Breaking the Pact, Chapter 2
Title: Breaking the Pact
Chapter: 2
Author: mauled_down
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Overall NC-17, for the eventual sex, dark subjects and language
Warnings: Smut, Angst, Dealing with Death, eventual Wincest. This fic will also have some (heavy?) religious themes to it. If this, mixed with the pre-mentioned things, disturbs you, I suggest you don’t read any further.
Spoilers: Season Three, after Jus In Bello
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and if I made any profit out of this, I would have given up my day job a long time ago!
Feedback: I need it like oxygen. Seriously.
Summary: It’s Deans last week. In his desperation, Sam turns an unexpected source for help.
The Last Hope Cathedral was small, old, and in desperate need of repair. The walls were black of something Sam assumed was smoke and ash from a fire that had happened there at some point, and the door was missing a hinge. Sam frowned, leaning against the side of the Impala, his hands deep in his pockets. He didn’t know what he had expected. A white marble palace with a divine light shining upon it from the heavens, or some other cliché? What ever he had expected, this wasn’t it.
“What is this place, anyway?” Dean murmured from behind the steering wheel, his voice deep and tired.
“It’s a church.”
“I can see that, Sammy. Why are we here?”
Sam turned around to face his brother. “I told you. I thought there could be someone here that could help us with…” He made a suggestive hand gesture.
“With my problem.” Dean finished the sentence for him. He sighed and shifted on the seat, making himself comfortable.
“You’re not coming?” Sam asked, frustrated.
“No.” Dean said, stretching his arms with a content look on his face.
“Dean. Dean. Don’t you dare fall asleep. This is for you, damnit. Dean..” Said Sam, to the already snoring Dean. “Goddamnit.”
Dean had decided he didn’t want to die and go to hell a few months ago, and he had tried to help Sam in his research about deals with demons. He had put a real effort in, in fact. And then Sam had seen Dean talking to Ruby outside their motel after a job, in a somewhat depressed manner, and after that, Dean had given up again. It was almost as if he had decided that no matter what he or Sam did, he was going to die, go to hell, and suffer for an eternity, and that there was absolutely nothing he could, or would for that matter, do about it. It had made Sam even more desperate to find something he could help Dean with. He didn’t know what Ruby had said to Dean, and quite frankly, he couldn’t care less. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Dean was safe, and the deal was broken. That Dean would stay with him.
Sam glanced upon the sleeping man, his fingers itching to touch the peaceful face. He wondered how long he could keep his feelings hidden from his brother. He only had a week. A week before he would lose Dean. And if he didn’t speak out, if he didn’t act on what he felt in his heart, he would never have the chance. He didn’t know if he was ready to face what these feelings meant, and what would happen if he actually would act on them, but he was running out of time.
Sam pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. He had grown so used to ignore the strange desire in his heart that it was relatively easy to push that to the very back of his mind. He turned to face the cathedral. He knew it was his last chance. The very last place where he could look for help. Sam took a deep breath and walked over to the crooked door.
The door made a creaking noise when he pushed it open. The sound echoed in the empty and abandoned church like a scream for a moment, before suddenly dying completely.
Sam looked around, clearing his throat.
“Hello?” His voice echoed in the dark space. “Hello?”
He moved inside, his hand in his pocket, where, consequently, his gagger dipped in holy water was. The church was empty, save for the altar at the front and the old, mouldy benches in perfect line, one after another. Sam moved in, quietly and carefully, his eyes scanning the place. The door closed behind him with a creak and a thump. Sam turned quickly, pulling the handle with all his strength, only to notice that the door would not budge. Swearing under his breath, Sam wiped his forehead to the back of his hand and looked back to the altar at the front of the church.
“You shouldn’t swear in a church, you know.” A voice said. Sam looked around, trying to locate the source of the voice. “Can I help you?”
A man in a black suit and a white collar stood next to him. Sam jumped back a few steps, a high pitched squeak escaping his lips. The man tilted his head, smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Father Marcus.”
