Psych 101 - Chapter 5b
Dean drives east, drives straight through, no detours, barely stopping, just letting the Impala eat up the miles, flying across the blacktop. He has no real idea where he’s going, letting some unknown internal compass lead the way.
Two days later he pulls up in front of an old decrepit cemetery and knows, just knows this is where he stops.
Dean drives the Impala right through the gates and into the cemetery, parking her on the overgrown grass, an old decaying tombstone acting as a wheel stopper.
Getting out of the Impala Dean can’t take his eyes off the lone figure standing stock still in the center of the cemetery, a black crow circling above. Dean knows it’s Sam, would know his brother’s body anywhere, would know his height and his weight, the way he stands, and how he holds his head which is how Dean knows that while he’s looking at Sam’s body that’s not his brother.
This is Lucifer.
And this is where it ends. Here in this cemetery outside Lawrence.
Lucifer turns, finally acknowledging Dean’s presence. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move or speak or fling his power. He just stares, watching Dean watch him.
Their eyes meet and Dean feels something inside him swell, a force ripple through his body, power and strength and knowledge flooding through him. It’s terrifying and exhilarating and Dean feels power, more power than he’s ever felt before; more power than a human could possibly contain.
Only the true vessel of Michael could take on this power, become this powerful. Dean just hopes it’s powerful enough.
“Dean. I have to say I’m a little disappointed. I was so hoping to see my brother after so many centuries.” It’s Sam’s voice speaking the Devil’s words. Of course it’s Sam’s voice. Dean’s not sure why he’s surprised but he is.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
Lucifer just waves Dean’s comment away, dismissing it. “Michael will come. It is destined. Our Father wills it so.
Lucifer still hasn’t moved and vessel or no Dean refuses to make the first move against his brother. They’re at a standoff, staring at each other, neither willing to look away. Dean can feel the power rolling off of Lucifer, the tension building between them. Something will give and when it does…
“Your brother says hi bye the way. He’s fighting pretty hard in here.” It takes everything inside Dean not to react, knowing that Sammy’s in there, conscious and aware, fighting to get out. “Oh don’t worry. I won’t hurt your brother. He’s my vessel Dean, the only human powerful enough to hold me.”
“I was surprised when he arrived in Detroit. His submission was destined before he was born but still, I was surprised. I thought I’d be waiting a little longer.”
Dean knows Lucifer is goading him, trying to get him to act out, to show his hand, act out and get himself killed. He probably believes that Michael will resurrect him and take his body when Dean’s beyond saying yes or no. But Dean just grits his teeth a perverse part of him wanting to hear what happened in Detroit.
“I gave him several opportunities to change his mind, refuse his destiny. But Sam was adamant. I can only assume that you have some foolish plan to stop my ascendancy.”
“We can try.”
“Oh Dean. Poor Dean. You will fail. Join me. Join your brother. Stand at his side for all eternity and be my faithful soldier. And in return I will share Sam with you. Think of it Dean, an eternity with your brother, alive and well, in your life and in your bed. You will never be parted.”
“No.”
“So be it.” And then Dean is flying through the air.
He slams hard into a tree before falling to the ground. It hurts. It always hurts but the pain vanishes, fading away to nothing the moment he notices it. His ribs should be broken, the air knocked out of him, his head concussed. Instead he feels fine, feels the power inside him surge.
Lucifer is bearing down on him, Sam’s face contorted in Lucifer’s cold determination, so like Sam and yet, so different. Dean pulls Sam’s favorite knife out of his boot, stays crouched, waiting for Lucifer to come closer. When he’s in range Dean lashes out, his knife slicing through the air and into Lucifer’s chest.
Sam’s insistence on wearing three layers of clothing ensures that the knife doesn’t do much damage. The cut is shallow, minor, but still it’s Dean who draws first blood. Sam’s blood. Winchester blood.
Lucifer’s enraged. His right hook connects and Dean feels his head snap back. The blow would break a normal human’s neck but Michael’s power gives him the strength to take the punch and the ones that follow before Dean can get in a strike of his own.
He can’t hurt Lucifer like this. Not really. He needs to give Sam time to fight, to push Lucifer down and take control. And if Sam can’t gain control then Dean has to wait, find his opening. He’s only going to get one chance at this. He has to be sure.
But Dean has to believe that Sam will find a way to beat Lucifer back.
