A Progressive Revelation: 3 of 3
Part Two
--
Contrary to Lilith's declaration, Dean starts with his hands, massaging Sam's shoulders and back. He begins hard enough to feel good, not enough to hurt, then digs in more when the blood's flowing and Sam's relaxed, using pressure and nails to leave white and red marks over Sam's skin.
Sam lets his head droop forward, baring the nape of his neck; Dean leans forward and one point and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the skin just below the collar. Sam knows that Dean's doing it more to piss Lilith off than out of any true desire but he doesn't care, savours the feeling of lips and Dean's hands.
When Dean's ready, he picks up the snake whip, lets it roll to the side to test the weight and fall. It doesn't make a sound, doesn't crack or snap, and yet Sam can hear it and shivers at the noise. He straightens up, knees aching; his feet are tingling numb already. He knows what's coming, knows the pain of the whip and that Dean's angry enough to not hold back, and he stares at Lilith, letting her see how much he's anticipating this.
The first fall strikes Sam across the back of his legs under his ass. He moves with the blow, winces at the strike of pain that settles in seconds later even as he's getting hard. The next hits his back -- not his kidneys or spine but the area around his shoulderblades. Usually Dean's more careful than that, doesn't want Sam to get injured, but Sam can already tell that Dean doesn't care about that right now, not with Lilith here and watching, not with Sam admitting to hiding things. They've tried to be honest with each other, have tried so hard to be clear and open and up-front; Sam hasn't been, not entirely, and Dean's taking it out on him now.
"Hold out your arms," Dean orders. Sam does as directed and complies immediately, arms outstretched with his palms turned to face the ground. The whip strikes his upper left arm, then the right, then Dean makes the whip crack as the falls hit his lower arm and curl around. It's an amateur's mistake or an expert's decision; Dean isn't an amateur, not anymore. Sam's skin splits open and bleeds and he feels the pain of the impact sink deep inside, something like betrayal, like Envy woven together with Wrath.
Dean keeps going until Sam's skin is red, littered in white lines of welts and scarlet lines of blood. His entire body is thrumming and on the verge of going numb with pain; it would be brilliant if not for the way Lilith's leaking power. Every time Dean strikes him with the whip, Lilith caresses him from across the room, surrounds him with her feel and taste and scent until she's all he can see and hear and smell. It gets to the point that Sam can't tell the difference between her touch and the touch of the whip, feels them strike his body together, and he pants, says, "Lilith," eyes closed and hair sticking to his skin with sweat.
The whip pauses and Sam keens in loss. He's lost in a haze of Lilith's burning but he can't smell hellfire or sulphur, can't taste her anymore; he opens his eyes and blinks at the light, unexpected after so long, vision clouding before it slams into focus. Dean is standing in front of him, hands at his side, eyes wide.
"Sam?" Dean asks, brow furrowed in confusion, that or fear. Sam's too out of to tell, everything in him wanting to fight to get Lilith back, to get closer to her, everything except the collar around his neck. Dean's collar, and Dean gave him a choice. Dean's been whipping him. Dean's here, among so many demons, for Sam.
"Dean," Sam replies, licking his lips and swallowing, nearly choking on his own saliva. "I." He stops there, shakes his head and tries to pull his mind together. He lets his arms fall to his sides and sways, light-headed. Dean drops to one knee, takes Sam's chin in one hand and forces Sam to look at him. "Focus," Sam gasps, as Lilith sends another wave toward him. "I need something to focus on."
Without hesitation, Dean grabs a knife from the duffel and makes sure Sam's eyes are focused on his. "Ready?" he asks. Sam nods and Dean digs the point of the knife into Sam's shoulder, draws it down and spills blood.
Sam leans forward, mouths at Dean's lips and hums wordless, panicked pleas until Dean opens his mouth, wraps him in his arms and kisses all of Sam's breath away. Sam's hands move, fingers tightening in Dean's shoulders, and it's all Sam can do to focus on Dean and the new wound in his shoulder rather than Lilith.
He's dizzy by the time Dean lets him go, dizzy and so utterly confused, mind spinning and the barriers around his gifts weakening at a thousand different points. All he can do is clutch at Dean, try to hold on so Dean can't leave him.
"What the fuck's going on?" Dean asks as quietly as he can.
It isn't quiet enough; Lilith laughs and Sycorax chuckles, the noises blending to form something large and dark. Sam can feel a chill run through Dean; a chill runs through Sam's body as well but not, he thinks, for the same reasons.
"It was easier to focus on your brother when he wasn't there," Sycorax says. "Wasn't it, Sam?"
Dean's arms tighten around Sam and he looks halfway over his shoulder as he demands, "Tell me what the hell's going on, you sick son of a bitch."
