SPN Fic: The Devil in Him; Sam/Dean (1/3)
Title: The Devil in Him
Author: lizzywinks
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 4146 (this part)
Rating: R
Summary: Sam's experiencing feelings he'd thought he'd long since grown out of, Castiel is having a little trouble acclimatising to his banishment, and Dean's really starting to regret his promise to give himself over to the service of God and his angels. Set post 4.22.
Warnings: Written before season 5 has aired so no actual spoilers, but there are some vague mentions of things that have cropped up recently in interviews/spoilers.
Disclaimers: None of this belongs to me. None of this is real.
The light was blinding, Sam's fingers were digging deeper into the muscle of his shoulder than a freaking hellhound's bite and his heart was racing fast enough to outstrip a hummingbird. Most of Dean's brain was occupied with the vital task of screaming, 'OH, FUUUUCK!', but there was some tiny still lucid part of it that was grateful Sam was beside him. Maybe he was going down for the fourth time - which clearly was, in fact, the charm - and yeah, there was a good chance that it was back to the pit, but at least he didn't have to go out without having made his peace with Sam.
Sort of.
Dean was clinging to the fact that Sam had said he was sorry, and that he was standing right next to him, hand clenched tight and desperate in the fabric of Dean's shirt. It might not have been as a result of one of Sam's epic and awkward soul bearing sessions, but it was good enough. Had to be.
How it had pretty much always been anyway. The two of them fighting side by side and Sam right next to him when their luck ran out and Dean was about to bite the bullet.
Huh.
The 'OH FUCK' section of Dean's brain faltered, and the lucid part gained a little more hold.
Because that stray thought was actually interesting enough to give him pause. Even seconds away from being destroyed by fucking Satan, it caused his brain to hiccup and then stall and when it shuddered back into action moments later, it stayed sitting there right at the forefront of everything. Dean had died three times already, which would surely be considered excessive in anyone's book (except for maybe that hot cheerleader chick in that dumbass show), and every single one of those times, Sam had been right there with him.
Which, you know, was nice. Dean wasn't ungrateful; he wanted his brother there and Sam had never let him down.
Hadn't missed even one of his big goodbyes; never once rolled up late, out of breath and choking back sobs while desperate apologies spilled from his lips. And Dean was grateful for that, he was.
But still, something to think about.
Because if he'd fallen ass over elbow three times in the same pair of boots, he'd start to wonder if maybe they might be a little more to blame than his balance.
Not that he was comparing Sam to footwear. The 'OH FUCK' section just thought it was noteworthy, was all, and now Dean had given it some thought, he kinda did, too. Or did he? Because, after a little bit more thought, that probably wasn't fair. Given how much time they spend together, perhaps it shouldn't be noteworthy, just a natural consequences of living in each other's pockets. In fact, it would be weirder if Sam hadn't been there.
Except Dean didn't die before Sam got his weird-ass visions. He also hadn't died while Sam was away at college. Then Sam was back on the scene (courtesy of Jessica's death), and Dean had died himself three times in as many years. More if you counted the Trickster, which Dean doesn't because he totally didn't blame Sam for that at all. Sam couldn't be held responsible for demigods wanting to teach him a lesson. Sure, no one had ever killed Sam over and over to punish Dean, but, whatever. Who could predict what dick half-gods would do? And it wasn't like Sam hadn't died too, although when he had, Dean had immediately shouldered his responsibility and brought him back to life not even a day later. Not that he was keeping score because Sam had tried to do the same for him when he'd gone to hell; it wasn't his fault he hadn't been able to.
Some people - people who didn't know Sam like he did - wouldn't see it like that, Dean knew, especially as he'd managed to make his deal no questions asked after Dad had pulled pretty much the same stunt. Didn't make a lot of sense Sam couldn't manage the same, which left Dean with no choice but to swallow the fact that Sam either hadn't tried at all to get Dean out, or he hadn't put a whole hell of a lot of effort into his sales pitch.
Best case scenario, Sam was an enormous jinx.
Worst case scenario, Sam was behind all of Dean's spates of bad luck. Not that he blamed Sam even if he was. Dean was sure none of it was intentional. Probably just down to the demon blood.
Probably.
Dean was jolted by a heavy hand to his shoulder and he jerked, reflexively tightening his grip on Sam's shirt. Right, dying. Time to get back with the programme.
Only the light wasn't blinding him any more and when Dean carefully peeped out from under slitted lids (Raiders taught him a lot about staring into blazing, other worldly lights and Dean had had his face melted off quite enough for one lifetime, thank you very much), it was to the welcoming sight of Bobby's cramped living room.
Dean risked opening his eyes even further and was rewarded with a view of Sam's panicked face. For a second, he was convinced it was just an act to hide his disappointment that his latest scheme to gank Dean had failed yet again. Dean felt a dark little kernel of spite brewing and thought, Hah, sucks to be you, Sammy! Score one for the Dean Team.
The unpleasant thought faded as quickly as it appeared and slid smoothly into the background, settling fuzzy and indistinct and just slightly out of reach when Dean spotted Anna standing behind Sam, tight lipped and tense, and then Bobby's familiar face with an unfamiliar expression of fear.
"Sam," Dean croaked, focus returning back to his brother. "How did we...?"
