Mercy, Mercy (Fighting for Nothing) [3/3]
At the first crime scene, Dean’s eyes go wide and his blood runs cold.
Not because of the bodies; he’s seen more, seen worse. Not because of the number; a whole family slaughtered, stabbed, shredded. Not because of the smell or the sticky red floor or the flashing lights or the dark, damp air.
It’s not what, but who, that stops Dean in his tracks.
She’s standing, head bent, idly cleaning her hands on a blood soaked cloth. Dean thinks, can’t be, and then she looks up. A flash of red hair.
“Hello, Dean.”
Swoosh. She’s gone.
Dean runs, runs, runs, and wishes he could steal her wings and fly.
***
“It’s a shame; everyone else is afraid of you.”
Sam’s head whips around and he gasps.
“The other angels. They all want your head on a stick, but they’re too scared to get it, that’s why he sent me.”
He backs up to the wall, flashes in his mind. Remembering the last time. The last time she killed him.
“He trusted me. With Michael gone, I was the only one left. The only one worthy to bring you to him. He knew I wouldn’t disobey, and he knew I wouldn’t back down.”
Anna, Anna, Anna. Sam can’t move.
“Not after he brought me back to life.”
A split second, and she’s beside him. Right there, just two fingers to the side of his head, and everything goes black.
***
Dean gets back and it’s just too late.
The room’s empty; Sam gone, Anna gone. He paces, curses to no one - to mostly himself. He wants to yell, stomp, scream. But he doesn’t. He knows it won’t help.
It’s his tenth journey from the bed to the wall, and an angel appears.
“Dean. Something’s happened in Heaven. Something of great significance.”
Dean stops, Dean glares. “Yeah, no shit.”
“Yes,” Castiel says, and then recognizes Dean’s response. “Where’s Sam?” Brow furrowed.
Dean’s voice is steely, sharp. “Anna took him.”
“Ah, of course. With Michael gone, she’s the most powerful. The most loyal, too. It makes sense that he would choose her.”
“Choose her for what?” His voice is raised and he can’t help it.
What are they doing with Sam?
“She came to take Lucifer and lock him up forever.”
Dean doesn’t even pause. “Take me to him.”
“You want me to take you to Heaven.”
“Yes.”
***
The room is dark, and when Sam first opens his eyes he thinks he's dreaming. It's cold and his hands are tied and he can't see, not even a little bit. His head is quiet, quiet and eerie, and he thinks this must be a dream. But he can't feel Lucifer. Not in his mind, not in the air, not hiding in the shadows. No voices call out, no one taunts him, no one chases him. He doesn't need to run, doesn't want to run. And it scares him.
"I hope you realize that I didn't want to do this."
Sam lifts his head at the sound, and there's enough light to see her, standing tall a few feet away. Anna stares at him, her eyes intense. He looks down.
"After they brought me back, I didn't want to come after you again. Obviously, last time it didn't work out well for me. But I can't argue with God, Sam, and he needed my help."
Sam doesn't say anything, because what could he say? I'm sorry you died after trying to kill me. I'm sorry I helped you. You didn't deserve it. I'm sorry your god needs you. He shouldn't.
"It's my duty to make sure Lucifer is never let loose upon the earth."
I'm sorry your brother betrayed you.
"You see, Sam, this time it's different." Anna is perfectly still, just standing, standing and staring and Sam feels like he should fight back even though she never strikes him, never even tries.
"This time, I'm not here to kill you."
Sam tries not to let himself hope.
"Because this time it won't be you I kill."
His brow is furrowed, mind working, trying to understand. What she means. How to escape.
"This time I know you're evil. I can smell him, you know. You reek of Lucifer. I can see the way you fight him, every second. You're fighting hard, I'll give you that."
Sam glares.
"I'm right? Yes, I know. I can see how hard you fight, and that's good. Really. I admire your strength, but it's not enough.
Sam can feel Lucifer now, bubbling up in the beginnings of a laugh.
"You can feel it, can't you? How weak you are. How your walls are crumbling. It's only a matter of time before he breaks free, and that's why you're here."
She takes a step, just one step in his direction and Sam screws up his face, braces his mind against Lucifer's struggle.
