him with amusement. "Come to say goodbye to big brother? Better hurry; my pets are waiting."
"I don't think so, bitch," Sam growled, hand placed protectively at the small of Dean's back, spreading warmth up his spine.
She tsk'ed scoldingly. "Now Sam, we had a deal. And there's nothing you can do to break it, unless you want to go back to being dead and rotting. Not a good look for you, I must say."
Sam only glared at her, daring as he stepped closer and leaned slightly into Dean. Unsure of what was going to happen, but willing to trust, Dean leaned back, tips of his fingers brushing the denim over Sam's thigh. The demon considered them with derision, shaking her head.
"Time to go, Dean," the demon cooed, beckoning him forward. Neither brother moved. She frowned and stepped forward, and Dean could see flaming eyes appear out of the darkness around them as growls rumbled through the night. The hell hounds were clearly itching to pounce, wanting to rip and tear and shred the soul right out of him. But their mistress had come to collect in person.
She was there, right in front of him, close enough that Dean could smell the sulfur and ash on her breath. He didn't step back, though, just took strength from the warmth of Sam's hand on his back and body at his side. He believed.
Her lips pressed against his, and he hated the fact that his last act in life was her kissing the taste of Sam off his lips.
But then Dean felt a shock, like a spark jumping from him to her, and she broke the kiss with an outraged yell, stumbling back. "What the hell did you do?!" she screamed, red eyes fixed malevolently on Sam, who smirked openly.
"You can't take the both of us," he said pleasantly. "That goes against the terms of your deal. Either I die, or he dies. Not both of us."
The demon was clearly fuming, the air thick with her rage. Dean felt oddly calm as he turned to Sam. "What did you do?"
"Well . . ." Sam scratched the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. "Basically, I offered you my soul."
"What?"
"I told you I was through dealing with demons. By offering my soul, and you accepting it, we're sharing. It's a part of you now, I'm a part of you. Which means if she takes you to Hell, I go too. But the exchange was made on the terms that if you died, I would live, and vise versa. She can't take us both, or else she'd nullify the whole deal, which she can't do as it would break the contract."
Dean thought about that for a second. "Sam, you would make one kick-ass lawyer."
The crossroads demon snarled at him, her beauty marred by the ugly twist of fury. "Damn you Winchesters! Only you would figure out how to break an iron-clad contract with a marriage!"
Dean quirked an eyebrow at Sam, more amused than anything, but Sam was avoiding his eyes at the moment, clearly embarrassed. Instead he addressed the demon. "Get out of here. We're done here."
She glared at him. "One day, you two are going to be desperate again, desperate enough to try and summon me. I guarantee you won't find me in a generous mood." She turned to go, but only made it a few steps before she stopped short. Confused for a second, she looked down, and Dean followed her gaze to the lines of dark powder on the road.
Sam grinned wolfishly. "Devil's Trap, traced in goofer dust."
Dean matched his grin and clapped his brother on the chest. "See, that's why you're the brains of the operation." He glanced at the furious girl caught in the middle of the road. "You wanna do the honors?"
One exorcism later, and a confused girl guided back to town, Dean sat on the hood of the Impala, Sam warm against his side as they stared up at the stars.
"Marriage?"
"Um . . . well, the ritual I used is ancient, has some ties to early Christianity but probably originated in pagan beliefs . . ." he saw the look Dean gave him and cut the lecture short. "It's the same principle behind the first kiss sealing the wedding vows, a sharing of breath symbolizing a sharing of souls. This was just a bit more literal."
Dean nodded, eyes raised up to the heavens as he examined this development, this awareness of Sam in him, deep in his heart and soul, just as he knew he was now as deeply ingrained in Sam. Yes, it was weird, but what in their lives wasn't?
The year had ended as it began, in darkness on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere. But he was still here, as was Sam, and Dean couldn't ask for anything more than that. Even better, he'd gained something he'd never even dared hope for. Glancing over at his brother, he felt like he'd been given a clean slate. He had never expected to live to see his 30th birthday, and then the deal guaranteed that, counting down his life.
Now the future stretched ahead of him, brighter than he'd ever seen, with his Sam right there every step of the way.