"Dean, God, Dean," Sam panted, eyes wide and shining and his hair matted to his forehead with sweat. "He's here. He's here and it's my fault. I didn't... I swear, Dean, I never-" The damp sheen in Sam's eyes grew and then swelled up to spill over in wet tear tracks escaping his red-rimmed eyes.
Dean watched for a second, struggling to find a response in the confused swirling in his mind. Wasn't this where he usually comforted Sam, assured him he wasn't to blame? That none of it was his fault?
Except that it really sort of was and maybe if Dean made Sam face up to the consequences of his actions more often - consequences caused by his own wilful arrogance - instead of glossing over it like Sam was still eight and terrified and acting out because he was a kid and didn't know a better way of handling his fear, they wouldn't be in this fucking mess. Armageddon, brought about by Dean's camouflaged coddling instincts and his inability slap some sense into his brother when he needed it.
Maybe it was a case of too little too late, but that shit had definitely gone on long enough.
The hand that Dean still had clenched in Sam's shirt spasmed and then slowly pulled free, curling back into a fist ready to strike hard into Sam's stupid, arrogant face...
"Dean?"
Dean blinked and glanced round to find Anna and Bobby staring at him. He frowned down at his tightly clenched fist and back up again, unsure what he'd been about to do with it. Nothing springing immediately to mind, he directed his hand towards the itching, burning pain in his shoulder just above Castiel's hand print and massaged at the ache Sam's heavy hold had left.
A movement behind him had him dropping his arm and turning back to Sam. In an instant, he felt all his usual protective instincts snap back into place, strong and steady as ever as though they'd just been on some sort of time delay. Sam looked... Sam looked like he was about ready to take his own gun to his head and Dean felt a corresponding fear coil through him.
When his lips began trembling like he was either about to start apologising again, or, even worse, (much, much worse) cry, Dean decided to head him off at the pass.
"Not your fault, Sam," he said quickly. "Well, not all your fault," honesty made him add. "It's mostly down to that demon bitch. And the fucking angels," he growled. Ruby's betrayal didn't sting anywhere near as sharp as Zachariah's. Partly because he'd expected it from her, but mostly because he knew he could have prevented the last seal being broken if the goddamn angelic hordes hadn't had a twisted hard-on for their insane freaking prophecies, all hopped up on a holy power kick just because the boss was taking an unusually extended lunch.
The angry words distracted Sam from his despair, but only enough to have him scowling mulishly over at Dean.
"It wasn't the angels, Dean, or Ruby. Ruby wasn't the one that made me pretend to myself that what I was doing wasn't wrong, she wasn't the one who turned me into Dad, ignoring everything that got in my way and justifying it by calling it revenge. She wasn't the one who almost killed his brother because he tried to stop him." Dean raised an unthinking hand to the bruises he could feel purpling hot and tender on his neck. Sam blanched and lowered his eyes to the floor before he finished in a bare whisper, "And she wasn't the one that opened the final seal and damned us all."
"Oh, would you stop being so damned dramatic, Samantha," Dean snapped. His stomach was rolling sickly, and for a second there was a very real fear he was going to make Bobby's dusty floor even more disgusting than it already was, but the desperate hope that flashed briefly across Sam's face at his scornful words settled it. He breathed in deep and reached over to grab Sam roughly by the arm, and held on until he reluctantly raised his eyes again.
"You messed up, Sam, and no one's gonna argue with you over that, but you haven't damned us all. Not yet anyway, and if you can believe a word out of those lying angel son's of bitches mouths," Anna made a disapproving sound, and Dean tilted his head in apology, "present company excepted, this day was always coming, with you or without you."
"Yeah, Dean, but it did come, and it was with me. Azazel said I was special, that I was the only one-"
"Christ, will you just get over yourself?" Dean said impatiently. "This here," he waved his hand over Sam in an airy, accusing motion, "is why we're in this mess. Buying all their destiny crap, believing that you're the chosen one, that your 'demon blood' is polluting you, making you evil, that you've got no option but to go with it, drink more? It's bullshit, Sam. Bad stuff happens all the time, we're living proof of that, but we make the choices. Sometimes they're the right ones, and sometimes they're not, but they're our choices. Accept that, start making better ones, and then next time we fuck up, at least we'll know it's all on us and not because we got scammed like a couple of rubes."
"It's not that easy, Dean!"
"Yes, it is, Sammy, it's exactly that fucking easy! I broke the first seal and you broke the last one, and we did everything else that happened in-between, even if we were getting led around by our noses half the damn time. Live with it." Sam swallowed convulsively, the fingers plucking restlessly at the soft leather of the bracelet on his wrist slowed and then stilled.
"And you didn't almost kill me," Dean added just as Sam's shoulders began to lose some of their previous stiffness. Sam immediately tensed up again, and his gaze dipped almost reluctantly to the bruises Dean knew were going to be visible for a while yet in the hollows of his throat. When it became apparent Sam wasn't going to be looking away any time soon, Dean pulled his hand back and smacked Sam soundly across the back of his head. Sam (thankfully) immediately began acting more like his normal self - bitching resentfully and rubbing at his head in overexaggerated pain - while Dean silently cursed his big mouth. He should have stopped the second Sam looked like he could be taken off suicide watch, not reminded him about the whole attempted fratricide... mix-up.