Sam stared at the hand for a moment before he realised what was expected of him. He shook it with his own a little too hard. “Sam Winchester.”
“And what can I do for you, Sam Winchester?” Father Marcus rubbed the hand Sam had shook and nodded towards the altar, beckoning him to follow.
“How did you know I needed help?” Sam hurried after the man.
“The fact that you show up in a church after midnight kind of gave it away.” Father Marcus laughed, walking to the altar and staring to light the candles. “Now, how can I help you?”
Sam pushed his hands deep to his pockets and sighed. “It’s rather complicated, Father.”
“Things usually are. Why don’t you take a seat?”
Sam reluctantly parked his behind on the bench, its mouldy smell paining his nostrils. He leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, and cleared his throat. “It’s actually very complicated.”
“Why don’t you start with the actual problem? I’ve noticed that it’s usually the circumstances that lead to the problem that are complicated, when the actual problem is quite simple.” The Father sat next to Sam, tapping his thigh with his large hand, in a friendly gesture.
“My brother sold his soul to a demon and he has a week to live before they come for him.” Sam said so quickly he barely heard his own words. He covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath.
Father Marcus frowned, but didn’t stir. He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned back on the bench, on his face a pondering expression. “I suppose he made a deal of some kind with a demon?”
“Yes, how did you…” Sam looked up in surprise.
“In my profession, you get to know all sorts of things.” Marcus made a hand gesture which indicated that any further questioning was futile. “And was the pact fulfilled by the other party?”
“Yes.” Said a voice behind them.
Both men looked back simultaneously. Dean stood at the end of the queue of benches, his hands so deep in his pockets it seemed his arms had been chopped off. He had a dark look on his handsome features, and he cleared his throat before continuing to speak. “She kept to her end of the deal. Sam lives.”
Father Marcus nodded slowly. “And I suppose you are the brother in danger of losing your soul?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it again.” Dean spoke as he bridged the space between him and the other men. “I’d do it in a heartbeat, if it meant that Sammy was alive and well. An eternity in hell is a small price to pay for that.”
Sam felt Deans eyes lock into his, and he saw a deep, dark emotion in them. It wasn’t desperation or fear, it was… Sam turned his eyes to his hands quickly, with a deep gasp. His heart pound in his chest like a hammer and this was neither the time nor the place to analyze what anything, be it looks or emotions, meant. The priest gave a peculiar look to them both, slowly shifting his gaze between the two younger men.
“You did a very noble thing, saving your brother. You shouldn’t be punished for that.” He said then, stretching his words.
“Damn straight I shouldn’t.” Dean returned the priests gaze with his own, in a very fiery manner. “But that’s the way it is. I can’t change it. Ruby told me…” He paused, glancing at Sam briefly, “That there was no way out.”
Sam took a deep breath between his teeth. So that was why Dean had given in. That bitch of a demon had told Dean there was nothing that could be done. That bitch had taken the last piece of hope Dean had kept within himself. Sam clenched his fingers into a tight fist. He would kick some serious demon ass as soon as this was over.
“Well, technically she didn’t lie to you.” Father Marcus said, rubbing his jaw with his right hand, still having that curious look on his face. “Demons can’t break deals made with demons.”
“How did you know…” Dean started, but got interrupted with the same hand gesture that earlier had prevented Sam asking questions.
“That hardly matters.” The priest said, standing up. “But what does matter, is that we have a lot of work to do if we are going to undo what you did.”
“No.” Dean said, standing still, stubborn. “If I wiggle myself out of this deal, even try to, Sam will die. I…” He turned to face Sam with a strange wetness in his eyes. “I can’t do that.” Dean turned to face the priest again. “I won’t do that.”
“I figured there was a catch.” Father Marcus said. “That might make it slightly more complicated.”
“I told you.” Sam sighed. “Complicated.”
“Complicated, but not impossible.” Father Marcus said, with the patience of a saint. “Nothing’s impossible. Not here. Not today.”