"You're here because of Lucifer, because I know, we know that he's about to break free. We can feel it, every single one of us. Heaven is tense, chaotic, with the fall of Michael and the rise of Lucifer."
Every time she says his name, her eyes seem to bore deeper into Sam, reaching through and feeding the devil, inflating his presence. Sam feels his head pound, feels it strain with the effort of holding on.
"I'm here to make sure that Lucifer never again walks the earth, never enters Heaven or even gains access to Hell. I'm here to kill the devil, Sam, and you know what that means."
The pain in his skull is beating, beating, bruising, but somehow he hears her next words.
"That means killing you."
The corners of her mouth lift in a smirk, a terrible little instance of happiness, and Sam flinches. But it's not the smile that does it. It's the spike of metal that appears with a sharp sound, right through the center of her chest.
Light spills out, a high keening from her lungs, and she folds, hitting the ground as the glowing stops.
In the space where she was, there's Dean. And in the space behind him, there's Cas.
Sam is processing everything on a basic level, a simple level, facts and pictures and Dean's cry of "Sam, Sammy", skimming the surface of his mind. Because the surface is all that's safe.
Beneath is just black.
It's not until Castiel takes them both by the arm, until the flash, until he's back in the hotel, Dean's hands supporting, that the pounding quiets. It doesn't stop, not really, not ever, but Sam can think again, can speak again, and the first thing he says is, "Thank you."
He looks at Cas; the angel nods and disappears.
He turns his eyes to Dean. "Thank you," Sam says.
And Dean says, "I'm sorry."
Sam shakes his head, don't be, but Dean keeps talking.
"I'm sorry I left you alone. Sam. I shouldn't... I should never have done that. If I'd known. God, Sammy, she could've killed you and I wouldn't. I wouldn't have been able to stop it. I wouldn't have been able to save you."
There's something like panic in Dean's eyes and Sam's face softens. "Dean, it's not your fault. I'm okay." He pauses. "And even if... even if she'd killed me, it wouldn't have been me." Sam swallows, shudders. "I was so close, in there. I was so close to losing it all."
Dean pulls him forward, pulls him close. "You're okay," he mumbles, and again. "You're okay."
Sam bites his tongue and doesn't say, "I'm not."
***
The air is mild. It's light and the sun is warm and it doesn't smell like fear. Doesn't smell like anything, doesn't feel like anything, and that's what scares Sam the most.
Nothing's wrong.
No shadows to get lost in, no holes to fall down in. No voices to taunt him and no fears to chase him. There's nothing. Flat, empty ground and light, blue sky.
Nothing, nothing. Nowhere to hide.
But then he sees it. A tear in the leaf, a scratch on a perfect tree. A footprint in the dirt with claws for toes and a spot of red in clear green water. Tiny things, miniscule, unimportant things. Everywhere.
Everywhere he turns, something disrupts impeccable nothing. Small things, so small that only he can see them, notice them, care about them.
These things, they're scattered through his dream, through his mind. Almost one with what was there before, bits of darkness marring his subconscious. They're in the corner of his eye, in places he wouldn't think to look. They're shifting, slipping, spinning, and he can't get away. Every time he turns he sees more. Something new, something worse, and he can't escape.
Can't escape, because it's a part of him. This darkness. It's a part of his dream, of his life, of his soul, and if he steps back and looks, really looks, he can see the big picture.
His mind and the devil's.
Intertwined.
***
Sam knows he’s awake because the first thing he sees is his brother’s face. There’s no darkness there.
***
Dean tells Sam he isn’t scared. He wears his brave face and bites back his pain and tells Sam he’s fine. He’s okay, really he is.
Don’t worry, Sammy. I’ll be alright.
It’s just Hell. I can make it.
He listens as Sam worries, pushes and blinks with big sad eyes, and he turns his back. He tells himself it’s true, turns his words to his own ears.
I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.
It’s just instinct. Tell Sam what he wants to hear. Don’t let him worry, can’t let him. Can’t let him feel guilty, can’t let him see the truth.
Because what is Dean supposed to say?
“It’s all good. Everything’s great.”
Watch Sam’s skeptical frown.
“It’s only Hell, how bad can it be?”
See Sam’s cringe, barely there.
“Don’t worry, I want to go.”
Feel Sam’s guilt.
“Don’t torture yourself, really. I’m fine.”