"Take someone a hell of a lot bigger and uglier than you to take me down," Dean added, pausing to eye Sam consideringly. "Okay, maybe just bigger."
A tiny smile flickered at the edges of Sam's mouth before the mantle of guilt dropped down heavily again. It was a long way from over, but Sam was standing in front of him, pale but determined, and Dean was grateful enough for that to shut up and count it as a win.
Immediate crisis averted, Dean turned to take in Bobby and Anna who were still watching silently from a few feet away. If they felt in any way awkward about unabashedly listening in on their argument, it didn't show. It wasn't all that surprising; Anna probably had centuries worth of experience in eavesdropping on unsuspecting humans, and Bobby had been witness to enough Winchester shitstorms to not be fazed by anything as minor as some raised voices, and Sam getting hit upside the head.
Dean was relieved to see that Bobby didn't look as spooked as he had when he'd first opened his eyes, but Anna's muted disapproval was still radiating sharp and clear in her stiffly held stance. Despite the fact that 50% of all the angels he'd met so far had been douchebags, Dean liked Anna, and not just because she was smoking hot. He was also betting him and Sam owed her big time right about now, but after everything that had happened in the last few days, it was probably wise to be cautious, at least until he knew what had her so pissed.
"Anna," he said, not trying to disguise the genuine affection in his voice, "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you're the reason we're still breathing?" Dean glanced around, and realised abruptly someone else was missing. "Wait, where's Cas?"
Anna unloosened enough to step towards him and Dean felt a deep swell of dread when she took his hand briefly in her own.
"Yes, I pulled you out before Lucifer fully materialised, which is a lucky or he'd probably be using one of you as his first meat suit right about now." Sam made a strangled sound from behind them that Anna ignored to add, "And Castiel didn't make it."
"Shit," Dean hissed out on a mixture of guilt and anger. "The Archangel?" Anna nodded, and Dean swore again. Fucking angels. They were right up there on his shit list only just beneath fucking Satan, and what the hell did that say about the sorry mess they'd found themselves in? "What about Chuck?"
"Alive. The Archangel's job is to protect him, so he's a little shook up from seeing Castiel ripped apart like that, but he'll live."
"Unlike the rest of us," Bobby said abruptly. "I'm sorry your friend didn't make it, but it's time to get past the huggy feely crap and start making plans, boys." He immediately broke his own rule when he walked over to pull Sam into a rough hug. Sam's arms looked like they were clamped painfully tight around Bobby's back, kid probably had the reach and the grip of King Kong, but Bobby made no attempt to break free. "Good to see you alive, boy," he said. It took a while, so long that Dean was considering stepping in because Sam was dropping serious man points with every passing second, but Sam finally began shifting awkwardly, and Bobby pulled back just enough to stare him full in the face. Dean watched as Sam struggled to maintain eye contact. "You caused your brother some serious heartache there, Sam."
Sam squared his shoulders and his gaze turned steady. "I know," he said quietly.
"Me too for that matter," Bobby added.
"I know," Sam said again. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry don't cut it, Sam. You're gonna have to pull your head out of your ass now and start showing us you mean it."
"I will," Sam said, his voice fervent. "I won't let you down again," he continued, and although his words were aimed at Bobby, everything else was focused intently on Dean.
Dean shivered. He knew he meant it, but he also knew it was just as true that every step of Sam's journey to the hell he'd so very recently found himself in had been paved with good intentions. Even through the lingering ache that knowledge left behind, Dean felt a clamouring need to tell Sam he believed him, still trusted him, but the words were somehow lodged tight in his throat, dammed by a year's worth of lies and half truths, on both their parts, and no immediate replacements sprang to mind. The silence dragged on uncomfortably, and Sam seemed to shrink further in on himself with every awkward second.
"I have to go," Anna said abruptly, breaking the tense moment and giving Dean yet another reason to be thankful to her.
"Where?" he asked, tracking Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam's movements were stiff, lacking any grace when he sank heavily down onto the arm of Bobby's old couch as though he'd only just realised in time that his legs wouldn't support him any longer. Dean felt a twisting pain in his chest and shifted until Sam was gone from the periphery of his vision and all he could see was Anna.
"To try and find Castiel, to see if he can be saved."
"What?" Dean heard Sam demand at almost the exact same time. Sam bit hard on his lower lip when Anna didn't even glance at him, and Dean continued the questioning alone. "Find him? How? You just said he'd been ripped apart?"
"His vessel, definitely, but it's possible the Archangel just took him home. If he's still alive, there's still a chance."
"And that's where you're going?" Dean pressed, but didn't pause to give her chance to answer. He wanted Castiel back, but sacrificing Anna to achieve it didn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense. "It's too big a risk; there's no way they're not on red alert after everything that's gone down, and I'm pretty sure celestial intruder alarms are harder to crack than the man-made variety." Anna lifted her shoulders in an uncaring gesture, and Dean shook his head. "We can't lose you too, Anna. We're gonna need all the help we can get if we have any chance of winning this."
Anna buried her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and tilted her head to observe him silently. Dean's frustration rose with every passing second. They were one angel up; one fucking angel against the armies of heaven and hell, and their single ace in the hole was about to hand herself over on a goddamn plate to the other side? The idea of losing Anna and Cas made Dean twitch uncomfortably, and he felt the weight of Zachariah's prophecy pushing heavier on his shoulders. There was no way he could do this on his own. Dean knew that Bobby was in this for the long-haul, but he was still just one human against fucking Lucifer, and Sam was. Sam was...