The fight is vicious and brutal; fists and kicks, bodies slamming into trees and falling on headstones, gouging and clawing. It’s primal and animalistic and Dean can barely look at Sam’s face it’s so bruised and bloody. He knows his face looks the same.
They break apart for a moment, each looking for an advantage, each finding none. But the fact remains that Dean, while a vessel and blessed with Michael’s power, is no angel and Lucifer is.
Dean can feel himself slowly draining, breath getting shorter, pain lingering a bit longer, body fatiguing and when Lucifer slams him up against a tree, hand squeezing around his neck, Dean’s not sure he can break away.
Instead he takes a chance, looking into those rage filled hazel eyes talks directly to Sam.
“I know you’re in there Sammy. I know you can hear me.” His voice is rough, rasping out, choked off but still he speaks. “I know you’re fighting.”
Lucifer squeezes a little tighter, trying to cut off Dean’s words but Dean forces himself to keep talking. Forces his voice out so Sam can hear him. “I need you to fight harder Sam. You can do it. I know you can.”
Lucifer’s face twitches involuntarily, his jaw clenching, his eyes clearing and for just a moment Dean sees Sam. But then it’s Lucifer again, growling as he tries to crush Dean’s windpipe. Black spots are starting to dance through the air, he can barely breath and Dean knows he’s about to lose consciousness. “Come on Sammy. Just a little more.”
And just before he blacks out Dean thrusts upwards, driving Sam’s knife through Lucifer’s arm, the blade coming out the other side.
Lucifer howls and drops Dean who falls to ground. He’s on all fours, gasping for air, desperately trying to fill his lungs when Lucifer kicks him in the stomach sending him crashing back into the tree, his side shattering in pain, ribs cracking.
Dean forces himself to his feet, swaying dangerously before Lucifer pushes him back against the tree and shoves in close. Too close. And Dean’s pretty sure this is where he dies.
But then, then there’s Sam forcing his way through Lucifer’s hold. His face, bloody and bruised, loses its anger, loses its rage till its just Sam staring back at him with those ever changing eyes.
“Sammy.” Dean’s voice rips out of him, his throat protesting the words.
“Dean.” Sam’s face looks surprised, as if he’s surprised to finally be back in control of his own body, as if the moment he took over was too sudden. “I’ve got him Dean. I’ve got him.”
Dean clutches Sam’s shirt, tugs a little, wanting to pull Sam in close, keep him tucked up against him. Safe. Sam lifts his hands, cupping Dean’s face, leaning his forehead in to rest against Dean’s. He can’t stop staring.
“Dean.” Sam’s face is so soft, so gentle and loving and Dean just wants to close his eyes and rest there, tucked up against his baby brother. But he knows he can’t. Sam’s eyes are swirling, his face twitching, jaw clenching. He’s fighting so hard and Dean’s so proud of him.
“Dean we don’t have much time. You have to do it. Now.” He says it so calmly, his voice so steady, as if Dean driving a sword through his brother is a common occurrence, a matter of course and not something that will rip Dean apart.
“It’s okay. It’s okay Dean. It’s okay.” Sam keeps repeating the words as if that will actually make it okay. He’s staring into Dean’s eyes, right into his soul, pleading with Dean to do it, stop the apocalypse and save the world. All Dean has to do is kill his brother.
“Please Dean…please.” Dean knows he has no choice, knows that Sam went into this willingly, knowing exactly how it would end. Sam’s never been braver than he is at this moment, staring Dean down, begging Dean to end it, waiting for his brother to kill him. He’s never needed Dean less and yet he’s never needed him more.
Dean nods once, decisive and Sam’s face relaxes with relief for just a moment before he goes back to fighting off Lucifer. He steps back, away from Dean and the tree, planting his feet, bracing himself for the blow.
Dean draws Michael’s sword from where it’s resting on his back, the blade singing as it slides out of its sheath.
At the sight of Michael’s sword Sam’s eyes flare wide and his face spasms, a visual manifestation of the internal struggle going on inside his brother. Dean’s not sure who wins until he hears Sam’s voice.
“Clearly I’ve underestimated Sam’s power. He’s strong Dean; very strong. But not strong enough.” Lucifer’s angry. Furious. Rage barely contained. His eyes keep darting to the sword Dean holds in his hand as if Lucifer can’t quite believe Dean’s holding it. As if he can’t believe Michael would grace a human with such a gift, even a vessel.
Lucifer scowls, sneering. “You may wield Michael’s sword but you are not my brother. You will not defeat me.”