The pain, the conflict, the self-loathing.
“I did this for you.”
Sam’s softened gaze, Sam’s tiny sigh, Sam’s lowered head.
Conceding.
“I don’t regret it.”
***
“Sammy, I’m scared.”
No point in hiding, he thinks. The lies; they don’t mean anything. Not anymore. Nothing he says, nothing he does, nothing he pretends to be. Nothing will make it better. Nothing will change the fact that everything’s falling apart. Crumbling, tumbling, spinning out of control.
“Dean.”
He can see the words forming on Sam’s lips. The denial, the comfort, the sweet, sweet lies, and he can’t. Can’t deal with that, that routine of tell-me-what-I-want-to-hear. He used to think it worked. Lie enough and you start to believe. Surely, that’s better.
No.
“I know I shouldn’t be. I know, if anyone should be scared it’s you, because, well. I know you’re not fine, Sam. It’s not exactly a secret. And I’m scared for you. I’m scared for me, I’m scared for the fucking world, okay? And I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to lie anymore.”
For a second, Dean expects to hear yet another I’m fine. He braces himself for the punch of it, that denial, but it never comes. Sam just moves towards him, conflict in his eyes mixed with something else. Assurance. Clarity.
“Me too.”
Sam kisses Dean, and there are no lies. No lies, no pain, no devil, no Hell. It’s not Heaven either, just understanding. Pure and simple and soft and sweet.
Me too.
It’s a shared fear, a desperation passed between them, lips to lips and heart to heart.
They’re not pretending anymore.
***
It hits Sam with the force of a fist. Knocks his breath away, shock and epiphany and maybe a chance. He can say it.
Yes.
It’s felt like a losing battle for so long; this downward slide of an apocalypse, things getting worse, getting worse. It felt like all the hope was gone. Their future, the world’s future. All of it, gone. Sam had given up.
But now, now. Now with the rings and with Death’s words. Now maybe, just maybe, he can do something. Help.
Sam could save them all.
It doesn’t feel like giving up when he swallows the first drop of blood. That rush of power that he’d come to loathe now feels like a rush of life. A step towards Lucifer feels like a step towards victory. He downs jug after jug after jug, feels less and less human, but he doesn’t force himself to keep going. Doesn’t have to.
Because now he has a reason. A reason to drink. Not for power, not for revenge. For everyone. To save everyone.
When Lucifer smiles and floods Sam’s mind, Sam doesn’t give up. He fights and he fights and he keeps fighting. He has something to fight for; this new chance. The one and the only.
If he can do this.
But then, his mind snaps. He loses. He’s pushed to the back, unable to speak, to move his own hands. To run. It’s all gone, all of it, but Sam can’t give up. He can’t.
He sees Dean’s face, broken and bloody and looking at him like he’s the world, and something inside breaks free. Breaks to the surface.
And he jumps.
***
Sam feels like he sleeps more often than not. Dreaming and waking and dreaming again; it’s all slipping together, blending into something gray, indistinctive, and Sam can’t tell what’s real.
All the somethings he’s been holding on to, all those somethings are fading away, one after another, going up in smoke. Lucifer, dark fog, takes their place.
There’s a bittersweet tang to the words “giving up”. A flavor in the action that screams of relief, it’s all over, I can rest now.
As Sam drifts, he feels it. The temptation. Hanging over his head, whispering in his ear.
“Do it. Just let go.”
And he wants to, so badly wants to. Let go. Give in. But one thing stops him. That voice, the one in his dreams, sticky persuasion. That’s the devil’s voice. Lucifer in his mind and Lucifer in his lungs, and it’s only the guilt now. The only thing that keeps him going.
I let him out once, I won’t do it again.
The only thing temptation can’t change.
That, and the dreams. The dreams the nightmares that are becoming reality. The running, the hiding, the chasing and the falling. The laughing. Sam can’t become that, and he keeps fighting. For his mind, his sanity. His humanity. He fights off the laughter and reaches out in the darkness.
Give me something. Something to hold on to. Keep me here. Keep me.
He reaches blindly, hoping actuality is what he’s reaching into. If he reaches out and touches Lucifer, he knows that he won’t come back. That it will be the end. Sam stretches out his fingers, keeps his eyes closed and hopes, hopes, hopes.
Keep me.