Dean became abruptly aware of the darkness pressing against the windows surrounding them, no curtains or shades to hide the inky blackness of the night. Bobby's house was warm and bright, protection spells and sigils carved deep into the timbers of the house, herbs and magics buried in its foundations and cocooned on all sides by walls of books filled with ancient knowledge that could defeat evil and drive unnatural creatures back into the shadows. Bobby's home was probably the safest place in the world to be right then, but to Dean, he might as well have been standing alone and unarmed at the devil's gate, an eternity of hell rising red and infinite in front of him, while demon hordes gathered malevolent and smirking at his back.
"I have faith in you, Dean," Anna said softly, and Dean welcomed the distraction her voice brought, even while he suspected he probably didn't want to hear whatever it was she was about to say. "And it's not because the angels think it's your destiny, or because I believe good will always ultimately win out over evil, but because I've seen your heart and I know what you are capable of. You don't need to be afraid, Dean."
"Dammit, Anna, I'm not-" Dean began, but Anna didn't let him finish, which was a relief, because Dean wasn't sure what he was going to say, but he was pretty sure it would have been stupid or embarrassing and most likely both.
"I have to at least try, Dean. I owe Castiel that much. The angels had me imprisoned, but he risked his own chance of escape to free me before he turned his back on heaven to follow you." Anna took a step closer to stand directly in front of him, a look of something like wonder mixed with curiosity clear on her face. "You inspire some pretty crazy levels of loyalty, Dean Winchester." She turned then to flick a glance at Sam. "It's a shame your brother seems immune."
"Hey!" Dean barked in automatic protest, because he was mad at Sam, sure, but that didn't mean he was going to let someone else, not even someone who saved both their asses an hour ago, talk about his brother like that, but Anna was already gone. Left with nowhere to direct the anger he was feeling on Sam's behalf, Dean risked a glance at his brother to see how he was handling it, and stiffened. Sam had that look again, the one that made Dean think now might be a good time to start hiding their weapons.
Dean felt the weight of his responsibilities even more keenly for a second, before everything shuddered and then rearranged itself only to settle back down into place just that little bit heavier than before.
"We should get some rest," he said abruptly. "We won't be able to think straight let alone plan the way we are right now." Bobby muttered a reluctant agreement, but Sam only managed a half-hearted nod, head drooping low between his shoulders and his gaze trained firmly on the thread he was plucking at on the torn knee of his jeans.
Before the last year, before his deal, before hell, Dean would have known exactly what to say to get that look off Sam's face.
But maybe that was the problem; too many years being the good son, playing the peacemaker, being the homemaker, putting himself last and Sam first and getting nothing back in return but bruises and heartache and the cold glare of bus tail lights disappearing into the distance.
Fuck Sam and his puppy dog eyes and his emo angst and his reliance on Dean to always bail him out of whatever new mess he'd gotten himself into. It was time Dean started-
"Dean!"
Dean jerked his head in the direction of the shout, and groaned when his neck wasn't quite ready for the sharp movement and spasmed painfully. He pushed away the ache and found Bobby watching him through narrowed eyes. Dean blinked, and when Bobby didn't say anything else, he glanced over at Sam who had half risen from the arm of the couch with his hand held out and reaching towards Dean as though he'd stumbled. Dean glanced down to check, and found himself firmly planted on the ground, not even a hint of a wobble in sight.
"Everything okay, Sammy?"
"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine. Are you?"
"Course, man, just beat. Guess screwing up the Apocalypse averting really takes it out of you." Sam flinched, and Dean felt like a complete shit. "Sorry, bad joke."
"No." Sam stood fully, took a careful step towards Dean. "S'okay. We're all tired. You're right, we should sleep. Start figuring out tomorrow what we need to do."
"Agreed," Bobby said, and made towards the kitchen, talking over his shoulder as he went. "But I'm gonna eat first - my stomach's starting to think my throat's been cut. You boys hungry?"
Dean was surprised to find he was behind that suggestion 100% because he could still smell the burgers Zachariah had tried to tempt him with; he didn't think he'd ever come across anything as mouthwateringly perfect before, and doubted he would again. Right now, though, even one of Dad's ration packs sounded like manna so whatever Bobby was suggesting, he guessed it was gonna taste nearly as good as those burgers had looked.
Before he'd taken more than two steps though, Sam jerked upright and bolted for the door. Dean exchanged a worried look with Bobby and followed on after him. Once he was in the hallway the mystery was immediately solved; Sam could be heard, loud and clear, throwing up his guts in Bobby's downstairs bathroom.
Dean scrubbed tiredly at his eyes, and felt Bobby's come up to stand beside him.
"Don't think the idea of food's sitting well with your brother right now, Dean."
"Looks like," Dean agreed. When Bobby hesitated, Dean waved him back towards the other room. "It's okay, Bobby." He marshaled his expression into what he hoped was something less pathetic when Bobby hesitated. "Really, I got this," he insisted. Either he'd done a good enough job covering his weariness, or Bobby was just too tired himself to fight him over puking babysitting rights, because he just nodded and headed back the way he'd come.
With a silent promise of later to his rumbling stomach, Dean squared his shoulders and headed for the closed doorway.
