Measure of a Man 9/? (part two)
As per usual, I wrote a chapter too long for one LJ post. If you missed the first half of this chapter, go here and read that first. The rest of you? Right this way :)
Chapter Nine: Can I Go Through This Again? (continued)
Two Months after Dean Left…
Dean reaches his arms up again, muscles tired and beginning to shake from over-exertion, and starts his ninth climb up the tree. He’s glad he thought to anchor the lantern in the branches far above him; otherwise he’d be doing this in the complete dark. A nearby squirrel is his audience, nibbling on an acorn as he watches Dean’s latest ascent.
“Watch it, Rocky,” Dean grunts, pushing off another foothold. “You point and laugh at me one more time, and I’m gonna feed you your own tail. Got it?” The squirrel just keeps nibbling on his snack, tail very much unruffled by the threat-it did come from a human smaller than said tail, after all. Dean climbs on, keeping his focus on the notches in the bark instead of the stuck-up squirrel. When he finally reaches the large bow, he swings his legs up and rests against the lantern for exactly one moment. Then, with a quick check of his parachute, he gets in position, eyes the ground, readies his powers....and jumps.
“One Mississippi…two Mississippi...THREE!” He grows before he hits the ground, and he lands with ease. But Dean takes one look at his legs and stomps his boot: he overshot it again. Instead of his usual height, as was the goal, he’s at least 10-feet tall.
“Dammit!” Dean leans his head back, breathes in, then drops his head and breathes out, wholly frustrated with himself. He spots the tiny parachute pack resting against a twig and crooks a finger through the little straps to pick it up. Redoing the tiny Velcro locks with his thumb, he sighs and says, “Looks like we’re going again.”
Rocky remains quiet as Dean lumbers back to the birch tree, shrinking back down to a four-inch height, roughly the same as the action figure toy who had lent Dean his parachute in case of a powers-failure emergency. But just before Dean reaches his arms up for another climb, he hears a wooden snap. Rocky bolts, but Dean ducks behind the tree, keeping small but ready to grow if he has to. A round light bobs into view, and Dean relaxes. He’s come to know that particular bobbing pattern very well after all the nights he’s spent out here.
“Dean?” Tyler calls as he approaches the birch tree. Dean comes out to meet him, and Tyler shines his flashlight down on the small figure. Dean throws his arms out to shield himself from the glare.
“Hey, don’t blind me!”
Tyler clicks his flashlight off at once with a “Sorry!” Then he kneels down in front of Dean. “How’s it going tonight?”
Dean shrugs. “It’s going. Six times right, three times wrong so far, so gotta keep jumping.”
“But Dean, it’s already 12:30.”
“Exactly! Still early. Plenty of practice time left.” Dean looks up at Tyler’s big eyes as the kid tilts his head, like he’s studying him. “What, something on my face?”
“You’re shaking.” Tyler reaches out just as Dean denies it and gently wraps a hand around the little form, picking him up. “You overdid it again, didn’t you?”
“Put me down, Tyler, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not, Dean. You need to get some sleep.”
“I sleep,” Dean argues.
“You need more than an hour a night. That’s a nap, not sleep. And you don’t eat much, either. And you keep exercising too hard, and lifting too much weight, and you run for forever but you never stop and take a break. And don’t say I’m wrong,” Tyler points his index finger at Dean’s small face, “cos I’ve been there and seen everything. You need some rest, so you’re gonna get some rest.”
And with that, Tyler turns and heads back toward his grandparent’s house, where he, his family, and Dean are staying for the summer. But Dean grows and forces Tyler to let go, and by the time Dean is his normal height, Tyler is scowling up at him, looking so much like Sam that Dean has to turn away.
“You don’t understand, Tyler,” Dean begins, heading back to the birch tree. “I have to get this right.”
Tyler follows and yells, “But you did get it right! Six times!”
“Out of nine,” Dean grumbles. “It isn’t right until it’s nine out of nine.”
“Says who?”
“Says ME. And Sam. And Bobby and my dad and every hunter out there! You train and train until you can do this stuff in your sleep. It has to become a reflex or it isn’t good enough, and you’ll screw up, and someone else will get hurt, maybe even DIE. And then it’s on you, and you have to live with that mistake the rest of your life. THAT’s why I’m out here busting my hump instead of sleeping. I have to be PERFECT or I can never go back to my family, and that’s the goddamn truth.”
He says it much more gruffly than he wants to, but he’s so tired. Tired of being questioned, tired of being doubted, tired from working so hard and still not having his powers completely down, and most of all, tired of being so damn tired. But damn if the hurt look Tyler sends up at him doesn’t have Dean feeling shitty about letting his problems get to him. The walls rebuild at once, and he reaches up and grabs his lantern out of the tree.
“Sorry,” he says to Tyler. “Didn’t mean to bite your…” he yawns, “head off.” Dean’s yawn makes Tyler yawn, which nearly makes Dean yawn again, and he shrugs his shoulders and sighs in resignation. “Fine, you win. Let’s get some shut-eye.” He walks off, holding the lantern out in front of them to shine the way back to the house.
“Why’re you so hard on yourself?”
Dean turns and finds Tyler still standing where he’d left him. “Remember Track n’ Field Day on the last day of school, and I came in second in the 50-yard dash, and I was all mad that I didn’t run fast enough, and you said ‘Ty-Guy, don’t be so hard on yourself, you did great!’, and I didn’t believe you, and then you said that I did my best, and that’s the best thing to do?” Dean nods at Tyler’s rambling question but keeps a smile from creeping out. “So now it’s your turn! You always do your best, Dean-always! And you do great! You’re the coolest grown-up in the world! And you’ve got superpowers, too, and you’ve been training every day since you mailed yourself to my house, and look at all the stuff you can do with them now! You can grow or shrink whenever you want, and stay big or small as LONG as you want…it’s awesome!”
Dean rubs at his face like he’s wiping off all the praise Tyler just covered him in. “Okay, fine,” he sighs, “so I’ve come a long way, I’ll give you that. But I’ve still got a long way to go.” He shines the lantern down on his watch to check the time. “C’mon, Ty-Guy-Who-Likes-Pie. If you want me to catch some Z’s before dawn we need to head back right now.” He starts walking off again, but Tyler dashes after his friend and comes to a dead stop right in front of him.
“Dean.” Tyler enunciates the word as a sharp spear, and it cuts Dean deep. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just hafta be YOU!” Sparkling eyes peer up at Dean’s face, desperate for Dean to believe, but the hunter ultimately shakes his head no.
“Just being me has never been good enough,” Dean says. “Not once in my entire life.”
And that’s that. The two walk back to the house in silence, Tyler wishing he knew what to say to change his friend’s mind, Dean too depressed by his lifetime of failures to listen. As Tyler sneaks up the stairs, Dean takes off his watch and boots and settles onto the pull-out sofa bed in the den. All of his muscles first cringe from pain, then sigh out in relief as they relax one by one into the surprisingly soft mattress. Dean tucks his gun under his pillow and shuts his eyes.
“Late night?”
…only to open them again at the unfamiliar voice. The lamp switches on next to him, courtesy of a man in an expensive suit, who is sitting on the edge of the pull-out, smiling at Dean. He’s late middle-aged and balding, white hair taking on the hue of yellowed newspaper thanks to the dim light. “Calm down,” the man says in a hushed voice, “I’m not the enemy, Dean.”