TBC
Chapter: 2
Author: mauled_down
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Overall NC-17, for the eventual sex, dark subjects and language
Warnings: Smut, Angst, Dealing with Death, eventual Wincest. This fic will also have some (heavy?) religious themes to it. If this, mixed with the pre-mentioned things, disturbs you, I suggest you don’t read any further.
Spoilers: Season Three, after Jus In Bello
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and if I made any profit out of this, I would have given up my day job a long time ago!
Feedback: I need it like oxygen. Seriously.
Summary: It’s Deans last week. In his desperation, Sam turns an unexpected source for help.
The Last Hope Cathedral was small, old, and in desperate need of repair. The walls were black of something Sam assumed was smoke and ash from a fire that had happened there at some point, and the door was missing a hinge. Sam frowned, leaning against the side of the Impala, his hands deep in his pockets. He didn’t know what he had expected. A white marble palace with a divine light shining upon it from the heavens, or some other cliché? What ever he had expected, this wasn’t it.
“What is this place, anyway?” Dean murmured from behind the steering wheel, his voice deep and tired.
“It’s a church.”
“I can see that, Sammy. Why are we here?”
Sam turned around to face his brother. “I told you. I thought there could be someone here that could help us with…” He made a suggestive hand gesture.
“With my problem.” Dean finished the sentence for him. He sighed and shifted on the seat, making himself comfortable.
“You’re not coming?” Sam asked, frustrated.
“No.” Dean said, stretching his arms with a content look on his face.
“Dean. Dean. Don’t you dare fall asleep. This is for you, damnit. Dean..” Said Sam, to the already snoring Dean. “Goddamnit.”
Dean had decided he didn’t want to die and go to hell a few months ago, and he had tried to help Sam in his research about deals with demons. He had put a real effort in, in fact. And then Sam had seen Dean talking to Ruby outside their motel after a job, in a somewhat depressed manner, and after that, Dean had given up again. It was almost as if he had decided that no matter what he or Sam did, he was going to die, go to hell, and suffer for an eternity, and that there was absolutely nothing he could, or would for that matter, do about it. It had made Sam even more desperate to find something he could help Dean with. He didn’t know what Ruby had said to Dean, and quite frankly, he couldn’t care less. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Dean was safe, and the deal was broken. That Dean would stay with him.
Sam glanced upon the sleeping man, his fingers itching to touch the peaceful face. He wondered how long he could keep his feelings hidden from his brother. He only had a week. A week before he would lose Dean. And if he didn’t speak out, if he didn’t act on what he felt in his heart, he would never have the chance. He didn’t know if he was ready to face what these feelings meant, and what would happen if he actually would act on them, but he was running out of time.
Sam pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. He had grown so used to ignore the strange desire in his heart that it was relatively easy to push that to the very back of his mind. He turned to face the cathedral. He knew it was his last chance. The very last place where he could look for help. Sam took a deep breath and walked over to the crooked door.
The door made a creaking noise when he pushed it open. The sound echoed in the empty and abandoned church like a scream for a moment, before suddenly dying completely.
Sam looked around, clearing his throat.
“Hello?” His voice echoed in the dark space. “Hello?”
He moved inside, his hand in his pocket, where, consequently, his gagger dipped in holy water was. The church was empty, save for the altar at the front and the old, mouldy benches in perfect line, one after another. Sam moved in, quietly and carefully, his eyes scanning the place. The door closed behind him with a creak and a thump. Sam turned quickly, pulling the handle with all his strength, only to notice that the door would not budge. Swearing under his breath, Sam wiped his forehead to the back of his hand and looked back to the altar at the front of the church.
“You shouldn’t swear in a church, you know.” A voice said. Sam looked around, trying to locate the source of the voice. “Can I help you?”
A man in a black suit and a white collar stood next to him. Sam jumped back a few steps, a high pitched squeak escaping his lips. The man tilted his head, smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Father Marcus.”