TBC
***
Author: lizzywinks
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 4146 (this part)
Rating: R
Summary: Sam's experiencing feelings he'd thought he'd long since grown out of, Castiel is having a little trouble acclimatising to his banishment, and Dean's really starting to regret his promise to give himself over to the service of God and his angels. Set post 4.22.
Warnings: Written before season 5 has aired so no actual spoilers, but there are some vague mentions of things that have cropped up recently in interviews/spoilers.
Disclaimers: None of this belongs to me. None of this is real.
The light was blinding, Sam's fingers were digging deeper into the muscle of his shoulder than a freaking hellhound's bite and his heart was racing fast enough to outstrip a hummingbird. Most of Dean's brain was occupied with the vital task of screaming, 'OH, FUUUUCK!', but there was some tiny still lucid part of it that was grateful Sam was beside him. Maybe he was going down for the fourth time - which clearly was, in fact, the charm - and yeah, there was a good chance that it was back to the pit, but at least he didn't have to go out without having made his peace with Sam.
Sort of.
Dean was clinging to the fact that Sam had said he was sorry, and that he was standing right next to him, hand clenched tight and desperate in the fabric of Dean's shirt. It might not have been as a result of one of Sam's epic and awkward soul bearing sessions, but it was good enough. Had to be.
How it had pretty much always been anyway. The two of them fighting side by side and Sam right next to him when their luck ran out and Dean was about to bite the bullet.
Huh.
The 'OH FUCK' section of Dean's brain faltered, and the lucid part gained a little more hold.
Because that stray thought was actually interesting enough to give him pause. Even seconds away from being destroyed by fucking Satan, it caused his brain to hiccup and then stall and when it shuddered back into action moments later, it stayed sitting there right at the forefront of everything. Dean had died three times already, which would surely be considered excessive in anyone's book (except for maybe that hot cheerleader chick in that dumbass show), and every single one of those times, Sam had been right there with him.
Which, you know, was nice. Dean wasn't ungrateful; he wanted his brother there and Sam had never let him down.
Hadn't missed even one of his big goodbyes; never once rolled up late, out of breath and choking back sobs while desperate apologies spilled from his lips. And Dean was grateful for that, he was.
But still, something to think about.
Because if he'd fallen ass over elbow three times in the same pair of boots, he'd start to wonder if maybe they might be a little more to blame than his balance.
Not that he was comparing Sam to footwear. The 'OH FUCK' section just thought it was noteworthy, was all, and now Dean had given it some thought, he kinda did, too. Or did he? Because, after a little bit more thought, that probably wasn't fair. Given how much time they spend together, perhaps it shouldn't be noteworthy, just a natural consequences of living in each other's pockets. In fact, it would be weirder if Sam hadn't been there.
Except Dean didn't die before Sam got his weird-ass visions. He also hadn't died while Sam was away at college. Then Sam was back on the scene (courtesy of Jessica's death), and Dean had died himself three times in as many years. More if you counted the Trickster, which Dean doesn't because he totally didn't blame Sam for that at all. Sam couldn't be held responsible for demigods wanting to teach him a lesson. Sure, no one had ever killed Sam over and over to punish Dean, but, whatever. Who could predict what dick half-gods would do? And it wasn't like Sam hadn't died too, although when he had, Dean had immediately shouldered his responsibility and brought him back to life not even a day later. Not that he was keeping score because Sam had tried to do the same for him when he'd gone to hell; it wasn't his fault he hadn't been able to.
Some people - people who didn't know Sam like he did - wouldn't see it like that, Dean knew, especially as he'd managed to make his deal no questions asked after Dad had pulled pretty much the same stunt. Didn't make a lot of sense Sam couldn't manage the same, which left Dean with no choice but to swallow the fact that Sam either hadn't tried at all to get Dean out, or he hadn't put a whole hell of a lot of effort into his sales pitch.
Best case scenario, Sam was an enormous jinx.
Worst case scenario, Sam was behind all of Dean's spates of bad luck. Not that he blamed Sam even if he was. Dean was sure none of it was intentional. Probably just down to the demon blood.
Probably.
Dean was jolted by a heavy hand to his shoulder and he jerked, reflexively tightening his grip on Sam's shirt. Right, dying. Time to get back with the programme.
Only the light wasn't blinding him any more and when Dean carefully peeped out from under slitted lids (Raiders taught him a lot about staring into blazing, other worldly lights and Dean had had his face melted off quite enough for one lifetime, thank you very much), it was to the welcoming sight of Bobby's cramped living room.
Dean risked opening his eyes even further and was rewarded with a view of Sam's panicked face. For a second, he was convinced it was just an act to hide his disappointment that his latest scheme to gank Dean had failed yet again. Dean felt a dark little kernel of spite brewing and thought, Hah, sucks to be you, Sammy! Score one for the Dean Team.
The unpleasant thought faded as quickly as it appeared and slid smoothly into the background, settling fuzzy and indistinct and just slightly out of reach when Dean spotted Anna standing behind Sam, tight lipped and tense, and then Bobby's familiar face with an unfamiliar expression of fear.
"Sam," Dean croaked, focus returning back to his brother. "How did we...?"