“Christo,” Dean spits, but the man chuckles.
“Not a demon either. Wrong team.”
Dean’s eyes first widen and then narrow as he understands what he means. Just what I need: another dick with wings in my life. He sits up and rubs the heel of his hand over his face. “So which one are you?”
“Zachariah. I’m Castiel’s superior.”
Dean gives him his best Big Fucking Deal look. “Superior what, exactly?”
“Let’s just say I’m in upper management.” He gives Dean a very corporate smile to match his boasting tone.
“Uh-huh. Well come back later, Chuckles. My office hours don’t start until after the third cup of coffee.”
“I’d be happy to come back later, Dean, but that little brand on your shoulder has made you a very difficult man to find.”
Dean glances at Castiel’s handprint overlaid with Anna’s Enochian sigils and understands. “I’m dreaming.”
“Bingo! So let’s talk.” He pats Dean on his knee. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where you’re hiding out these days…?”
“Sure thing, pal! I’m about ten miles west of Nowhere. So just head yonder, turn left at the Denny’s, go thataway for a while, and you should be there in about, oh,” he checks the skin where his watch would normally be, “half past a freckle.”
Zachariah smirks right back. “All right, consider the crap cut.” Dean nods once as a thank you. “I’m here because you’re important, Dean. The world needs you out there, stopping Lucifer, preventing the Apocalypse, not sitting here…” he sweeps his arm out, “hiding away in some secret location!”
“Yeah, well, I already told Cas that I’m not interested in being Team Angel’s go-to guy. Find somebody else.”
“There IS no one else. It has to be you, Dean. You’re the only one.”
“Oh that’s right, it has to be me, cos I started this whole mess by breaking in Hell.” Dean is smirking again, though this time with bitterness. But Zachariah takes no notice of it, just nods his head in confirmation.
“That’s one of the reasons, yes, but there are so many more. You’re GOOD at what you do, Dean. No one can deny that. And it isn’t just your training or all of your experience that makes you so successful as a hunter: it’s because of who you are. This is your destiny, and no matter what you do to try and avoid it, it’s going to find you every time and bring you back.”
“Destiny,” Dean repeats. “Now there’s a crock. Tell me something-if I’m so damn important, then why did it take you so long to bust me out of Hell? If you got me out of there before I broke, NONE of this Apoca-shit would’ve happened!”
“It isn’t exactly a cakewalk to fight through armies of demons, you know, but we came down at the appointed time and fought our way through Hell for you anyway. As it is written-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, spare me the Bible thumping. I don’t care, all right? Not about destiny or any kind of Master Plan. See this?” Dean holds his right hand over his head and scissors his fingers through the air. “Pinocchio just cut his strings. I’m done.” And with that, he rolls over, putting his back to the annoying angel.
Zachariah stares at him a moment before breaking into a smile and snickering. “Dean, Dean, Dean. They warned me about your attitude.” He stands up and folds his hands behind his back. “I think it’s about time we worked on that.”
Chains burst through every wall in the room and bind Dean’s four limbs with red-hot shackles that burn through his skin. As Dean cries out in pain, giant meat hooks slice into his torso, one attached to a chain from the ceiling, the other to the floor. The dream version of Tyler’s grandparent’s home is swallowed by a black void, as the stench of sulfur and death poisons the air.
“No,” Dean whimpers, and he promptly clears his throat to remove the quivering fear in his vocal chords. Then he coaches himself in his usual, strong voice: “It’s not real. You’re dreaming, Dean, and this asshole angel is making you think you’re back in Hell, but it’s NOT REAL.”
“It’s as real as I want it to be,” Zachariah smiles. “Consider yourself restrung, Pinocchio. Show’s just getting started.” With a lift of his index finger, every chain and meat hook tightens its grip. Dean holds in his scream and glares at the man with everything he’s got.
“Thought you said you weren’t a demon.”
“Oh I’m definitely an angel-in fact, I’m known as the Angel of Surrender. That whole ‘Thy will be done’ thing? It’s my job to make it happen.” He leans down into Dean’s face and snarls, “So you will let go of this insubordination and surrender to His Will, or we’ll throw you right back into that stinking Pit where we found you. Is that clear?”
The angel glares into Dean’s face a few seconds before backing off again. “It’s sad, really. So much potential-wasted. You might be out of Hell, Dean, but you’re still just as broken as you were down there: a slab of raw, dripping meat on a spit above the world’s biggest grill. Sure, you got off the rack eventually and helped carve the other turkeys down there, but that’s only because you broke. Too tender,” he pokes Dean right where a meat hook is sticking up through his stomach, making the human wince, “too soft. Always and forever, amen.”
Zachariah begins a slow pace around Dean, somehow staying level with him despite the lack of floor, walls, or any sort of structure in this hole. “But somehow, you always find some way to keep going. I don’t know if it’s tenacity or just dumb luck. Bobby Singer’s occult remedy was the only reason you survived the poison attack I arranged-”
“That was YOU?!”
The angel looks at him like it’s obvious. “I sent the tornado, too. I had to test your mettle, Dean. See if the Chosen One was truly forged in fire, or just scrap metal. And for the record, I’m still not sure.”
“Well I’m sure of a few things,” Dean snarls, but Zachariah plucks one of the taut chains before Dean can list his insults, and the fresh-from-the-forge manacle singes deeper into its captive’s left ankle. Dean hisses at the pain but keeps his poker face on, unwilling to let the angel have any more satisfaction. He rides out the throbs, then the stinging, and finally the twangs, while Zachariah looks on, unimpressed.
“Your stubbornness is admirable, Dean, I’ll give you that. You’ve got more spirit than I would’ve given you credit for.”
Dean licks his lips and mutters, “So all that talk about destiny and you guys needing me…that was just to butter me up, huh?”
Zachariah sighs. “What I said about needing you is, unfortunately, the truth. It is written that you are our Champion, so now we’re stuck with you. Personally, I think the Boss bet on the wrong brother. Sam is clearly the better choice, don’t you think? Too bad about the tainted blood-he would’ve been perfect. Now he’s just an abomination with a good reputation.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
Dean can’t believe his ears. “So you went from telling me to stop Sam to being his number one fan?”
“Well at least Sam gets the job DONE. You, on the other hand, can’t even get your own powers under control.”
“They ARE under control,” Dean seethes. “I’ve been training for months.”
“Then how about a demonstration?” Zachariah gestures to the shackles. “Go ahead, Dean, break your chains. I’ll even wait.”
The smug smile is back, and oh how Dean itches to punch it off his face. So he tells himself to grow…but he remains the same. He switches to shrinking, and again, nothing. “Dammit, Dean, let’s go,” he grunts, trying both again, concentrating to the point of sweating, until he hears the angel laughing at him.
“You can’t even control them in your dreams! You really expect me to believe you’re a pro in the waking world?”
Dean sags, as disappointed in himself as he is worn out. “Believe whatever you want, I don’t care. Tomorrow I’ll train harder than ever, and when I’m finally done? It’s back to helping MY family, NOT yours.” The angel is smiling again, and Dean rolls his eyes. “Now what?”