Sam can see around Dean to the demons watching. He looks at Sycorax, takes in the bow Sycorax gives to Lilith, the smile on Lilith's face and the frown on Ruby's. It takes longer than it should for everything to make sense but Lilith's still sending her power against Sam, first in gently undulating waves, then in rapid-fire shots like bullets that rain down all over his body, then a cocoon that covers him from head to toe and leaves him dazed when it dissipates.
"In hell," Lilith says, "our dear, traitorous little general was under my direct protection. You, Sam, shall we say, became accustomed to my presence. It didn't affect you quite so much. But here, on earth, right now, well. It's is a slightly different matter."
"Different how?" Dean asks, wary now. Once Sam can think, he wonders why Dean is cautious now, what has changed, when he should have been this way since they walked into the warehouse, maybe even since Sam stood at the crossroads and spoke one long and winding word of ancient Greek.
Ruby shifts; Sam's eyes move sluggishly to focus on her face, on the shine of her black eyes. "You've seen how other demons react to Sam," Ruby says. Dean nods, and she shrugs. "That's how he's reacting to her."
Dean glances at Sam, pushes a strand of Sam's hair behind an ear, wiping away the sweat from Sam's forehead. "Okay, but why? You aren't. No one else is."
"We're demons, Dean," Ruby replies. "And I know you wanna argue about Sam, but he's demon enough to count when it comes to this. She's our queen. When we're not under her direct protection and she focuses her power on us, we fold. It's hard-wired into us."
Sam smiles, rests his forehead on Dean's shoulder and feels the collar tight around his throat as he breathes. "The bracelet," Sam murmurs. "And the collar in hell. If I was wearing either of them, I'd be better." Another wave of Lilith's power crests over him and Sam arches, skin pulling on all of the wounds Dean inflicted, sending a spiral of new, fresh hurt through his body.
Dean waits until Sam's regained his breath then unwinds himself from Sam, careful and slow. Sam wants to grab hold of his brother but doesn't, can't, as he's trying to fight off Lilith's power even as it creeps inside of him. Sam glances at Ruby and she reads a plea in his gaze, gives him a slight nod.
With Lilith watching in amusement and all of the other demons she brought from hell frozen in shock, Dean stands up slowly, stretching out to his full height, not holding anything back. He turns, and even as Sam's saying his brother's name, Dean looks at Lilith. "He," Dean says, calm barely held in check, fingers still clenched tight around the whip's handle, "is mine. And I don't give a fuck if you have a problem with that, you're going to stop whatever the hell you're doing."
Lilith's eyes flash amusement even as her hands, curled into fists, tighten with rage. Sam's off-balance from all the power leaking from her now, can feel it battering at his shields and breaking them down with purpose. Queen, he thinks, but Dean is his brother, the one who's always there, the one who gave him the choice of a collar.
“Mother,” Ruby says, taking one step forward. He looks at his brother, sees shock in Dean's eyes. They'd never told him who Ruby really is. Finding out now, like this, it doesn't make Dean's claim look as firm as it should be. “Perhaps there's a better way to.”
“I have missed you,” Lilith says, cutting Ruby off. “And I am overjoyed to see you. But I highly recommend you stay out of this.”
Ruby's eyes narrow. She doesn't say anything, doesn't move, not until Lilith turns milk-white eyes on her. Even then, Sam can see the indecision Ruby's warring with, move back and acknowledge her mother's position and claim on Sam, or move forward to pick sides with Dean and everything Dean is to Sam. It would be outright war then, a declaration from the prince and princess that, together, they feel themselves stronger than Lilith. As much as Sam loves Dean, needs Dean, he can't favour Dean and be the cause of a demonic civil war.
Ruby glances at him; Dean and Lilith are still staring at one another.
Skin aching, losing feeling in his wrists, Sam shakes his head, just once. Repercussions aside, this isn't Ruby's battle. Dean has to prove himself and do so without help or Lilith will never accept Dean, what he means to Sam and why Sam has done everything in his power to keep Dean safe. Lilith needs to understand how Sam could survive hell for Dean on more than just an intellectual level, without thinking that love for her was all that got Sam through those final hours.
Ruby steps back, off to one side near Sonneillon.
Lilith's hands flex, relax. “You could use a lesson, I think,” she murmurs. The words echo in the warehouse. Dean only has time to frown before Lilith lifts one hand, crooks a finger. A chair comes zooming from one corner, wheels rusted and fixed in position, stops abruptly right behind Dean. Sam doesn't need to see Lilith's face; he can tell she's smiling as she uses her power to draw the whip from Dean's hand, force Dean onto the chair, holds his arms and legs tight with invisible restraints. Dean tries to move, tries to fight, but can't get even the slightest bit loose.