"Dean, God, Dean," Sam panted, eyes wide and shining and his hair matted to his forehead with sweat. "He's here. He's here and it's my fault. I didn't... I swear, Dean, I never-" The damp sheen in Sam's eyes grew and then swelled up to spill over in wet tear tracks escaping his red-rimmed eyes.
Dean watched for a second, struggling to find a response in the confused swirling in his mind. Wasn't this where he usually comforted Sam, assured him he wasn't to blame? That none of it was his fault?
Except that it really sort of was and maybe if Dean made Sam face up to the consequences of his actions more often - consequences caused by his own wilful arrogance - instead of glossing over it like Sam was still eight and terrified and acting out because he was a kid and didn't know a better way of handling his fear, they wouldn't be in this fucking mess. Armageddon, brought about by Dean's camouflaged coddling instincts and his inability slap some sense into his brother when he needed it.
Maybe it was a case of too little too late, but that shit had definitely gone on long enough.
The hand that Dean still had clenched in Sam's shirt spasmed and then slowly pulled free, curling back into a fist ready to strike hard into Sam's stupid, arrogant face...
"Dean?"
Dean blinked and glanced round to find Anna and Bobby staring at him. He frowned down at his tightly clenched fist and back up again, unsure what he'd been about to do with it. Nothing springing immediately to mind, he directed his hand towards the itching, burning pain in his shoulder just above Castiel's hand print and massaged at the ache Sam's heavy hold had left.
A movement behind him had him dropping his arm and turning back to Sam. In an instant, he felt all his usual protective instincts snap back into place, strong and steady as ever as though they'd just been on some sort of time delay. Sam looked... Sam looked like he was about ready to take his own gun to his head and Dean felt a corresponding fear coil through him.
When his lips began trembling like he was either about to start apologising again, or, even worse, (much, much worse) cry, Dean decided to head him off at the pass.
"Not your fault, Sam," he said quickly. "Well, not all your fault," honesty made him add. "It's mostly down to that demon bitch. And the fucking angels," he growled. Ruby's betrayal didn't sting anywhere near as sharp as Zachariah's. Partly because he'd expected it from her, but mostly because he knew he could have prevented the last seal being broken if the goddamn angelic hordes hadn't had a twisted hard-on for their insane freaking prophecies, all hopped up on a holy power kick just because the boss was taking an unusually extended lunch.
The angry words distracted Sam from his despair, but only enough to have him scowling mulishly over at Dean.
"It wasn't the angels, Dean, or Ruby. Ruby wasn't the one that made me pretend to myself that what I was doing wasn't wrong, she wasn't the one who turned me into Dad, ignoring everything that got in my way and justifying it by calling it revenge. She wasn't the one who almost killed his brother because he tried to stop him." Dean raised an unthinking hand to the bruises he could feel purpling hot and tender on his neck. Sam blanched and lowered his eyes to the floor before he finished in a bare whisper, "And she wasn't the one that opened the final seal and damned us all."
"Oh, would you stop being so damned dramatic, Samantha," Dean snapped. His stomach was rolling sickly, and for a second there was a very real fear he was going to make Bobby's dusty floor even more disgusting than it already was, but the desperate hope that flashed briefly across Sam's face at his scornful words settled it. He breathed in deep and reached over to grab Sam roughly by the arm, and held on until he reluctantly raised his eyes again.
"You messed up, Sam, and no one's gonna argue with you over that, but you haven't damned us all. Not yet anyway, and if you can believe a word out of those lying angel son's of bitches mouths," Anna made a disapproving sound, and Dean tilted his head in apology, "present company excepted, this day was always coming, with you or without you."
"Yeah, Dean, but it did come, and it was with me. Azazel said I was special, that I was the only one-"
"Christ, will you just get over yourself?" Dean said impatiently. "This here," he waved his hand over Sam in an airy, accusing motion, "is why we're in this mess. Buying all their destiny crap, believing that you're the chosen one, that your 'demon blood' is polluting you, making you evil, that you've got no option but to go with it, drink more? It's bullshit, Sam. Bad stuff happens all the time, we're living proof of that, but we make the choices. Sometimes they're the right ones, and sometimes they're not, but they're our choices. Accept that, start making better ones, and then next time we fuck up, at least we'll know it's all on us and not because we got scammed like a couple of rubes."
"It's not that easy, Dean!"
"Yes, it is, Sammy, it's exactly that fucking easy! I broke the first seal and you broke the last one, and we did everything else that happened in-between, even if we were getting led around by our noses half the damn time. Live with it." Sam swallowed convulsively, the fingers plucking restlessly at the soft leather of the bracelet on his wrist slowed and then stilled.
"And you didn't almost kill me," Dean added just as Sam's shoulders began to lose some of their previous stiffness. Sam immediately tensed up again, and his gaze dipped almost reluctantly to the bruises Dean knew were going to be visible for a while yet in the hollows of his throat. When it became apparent Sam wasn't going to be looking away any time soon, Dean pulled his hand back and smacked Sam soundly across the back of his head. Sam (thankfully) immediately began acting more like his normal self - bitching resentfully and rubbing at his head in overexaggerated pain - while Dean silently cursed his big mouth. He should have stopped the second Sam looked like he could be taken off suicide watch, not reminded him about the whole attempted fratricide... mix-up.
"Take someone a hell of a lot bigger and uglier than you to take me down," Dean added, pausing to eye Sam consideringly. "Okay, maybe just bigger."