Sam stared at the hand for a moment before he realised what was expected of him. He shook it with his own a little too hard. “Sam Winchester.”
“And what can I do for you, Sam Winchester?” Father Marcus rubbed the hand Sam had shook and nodded towards the altar, beckoning him to follow.
“How did you know I needed help?” Sam hurried after the man.
“The fact that you show up in a church after midnight kind of gave it away.” Father Marcus laughed, walking to the altar and staring to light the candles. “Now, how can I help you?”
Sam pushed his hands deep to his pockets and sighed. “It’s rather complicated, Father.”
“Things usually are. Why don’t you take a seat?”
Sam reluctantly parked his behind on the bench, its mouldy smell paining his nostrils. He leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, and cleared his throat. “It’s actually very complicated.”
“Why don’t you start with the actual problem? I’ve noticed that it’s usually the circumstances that lead to the problem that are complicated, when the actual problem is quite simple.” The Father sat next to Sam, tapping his thigh with his large hand, in a friendly gesture.
“My brother sold his soul to a demon and he has a week to live before they come for him.” Sam said so quickly he barely heard his own words. He covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath.
Father Marcus frowned, but didn’t stir. He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned back on the bench, on his face a pondering expression. “I suppose he made a deal of some kind with a demon?”
“Yes, how did you…” Sam looked up in surprise.
“In my profession, you get to know all sorts of things.” Marcus made a hand gesture which indicated that any further questioning was futile. “And was the pact fulfilled by the other party?”
“Yes.” Said a voice behind them.
Both men looked back simultaneously. Dean stood at the end of the queue of benches, his hands so deep in his pockets it seemed his arms had been chopped off. He had a dark look on his handsome features, and he cleared his throat before continuing to speak. “She kept to her end of the deal. Sam lives.”
Father Marcus nodded slowly. “And I suppose you are the brother in danger of losing your soul?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it again.” Dean spoke as he bridged the space between him and the other men. “I’d do it in a heartbeat, if it meant that Sammy was alive and well. An eternity in hell is a small price to pay for that.”
Sam felt Deans eyes lock into his, and he saw a deep, dark emotion in them. It wasn’t desperation or fear, it was… Sam turned his eyes to his hands quickly, with a deep gasp. His heart pound in his chest like a hammer and this was neither the time nor the place to analyze what anything, be it looks or emotions, meant. The priest gave a peculiar look to them both, slowly shifting his gaze between the two younger men.
“You did a very noble thing, saving your brother. You shouldn’t be punished for that.” He said then, stretching his words.
“Damn straight I shouldn’t.” Dean returned the priests gaze with his own, in a very fiery manner. “But that’s the way it is. I can’t change it. Ruby told me…” He paused, glancing at Sam briefly, “That there was no way out.”
Sam took a deep breath between his teeth. So that was why Dean had given in. That bitch of a demon had told Dean there was nothing that could be done. That bitch had taken the last piece of hope Dean had kept within himself. Sam clenched his fingers into a tight fist. He would kick some serious demon ass as soon as this was over.
“Well, technically she didn’t lie to you.” Father Marcus said, rubbing his jaw with his right hand, still having that curious look on his face. “Demons can’t break deals made with demons.”
“How did you know…” Dean started, but got interrupted with the same hand gesture that earlier had prevented Sam asking questions.
“That hardly matters.” The priest said, standing up. “But what does matter, is that we have a lot of work to do if we are going to undo what you did.”
“No.” Dean said, standing still, stubborn. “If I wiggle myself out of this deal, even try to, Sam will die. I…” He turned to face Sam with a strange wetness in his eyes. “I can’t do that.” Dean turned to face the priest again. “I won’t do that.”
“I figured there was a catch.” Father Marcus said. “That might make it slightly more complicated.”
“I told you.” Sam sighed. “Complicated.”
“Complicated, but not impossible.” Father Marcus said, with the patience of a saint. “Nothing’s impossible. Not here. Not today.”
TBC