Despite the situation, Dean's bravado doesn't fade. “What do you think you're gonna do, huh?” he spits at Lilith. “If you hurt me, Sam will hate you. And you can't risk that, can you. Not with him more powerful than you'd ever imagined he'd be. Give him the right reasons and he would take you down without a second's thought.”
“Oh, Dean,” Lilith says. She moves, walks behind the chair, runs fingers over the line of Dean's shoulders. Sam can see them both now, see the hatred and discomfort written into his brother's eyes, see the amusement on every line of Lilith's face. “I'm not going to hurt you. Now sit tight and, let's see. Lust? You brought a gag, I hope?”
Eyes wide, Dean tries even harder to break free. He can't do it. Like Sam, he can only watch as Lust sashays over, ball-gag in her hands. Lilith caresses Lust's cheek, moves away and crosses her arms over her chest. Lust leans down, kisses Dean, pulls back with blood all over her lips and teeth.
“Feisty,” she murmurs. “I can see why Sam likes you so much.” Without any more conversation, she shoves the silicone sphere into Dean's mouth and ties the leather straps around Dean's head. Sam winces at the look on Dean's face but feels the barest hint of relief when he sees that the ball's vented.
Lust strokes Dean's jaw, says, “So pretty,” and looks at Lilith to ask, “Can I stay with him?”
Lilith's smile is answer enough, and cruel, as well. Lust grins her thanks, straddles Dean's lap, grinds down and licks a few drops of blood from where they're dripping out of Dean's mouth.
Sam's anger spirals back, seeing someone else with his Dean. The demon inside of him, usually under such tight control, rises up, fills him from head to toe the way it hasn't since hell and his crucifixion. He starts to move, growls when his body won't respond to the wishes of his mind and the outpouring of his gifts gets buffeted away on a wave of Lilith's power.
“He might be yours,” Lilith says, “but you are mine. Whatever belongs to you belongs to me. And he is a mere human, my traitorous little general. He can't claim one such as you."
She nods at Sycorax; a moment later, fingers unbuckle the collar from Sam's neck. No one ever does but Dean and only once a month at that, to oil the leather; Dean isn't holding him, isn't touching him, isn't here. Sam hangs his head, tries in vain to control the panic as cool air hits his neck. He breathes, doesn't feel anything around his throat, starts to hyperventilate.
He sees feet in the blacked-out corners of his vision, tiny white Mary Janes, patent leather, with socks that have ruffles and bows. Lilith stands there, gives him something visual to focus on, then reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair. "I did so miss this," she murmurs. Her hand slides around the curve of Sam's cheek, his jaw, then tilts his chin up to look into his face. "And I did so miss your tongue, when you were with us."
She bends, and even as Sam can hear Dean trying to yell around the gag, Lilith is kissing him. Lilith, his queen, in the body of a child who can't be more than ten. There's no mercy for Sam, not here, not waiting in the afterlife; the mouth pressing against his belongs to his queen and so he parts his lips, lets her take whatever she wants from him.
She uses her teeth, tiny little teeth, to tear his lips apart, to dig into his tongue and bite a piece off; she leans back and smiles, showing off those teeth stained crimson with blood. She spits to one side and Dean yells louder, yanking on the chains, as blood and flesh splatter across the floor.
Lilith caresses Sam's cheek and as much as he wishes he could be strong, he leans into her touch, closing his eyes. "My daughter listens to you," she whispers into his ear. "I didn't miss your moment of communication. It gladdened me to see it, to know that she listens and to know that she has twined herself so tightly with you. Say the word and I will allow your punishment to come from her hands."
Sam opens his eyes, stares into Lilith's, sees the demon behind the milk-white eyes. She knows just as well as Sam that seeing Ruby whip Sam, hurt him, would only make Dean hate Ruby more. That can't happen. On the other hand, Ruby is the only one who can, by their own laws, unless Sam cedes the choice to Lilith.
Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.
Lilith smiles, murmurs, "You once quoted Blake at me, Sam. 'Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained,' isn't that what you said? What is your desire and is it strong enough to break free?"
Sam closes his eyes again as Lilith's hand moves to his neck, strokes the naked skin and squeezes, nails digging in and drawing blood, fingertips leaving bruises. Already, he can feel his tongue healing. "Sycorax," he breathes, feeling the press of her hand on his throat as he talks. "I."
"Say it louder," Lilith tells him, power thrumming through her voice. Sam can feel it crash against him, through him, feels his barriers weaken even more. They'll break, he thinks, and soon. "Tell everyone what you choose." She pauses, adds with a smile, "And look at your brother while you do."