Dean chuckled, and Sam glanced over at him, pressed against his side knee to shoulder. "What's so funny?"
He grinned at his brother before leaning over for a quick kiss. "Dude, you always did want to get married in a church."
525,600 minutes of Sam at his side, alive and well, protecting his back. Sam, his brother, his whole purpose for living, and everything good about his life.
One year. The last year of his life.
Now counting down the last minutes alone.
Seemed only fitting to end it like it started, back in Wyoming. Not at the cowboy cemetery though; guarded as it was by the huge Devil's Trap, for Dean to hide out there could have been construed as trying to welsh on the deal. Instead, Dean found himself taking temporary refuge in one of the old churches constructed by Samuel Colt that made up the points of the iron pentagram.
The building was old and basically deserted, but solid and still in fairly good repair. Dean sat on one of the pews, the sanctuary lit only by the palm gleam of the waning moon. He tried not to look too hard into the creeping shadows, or listen to the wind outside that echoed with the distant sound of howling.
It was funny, in an ironic sort of way, that for all his professed disbelief, Dean did believe in the power behind the church and its faith. Not in God, because Dean had yet to see proof that He existed or cared, but in belief itself. Like a tulpa, the power came from people and their faith in their own belief. That, Dean could believe in, because he could see the results of that power every time the Latin prayers rolled off his tongue to send a demon back to hell.
Now, he believed that power could protect him, if he chose to let it. He could stay here and the demon and her hell hounds wouldn't be able to touch him. But that protection would come at the cost of Sam's life. For Dean, that was simply too high a price.
His watch gave the only artificial light in the place, counting down the remaining minutes to midnight. Dean didn't know when they'd come for him, but that's when he planned to leave, to wait for them out on the road. Not quite a crossroads, but it would do.
Looking up at the cross hanging from the wall, Dean considered praying. But to whom? Who would listen to a man who had bartered away his soul to a demon, let alone take pity on him? There was no one to help him.
God knows Sam had tried, though. Dean couldn't fault his brother for that. He knew that Sam had combed every single resource possible, devoting himself to saving his brother even as he made sure to keep Dean as ignorant as possible. But every lead petered out, every hope squashed, and Dean knew it even before last week, when Sam had hung his head and admitted in a low, painful voice that he didn't know how to save him.
A long howl split the uneasy night silence, and Dean shivered. He'd left Sam at a motel, not wanting his brother to see this, but he admitted to himself that he wished he wasn't alone. He wanted to hold Sam close to him one last time, feel him alive and whole in his arms, smell him in and hope that memory would hold him for eternity . . .
Reaching over to his leather jacket bundled on the seat next to him, he traced the outline of his cell phone. He'd called Bobby earlier, telling him where Sam was and to look out for his brother after . . . He could take it out, call Sam and tell him where he was, spend his last minutes alive with the one person he loved most . . .
The door creaked loudly as it opened, shredding the quiet of the church and making Dean jump nearly out of his skin. For a wild moment he thought of belief, that it failed him again, that the demon had crossed sacred ground to collect his debt. The next second he thought that maybe there was a God who heard and granted the prayers of a desperate man, because Sam was walking towards him up the aisle.
He waited until Sam stood before him, looking down at him with dark eyes shimmering with moonlight. "How'd you find me?"
"I'm your brother," Sam said as if that was all the answer he needed. And maybe it was.
Neither spoke for several long moments, everything they needed to say right in their eyes. Then Sam sighed and knelt down before his brother, looking up into his eyes. "Dean, I promised I would save you."
"I know, Sam. It's okay." Offering absolution when he had none for himself.
"No," Sam insisted, blinking harshly as if fighting back tears. "No, it's not okay. You sold your soul for me, and --"
"Don't get mad at me," Dean cut him off, refusing to acknowledge the burn at the back of his eyes. "I did what I had to do, and I don't regret it." He reached out and placed his hand on the side of Sam's neck, fingers lightly petting. He didn't see a single reason now for not indulging his desire to touch his brother, to memorize the feel of him and touch the pulse lightly thudding against the soft skin.