It’s Dean’s fingers he finds, and they pull him back. They shake the nightmare from his mind.
***
It’s blurry, the noise. Not sharp, not blaring. It wakes Dean anyway. It’s eerie; a low buzzing din that rises up, up through the closed window. It’s not right, not the normal lull of early morning city.
Dean sits up and looks around; there’s no one. Just Sam, still fast asleep. The noise is still there.
It sounds like voices, dozens of them, all blending together and he can’t pull them apart. For a moment, he thinks it’s all in his head. Am I possessed? Is this what Sam hears? But then Sam sits up too, confusion on his face. Dean tries not to notice the pain lingering in his eyes.
“What…” Sam clears his throat.
Dean says, “I don’t know,” before he can finish.
They glance at each other, shared curiosity and foreboding, and they rise. There are two windows, one on each side of the room, and they take their places, meeting eyes once more before opening the curtains. Everything goes silent.
The street is filled with black eyes. Demons, grouped together and looking up, voices stopped and focused on the window. On Dean. His mouth drops open and he closes the blinds, fast, whirling around. Just as Sam calls out.
“Dean.”
His voice is high and tight.
The parking lot is just as crowded, but the eyes are brown. They’re brown and blue and green and grey instead of black, instead of yellow and red. Each staring up with cool calculation, an identical superiority in every gaze, in every set of shoulders.
Angels.
Dean backs away, pulls Sam with him.
“Cas, what the Hell is going on?” Dean spins around, glaring at the room until the angel arrives.
“We appear to be surrounded.”
Dean rolls his eyes and Sam does the same.
“What do they want?” Dean’s voice is labored with sarcasm.
“I’ll be right back.” Castiel is gone and Dean sighs.
Sam is tense behind him; tiny tremors running through him that Dean can’t quite feel but knows are there. Dean closes his fingers around Sam’s wrist and it relaxes, just a little. They stand for a full minute, not moving, not looking outside. Sam jumps when Cas comes back.
His eyes are on Sam and his voice holds some trace of sympathy, of apology.
“They seem to want you, Sam.”
Dean grips him tighter.
He asks, “What?” as Sam asks, “Why?”
“They feel something coming. Something that scares the angels; they’re here to fight. The demons are here to cheer it on.”
Dean almost asks what it is, but he knows, and they know.
“Me,” Sam says finally. “Lucifer.”
And Castiel nods.
They’re both so calm, both so resigned, and rage bubbles up inside Dean.
“No.” He spits the word out, and they turn to him. “We’re not just going to sit here and wait. We’re not. I won’t let you.”
Sam is shaking his head, dejected. He looks like he’s given up.
“No. No, no. Half of them want to kill you and half want to bring Lucifer out. That’s not going to happen.”
Sam doesn’t say anything, and Dean keeps going. Can’t let him give up. Can’t lose him.
“Sam. Sammy, look at me.”
He does.
“We’re going outside. We’ll go through the back where there’s a gap in the crowd, and we’ll fight our way through if we have to. But we’re not giving up.”
Not like this.
“Dean.” Sam’s voice is soft. “There’s no way we can fight all of them.”
“Yes, yes there is. There has to be.” Dean is pacing now, running his fingers through his hair, working and working his mind. “We can send the angels away, and we can fight our way through the demons. There aren’t that many.”
He avoids looking out the window. There are that many.
“Sam, can you… Can you kill them? You know, with your mind?”
Sam looks down, looks into himself, and Dean can almost see the thoughts running through his head.
“I don’t know. Maybe, but I might. It might be a bad idea.” He swallows, nervous.
“Let’s hope you don’t have to.”
When they step outside, it takes a moment for the others to see. A moment before their heads turn, turn as one, and Dean runs, Sam right behind him. The monsters rush forward.
Dean shoves and he kicks and he punches, drops demon after demon as Castiel presses his bloodied hand into the door.
With a flash, the angels are gone. And then it’s just black eyes.
Dean fights and Sam fights, and for a minute it feels like winning. But the demons just keep coming, and Dean falls to the ground. When Sam lands beside him, blood trickling down one cheek, Dean thinks maybe this was a mistake. Maybe they should’ve waited, up in the room, for the demons and the angels to find them. They might’ve had a chance to say goodbye. Dean looks at Sam.