Sam opens his eyes in shock, can only stare at Lilith as she smiles and moves out of the way. The chair she bound Dean to, it's facing him, and there are no demons between them. Sam swallows, eyes flicking to Lilith, who nods encouragingly, and to Ruby, who is standing tall and straight and proud, eyes filled with worry.
Eyes fixed on Dean, Sam takes a deep breath. "Sycorax."
The demon steps forward jauntily, moves to Lilith's right hand. "Yes, Sam?"
Without taking his eyes from Dean's, Sam says, "I wish for you to prove my question to the queen."
Dean's eyes are a maelstrom of emotion: rage, horror, fear, panic. Wrath moves behind Dean, puts her hands on his shoulders even as Lust curls at his feet.
"You'll hate this," Wrath tells him. "You're going to be so angry."
"Ah," Lust adds, reaching up to cup Dean's groin, "but you'll love it, too. Just you wait and see."
Sam looks away, drops his head and hides behind his hair as Lilith laughs and sits cross-legged on the floor, as Sycorax moves closer, as Ruby moves away. He doesn't fight as Sycorax calls Sonneillon to his side, doesn't move except as the two demons direct him. They strip him naked, put shackles around his wrists and ankles, chain him to large metal rings nailed into the concrete floor and position him on all fours.
Dean hasn't stopped trying to get free but the noises of his struggle stop abruptly when Sycorax picks up a scourge and strikes Sam's back without warning. Something sharp in the falls embeds into Sam's skin, pulls flesh away as Sycorax yanks the scourge backwards. Sam makes a choked-off noise of hurt and the chains clank as he tries to shift, tries to move out of the way of the next blow.
"I remember this, Sam," Sycorax murmurs, tracing the falls over Sam's shoulders. Sam tenses, waits for the scourge to dig in. "Do you?"
Sam does, of course; in hell, the scourge's tails were made from the skin of wrathful in the fifth circle, stretched and soaked in lime as it dried, the falls embedded with pieces of hellfire glass still hot and burning. It was a favourite tool of Sycorax's, in the second day of eternities. Sam doesn't agree, doesn't disagree; he doesn't say anything, simply waits.
Sycorax growls, takes the scourge and strikes Sam again, this time lower, splattering blood everywhere. "You have a tongue now, Sam, and a voice with which to use it. After all those eternities without hearing you talk, I'd prefer to hear you now."
"I remember," Sam says. His voice is thin, woven through with agony and hints of ecstasy. "You quoted Shelley."
The demon laughs, striking Sam's legs, arms, ass, before asking, "Do you remember what I said?"
Sam remembers everything from both of his stays in the pit. Hell is impossible to forget and Sam's always had a good memory on top of that. "'This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever beside thee like thy shadow hangs, dream not to chase: the mad endeavour would scourge thee to severer pangs. Be as thou art. Thy settled fate, dark as it is, all change would aggravate.'"
Sycorax bends down, licks up a stripe of blood from Sam's back. "Tell me, Sam, what I said afterwards."
Sam's eyes search out Dean, find his brother immobile in the chair as Wrath strokes Dean's neck and shoulders, as Lust has Dean's jeans open and his dick in her mouth. Dean isn't protesting, probably can't; Dean can't do anything as Sycorax reaches around, takes hold of Sam's cock, hard and aching, and strokes once. Sam can't help arching into the touch, because this might not be the body he's used to but he can still feel Sycorax, the essence of the demon, inside and he's been conditioned to respond to Sycorax. Even if he could fight, Sam's not sure he wants to.
He fights for control as he answers Sycorax's question, fights to focus on Dean and not on the hand pumping his dick. "You said, 'This fiend, Samuel. This shadow that hangs around you, this dream you chase -- you know it's nothing but foolishness.' You told me, 'I will scourge you well enough so that the thought of your brother will fly from your mind. You have one fate, one purpose, and your brother, your precious little Dean for whom you would sacrifice so much and yet nothing at all, does not figure in to it, not even the smallest iota.' And then you scourged me until Lilith came in and healed me."
Despite the two demons focused on Dean, on bending him or breaking him or tormenting him or all three, Dean's eyes are set firmly on Sam's face. After Sam finishes speaking, Dean's eyes widen, then close in what Sam thinks might be despair.
"Dean," Sam says, and even as Dean's instantly responding, Sycorax steps back, away, and lets the scourge whip into Sam's face. The tanned human skin breaks his nose, his cheekbone, knocks out teeth, the sharp pieces at the falls ripping apart skin and muscles and digging into bone. Sam howls in pain, can't see as his eyes fill with blood, and yet, as soon as he can, he growls out, "Dean, I don't regret it and I never will and I love you, don't forget that, don't ever forget that."