“I’m sorry, I just think it’s cute that you still believe your family wants you back.” A dark look crosses Dean’s face at those words, and Zachariah’s smile becomes cruel. “Hit a nerve? Good. Shows me you’re paying attention.”
A chair materializes out of the thick, black air, and he eases into it. “Y’see, Dean, your family and friends are having the time of their lives without you around. They don’t have to put up with your crap-you know, the hang-ups, the bitching and moaning, the drinking, the five tons of emotional baggage you carry on your back. Nope, life is so much easier now. Sam, Bobby, the good doctor-they’ve all moved on. I’ve even reassigned Castiel to work on more…pressing matters. The fact that you’re still hiding from all of us when there’s no need is just SAD. No one cares, Dean! No one is looking for you.”
Dean looks him right in the eye and declares, “You’re lying.”
“I’m an angel, Dean. We don’t lie.” He leans forward so he’s hovering over Dean’s face. “You know what your dear Sammy is doing right now? Hunting a pair of ghouls in Nebraska. Now that he isn’t burdened by you, he hunts all the time! Doing a fine job, too.”
Dean’s poker face falls, dragged down by his faltering hopes, and Zachariah puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Did you really think he’d sit around pining away for you like some lovelorn teen? Come ON, Dean-o! Wake up and smell reality!” He shakes Dean’s shoulder, and the movement makes the meat hooks twist inside the human’s belly and back. But Dean doesn’t feel any of it: he’s too numb from the encroaching depression.
It can’t be true, he thinks and really, REALLY wants to believe. He at least misses me…right?
“Oh please,” Zachariah scoffs, reading his thoughts. “He wasn’t exactly doing jumping jacks when you got back from Hell, or so I’ve heard. Why would he miss you now, when he’s finally free? No more Pain in the Ass Big Brother to stop him from doing whatever he wants.”
“Is there a point to this monologue or do you just like boring people to death?” It comes out as more of a mumble than a snap, but it’s the best Dean can muster right now, hovering as he is on the brink of devastation.
“My POINT is that you’re wasting your time. You’ve been in such a rush to train so you can get back there and protect someone who couldn’t care less about you! Face it, Dean: you’ve got no one to back to. So why don’t you send for the check at your Pity Party, table for one, and come and work with us?”
“Thought I was damaged goods,” Dean grunts.
“True, but we’ll get you back into fighting shape in no time. The Heavenly Host has the best training facility in the universe. Let us help you become the Champion you were meant to be! You could save every last person on Earth if you just drop the attitude and do what you’re told for a change. And Dean, trust me on this: when you win and Paradise comes, you will be in the central palace, every kind of food and drink and girl at your beck and call. Think about it. Think HARD. You either pledge your allegiance to Our Cause, or…” Zachariah rattles the chains, “you stay here in your miserable existence until you rot. Choice is yours, Dean. Make the right one.” He turns to leave, but remembers something and looks back. “And for God’s sake, quit hiding from everyone. It’s unbecoming.”
With that, the angel was gone and Dean awoke with a start, the sound of flapping wings still echoing in his mind. He lay there for a moment, desolation filling his soul like a fast growing cancer. His heart beats in his chest as the snap of a snare drum playing out the walk to the execution pole, and Dean, a prisoner of despair, is led out and read the charges Zachariah filed against him in his dream. Dean Winchester: Failure to mankind; outcast from his family; burden to all; missed by none; a disappointment to everyone, including himself. And sure, the angel had offered him the chance to fix all of that, but what was the point? He’d just screw it up. It was only a matter of time.
‘Does the accused have any last words?’ Executioner Zachariah asks as Dean is tied to the pole and blindfolded. Dean’s face turns toward the voice.
‘I have no home, no family, no future. What the fuck more is there to say?’
The executioner shouts orders to his men. ‘Ready!’
This is for the best, Tyler, Dean thinks. I’ll be gone before you get sick of me.
‘AIM!’
Bobby, Meesh, Cas…thanks for everything. Sorry I screwed up so much. And Sammy…I know you don’t care about me anymore, and I don’t blame you, but for what it’s worth, little brother, I love-
‘FIRE!’
The imaginary bullets pierce his heart, and Dean clutches the blanket to his chest as he begins to cry.
Three Months after Dean Left…
It’s 3 a.m. Sam is beat, struggling to keep his body upright as he lumbers up the stairs to the 2nd floor and then shuffles down to his room on the far end. He’s been driving north for over ten hours, having received a call about a hunt in Kansas City when he was sitting at a diner in Tallahassee. He made it to southwestern Illinois before his vision started doing the breaststroke, so here he is, just outside of a small city called Carbondale, ready to face-plant into his pillow. Turning the key in its loose lock-gotta love the security in these crappy no-tell motels-he shoves the door open and drops his bag on the floor. His fingers feel along the wall for the switch, but the lamp across the room comes on before he finds anything.
“Hey, Stranger.”
Ruby is sitting on the bed, wearing a biker’s jacket and very tight pants. Sam is too drained to come up with any kind of smart remark, so he turns and opens the door, letting his sweeping arm gesture say what needs to be said.
“Nuh-uh,” Ruby replies. “Not until you tell me why you’ve been ducking me for three months.”
Sam sighs; so much for sleep. “Because Dean is missing and I’ve been trying to find him.”
“I heard he left you.” She gets up. “No contact number. No forwarding address. Bet he didn’t even pay for breakfast.”
“We’re not some couple,” Sam snaps with a roll of his eyes. Ruby smirks at him.
“Some days I wonder.” Standing in front of him now, she drops the smirk and reaches up a hand to cup his face. “Seriously, Sam. Are you all right? I’ve been worried.”
He grabs her hand and forces it down. “I’m fine. And it’s time for you to leave.”
“Fine, don’t ask for my help finding Dean.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Sam says through grit teeth.
“Even though I could find him in five minutes…” Ruby smiles at Sam’s attempt to keep his face stony. “Just takes a little scrying. How do you think I knew you’d be here tonight?”
“Owen’s been scrying since the day Dean left and he still can’t find him. And I trust Owen.” Sam folds his arms. “Why should I trust you?”
“Uh, because I’ve been helping you?”
“Helping me!” Sam scoffs. “You got me addicted to DEMON blood!”
“It’s not my fault you developed a taste for it,” she shrugs. Sam is fuming, so Ruby wisely drops the sass. “Okay, fine. So I wasn’t completely upfront about some of the…side effects. But you were managing!” He starts to turn, but she grabs his bicep. “Sam, you were so strong, this…one-man FORCE that could take down anything! Lilith was so afraid of you that she went into hiding. She’s never run from anyone, EVER, but she ran from you. And now? She’s laughing at you. They all are, Sam. Every demon, everywhere, is wondering who cut off your balls. Doesn’t that piss you off?”
“No.”
“No? Seriously?!”
“The only thing that matters to me anymore is finding my brother.” He walks away, and she shuts the door before trailing after him.
“And what if the world ends first?”
“Then let it end,” Sam states, whirling around to face her again as he throws the words out. Ruby shakes her head in disbelief.
“What’s happened to you?” she asks in a softened voice.