"I'm not mad at you. Well, not anymore," Sam amended with a sad smile, leaning into the touch. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, then looked back up at Dean. "You would do anything for me, and you have. What kind of a brother would I be if I wouldn't do the same for you?"
An ugly suspicion rose in Dean's mind, and his hand shifted to grab Sam's collar. "Sam, don't you dare!" he gritted.
Sam shook his head, lips twisting in disgust as one hand clasped over Dean's. "Don't worry, I'm not going to make a deal. I'm sick of playing with demons." He loosened Dean's fist and entwined their fingers, bringing their clasped hands down to rest over his heart. "Dean, I won't let her have you. I can't."
"What can you do, Sammy?" Dean whispered, brow furrowing. "There's no way to break the deal. Not without losing you."
"You're not going to lose me," Sam whispered, inching closer. "And I'm not going to lose you. Have faith."
"That's your job, Sammy." Dean glanced up at the cross again, polished wood reflecting a sliver of cold moonlight. An inanimate relic, by itself useless, powerless. It only meant anything because people wanted it to mean something, to believe in something greater than themselves.
"If you can't have faith in God, then have faith in me."
Their eyes met again, and even in the dim light the gaze Sam leveled at him seemed to cut him straight to his soul.
Now that Dean could believe in. He knew right down in his core that Sam could do anything he wanted, through dint of will, sheer determination brought on by patented Winchester stubbornness. Why believe in an invisible, uncaring God when his miraculous brother was right in front of him?
All he needed to do was believe. Believe in Sam, have faith in his brother, kneeling before him on the floor of this dusty moonlit church like a penitent worshipper. Because with that belief came power. Maybe, just maybe, it could be enough.
"Okay."
That single whisper, a statement of faith, cut through the shadows, made them impotent against the two brothers sitting there in the light. Silence hung in the air, deafening any noises from outside in the dark.
Sam smiled, a graceful twist of his lips as his eyes trailed over Dean's face as if absorbing every detail. Dean felt Sam's heart beat steady and true under his hand, and knew his own was in perfect sync. He believed in Sam, more than he believed in himself. So if Sam said everything would be okay, then it would be.
Slowly Sam wrapped one hand in the front of Dean's shirt and tugged him down until they were face to face. "That bitch can't have you," he whispered, breath a warm puff against Dean's lips. "You're mine. "
Then their lips met, and Dean forgot about the demon, the deal, the darkness surrounding them, everything except the exquisite feel of Sam kissing him. They pressed together harder, Dean feeling as if he could drown himself in his brother, just let himself be wrapped up in warmth and safety he hadn't known since he was four.
The kiss deepened, Sam's tongue tentatively swiping across Dean's lips before they parted with a groan. Licking into each other's mouths, tasting, touching, breathing in each other until they didn't know where one stopped and the other began.
A frizzle of electricity shot through Dean, making his entire body shudder. And suddenly he could feel Sam, everywhere around him and deep inside him, connected on some level so base it amazed him he hadn't felt this before. He could always sense his brother, but it was like listening to music on low from the room at the opposite end of the motel. Now it was as if he was sitting in the Impala, music cranked up so loud his entire being throbbed with it, saturated.
A harsh beeping cut through his awareness, and they broke apart, gasping for breath. Dean glanced down at his watch -- midnight. It was time. Helplessly he looked at Sam, wanting so much . . .
But Sam only stood, smiled. "Trust me?" Dean swallowed hard and nodded, allowing Sam to pull him to his feet. Briefly Sam cupped his face and placed another lingering kiss on his lips, then murmured, "We should go outside."
Straightening his shoulders, Dean settled himself and led the way, Sam a breath behind him, fingers brushing. The doors were stubborn, eventually prying open with a protesting groan, and the brothers Winchester stepped out into the night.
She was there, waiting. Tall, pretty brunette with blood-red eyes, ruby lips flashing him a predatory smile. "Hello Dean. I was wondering if you were going to show." She glanced at Sam, eyes evaluating him with amusement. "Come to say goodbye to big brother? Better hurry; my pets are waiting."
"I don't think so, bitch," Sam growled, hand placed protectively at the small of Dean's back, spreading warmth up his spine.