"I'm impressed," Sycorax says, scourges his face again and again and again.
Sam tries to blink the blood out of his eyes but his face is one throbbing mess of agony and even breathing hurts. When small knives, maybe flechettes, are thrown into his back, Sam shakes, collapses to the floor, but doesn't scream. He's too intent on staying conscious, on fighting Sycorax's physical attack and the drifting billows of power Lilith's still sending his way.
Sycorax moves, the sound echoing in Sam's ears, and then one of the objects in his back grinds in further, down to what feels like a fin. Sycorax used flechettes, then. The demon hums, pushes in another one, and then says, "Impressed against my will. Your capacity for suffering really knows no limits, does it. Sadly," the demon goes on, "we had hellfire to play with before. Earth will never be as good for certain things. Are you sure you wouldn't want to come home, to kneel at your queen's feet and then see the rest of hell kneeling at yours? You remember how much we love you, don't you, Sam? You remember how we ate of your body and drank of your blood, how we bound ourselves to you and pledged ourselves to you, don't you?"
"I remember," Sam says, choking on the words through the torture of his mangled face. He can't not answer, not when Sycorax told him to respond before, not when the memories of what Sycorax is referring to fill something inside of him with pleasure. "Hard to forget that cross." He coughs, blood dripping up out of his mouth, and wonders if he's going to die here, chained to a warehouse floor in Missoula.
"It was a beautiful moment," Sycorax murmurs, though whether it's to chastise Sam's tone or in honest reverence of the moment, Sam isn't sure. Both, maybe, knowing this demon.
Sam can't move, can't see, can barely hear through the pressure of blood roaring through his body, but he has enough in him to scream when Sycorax uses his demonic strength to shove a knife through Sam's leg and pin him to the concrete. The scream ends in a cough, a ragged, wet noise that turns into a mewl of anguish when Sycorax slices his other leg open, cuts his hamstring and slices his Achilles' tendon.
Sycorax hums, bends down and traces something around the curve of Sam's ear. It's sharp, pointed, but Sam can't tell if it's a knife or a needle. "You know what I find most fascinating about this?" Sycorax asks in a tone meant to imply confidentiality, though his volume is loud enough to extend over to the other demons. Sam hums in enquiry, the noise all he can come up with. "Do you, my queen?"
Sam can feel Lilith's smile, even if he can't hear it, even if he can't lift his head to see it. "What I find the most telling sign of our triumph, most likely. I wish him to see this, Sycorax."
To see what, Sam has a sinking suspicion; it's realised when Sycorax grabs hold of Sam's hair and pulls his head back, stretching his neck. Tears run down Sam's face, stinging as they slide over the ruin of skin and bones, and he blinks as he discovers he can see. His newfound healing talent has kicked in, then; Sam hadn't noticed his back recovering from Dean's whipping in the presence of his other pain but he can feel it now that he's focused on it.
Lilith skips over to Dean; Sam follows her with his eyes but forgets to breath when she stops and he looks at Dean. Dean's still on the chair, still bound by power and gagged, but Wrath has looped a rope around Dean's neck and pulled it tight. Sam can see his brother's throat rubbed red and raw as he tries to breath. Even worse, Lust is on his lap; from the way she's moving, she's fucking herself on Dean's cock.
Red-hot fire corkscrews through Sam, starting with the part of him that yields to Lilith as queen and spreading outwards to every nerve of every limb. He didn't go to hell and redeem Dean so that demons could still use him, still mock him and deride him and treat him as their plaything. He didn't suffer for that, didn't concede for that, didn't hang on a cross and die for that.
The heat scorching his body heals Sam, heals him faster than he's ever healed himself before. Bones knit themselves together in an instant, sinews and muscles reforming and adhering to their proper places, skin sliding back into one unblemished piece. With a thought in her direction, Ruby comes over, pushes Sycorax out of the way and pulls the flechettes from Sam's back, the knife from Sam's leg. Those injuries heal as if they'd never happened; Ruby helps Sam stand up and then waits at his side.
The ground is covered in blood, in parts of Sam's body, and in come; Sam doesn't remember an orgasm but judging by the mess he had to have had more than one during his time under Sycorax's tender care. With hellfire in his eyes, Sam steps takes one step toward Dean.
Lust stills, hands pressed against Dean's chest, tilts her head and turns to look over her shoulder. Sam doesn't know what he looks like, doesn't care, but Lust pales, seeing it, and gets off of Dean, falls to her knees and presses her forehead to the ground. It takes Wrath longer to react, hair streaming out behind her, but eventually she lets her hold on the rope loosen. The rope slides to the ground as she steps back; one hand stays on Dean's shoulder even as she watches Sam.