He looks her in the eye and replies, just as quiet, “I remembered who I am. Had to go through…a LOT…to get here…” The bitter smile is back. “And I hurt everyone I care about along the way…but I’m finally back. And now I have to try and set things right.”
“Translation: you’re breaking up our awesome, crime-fighting duo because you’re feeling all warm and fuzzy about your old partner.”
“This isn’t a joke, Ruby.”
“Am I laughing?” she challenges. “Look, I get that life’s been rough for you lately, and I can see how you’d be tempted to want things back the way they used to be. But what’s passed is past. You of all people should know that! All you can do is move forward. And with Lilith still out there, do you really want to go on alone?”
“I won’t be alone if I find Dean.”
“‘If’ you find him. Exactly. What if you don’t? You’ve been searching for him for months, and you’re no closer to him now than Day One. What if he wants to stay gone? Are you just going to keep chasing his ghost for the rest of your life?”
Sam turns away but the smell of her perfume follows, filling his senses. He hears her slip out of her jacket and then feels the brief gentle touch of her hand, shudders as her hand is replaced with the press of her breasts against his back and her arms around his waist. “Don’t,” he whispers, his voice shaking.
“I’ve missed you so much, Sammy,” Ruby murmurs into his ear. “Come back to me. We were a team-we’ve been through so much worse than this and came out clean the other side. We can work this out, I promise. But you have to let me back in.”
“I…I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” Her fingers trail over his back, and one by one, his muscles release their tension and sink into her caress. “I just hate seeing you suffering like this when I can make the pain go away. If you really want to take a break from hunting Lilith to look for Dean instead, we can do that. Whatever you want-just let me help you.”
Sam turns around, readying his argument, but the words never come. He stares at her, mesmerized, as Ruby drags the sharp blade across her slender forearm. The Want, dormant all these months, awakens with a roar, as Sam watches the blood pool in small welts along the incision. Dropping the knife, Ruby dips her finger into the blood and, bringing it to her mouth, begins to suck on it, her gaze heavy with lust. Sam knows he should just walk away but God, the thought of Ruby writhing in pleasure underneath him as he thrusts into her, his body humming with power, the taste of the blood rich and sweet on his tongue…it’s intoxicating. And Sam has been alone for so very, very long.
“I’ll make it all better,” Ruby whispers. Sam starts as he sees Ruby’s finger near his lips and he automatically opens for her, like a child taking milk from his mother’s breast. As the drop of blood touches his tongue, Ruby smiles in triumph.
But the blood doesn’t bring satisfaction, but an unexpected clarity. It tastes like copper, not nectar. Ruby is gone just as suddenly, her beauty stripped away and leaving only a grinning demon in its place.
“How do you feel?” she asks, still smiling.
Sam spits the blood back in her face and relishes her look of disgust. “Get out.”
“But Sam-”
“GET OUT!” he bellows, storming back to the door and nearly pulling it off its hinges as he swings it back open. The demon grabs her coat and shoots a look of murder at Sam, who rolls his eyes. “Don’t bother with any last words, bitch. Just leave.”
Ruby finally storms out of the room, and Sam slams the door after her. Then he runs to the bathroom and brushes his teeth, fighting his gag reflex as the taste of blood mixes with the mint paste. Once he’s satisfied that every last bit of Wrong is gone, he washes his face, towels it off, and has a look in the mirror. And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t hate what he sees. He looks good-healthy, too, for that matter. It’s just Sam Winchester in the reflection, not junkie!Sam or freakazoid!Sam or liar!Sam. What a welcome sight it is to behold.
“All right,” he says to the mirror. “Get some sleep. Dean’s still out there. Find him and bring him home.”
That night, Sam sleeps better than he has in years.
Five Days Later (or, Three Months and Five Days after Dean Left)
Sam is back at Bobby’s, checking in on the owlets. They’ve grown so big while Dean’s been gone; he snaps a picture of them, just in case they fly off for good before his big brother gets back.
His phone rings, but the new picture doesn’t disappear behind the Incoming Call screen. It dawns on Sam that it isn’t his phone that’s ringing, but the one kept at all times in his left pocket: Dean’s phone. Sam nearly drops it in his haste to answer.
“Hello? Dean?”
No one answers him. Sam takes a quick look to make sure he didn’t hang up on accident. The call is still active, so he brings the phone back to his ear. “Dean…it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Just listen-”
“Is this…Sam?”
A younger male voice, completely unlike his brother’s, poses the question to Sam. “Yes, this is Sam. Who is this?”
“Sam, it’s Tyler. Tyler Durden?”
Of course Sam remembers the kid from Chicago. “Yeah, hey Tyler, uh…why are you calling Dean’s phone?”
“Cos I promised him I wouldn’t call you.” Tyler just leaves it at that, and Sam is about to press him for more when Tyler speaks again. “I figured that if I called you on his phone, he wouldn’t find out. I don’t wanna lie to him, but I HAVE to.”
“Okay, Tyler…I won’t tell Dean you called, but-” Realization smacks Sam in the face. “Wait…is Dean there with you?”
“He’s outside.”
Sam is flooded with relief-FINALLY, someone who knows where his brother is! “Is he okay? What’s he doing? How long has he been with you?”
“A few months. I promised him I wouldn’t tell anybody, not even you, unless it was an emergency. And I promised I wouldn’t thank God for Dean getting to visit me, cos he said Cas might find out that way and he didn’t even want Cas to know.” He sounds so earnest as he admits all of this to Sam, and Sam in turn is floored by the information. Dean’s been with Tyler all along! He’d never even considered his brother would go back there. But one crucial word that Tyler said tugs at Sam’s attention, so he clears his throat.
“Tyler…Dean told you not to call me unless it was an emergency?”
“Uh-huh.”
The fear in Tyler’s voice gives rise to worry in Sam’s heart. “What’s wrong? Is Dean hurt?”
“Sorta.”
Sam fights to keep his patience in check so he doesn’t frighten the kid off the phone. “It’s okay, Tyler, I’m here. I’m listening. Tell me what’s wrong and what you want me to do.”
“We’re staying with my Grandma and Grandpa in Carbondale.”
Carbondale… The name sounds so familiar to Sam, and his eyes blow wide when he remembers why. I was just there the other day! That’s where Ruby…holy shit, I was RIGHT THERE!
“Do you know where that is?” Tyler asks, bringing Sam back to the conversation.
“I do, yeah. Right now I’m at Bobby’s house in South Dakota. Do you need me to come down there? Is that why you called?” He hears sniffling on the other end of the line. “Tyler?”
“Yes, Sam, please come here!” the boy cries. “It’s Dean…he’s…I-I think…”
Sam’s worry is now bordering a full-blown panic attack. “WHAT, Tyler? What’s wrong with Dean?”
Another sniffle, and then the shot to the gut: “I think he’s dying.”
A/N Additional: Dun dun duuuuuuun! Have to give more thanks to phoenixdragondreams for helping me with some of the Zachariah and Ruby stuff at the last minute. And thanks to any and all who read. Again, I am truly sorry it took me so ridiculously long to update! The good news is that there are only two, possibly three chapters left of this fic. The bad news is that because I’m participating in NaNoWriMo next month, it’ll be a bit of a wait before the next chapter. I can only hope and pray you’ll keep your patience with me and will still be around to read! Please leave me a review if you have a moment and let me know what you think of the latest! ::HUGS::
On to Chapter Ten
Chapter Nine: Can I Go Through This Again? (continued)
Two Months after Dean Left…
Dean reaches his arms up again, muscles tired and beginning to shake from over-exertion, and starts his ninth climb up the tree. He’s glad he thought to anchor the lantern in the branches far above him; otherwise he’d be doing this in the complete dark. A nearby squirrel is his audience, nibbling on an acorn as he watches Dean’s latest ascent.