“Sammy,” he starts, but he doesn’t know what to say.
Sam’s face is resolute, determined when he meets Dean’s gaze. “Don’t worry. I can do it.” The demons are looming over them, closer and closer, and the last part is almost a whisper. “I have to.”
Before dean can react, before he can move it tell Sam no, Sam stretches out his hand. He closes his eyes and the demons stop. They freeze and they cry out as one, shrieks and roars, and Sam is sweating and shaking and still fighting to stay strong.
The sound that comes from Sam’s mouth is somewhere between a sob and a scream, and then all the demons glow.
Bright orange light, Dean watches with mouth wide open as they die, sparking and sizzling and burning up from the inside.
The fire is reflected in Sam’s eyes.
All at once, the screaming stops. Bodies fall to the ground, none of them moving, and Dean doesn’t know if any are breathing.
Dean isn’t looking at them, because Sam’s eyes are closed too. His chest moves, but the breaths are slow, ragged, and all Dean can think is Sammy as he picks his brother up and carries, him, stepping over body after body.
Crossing an entire battlefield on the way to the door.
***
This time, Lucifer doesn’t hide.
He’s no longer a voice in the wind or a shadow in the dark. He’s not taunting, not chasing, not threatening. Just standing. Right there in front of Sam, wearing his face and smiling.
“Hello, Sam. Miss me?”
Lucifer moves, slow and fluid. He walks like a predator but doesn’t pounce. A predator that knows his pray has already been caught.
Sam wants to run. All that talk, those thoughts about giving up; it’s harder to do than say. Now, now with Lucifer staring, smiling with his own mouth, Sam can’t. Can’t walk forward, can’t bring himself to give up, give in. Surrender.
Lucifer is speaking, low and fast and teasing, but Sam doesn’t hear the words. He doesn’t want to hear, because he’s heard it all before. The song is the same.
I’m the devil, but only because they made me that.
I’m not evil, I’m just cast out.
I was a good son.
I love my father.
Sam is tired of listening. He tries to turn, tries to run, but his legs are frozen, stuck fast. He can’t move. Can’t do anything.
Lucifer laughs.
“You’re slipping. That’s understandable; you’ve been fighting me for months. Very courageous, by the way. Congratulations. You’ve lasted longer than most would.
Sam pushes, pushes, fights as hard as he can.
“I’m almost there, now, I can feel it. Can you? I’m almost in control.”
Fights, fights, fights.
“I’d give you a minute at most.”
He’s trapped, trying to push his way out of a block of cement.
“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight.”
Maybe, if he thinks hard enough. If he overcomes Lucifer, just for a second.
“Fifty-two, fifty-one.”
Maybe he can break free.
“Forty-five, forty-four.”
Sam closes his eyes. He shuts out Lucifer and concentrates. On the hotel, on the Impala, on his memories, on Dean. Dean’s hands, showing him how to hold a gun. Dean’s broad back, standing in front of him, shielding. Dean’s eyes. Comforting. Safe.
“Thirty-three, thirty-two.”
Dean. Dean.
“Twenty-eight, twenty-seven.”
Dean.
“Twenty-five.”
I love you.
“Twenty-four.”
I love you.
Sam wakes up before Lucifer reaches twenty.
***
Sam opens his eyes, and he’s back in his own head. His own reality.
He sits up and he doesn’t panic. Lucifer is out of sight, now, reduced again to a mere presence in Sam’s mind. Not overwhelming, not possessing. His movements are slow, controlled, with the devil banging at the sides of his mind, rage and frustration pouring out. Sam locks him down. Can’t let go.
Sitting beside him, Dean stands when Sam moves.
His eyes are tired and sad, but his mouth curves when he sees.
“Sammy. You’re okay.”
Sam just nods, but he really doesn’t know.
Dean leans down and Sam stands up, meeting him as he pulls Sam in, hugging him tight, face buried in his shoulder for a long moment. Sam moves back first.
Loud, demanding, Lucifer screams in Sam’s head, and he just wants to forget. He presses his mouth to Dean’s, a hard, deep kiss, hands in his hair. He wants to get lost, in this, in Dean. To drown Lucifer in feeling, flood him, burn him down. He wants to lose control, to fill his head with love and heat and push Lucifer out.