"Lust has always favoured you," Lilith says, eyes narrowed as she watches with hands on her hips. "And you and Wrath have always been close. But can you cow the rest of them?"
Sam opens his mouth to answer but Ruby puts a hand on his arm. He tears his eyes off of Dean, turns to look at her. Ruby's not worried anymore; she looks strangely relieved. Sam wonders just how long he let Sycorax have his way. Sam smiles at her, turns to Lilith.
"He doesn't have to," Ruby says. "He is their prince and he obeys the rules of hell. He always has, mother."
Lilith holds Ruby's gaze, then nods once, a sharp gesture, and turns her attention back to Sam. "You heal," she says. "Drawing from nothing but your own power. That is a demonic gift, one of our few skills, and yet you are still human. You can still die, little prince, and Death is still waiting to hold you in its loving embrace."
Dean yells something behind the ball gag; Sam's eyes flick to his brother but quickly return to Lilith.
"You are like nothing we have ever seen before," Lilith continues. "The best of humanity bred with the best of demon-kind."
"Do you know what I am?" Sam asks. "What I can do?"
Lilith's smile bursts like the sunrise from her lips. "Yes," she replies.
Sam pauses. He breathes in the smell of hell, the smell of Lilith's power, the feel of her around him,. This time, he pushes it back. He watches as the skin around Lilith's eyes and mouth tighten, as if she's just been struck. "You're not going to tell me, are you," he says.
"No," Lilith says. "No, I'm not. Not yet."
The warehouse is unnaturally silent in the wake of that admission, almost as if the entire planet is holding its breath. This is the pinnacle of an event a long time in coming, the focal point of something big, so large that Sam can barely start to comprehend it.
He waits in the quiet, lets it fill him and calm him before he asks, "Is it something I need to be worried about? Will there be more surprises?"
Lilith studies him, caught, Sam thinks, in the same atmosphere, the same mood. "There will be more," she finally says. "I choose not to say what or when, but there will be more."
Sam presses, asks again, "Should I be worried?"
Ruby tenses as Lilith moves; Dean begins again to fight the power holding him to the chair as Lilith crosses the distance to stand in front of Sam. Sam looks down on her, holds her gaze, and finally drops to one knee. Despite everything, she is still his queen. He belongs to her, as subject, as son and heir, as student, as lover, as everything they've become to one another, as nothing he could ever explain to anyone else.
"Fear not," Lilith whispers, reaching out with one hand. She places her fingertips on Sam's forehead, holding them there in benediction. "For I am with thee." She bends, not much, and presses a chaste kiss to Sam's lips before breathing over them, "And I will bless thee, my little prince."
Sam waits until she's standing straight again and taken a step backwards before he says, "I couldn't ask for more."
Lilith holds his gaze then nods again, this time a slow inclination in recognition -- of what, Sam doesn't know. "I came here with one question in need of answer," she says. "And I have found it." She turns to Sycorax, says, "I am ready to return home. Gather up your toys."
Sycorax nods, does as directed, and is flanking Lilith a few soundless minutes later. Lilith gestures and the other demons from hell gather around her, the two sins, Orobasya, even Caésinha, who merely shrugs at the raised eyebrow Sam gives her. "I should give Pride an update," Caésinha says in an explanation Sam hadn't expected. "Any message you'd care to pass along?"
Sam smiles, says, "Only that I hope I remain interesting."
Caésinha frowns; he doesn't understand and Sam hadn't expected him to. Still, the demon nods, agrees without argument for once.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Sam asks, this time addressing the question to Lust. She shakes her head, shrugs, and Sam pointedly looks at Dean. His brother's still gagged and bound by power to the chair.
Lust winces, but it's Lilith who lifts a hand and splits the strap in two, sends the ball-gag flying away into a corner of the warehouse. Dean spits, works his jaw and licks his lips. He opens his mouth to speak but Lilith beats him to it, says, "I told you once that I no longer needed you, that you had served your purpose. Perhaps I was wrong, but remember this: my mercy is not without limits, Dean Winchester. I may suffer your life now but believe me, your brother will never hate me, not even if I change my mind and kill you. Resent, yes, dislike, yes, feel any amount of wrath or fury, but he will never abhor me."
"He might not hate you, mother," Ruby says softly. "But things are changing. Things have already changed. Who's to say what will happen next?"
Sam glances at Ruby, at her eyes, and can't decide if she's making a prediction or a threat. Judging by Lilith's gaze, intense and contemplative, she can't tell either.
"We have laws," Lilith says, dismissive as she waves Ruby's words off. Neither her tone nor her actions match the look in her eyes or the coiling of her demon, something everyone in the room but Dean can see. "But I grow weary of this planet. Enough."