“Watch it, Rocky,” Dean grunts, pushing off another foothold. “You point and laugh at me one more time, and I’m gonna feed you your own tail. Got it?” The squirrel just keeps nibbling on his snack, tail very much unruffled by the threat-it did come from a human smaller than said tail, after all. Dean climbs on, keeping his focus on the notches in the bark instead of the stuck-up squirrel. When he finally reaches the large bow, he swings his legs up and rests against the lantern for exactly one moment. Then, with a quick check of his parachute, he gets in position, eyes the ground, readies his powers....and jumps.
“One Mississippi…two Mississippi...THREE!” He grows before he hits the ground, and he lands with ease. But Dean takes one look at his legs and stomps his boot: he overshot it again. Instead of his usual height, as was the goal, he’s at least 10-feet tall.
“Dammit!” Dean leans his head back, breathes in, then drops his head and breathes out, wholly frustrated with himself. He spots the tiny parachute pack resting against a twig and crooks a finger through the little straps to pick it up. Redoing the tiny Velcro locks with his thumb, he sighs and says, “Looks like we’re going again.”
Rocky remains quiet as Dean lumbers back to the birch tree, shrinking back down to a four-inch height, roughly the same as the action figure toy who had lent Dean his parachute in case of a powers-failure emergency. But just before Dean reaches his arms up for another climb, he hears a wooden snap. Rocky bolts, but Dean ducks behind the tree, keeping small but ready to grow if he has to. A round light bobs into view, and Dean relaxes. He’s come to know that particular bobbing pattern very well after all the nights he’s spent out here.
“Dean?” Tyler calls as he approaches the birch tree. Dean comes out to meet him, and Tyler shines his flashlight down on the small figure. Dean throws his arms out to shield himself from the glare.
“Hey, don’t blind me!”
Tyler clicks his flashlight off at once with a “Sorry!” Then he kneels down in front of Dean. “How’s it going tonight?”
Dean shrugs. “It’s going. Six times right, three times wrong so far, so gotta keep jumping.”
“But Dean, it’s already 12:30.”
“Exactly! Still early. Plenty of practice time left.” Dean looks up at Tyler’s big eyes as the kid tilts his head, like he’s studying him. “What, something on my face?”
“You’re shaking.” Tyler reaches out just as Dean denies it and gently wraps a hand around the little form, picking him up. “You overdid it again, didn’t you?”
“Put me down, Tyler, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not, Dean. You need to get some sleep.”
“I sleep,” Dean argues.
“You need more than an hour a night. That’s a nap, not sleep. And you don’t eat much, either. And you keep exercising too hard, and lifting too much weight, and you run for forever but you never stop and take a break. And don’t say I’m wrong,” Tyler points his index finger at Dean’s small face, “cos I’ve been there and seen everything. You need some rest, so you’re gonna get some rest.”
And with that, Tyler turns and heads back toward his grandparent’s house, where he, his family, and Dean are staying for the summer. But Dean grows and forces Tyler to let go, and by the time Dean is his normal height, Tyler is scowling up at him, looking so much like Sam that Dean has to turn away.
“You don’t understand, Tyler,” Dean begins, heading back to the birch tree. “I have to get this right.”
Tyler follows and yells, “But you did get it right! Six times!”
“Out of nine,” Dean grumbles. “It isn’t right until it’s nine out of nine.”
“Says who?”
“Says ME. And Sam. And Bobby and my dad and every hunter out there! You train and train until you can do this stuff in your sleep. It has to become a reflex or it isn’t good enough, and you’ll screw up, and someone else will get hurt, maybe even DIE. And then it’s on you, and you have to live with that mistake the rest of your life. THAT’s why I’m out here busting my hump instead of sleeping. I have to be PERFECT or I can never go back to my family, and that’s the goddamn truth.”
He says it much more gruffly than he wants to, but he’s so tired. Tired of being questioned, tired of being doubted, tired from working so hard and still not having his powers completely down, and most of all, tired of being so damn tired. But damn if the hurt look Tyler sends up at him doesn’t have Dean feeling shitty about letting his problems get to him. The walls rebuild at once, and he reaches up and grabs his lantern out of the tree.
“Sorry,” he says to Tyler. “Didn’t mean to bite your…” he yawns, “head off.” Dean’s yawn makes Tyler yawn, which nearly makes Dean yawn again, and he shrugs his shoulders and sighs in resignation. “Fine, you win. Let’s get some shut-eye.” He walks off, holding the lantern out in front of them to shine the way back to the house.
“Why’re you so hard on yourself?”
Dean turns and finds Tyler still standing where he’d left him. “Remember Track n’ Field Day on the last day of school, and I came in second in the 50-yard dash, and I was all mad that I didn’t run fast enough, and you said ‘Ty-Guy, don’t be so hard on yourself, you did great!’, and I didn’t believe you, and then you said that I did my best, and that’s the best thing to do?” Dean nods at Tyler’s rambling question but keeps a smile from creeping out. “So now it’s your turn! You always do your best, Dean-always! And you do great! You’re the coolest grown-up in the world! And you’ve got superpowers, too, and you’ve been training every day since you mailed yourself to my house, and look at all the stuff you can do with them now! You can grow or shrink whenever you want, and stay big or small as LONG as you want…it’s awesome!”
Dean rubs at his face like he’s wiping off all the praise Tyler just covered him in. “Okay, fine,” he sighs, “so I’ve come a long way, I’ll give you that. But I’ve still got a long way to go.” He shines the lantern down on his watch to check the time. “C’mon, Ty-Guy-Who-Likes-Pie. If you want me to catch some Z’s before dawn we need to head back right now.” He starts walking off again, but Tyler dashes after his friend and comes to a dead stop right in front of him.
“Dean.” Tyler enunciates the word as a sharp spear, and it cuts Dean deep. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just hafta be YOU!” Sparkling eyes peer up at Dean’s face, desperate for Dean to believe, but the hunter ultimately shakes his head no.
“Just being me has never been good enough,” Dean says. “Not once in my entire life.”
And that’s that. The two walk back to the house in silence, Tyler wishing he knew what to say to change his friend’s mind, Dean too depressed by his lifetime of failures to listen. As Tyler sneaks up the stairs, Dean takes off his watch and boots and settles onto the pull-out sofa bed in the den. All of his muscles first cringe from pain, then sigh out in relief as they relax one by one into the surprisingly soft mattress. Dean tucks his gun under his pillow and shuts his eyes.
“Late night?”
…only to open them again at the unfamiliar voice. The lamp switches on next to him, courtesy of a man in an expensive suit, who is sitting on the edge of the pull-out, smiling at Dean. He’s late middle-aged and balding, white hair taking on the hue of yellowed newspaper thanks to the dim light. “Calm down,” the man says in a hushed voice, “I’m not the enemy, Dean.”