Dean doesn’t question him. He responds with hands on Sam’s hips, his back, fisted in his shirt. It’s lips and teeth and breath, and Lucifer roars. Rears up in Sam’s mind and attacks, striking. Blow after blow. Over and over and over.
Sam squeezes his eyes shut, pushes harder against Dean. So much feeling, welling up, filling his head, mixing with thoughts of Lucifer; Lucifer’s thoughts.
Smooth, the skin of Dean’s cheekbone under his fingers. Soft skin and bone, reaching up towards his eyelashes and down to stubble. The kiss softens with that gentle touch, just brushes, lips on lips, and Sam’s mind slips. Just for a second, but it’s enough.
Lucifer breaks through with one hard punch.
Dean’s back hits the wall when Sam’s fist hits it, colliding, the strength behind it more than he knew he had. Too much force. Inhuman. The blow of a demon, a devil.
The surge only lasts a second. Dean’s shocked eyes, the red mark spreading across his skin, they pull Sam back. His mind is his again, with a gasp, and he covers his mouth with his hand. One cautionary step, one step towards Dean.
“Dean.”
Sam stops a foot away. Doesn’t want to get too close.
“Dean, I’m so… it wasn’t me. I’m so sorry.” He reaches out, wants to touch, wants to soothe, but he makes his hand freeze.
“It’s okay,” Dean whispers, voice hoarse. There’s heartbreak in his eyes that Sam tries not to see. “Sammy, it’s okay.”
He takes Sam’s hand, the one outstretched, and places it on his cheek. When Sam doesn’t move, Dean does instead. Walks forward like Sam’s an animal, easy to startle and dangerous, but Sam doesn’t mind. He’s cautious as he brushes his mouth to Sam’s.
He’s scared, Sam is, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that’s normal. Those are his brother’s lips on his, his brother’s face in his hands. But he’s not scared of that, of the unfamiliar, the abnormal. That, he thinks, seems oddly simple. It’s Dean. Sam looks at him and he doesn’t think “brother”, doesn’t think “wrong”. He just thinks “Dean”, and kisses back.
It’s the way he’s slipping that scares him. The way every touch could morph, transform into a crushing blow, a bruise on Dean’s face. The way he’s trying to hold on, trying with everything he has, but he still feels himself crumbling. Falling as Lucifer breaks through layer after layer, fighting his way up to the surface of Sam’s mind.
Dean’s hands ground him. He’s worried it’s not enough.
Their lips part, Sam’s forehead resting on Dean’s, and his break is shaky, his hands white-knuckled. Trembling.
“Dean.”
“Shh,” is all Dean says, rubbing circles on Sam’s back.
“Dean.”
Another kiss and Sam doesn’t speak.
Sam doesn’t, but Lucifer does. All the time in Sam’s head, all that screaming and pleading and bang, bang, bang. He can’t drown it out, no matter how much he breathes Dean in, runs fingers along skin.
This time Dean falls to the floor when Lucifer strikes. He strikes and he sticks, but just for a moment.
Dean calls out to him, calls his name, and Sam is back.
Fighting.
Fighting and dropping to his knees and stroking Dean’s face and his neck and looking into those eyes, green eyes, reminding himself. Why he’s fighting. Who he’s fighting for.
Dean kisses his cheek and a tear spills down it.
It’s Lucifer that wipes it away.
He’s right there, right there next to Sam and they’re slipping together. Sam’s fighting, he’s crying, and he’s holding on, but it’s just not enough. The effort is strong, but it barely makes a difference. Lucifer takes his hands, one by one, and wipes the wet from his eyes. Lucifer takes his legs and takes a step towards Dean, those green eyes streaming.
Sam can’t do anything, can’t even scream as his hands, Lucifer’s hands, wrap around Dean’s neck.
“Sammy.”
He squeezes.
“Sam.”
Voice hoarse, cries lost in a constricted throat.
“Please.”
Sam’s cries are lost too. Lost to laughter.
“Dean.”
But no sound comes out.
“Dean.”
Fighting, fighting.
“No.”
A snap, a crunch, a body falling to the floor.
“No.”
Sam slips, slips, falls as Lucifer stands. He’s fighting for nothing.
“Yes.”
The devil’s voice, and Sam fades away.
part two - masterpost