Fic - The Book Of Abel
Title - The Book of Abel
Summary - Sam's desperately searching for his demon brother; running on empty, with no plan B. That is, until the dreams of the Book start. But could It really save his brother?
Rating - R
Genre/Spoilers - Gen. Season 10 in general.
Warnings - Violence and language. Dark themes.
Word Count - 1800+
Disclaimer - I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co, I'm simply borrowing them for a while. I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all the standard disclaimers apply.
A/N - A massive thank you to harrigan for the super fast beta and for all her input, encouragement and words of wisdom. This was written for the 2015 spnspringfling challenge for quickreaver's prompt of we're all monsters here.
A/N 2 - You should also check out the stunning J2 artwork that chomaisky created for my prompt here. There were so many treats this year so here is the masterlist for you to enjoy.
Originally posted here
The Book of Abel
At first, Sam only dreams about the Book; the rough texture of Its pages between his fingers, and the rusty smell of the blood-drawn sigils that are hidden inside. But he can still feel the electric buzz of the Book's power stinging his fingertips hours after he wakes.
Sam blames it on lack of sleep. He's been running on empty for weeks, trying to find his demon brother. But gradually his time starts to fill with thoughts of the Book, and that soon develops into research, and before long it's all he can think about. The dreams don't stop, but they get more intense until Sam's pretty sure they aren't dreams any more. This is a calling.
He's living off coffee and adrenaline, as he drives thousands of miles in the Impala following cotton-thread leads. But no one has heard of the Book. The witches, the demons, the voodoo priests, the Shaman - they all deny knowledge of Its existence, no matter what interrogation methods Sam uses.
But their lies smell like sulphur, and Sam won't stop searching, no matter how hard they all plead, because the longer he searches, the stronger the feeling grows. This is his Book, it's meant for him. And it's going to save his brother.
XoXoX
Like a siren, the Book starts calling to him as soon as he returns to the Bunker. Half-heard whispers of his name echo around the endless empty corridors, and no matter how much cheap bourbon Sam knocks back, it just gets louder.
Late at night when the whispers reach their peak, he worries that he lost his mind months ago and now there's no one left to pull him back to reality. His stone number one is gone.
He’s sleeping in Dean’s room-or tossing restlessly, truth be told, as if the memory foam beneath his body knows he doesn't belong. But he keeps coming back, clawing desperately at anything that might ground him.
Then one night the Book's whispers change. At first Sam shakes it off as nothing, but the sounds grow louder like something is trying to creep out of the static in the air. He turns around and Dean's room is empty, but he can feel something seep into his flesh and then flow through his bloodstream.
He feels weird, like he's not alone, and then he starts to sense the presence of the Book. He doesn't hear audible words, but Sam understands everything that the Book is communicating to him. They have a connection.
It takes a while to get used to, but then Sam figures it out. The Book's telling him where it is. It's been hidden in the Bunker the whole time.
XoXoX
He doesn't sleep for two days; his hands shaking, and his skin itching like it's about to shed a layer.
The Men of Letters have hidden it well. There are no records about the Book, Sam's looked everywhere. But he isn't worried because the Book feeds him clues; one by one, night after night. All he has to do is piece them all together.
A few days later and Sam's peeling off his sweat-drenched shirt and smashing through the last false wall in one of the storage rooms with a sledge hammer. His muscles are singing with agony, and he's beyond exhausted, but when he uncovers a crude-looking box, he knows he's found his treasure.
Kneeling on the rubble, he opens it. The Book is beautiful. The aged leather is brown, and despite Its handmade qualities, It's sturdy looking. The moment his fingertips graze the soft cover of the Book, he can hear It purr.
It's happy. It wants Sam to own It, to use It. It tells him that It's been waiting for Sam, that soon they'll be two pieces of a whole, and that together they can save Dean.
XoXoX
The Book tells him that he was a born a scholar, and that It was born to share its knowledge. It takes more time than Sam would like, but the Book teaches him how to read Its pages, how to draw the blood-sigils, and how to speak the lost language of Its words.
But the Book remains a mystery, and no matter how many ways Sam words his questions, the Book only has one answer. It was made for the brothers with the calling.
As Sam's studies take over, the Book tells him to throw away all the bourbon, so Sam does, watches it swirl around the drain in the kitchen sink. The Book reminds him to eat, and tells him to rest when his eyelids are too heavy.
But most importantly the Book teaches Sam that his power has always been there, under his skin, waiting patiently for the Book to awaken it. Now that they're together, as one, the veil has simply been lifted, and one day soon the power will be there for all to see.