A tiny smile flickered at the edges of Sam's mouth before the mantle of guilt dropped down heavily again. It was a long way from over, but Sam was standing in front of him, pale but determined, and Dean was grateful enough for that to shut up and count it as a win.
Immediate crisis averted, Dean turned to take in Bobby and Anna who were still watching silently from a few feet away. If they felt in any way awkward about unabashedly listening in on their argument, it didn't show. It wasn't all that surprising; Anna probably had centuries worth of experience in eavesdropping on unsuspecting humans, and Bobby had been witness to enough Winchester shitstorms to not be fazed by anything as minor as some raised voices, and Sam getting hit upside the head.
Dean was relieved to see that Bobby didn't look as spooked as he had when he'd first opened his eyes, but Anna's muted disapproval was still radiating sharp and clear in her stiffly held stance. Despite the fact that 50% of all the angels he'd met so far had been douchebags, Dean liked Anna, and not just because she was smoking hot. He was also betting him and Sam owed her big time right about now, but after everything that had happened in the last few days, it was probably wise to be cautious, at least until he knew what had her so pissed.
"Anna," he said, not trying to disguise the genuine affection in his voice, "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you're the reason we're still breathing?" Dean glanced around, and realised abruptly someone else was missing. "Wait, where's Cas?"
Anna unloosened enough to step towards him and Dean felt a deep swell of dread when she took his hand briefly in her own.
"Yes, I pulled you out before Lucifer fully materialised, which is a lucky or he'd probably be using one of you as his first meat suit right about now." Sam made a strangled sound from behind them that Anna ignored to add, "And Castiel didn't make it."
"Shit," Dean hissed out on a mixture of guilt and anger. "The Archangel?" Anna nodded, and Dean swore again. Fucking angels. They were right up there on his shit list only just beneath fucking Satan, and what the hell did that say about the sorry mess they'd found themselves in? "What about Chuck?"
"Alive. The Archangel's job is to protect him, so he's a little shook up from seeing Castiel ripped apart like that, but he'll live."
"Unlike the rest of us," Bobby said abruptly. "I'm sorry your friend didn't make it, but it's time to get past the huggy feely crap and start making plans, boys." He immediately broke his own rule when he walked over to pull Sam into a rough hug. Sam's arms looked like they were clamped painfully tight around Bobby's back, kid probably had the reach and the grip of King Kong, but Bobby made no attempt to break free. "Good to see you alive, boy," he said. It took a while, so long that Dean was considering stepping in because Sam was dropping serious man points with every passing second, but Sam finally began shifting awkwardly, and Bobby pulled back just enough to stare him full in the face. Dean watched as Sam struggled to maintain eye contact. "You caused your brother some serious heartache there, Sam."
Sam squared his shoulders and his gaze turned steady. "I know," he said quietly.
"Me too for that matter," Bobby added.
"I know," Sam said again. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry don't cut it, Sam. You're gonna have to pull your head out of your ass now and start showing us you mean it."
"I will," Sam said, his voice fervent. "I won't let you down again," he continued, and although his words were aimed at Bobby, everything else was focused intently on Dean.
Dean shivered. He knew he meant it, but he also knew it was just as true that every step of Sam's journey to the hell he'd so very recently found himself in had been paved with good intentions. Even through the lingering ache that knowledge left behind, Dean felt a clamouring need to tell Sam he believed him, still trusted him, but the words were somehow lodged tight in his throat, dammed by a year's worth of lies and half truths, on both their parts, and no immediate replacements sprang to mind. The silence dragged on uncomfortably, and Sam seemed to shrink further in on himself with every awkward second.
"I have to go," Anna said abruptly, breaking the tense moment and giving Dean yet another reason to be thankful to her.
"Where?" he asked, tracking Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam's movements were stiff, lacking any grace when he sank heavily down onto the arm of Bobby's old couch as though he'd only just realised in time that his legs wouldn't support him any longer. Dean felt a twisting pain in his chest and shifted until Sam was gone from the periphery of his vision and all he could see was Anna.
"To try and find Castiel, to see if he can be saved."
"What?" Dean heard Sam demand at almost the exact same time. Sam bit hard on his lower lip when Anna didn't even glance at him, and Dean continued the questioning alone. "Find him? How? You just said he'd been ripped apart?"
"His vessel, definitely, but it's possible the Archangel just took him home. If he's still alive, there's still a chance."
"And that's where you're going?" Dean pressed, but didn't pause to give her chance to answer. He wanted Castiel back, but sacrificing Anna to achieve it didn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense. "It's too big a risk; there's no way they're not on red alert after everything that's gone down, and I'm pretty sure celestial intruder alarms are harder to crack than the man-made variety." Anna lifted her shoulders in an uncaring gesture, and Dean shook his head. "We can't lose you too, Anna. We're gonna need all the help we can get if we have any chance of winning this."
Anna buried her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and tilted her head to observe him silently. Dean's frustration rose with every passing second. They were one angel up; one fucking angel against the armies of heaven and hell, and their single ace in the hole was about to hand herself over on a goddamn plate to the other side? The idea of losing Anna and Cas made Dean twitch uncomfortably, and he felt the weight of Zachariah's prophecy pushing heavier on his shoulders. There was no way he could do this on his own. Dean knew that Bobby was in this for the long-haul, but he was still just one human against fucking Lucifer, and Sam was. Sam was...