Lucifer stalks forward, walking Dean back into the tree at his back. The moment his back touches Dean knows Lucifer will kill him. He has one chance to end this and save himself. He can’t miss.
Dean tightens his grip and on the next step, instead of stepping back Dean pushes forward startling Lucifer who tries to raise his arm, push Dean back. But he can’t, held fast by Sam who has stubbornly regained control.
Never looking away from Sam’s clear hazel eyes Dean strikes fast, his aim true, he drives Michael’s sword straight into Sam’s chest, piercing his heart.
There’s Lucifer’s shock and Sam’s pain and the flashing, flickering light jolting through Sam’s body, growing brighter and brighter, white light blazing till Sam and Dean and everything are swallowed up by the light.
XXXX
Dean wakes slowly, senses returning bit by bit, first awareness, then feeling, then hearing and finally, sight. Dean opens his eyes, blinking everything into focus.
He’s lying on an incredibly uncomfortable couch, feet crammed onto the end, springs digging into his back, an overly stuffed pillow cramping his neck. He can hear someone grumbling somewhere nearby, just out of his line of sight.
The room looks vaguely familiar, piles of books fill the room, musty old furniture in various states of disrepair, empty bottles and cups on almost every surface, all of it giving Dean a sense of home. He just can’t quite remember where he is.
There’s a pause in the grumbling before it starts up again, just as annoyed and rough as before and Dean lays there, letting the voice wash over him, warm and comforting while he tries to recall who it belongs to and where he is. All of it just outside his reach.
He lays there staring at the water stained ceiling, trying to remember when suddenly memories start flooding through him and all he can see remember is Sam. Sammy. His brother Sam. Sam who took Lucifer inside himself to save to world. Sam who is strong and brave and powerful. Sam who was willing to die to stop the Apocalypse. Sammy, Dean’s baby brother Sammy whose heart Dean pierced with a holy sword.
Dean jolts, rolling off the couch and landing hard on his knees. Forcing himself to his feet Dean looks around, frantically searching. Sam’s nowhere to be seen. The man that belongs to the voice is coming towards him, eying him nervously, concern evident on his face.
Dean ignores him, he’s not important. Dean needs to find Sam.
His legs are shaky and his eyes still have a bit of trouble focusing, black dots dancing in front of him every time he turns his head too quickly but Dean has to find Sam. He’s frantic; can’t see his brother anywhere. No matter where he looks there’s no sign of Sam. He doesn’t know where to go, where to look, if he should go to the room in front of him or the one to his right; is there something behind him, or outside? He feels his heart beating fast, his breath coming short and quick.
He has to find Sam.
“Dean.” The man says his name, trying to get his attention but Dean isn’t interested, doesn’t care, he just needs to find Sam.
“Sam.” His voice is rough, ripping through his throat, burning. It’s barely above a whisper.
The man who spoke his name earlier, the one with the cap atop his head, the one who feels like family answers. “Your fool of a brother is upstairs. But Dean…”
Whatever he was going to say is lost as Dean forces his legs to move, to run, to carry him up the stairs and down the hall till he finds the room his brother’s in.
Sam’s lying on a bed, deathly still, head at an unnatural angle and Dean has a moment of terror that his brother is dead. That there was no reprieve for Sam, no miraculous resurrection and that Dean really did kill him.
Dean forces himself closer, looks down at his brother and wants to die. If Sam’s dead Dean wants to be with him, wherever he is. Even if Sam was dragged to Hell with Lucifer Dean wants to be with him. It’s nothing more than Dean deserves.
But then he notices the slight rise and fall of Sam’s chest, notices the slight flush of his skin. Dean reaches down towards Sam’s chest, pulling back the heavy jacket he’s wearing Dean can see the hole in his flannel from where Michael’s sword ripped through, he pulls back the flannel to find a similar hole in Sam’s undershirt but under that, where a gapping wound should be is nothing but smooth clean skin.
All evidence of Dean’s act and Sam’s sacrificed somehow erased from Sam’s skin.
Dean lets his hand rest atop Sam’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, hand rising and falling with his chest.
It’s such a relief Dean’s knees give out and he sinks down onto the bed next to Sam, the rickety bed sagging and squeaking as it takes Dean’s weight. He’s tired, his body coming down off the adrenaline rush that sent him searching for Sam and Dean doesn’t fight it when his body curls up next to Sam. He matches his breathing to Sam’s, his hand still resting atop his brother’s heart, Dean lets himself drift off.