XoXoX
The Book wakes him in the middle of the night and tells him that it's time. Their connection is finally complete.
Together, the Book and Sam track the demonic breadcrumbs that Dean's been leaving in his wake; bodies, some butchered beyond recognition, but the marks left by the teeth of the First Blade are the only calling card that Sam needs.
It turns out that Dean's in Lawrence, Kansas. Sam wants to be surprised, but the Book tells him that they've come full circle, and that it was always going to happen here.
Standing outside their empty old house, Sam clutches the Book in his hand, the words of Its lost language rolling effortlessly off his tongue. The Book starts to sing in his ears, and Sam reaches for the penknife in his pocket, dragging the sharpened blade over his skin. With bloody fingers, Sam starts to trace his own sigils onto the Book's now empty pages; one after the other, until the Book is filled with Sam's blood.
There's a jolt that Sam feels deep inside, where his battered soul belongs, and he watches the sigils slide out of the Book and onto his skin, travelling up his arms, and across his collar bones. They burn hot, and the Book warns him that it'll get worse when they finally reach his eyes.
Sam hears himself scream. Warned or not, it's agony. It doesn't burn hot exactly, but it burns intensely, each sigil imprinting over his corneas, one after the other. When it's over, he can see just fine, it just looks like he's staring through red stained glass.
The front door opens, and Dean walks out, his eyes as black as tar, the First Blade fisted tightly in his hand, so camouflaged in blood and guts that Sam can't tell where one begins and the other ends.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. We've been waiting for you.”
XoXoX
They walk towards each other, trampling over the perfectly trimmed lawn. The Book is chanting their plan in Sam's ear, step by step, and he's glad he's not alone; he needs the Book to remind him that he's doing this to save his brother.
Dean blinks away the demon-black of his eyes, a shit-eating grin cutting through his face as he raises the First Blade. “Time's up, little brother.”
It happens so fast. Sam watches the Blade slice through the air, and he knows that if he didn't have the Book, his neck would be slashed, his head barely attached to his shoulders.
But the Book's power and their combined speed allow him to catch Dean's blade wielding wrist mid-air, his fingers wrapping around flesh and bones, locking in place. Immovable.
He hears Dean's guttural snarl as he struggles against Sam's grip, throwing punches with his free fist as he attempts to throw Sam to the ground with all the power that he and the Blade possess. It's all useless, of course. Sam and the Book are one now, they can't be stopped, by anyone or anything.
The power and hunger of the Blade starts to leach into Sam's system. He hears the high-pitched ring as the Blade demands his blood, and he hears the screaming, from his own lips as well as his brother’s, as Sam draws the Mark towards him, watching it fight against his grip as it's pulled across Dean's skin.
If Sam concentrates too hard, he can feel himself pulling his brother apart, muscles and tendons snapping one by one. Like the Book said, the Mark is a brand, it can be willingly transferred, but it wasn't made to be forcibly taken.
Sam shuts out the screams and continues to pull the Mark down the skin on Dean's arm, and then it's travelling over Sam's fingers, brandishing itself through layers of skin. The Book takes over after that, and Sam feels his insides twist and split as the Mark is pulled across his body towards the Book that he's still gripping in his left hand.
The Book is chanting the words of the lost language and Sam joins in when he's able. He knows they both feel the moment that the Mark first touches the blood filled pages, like an unspoken goodbye, before it burns its way through the paper until there's nothing left but ash, that's picked up and blown apart by the wind.
XoXoX
The Book is gone, sacrificing itself to rid the world of the Mark, and Sam is adrift. But then there's a tug that comes soul-deep, pulling Sam towards his brother, two threads of energies entwining into a infinity knot.
He drops the Blade, and hears it shatter. He hits the ground hard, and Dean follows. He knows that those are Dean's eyes staring at him, and he knows that he has his brother back. He's still gripping Dean's wrist, and Dean's gripping his too.
They don't let go.
XoXoX
The Impala's tires are burning tarmac as they race down the open highway. The sun is high in the sky, the windows are rolled down and the Impala's engine is purring as Dean presses down on the accelerator.
They're driving fast, breaking so many laws that Sam stops counting and just enjoys the ride.
Dean's singing along to Led Zepplin, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He looks carefree and relaxed, and like he can feel the attention, Dean flicks his gaze over his shoulder. They stare at each other for a while and it should be weird, but it's not.
Sam turns the volume up and tries to drown Dean's voice out, but Dean's still singing at the top of his lungs, and all Sam can do is laugh and then join in.
There's a job waiting for them at the end of the road, or maybe at the end of the song, but this feels good. It feels like heaven.
The End