“Christo,” Dean spits, but the man chuckles.
“Not a demon either. Wrong team.”
Dean’s eyes first widen and then narrow as he understands what he means. Just what I need: another dick with wings in my life. He sits up and rubs the heel of his hand over his face. “So which one are you?”
“Zachariah. I’m Castiel’s superior.”
Dean gives him his best Big Fucking Deal look. “Superior what, exactly?”
“Let’s just say I’m in upper management.” He gives Dean a very corporate smile to match his boasting tone.
“Uh-huh. Well come back later, Chuckles. My office hours don’t start until after the third cup of coffee.”
“I’d be happy to come back later, Dean, but that little brand on your shoulder has made you a very difficult man to find.”
Dean glances at Castiel’s handprint overlaid with Anna’s Enochian sigils and understands. “I’m dreaming.”
“Bingo! So let’s talk.” He pats Dean on his knee. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where you’re hiding out these days…?”
“Sure thing, pal! I’m about ten miles west of Nowhere. So just head yonder, turn left at the Denny’s, go thataway for a while, and you should be there in about, oh,” he checks the skin where his watch would normally be, “half past a freckle.”
Zachariah smirks right back. “All right, consider the crap cut.” Dean nods once as a thank you. “I’m here because you’re important, Dean. The world needs you out there, stopping Lucifer, preventing the Apocalypse, not sitting here…” he sweeps his arm out, “hiding away in some secret location!”
“Yeah, well, I already told Cas that I’m not interested in being Team Angel’s go-to guy. Find somebody else.”
“There IS no one else. It has to be you, Dean. You’re the only one.”
“Oh that’s right, it has to be me, cos I started this whole mess by breaking in Hell.” Dean is smirking again, though this time with bitterness. But Zachariah takes no notice of it, just nods his head in confirmation.
“That’s one of the reasons, yes, but there are so many more. You’re GOOD at what you do, Dean. No one can deny that. And it isn’t just your training or all of your experience that makes you so successful as a hunter: it’s because of who you are. This is your destiny, and no matter what you do to try and avoid it, it’s going to find you every time and bring you back.”
“Destiny,” Dean repeats. “Now there’s a crock. Tell me something-if I’m so damn important, then why did it take you so long to bust me out of Hell? If you got me out of there before I broke, NONE of this Apoca-shit would’ve happened!”
“It isn’t exactly a cakewalk to fight through armies of demons, you know, but we came down at the appointed time and fought our way through Hell for you anyway. As it is written-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, spare me the Bible thumping. I don’t care, all right? Not about destiny or any kind of Master Plan. See this?” Dean holds his right hand over his head and scissors his fingers through the air. “Pinocchio just cut his strings. I’m done.” And with that, he rolls over, putting his back to the annoying angel.
Zachariah stares at him a moment before breaking into a smile and snickering. “Dean, Dean, Dean. They warned me about your attitude.” He stands up and folds his hands behind his back. “I think it’s about time we worked on that.”
Chains burst through every wall in the room and bind Dean’s four limbs with red-hot shackles that burn through his skin. As Dean cries out in pain, giant meat hooks slice into his torso, one attached to a chain from the ceiling, the other to the floor. The dream version of Tyler’s grandparent’s home is swallowed by a black void, as the stench of sulfur and death poisons the air.
“No,” Dean whimpers, and he promptly clears his throat to remove the quivering fear in his vocal chords. Then he coaches himself in his usual, strong voice: “It’s not real. You’re dreaming, Dean, and this asshole angel is making you think you’re back in Hell, but it’s NOT REAL.”
“It’s as real as I want it to be,” Zachariah smiles. “Consider yourself restrung, Pinocchio. Show’s just getting started.” With a lift of his index finger, every chain and meat hook tightens its grip. Dean holds in his scream and glares at the man with everything he’s got.
“Thought you said you weren’t a demon.”
“Oh I’m definitely an angel-in fact, I’m known as the Angel of Surrender. That whole ‘Thy will be done’ thing? It’s my job to make it happen.” He leans down into Dean’s face and snarls, “So you will let go of this insubordination and surrender to His Will, or we’ll throw you right back into that stinking Pit where we found you. Is that clear?”
The angel glares into Dean’s face a few seconds before backing off again. “It’s sad, really. So much potential-wasted. You might be out of Hell, Dean, but you’re still just as broken as you were down there: a slab of raw, dripping meat on a spit above the world’s biggest grill. Sure, you got off the rack eventually and helped carve the other turkeys down there, but that’s only because you broke. Too tender,” he pokes Dean right where a meat hook is sticking up through his stomach, making the human wince, “too soft. Always and forever, amen.”
Zachariah begins a slow pace around Dean, somehow staying level with him despite the lack of floor, walls, or any sort of structure in this hole. “But somehow, you always find some way to keep going. I don’t know if it’s tenacity or just dumb luck. Bobby Singer’s occult remedy was the only reason you survived the poison attack I arranged-”
“That was YOU?!”
The angel looks at him like it’s obvious. “I sent the tornado, too. I had to test your mettle, Dean. See if the Chosen One was truly forged in fire, or just scrap metal. And for the record, I’m still not sure.”
“Well I’m sure of a few things,” Dean snarls, but Zachariah plucks one of the taut chains before Dean can list his insults, and the fresh-from-the-forge manacle singes deeper into its captive’s left ankle. Dean hisses at the pain but keeps his poker face on, unwilling to let the angel have any more satisfaction. He rides out the throbs, then the stinging, and finally the twangs, while Zachariah looks on, unimpressed.
“Your stubbornness is admirable, Dean, I’ll give you that. You’ve got more spirit than I would’ve given you credit for.”
Dean licks his lips and mutters, “So all that talk about destiny and you guys needing me…that was just to butter me up, huh?”
Zachariah sighs. “What I said about needing you is, unfortunately, the truth. It is written that you are our Champion, so now we’re stuck with you. Personally, I think the Boss bet on the wrong brother. Sam is clearly the better choice, don’t you think? Too bad about the tainted blood-he would’ve been perfect. Now he’s just an abomination with a good reputation.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
Dean can’t believe his ears. “So you went from telling me to stop Sam to being his number one fan?”
“Well at least Sam gets the job DONE. You, on the other hand, can’t even get your own powers under control.”
“They ARE under control,” Dean seethes. “I’ve been training for months.”
“Then how about a demonstration?” Zachariah gestures to the shackles. “Go ahead, Dean, break your chains. I’ll even wait.”
The smug smile is back, and oh how Dean itches to punch it off his face. So he tells himself to grow…but he remains the same. He switches to shrinking, and again, nothing. “Dammit, Dean, let’s go,” he grunts, trying both again, concentrating to the point of sweating, until he hears the angel laughing at him.
“You can’t even control them in your dreams! You really expect me to believe you’re a pro in the waking world?”
Dean sags, as disappointed in himself as he is worn out. “Believe whatever you want, I don’t care. Tomorrow I’ll train harder than ever, and when I’m finally done? It’s back to helping MY family, NOT yours.” The angel is smiling again, and Dean rolls his eyes. “Now what?”