She tsk'ed scoldingly. "Now Sam, we had a deal. And there's nothing you can do to break it, unless you want to go back to being dead and rotting. Not a good look for you, I must say."
Sam only glared at her, daring as he stepped closer and leaned slightly into Dean. Unsure of what was going to happen, but willing to trust, Dean leaned back, tips of his fingers brushing the denim over Sam's thigh. The demon considered them with derision, shaking her head.
"Time to go, Dean," the demon cooed, beckoning him forward. Neither brother moved. She frowned and stepped forward, and Dean could see flaming eyes appear out of the darkness around them as growls rumbled through the night. The hell hounds were clearly itching to pounce, wanting to rip and tear and shred the soul right out of him. But their mistress had come to collect in person.
She was there, right in front of him, close enough that Dean could smell the sulfur and ash on her breath. He didn't step back, though, just took strength from the warmth of Sam's hand on his back and body at his side. He believed.
Her lips pressed against his, and he hated the fact that his last act in life was her kissing the taste of Sam off his lips.
But then Dean felt a shock, like a spark jumping from him to her, and she broke the kiss with an outraged yell, stumbling back. "What the hell did you do?!" she screamed, red eyes fixed malevolently on Sam, who smirked openly.
"You can't take the both of us," he said pleasantly. "That goes against the terms of your deal. Either I die, or he dies. Not both of us."
The demon was clearly fuming, the air thick with her rage. Dean felt oddly calm as he turned to Sam. "What did you do?"
"Well . . ." Sam scratched the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. "Basically, I offered you my soul."
"What?"
"I told you I was through dealing with demons. By offering my soul, and you accepting it, we're sharing. It's a part of you now, I'm a part of you. Which means if she takes you to Hell, I go too. But the exchange was made on the terms that if you died, I would live, and vise versa. She can't take us both, or else she'd nullify the whole deal, which she can't do as it would break the contract."
Dean thought about that for a second. "Sam, you would make one kick-ass lawyer."
The crossroads demon snarled at him, her beauty marred by the ugly twist of fury. "Damn you Winchesters! Only you would figure out how to break an iron-clad contract with a marriage!"
Dean quirked an eyebrow at Sam, more amused than anything, but Sam was avoiding his eyes at the moment, clearly embarrassed. Instead he addressed the demon. "Get out of here. We're done here."
She glared at him. "One day, you two are going to be desperate again, desperate enough to try and summon me. I guarantee you won't find me in a generous mood." She turned to go, but only made it a few steps before she stopped short. Confused for a second, she looked down, and Dean followed her gaze to the lines of dark powder on the road.
Sam grinned wolfishly. "Devil's Trap, traced in goofer dust."
Dean matched his grin and clapped his brother on the chest. "See, that's why you're the brains of the operation." He glanced at the furious girl caught in the middle of the road. "You wanna do the honors?"
One exorcism later, and a confused girl guided back to town, Dean sat on the hood of the Impala, Sam warm against his side as they stared up at the stars.
"Marriage?"
"Um . . . well, the ritual I used is ancient, has some ties to early Christianity but probably originated in pagan beliefs . . ." he saw the look Dean gave him and cut the lecture short. "It's the same principle behind the first kiss sealing the wedding vows, a sharing of breath symbolizing a sharing of souls. This was just a bit more literal."
Dean nodded, eyes raised up to the heavens as he examined this development, this awareness of Sam in him, deep in his heart and soul, just as he knew he was now as deeply ingrained in Sam. Yes, it was weird, but what in their lives wasn't?
The year had ended as it began, in darkness on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere. But he was still here, as was Sam, and Dean couldn't ask for anything more than that. Even better, he'd gained something he'd never even dared hope for. Glancing over at his brother, he felt like he'd been given a clean slate. He had never expected to live to see his 30th birthday, and then the deal guaranteed that, counting down his life.
Now the future stretched ahead of him, brighter than he'd ever seen, with his Sam right there every step of the way.
Dean chuckled, and Sam glanced over at him, pressed against his side knee to shoulder. "What's so funny?"
He grinned at his brother before leaning over for a quick kiss. "Dude, you always did want to get married in a church."