XXXX
When Dean wakes for the second time all his senses wake with him, nothing delayed or foggy. He’s tucked in next to Sam, foreheads touching, hand resting over Sam’s heart. He feels truly rested for the first time in a long time.
Sam’s still asleep, resting peacefully and Dean can’t stop staring. His brother is alive, breath tickling Dean’s face, heart beating under Dean’s hand. Despite that Dean really wants Sam to wake up so he knows, absolutely knows that Sam’s okay. He needs to see Sam’s eyes, hear his voice before Dean will really believe his brother’s alive and hopefully well.
As if he can feel Dean staring Sam wakes. He smiles when he sees Dean, shifting closer so they’re touching from head to hip to toe.
“Hi.” Sam’s voice is rough from sleep and Dean thrills to hear it. It’s Sam’s voice, really Sam’s voice, not Lucifer’s. It’s a glorious sound.
“Hi.” It still hurts to talk, his throat still raw and burning, voice a rough whisper.
Sam frowns, eyes tearing, his hand comes up to run along Dean’s throat before cupping his face. “I remember. And I am so sorry.”
Dean threads his fingers through Sam’s, tucking their joined hands against his chest, forcing Sam closer till their foreheads are touching and Sam can’t look away. “Listen to me. I was not your fault. You did not do this Sam. There is nothing to be sorry for.”
He kisses Sam, hard, mouth sore and bruised till he knows Sam believes him.
Sam’s eyes are still wet when they break away but he smiles at Dean and nods, accepting Dean’s forgiveness.
Sam falls back to sleep and Dean can’t keep his eyes open for long either. He dozes for a while, still tired, dropping in and out of sleep, and bits and pieces of a dream coming and going, Michael taking back his sword, telling him he and Sam were done, that Sam had been granted absolution and entrance into Heaven, that their lives were their own now.
A loud bang jolts them awake and Dean is automatically reaching under the pillow for a knife that isn’t there. Bobby’s in the doorway, bending down to pick up the water bottle he dropped.
When he’s standing again he takes a long hard look at them, face pinched with anger. “Nice of you boys to finally rejoin the land of the living.”
“Hey Bobby.” Dean forces himself to sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He’s not sure he wants to stand just yet.
“Don’t you ‘hey Bobby’ me. You have any idea what it’s like to have you two dropped into my house, unconscious and beaten all to hell? This is what happens, this is what always happens when you two morons go on suicide missions!” He tosses the two water bottles he’s clutching at Dean, hitting him hard in the chest.
Dean hands one of the water bottles to Sam, ripping the cap off the other. The water is blessedly cool, soothing his sore throat. He drinks the entire thing in one go wishing Bobby had brought another.
“It worked though right? Lucifer’s back in Hell?”
Bobby takes a deep breath, holding it for a long time before finally releasing it. “Yes Sam. Lucifer is trapped in his cage down in Hell.”
“Sorry we scared you Bobby. It was kinda last minute thing.” Dean really does feel bad that the fall out for everything they do always seems to land on Bobby’s doorstep. They should try to do better in the future.
“Well, now that we’ve averted the Apocalypse do you boys think you can stop with the suicide missions? I appreciate that regular ‘ol hunts are a bit underwhelming now but I’m not sure I can take another death and resurrection cycle.” Bobby’s voice is back to his normal exasperation but he looks tired, worn down, a father’s who’s been run ragged by his kids.
“We’ll try.” Sam promises for them.
“Yeah well…” Bobby pushes off the dresser he was leaning against and heads for the door. “I’ll be downstairs, drinking, if you two chuckleheads ever decide to get out of bed.”
Bobby’s steps pound on the rickety old steps on his way downstairs.
“Mmmm, you think Bobby will let us stay for a while? Could really use a vacation.” Sam looks tired, drained from carrying Lucifer around.
“Hey.” Dean cards his fingers through Sam’s hair, too long and greasy from not being washed. “How ya feeling?”
“Tired.” Sam leans into Dean’s hand before snuggling down further on the bed, yawning.
“Get some sleep.” “Yeah.” Dean keeps brushing Sam’s hair back, lulling him to sleep.
“Don’t want to sleep. Too many things to figure out.”
“It can wait. Not going anywhere. We’ve got plenty of time Sammy.” And for maybe the first time ever, Dean believes it.
Epilogue