Power flakes from Dean and disappears, drawn back into the swirling cyclone of Lilith's demon. It takes Dean a moment to react as if he can't figure out what's happened, but then he's out of the chair and in front of Sam, fingers scrabbling over Sam's naked body, checking for injuries.
"Are you, Sam, fuck," Dean mutters. He leans up, kisses Sam, forcing his way into Sam's mouth, taking and plundering much the way Lilith does in Sam's memories. "Are you okay? Sam?" Dean asks, once he's leaned back, searching Sam's face.
Sam smiles, takes hold of Dean's wrists, and says, "I'm fine, Dean. Relax." Over Dean's shoulder, Sam nods at Lilith, watches as she turns to leave, her entourage following her.
Dean turns, stares, and when he looks at Sam again, his eyes are narrowed, burning. "Use the spell," Dean urges, with Ruby listening on the other side of Sam. "To kill the demons, the one Ruby mentioned before. Use it now while she's still here."
Lilith pauses at the door to the warehouse as if she's heard Dean's advice, as if she's waiting for Sam's answer.
If Lilith were dead, it would make things so much easier. Sam would be the uncontested ruler of hell with Lilith gone as well as Ruby, and several of the most dangerous demons would be dead as well, not just exorcised back to hell but truly dead. Lust and Wrath would return as they have before but Sam would be in control of them when they did rematerialise.
And yet. And yet Lilith's right. Sam doesn't hate her, never could and never will. Besides, he knows enough now, even if he has no idea where that knowledge comes from. He's more demon than human and that spell, if he uses it, would kill him along with every other demon within a mile. Sam knows this. There's no way he'd survive and he's not ready to die, not yet, not like this.
Lilith came, not to answer his questions, but to be sure of his allegiance, and Sam knelt. Even after she allowed demons to torment Dean, even after she broke through Sam's barriers and made him ask for a beating at Sycorax's hands, he knelt. He might be traitorous but he isn't betraying her.
"No," Sam says. Dean protests, as Sam knew he would, but Sam shakes his head. "No, Dean." He pauses, sees Lilith's hands clench into fists, and adds, "The spell would kill me as well."
That shuts Dean up and has Ruby giving Sam a sharp look, hearing the implication in the denial.
Lilith leaves, still tense, and half of the other demons go with her.
--
Sam can feel the tear in reality as Lilith rips a hole back to hell, feels it right itself a moment later along with the absence of demons. He lets go of Dean, turns to face the demons still here: Sonneillon, Agares, Vetis.
"You have work you should be doing," Sam half-asks Sonneillon and Agares. When they nod, Sam says, "Take your hosts back to their homes and then leave. Take their memories with them; I don't want anyone remembering tonight."
Agares gives Sam a bow from the waist and leaves silently, Sonneillon following him after a clear, "Of course, prince."
Sam watches them leave, wonders why Lilith brought them. They've always been his, since Herculaneum, since Miami, maybe even since hell.
"Time to think on it later," Ruby murmurs, standing beside him. Sam glances at her and she adds, "Time enough to think on many things, Sam."
Sam nods in agreement and tells Vetis to go back to her mission as well. Vetis doesn't hesitate before leaving, adoration in her eyes. That leaves Sam alone with Dean and Ruby, and he turns to them, faces them as they stand there, he three of them points on a triangle formed out of blood and love and hell.
"You didn't get an answer," Ruby finally says. "Are you okay with that?"
"Not really," Sam replies, "but it'll have to do for now. There are others I can ask. I'd just hoped I wouldn't have to. But you and me, we'll need to talk, and soon."
Dean snorts and, when both Sam and Ruby look at him, asks, "Sooner rather than right now, I hope. Can we leave? I know I, for one, would kill for a shower. And if Sam doesn't get some clothes on soon, he's going to get sick." Sam flushes; he hadn't realised he was still naked.
Ruby grins, laughs for a moment but calms quickly. She looks at Sam, stands on her tip-toes to give him a kiss, a swipe of her lips against his. Dean growls, a bitten-off little noise, and Ruby eyes Dean, clearly considering something. Sam should step in, he knows, before they come to insults or blows but the same sense that told him about Tamara stops him now, keeps him quiet.
"Things are changing," Ruby starts to say.
"You've said that already," Dean retorts, even as Sam's thinking that Ruby's said it three times now, that things are changing, that they'll change even more. Dean doesn't seem to notice the surprise in Sam's eyes but Ruby does, gives Sam the shallowest of nods that Dean misses as he adds, "If you aren't going to tell us anything useful, then yeah, I think you should just shut the hell up for now and wait. We need to get out of here, all of us."