Dean became abruptly aware of the darkness pressing against the windows surrounding them, no curtains or shades to hide the inky blackness of the night. Bobby's house was warm and bright, protection spells and sigils carved deep into the timbers of the house, herbs and magics buried in its foundations and cocooned on all sides by walls of books filled with ancient knowledge that could defeat evil and drive unnatural creatures back into the shadows. Bobby's home was probably the safest place in the world to be right then, but to Dean, he might as well have been standing alone and unarmed at the devil's gate, an eternity of hell rising red and infinite in front of him, while demon hordes gathered malevolent and smirking at his back.
"I have faith in you, Dean," Anna said softly, and Dean welcomed the distraction her voice brought, even while he suspected he probably didn't want to hear whatever it was she was about to say. "And it's not because the angels think it's your destiny, or because I believe good will always ultimately win out over evil, but because I've seen your heart and I know what you are capable of. You don't need to be afraid, Dean."
"Dammit, Anna, I'm not-" Dean began, but Anna didn't let him finish, which was a relief, because Dean wasn't sure what he was going to say, but he was pretty sure it would have been stupid or embarrassing and most likely both.
"I have to at least try, Dean. I owe Castiel that much. The angels had me imprisoned, but he risked his own chance of escape to free me before he turned his back on heaven to follow you." Anna took a step closer to stand directly in front of him, a look of something like wonder mixed with curiosity clear on her face. "You inspire some pretty crazy levels of loyalty, Dean Winchester." She turned then to flick a glance at Sam. "It's a shame your brother seems immune."
"Hey!" Dean barked in automatic protest, because he was mad at Sam, sure, but that didn't mean he was going to let someone else, not even someone who saved both their asses an hour ago, talk about his brother like that, but Anna was already gone. Left with nowhere to direct the anger he was feeling on Sam's behalf, Dean risked a glance at his brother to see how he was handling it, and stiffened. Sam had that look again, the one that made Dean think now might be a good time to start hiding their weapons.
Dean felt the weight of his responsibilities even more keenly for a second, before everything shuddered and then rearranged itself only to settle back down into place just that little bit heavier than before.
"We should get some rest," he said abruptly. "We won't be able to think straight let alone plan the way we are right now." Bobby muttered a reluctant agreement, but Sam only managed a half-hearted nod, head drooping low between his shoulders and his gaze trained firmly on the thread he was plucking at on the torn knee of his jeans.
Before the last year, before his deal, before hell, Dean would have known exactly what to say to get that look off Sam's face.
But maybe that was the problem; too many years being the good son, playing the peacemaker, being the homemaker, putting himself last and Sam first and getting nothing back in return but bruises and heartache and the cold glare of bus tail lights disappearing into the distance.
Fuck Sam and his puppy dog eyes and his emo angst and his reliance on Dean to always bail him out of whatever new mess he'd gotten himself into. It was time Dean started-
"Dean!"
Dean jerked his head in the direction of the shout, and groaned when his neck wasn't quite ready for the sharp movement and spasmed painfully. He pushed away the ache and found Bobby watching him through narrowed eyes. Dean blinked, and when Bobby didn't say anything else, he glanced over at Sam who had half risen from the arm of the couch with his hand held out and reaching towards Dean as though he'd stumbled. Dean glanced down to check, and found himself firmly planted on the ground, not even a hint of a wobble in sight.
"Everything okay, Sammy?"
"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine. Are you?"
"Course, man, just beat. Guess screwing up the Apocalypse averting really takes it out of you." Sam flinched, and Dean felt like a complete shit. "Sorry, bad joke."
"No." Sam stood fully, took a careful step towards Dean. "S'okay. We're all tired. You're right, we should sleep. Start figuring out tomorrow what we need to do."
"Agreed," Bobby said, and made towards the kitchen, talking over his shoulder as he went. "But I'm gonna eat first - my stomach's starting to think my throat's been cut. You boys hungry?"
Dean was surprised to find he was behind that suggestion 100% because he could still smell the burgers Zachariah had tried to tempt him with; he didn't think he'd ever come across anything as mouthwateringly perfect before, and doubted he would again. Right now, though, even one of Dad's ration packs sounded like manna so whatever Bobby was suggesting, he guessed it was gonna taste nearly as good as those burgers had looked.
Before he'd taken more than two steps though, Sam jerked upright and bolted for the door. Dean exchanged a worried look with Bobby and followed on after him. Once he was in the hallway the mystery was immediately solved; Sam could be heard, loud and clear, throwing up his guts in Bobby's downstairs bathroom.
Dean scrubbed tiredly at his eyes, and felt Bobby's come up to stand beside him.
"Don't think the idea of food's sitting well with your brother right now, Dean."
"Looks like," Dean agreed. When Bobby hesitated, Dean waved him back towards the other room. "It's okay, Bobby." He marshaled his expression into what he hoped was something less pathetic when Bobby hesitated. "Really, I got this," he insisted. Either he'd done a good enough job covering his weariness, or Bobby was just too tired himself to fight him over puking babysitting rights, because he just nodded and headed back the way he'd come.
With a silent promise of later to his rumbling stomach, Dean squared his shoulders and headed for the closed doorway.
TBC
***