“I’m sorry, I just think it’s cute that you still believe your family wants you back.” A dark look crosses Dean’s face at those words, and Zachariah’s smile becomes cruel. “Hit a nerve? Good. Shows me you’re paying attention.”
A chair materializes out of the thick, black air, and he eases into it. “Y’see, Dean, your family and friends are having the time of their lives without you around. They don’t have to put up with your crap-you know, the hang-ups, the bitching and moaning, the drinking, the five tons of emotional baggage you carry on your back. Nope, life is so much easier now. Sam, Bobby, the good doctor-they’ve all moved on. I’ve even reassigned Castiel to work on more…pressing matters. The fact that you’re still hiding from all of us when there’s no need is just SAD. No one cares, Dean! No one is looking for you.”
Dean looks him right in the eye and declares, “You’re lying.”
“I’m an angel, Dean. We don’t lie.” He leans forward so he’s hovering over Dean’s face. “You know what your dear Sammy is doing right now? Hunting a pair of ghouls in Nebraska. Now that he isn’t burdened by you, he hunts all the time! Doing a fine job, too.”
Dean’s poker face falls, dragged down by his faltering hopes, and Zachariah puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Did you really think he’d sit around pining away for you like some lovelorn teen? Come ON, Dean-o! Wake up and smell reality!” He shakes Dean’s shoulder, and the movement makes the meat hooks twist inside the human’s belly and back. But Dean doesn’t feel any of it: he’s too numb from the encroaching depression.
It can’t be true, he thinks and really, REALLY wants to believe. He at least misses me…right?
“Oh please,” Zachariah scoffs, reading his thoughts. “He wasn’t exactly doing jumping jacks when you got back from Hell, or so I’ve heard. Why would he miss you now, when he’s finally free? No more Pain in the Ass Big Brother to stop him from doing whatever he wants.”
“Is there a point to this monologue or do you just like boring people to death?” It comes out as more of a mumble than a snap, but it’s the best Dean can muster right now, hovering as he is on the brink of devastation.
“My POINT is that you’re wasting your time. You’ve been in such a rush to train so you can get back there and protect someone who couldn’t care less about you! Face it, Dean: you’ve got no one to back to. So why don’t you send for the check at your Pity Party, table for one, and come and work with us?”
“Thought I was damaged goods,” Dean grunts.
“True, but we’ll get you back into fighting shape in no time. The Heavenly Host has the best training facility in the universe. Let us help you become the Champion you were meant to be! You could save every last person on Earth if you just drop the attitude and do what you’re told for a change. And Dean, trust me on this: when you win and Paradise comes, you will be in the central palace, every kind of food and drink and girl at your beck and call. Think about it. Think HARD. You either pledge your allegiance to Our Cause, or…” Zachariah rattles the chains, “you stay here in your miserable existence until you rot. Choice is yours, Dean. Make the right one.” He turns to leave, but remembers something and looks back. “And for God’s sake, quit hiding from everyone. It’s unbecoming.”
With that, the angel was gone and Dean awoke with a start, the sound of flapping wings still echoing in his mind. He lay there for a moment, desolation filling his soul like a fast growing cancer. His heart beats in his chest as the snap of a snare drum playing out the walk to the execution pole, and Dean, a prisoner of despair, is led out and read the charges Zachariah filed against him in his dream. Dean Winchester: Failure to mankind; outcast from his family; burden to all; missed by none; a disappointment to everyone, including himself. And sure, the angel had offered him the chance to fix all of that, but what was the point? He’d just screw it up. It was only a matter of time.
‘Does the accused have any last words?’ Executioner Zachariah asks as Dean is tied to the pole and blindfolded. Dean’s face turns toward the voice.
‘I have no home, no family, no future. What the fuck more is there to say?’
The executioner shouts orders to his men. ‘Ready!’
This is for the best, Tyler, Dean thinks. I’ll be gone before you get sick of me.
‘AIM!’
Bobby, Meesh, Cas…thanks for everything. Sorry I screwed up so much. And Sammy…I know you don’t care about me anymore, and I don’t blame you, but for what it’s worth, little brother, I love-
‘FIRE!’
The imaginary bullets pierce his heart, and Dean clutches the blanket to his chest as he begins to cry.
Three Months after Dean Left…
It’s 3 a.m. Sam is beat, struggling to keep his body upright as he lumbers up the stairs to the 2nd floor and then shuffles down to his room on the far end. He’s been driving north for over ten hours, having received a call about a hunt in Kansas City when he was sitting at a diner in Tallahassee. He made it to southwestern Illinois before his vision started doing the breaststroke, so here he is, just outside of a small city called Carbondale, ready to face-plant into his pillow. Turning the key in its loose lock-gotta love the security in these crappy no-tell motels-he shoves the door open and drops his bag on the floor. His fingers feel along the wall for the switch, but the lamp across the room comes on before he finds anything.
“Hey, Stranger.”
Ruby is sitting on the bed, wearing a biker’s jacket and very tight pants. Sam is too drained to come up with any kind of smart remark, so he turns and opens the door, letting his sweeping arm gesture say what needs to be said.
“Nuh-uh,” Ruby replies. “Not until you tell me why you’ve been ducking me for three months.”
Sam sighs; so much for sleep. “Because Dean is missing and I’ve been trying to find him.”
“I heard he left you.” She gets up. “No contact number. No forwarding address. Bet he didn’t even pay for breakfast.”
“We’re not some couple,” Sam snaps with a roll of his eyes. Ruby smirks at him.
“Some days I wonder.” Standing in front of him now, she drops the smirk and reaches up a hand to cup his face. “Seriously, Sam. Are you all right? I’ve been worried.”
He grabs her hand and forces it down. “I’m fine. And it’s time for you to leave.”
“Fine, don’t ask for my help finding Dean.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Sam says through grit teeth.
“Even though I could find him in five minutes…” Ruby smiles at Sam’s attempt to keep his face stony. “Just takes a little scrying. How do you think I knew you’d be here tonight?”
“Owen’s been scrying since the day Dean left and he still can’t find him. And I trust Owen.” Sam folds his arms. “Why should I trust you?”
“Uh, because I’ve been helping you?”
“Helping me!” Sam scoffs. “You got me addicted to DEMON blood!”
“It’s not my fault you developed a taste for it,” she shrugs. Sam is fuming, so Ruby wisely drops the sass. “Okay, fine. So I wasn’t completely upfront about some of the…side effects. But you were managing!” He starts to turn, but she grabs his bicep. “Sam, you were so strong, this…one-man FORCE that could take down anything! Lilith was so afraid of you that she went into hiding. She’s never run from anyone, EVER, but she ran from you. And now? She’s laughing at you. They all are, Sam. Every demon, everywhere, is wondering who cut off your balls. Doesn’t that piss you off?”
“No.”
“No? Seriously?!”
“The only thing that matters to me anymore is finding my brother.” He walks away, and she shuts the door before trailing after him.
“And what if the world ends first?”
“Then let it end,” Sam states, whirling around to face her again as he throws the words out. Ruby shakes her head in disbelief.
“What’s happened to you?” she asks in a softened voice.
He looks her in the eye and replies, just as quiet, “I remembered who I am. Had to go through…a LOT…to get here…” The bitter smile is back. “And I hurt everyone I care about along the way…but I’m finally back. And now I have to try and set things right.”
“Translation: you’re breaking up our awesome, crime-fighting duo because you’re feeling all warm and fuzzy about your old partner.”
“This isn’t a joke, Ruby.”
“Am I laughing?” she challenges. “Look, I get that life’s been rough for you lately, and I can see how you’d be tempted to want things back the way they used to be. But what’s passed is past. You of all people should know that! All you can do is move forward. And with Lilith still out there, do you really want to go on alone?”
“I won’t be alone if I find Dean.”
“‘If’ you find him. Exactly. What if you don’t? You’ve been searching for him for months, and you’re no closer to him now than Day One. What if he wants to stay gone? Are you just going to keep chasing his ghost for the rest of your life?”
Sam turns away but the smell of her perfume follows, filling his senses. He hears her slip out of her jacket and then feels the brief gentle touch of her hand, shudders as her hand is replaced with the press of her breasts against his back and her arms around his waist. “Don’t,” he whispers, his voice shaking.
“I’ve missed you so much, Sammy,” Ruby murmurs into his ear. “Come back to me. We were a team-we’ve been through so much worse than this and came out clean the other side. We can work this out, I promise. But you have to let me back in.”
“I…I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” Her fingers trail over his back, and one by one, his muscles release their tension and sink into her caress. “I just hate seeing you suffering like this when I can make the pain go away. If you really want to take a break from hunting Lilith to look for Dean instead, we can do that. Whatever you want-just let me help you.”
Sam turns around, readying his argument, but the words never come. He stares at her, mesmerized, as Ruby drags the sharp blade across her slender forearm. The Want, dormant all these months, awakens with a roar, as Sam watches the blood pool in small welts along the incision. Dropping the knife, Ruby dips her finger into the blood and, bringing it to her mouth, begins to suck on it, her gaze heavy with lust. Sam knows he should just walk away but God, the thought of Ruby writhing in pleasure underneath him as he thrusts into her, his body humming with power, the taste of the blood rich and sweet on his tongue…it’s intoxicating. And Sam has been alone for so very, very long.
“I’ll make it all better,” Ruby whispers. Sam starts as he sees Ruby’s finger near his lips and he automatically opens for her, like a child taking milk from his mother’s breast. As the drop of blood touches his tongue, Ruby smiles in triumph.
But the blood doesn’t bring satisfaction, but an unexpected clarity. It tastes like copper, not nectar. Ruby is gone just as suddenly, her beauty stripped away and leaving only a grinning demon in its place.
“How do you feel?” she asks, still smiling.
Sam spits the blood back in her face and relishes her look of disgust. “Get out.”
“But Sam-”
“GET OUT!” he bellows, storming back to the door and nearly pulling it off its hinges as he swings it back open. The demon grabs her coat and shoots a look of murder at Sam, who rolls his eyes. “Don’t bother with any last words, bitch. Just leave.”
Ruby finally storms out of the room, and Sam slams the door after her. Then he runs to the bathroom and brushes his teeth, fighting his gag reflex as the taste of blood mixes with the mint paste. Once he’s satisfied that every last bit of Wrong is gone, he washes his face, towels it off, and has a look in the mirror. And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t hate what he sees. He looks good-healthy, too, for that matter. It’s just Sam Winchester in the reflection, not junkie!Sam or freakazoid!Sam or liar!Sam. What a welcome sight it is to behold.
“All right,” he says to the mirror. “Get some sleep. Dean’s still out there. Find him and bring him home.”
That night, Sam sleeps better than he has in years.
Five Days Later (or, Three Months and Five Days after Dean Left)
Sam is back at Bobby’s, checking in on the owlets. They’ve grown so big while Dean’s been gone; he snaps a picture of them, just in case they fly off for good before his big brother gets back.
His phone rings, but the new picture doesn’t disappear behind the Incoming Call screen. It dawns on Sam that it isn’t his phone that’s ringing, but the one kept at all times in his left pocket: Dean’s phone. Sam nearly drops it in his haste to answer.
“Hello? Dean?”
No one answers him. Sam takes a quick look to make sure he didn’t hang up on accident. The call is still active, so he brings the phone back to his ear. “Dean…it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Just listen-”
“Is this…Sam?”
A younger male voice, completely unlike his brother’s, poses the question to Sam. “Yes, this is Sam. Who is this?”
“Sam, it’s Tyler. Tyler Durden?”
Of course Sam remembers the kid from Chicago. “Yeah, hey Tyler, uh…why are you calling Dean’s phone?”
“Cos I promised him I wouldn’t call you.” Tyler just leaves it at that, and Sam is about to press him for more when Tyler speaks again. “I figured that if I called you on his phone, he wouldn’t find out. I don’t wanna lie to him, but I HAVE to.”
“Okay, Tyler…I won’t tell Dean you called, but-” Realization smacks Sam in the face. “Wait…is Dean there with you?”
“He’s outside.”
Sam is flooded with relief-FINALLY, someone who knows where his brother is! “Is he okay? What’s he doing? How long has he been with you?”
“A few months. I promised him I wouldn’t tell anybody, not even you, unless it was an emergency. And I promised I wouldn’t thank God for Dean getting to visit me, cos he said Cas might find out that way and he didn’t even want Cas to know.” He sounds so earnest as he admits all of this to Sam, and Sam in turn is floored by the information. Dean’s been with Tyler all along! He’d never even considered his brother would go back there. But one crucial word that Tyler said tugs at Sam’s attention, so he clears his throat.
“Tyler…Dean told you not to call me unless it was an emergency?”
“Uh-huh.”
The fear in Tyler’s voice gives rise to worry in Sam’s heart. “What’s wrong? Is Dean hurt?”
“Sorta.”
Sam fights to keep his patience in check so he doesn’t frighten the kid off the phone. “It’s okay, Tyler, I’m here. I’m listening. Tell me what’s wrong and what you want me to do.”
“We’re staying with my Grandma and Grandpa in Carbondale.”
Carbondale… The name sounds so familiar to Sam, and his eyes blow wide when he remembers why. I was just there the other day! That’s where Ruby…holy shit, I was RIGHT THERE!
“Do you know where that is?” Tyler asks, bringing Sam back to the conversation.
“I do, yeah. Right now I’m at Bobby’s house in South Dakota. Do you need me to come down there? Is that why you called?” He hears sniffling on the other end of the line. “Tyler?”
“Yes, Sam, please come here!” the boy cries. “It’s Dean…he’s…I-I think…”
Sam’s worry is now bordering a full-blown panic attack. “WHAT, Tyler? What’s wrong with Dean?”
Another sniffle, and then the shot to the gut: “I think he’s dying.”
A/N Additional: Dun dun duuuuuuun! Have to give more thanks to phoenixdragondreams for helping me with some of the Zachariah and Ruby stuff at the last minute. And thanks to any and all who read. Again, I am truly sorry it took me so ridiculously long to update! The good news is that there are only two, possibly three chapters left of this fic. The bad news is that because I’m participating in NaNoWriMo next month, it’ll be a bit of a wait before the next chapter. I can only hope and pray you’ll keep your patience with me and will still be around to read! Please leave me a review if you have a moment and let me know what you think of the latest! ::HUGS::
On to Chapter Ten