Ruby's smile turns predatory. "You, being alive, being what you are," she tells Dean, "are changing things. So watch your back, Dean. There are others who might not particularly care for that."
Dean frowns but doesn't have time to say anything in response before Ruby's pulling a chain out from under her shirt. She lifts it off from around her neck, shakes her hair out. Sam's eyes are fixed on the sodalite and follow the stone as it swings in the air.
"I can't use this," Ruby says, "not with the blessings on the chain. But someone like you might be able to." She gestures for Dean to hold out his hand and Sam watches as his brother does, as Ruby drops the necklace into Dean's palm. "Don't lose it, okay? I don't wanna spend another century playing finder's keepers."
Sam stares, feeling something shift widely on its axis before clicking into place between the three of them. He doesn't know what it is, feels even more confused when Dean looks at him and asks, "Did you feel that?"
Ruby laughs, elbows Sam and says, "I really don't wanna hang around for the after-party this time, I can already tell. I'll see you around, little prince." She grins, waves her fingers at Dean, and is at the doorway when she calls out, "Not so little!" and disappears out of a sight a moment later.
Sam smiles, a foolish little smile, as he stares at the place where she left. He jumps when Dean says, "I take it Tamara's dead."
"Yeah," Sam says, looking at the ground. "I. Yeah, she is."
Dean takes that in, seems to realise he can't do anything to change it. For once, Dean appears accepting, rather than resigned; Sam wonders what's changed, whether Dean seeing him act like this was enough to cement who and what Sam is in ways Sam hasn't been able to get across before now. Instead of saying anything more about Tamara, Dean asks, instead, "What should I do with this?" as he holds up the hand with the sodalite necklace.
"Put it on," Sam says, shrugging. Dean stares down at the necklace and Sam rolls his eyes, takes the chain and ignores the burn of the blessing to slide it over Dean's head. It looks delicate on him, unexpected, and yet Sam can feel the power contained on that chunk of mineral and the chain holding it. It suits Dean, is just as deceptive as his brother, just as beautiful, and Sam looks away before he says something truly embarrassing.
As if he understands, Dean doesn't say a word, merely tucks the stone under his shirt and says, "The daughter of the queen. Dude. Ruby's the fucking princess of hell -- which, by the way, we'll be talking about later. But she's the princess and, and you're the prince. Are you two, y'know."
"Expected to marry?" Sam asks, stepping away from Dean to pick up his clothes, not looking at his brother. "No." He pulls on his underwear, then his jeans, picks up the shirt and sighs, pulls on his hoodie instead and balls the shirt up to carry, give his hands something to do. He can't look at Dean, too nervous, too, too everything.
"Hey," Dean says, soft, laying a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam jumps; he hadn't heard Dean move. "Hey, look at me." Sam takes a deep breath and moves, turns to face his brother. "We can talk about this later. I'm probably gonna yell and you are too."
Sam snorts, mutters, "Probably?"
Dean rolls his eyes, says, "Okay, we're definitely both gonna yell. But at the end of the day, you know." Dean shifts, clearly uncomfortable. Sam watches, some worry deep inside of him eased by the rare show of vulnerability, the concern radiating from Dean in waves, though another fear grows at the scent of Wrath digging claws deep into Dean, hints of Lust and Envy and Greed and Pride along the edges of Dean's redemption.
Rather than force Dean to say whatever he's thinking, whatever he's feeling, and rather than ask about the smell of Lilith's Magnificent Seven, Sam presses a finger to his brother's lips. He shakes his head, backs up, and drops his shirt. Dean's watching; Sam knows full well the feeling of his brother's eyes on him, but he doesn't explain himself, not as he looks out over the floor. When he finds the collar, he hears Dean draw in a breath but Sam picks the collar up and goes back to Dean.
He drops to his knees, lifts the collar up on both hands, and says, "If you haven't changed your mind, I haven't either. I know we should wait until we talk about this, I do, but if."
"Oh, please, for the love of Zeppelin, won't you shut up," Dean groans, snatching the collar from Sam's hands and fastening it with practiced efficiency around Sam's neck. "And don't think you're getting out of explaining things to me. Seriously. Ruby? The fucking princess of hell?"
Dean turns on his heel, stomps out of the warehouse. A moment later, Sam can hear the Impala start up as Dean honks twice. He stands in the warehouse a moment longer, grinning in the quiet. After everything that happened, every indignity Dean was forced to suffer and everything Dean was forced to see, after every taunt and unwanted touch and ounce of demonic power thrown Dean's way, of course Dean would focus on Ruby.
Sam wonders, just for a moment, if it's because Dean can't stand to think of anything else that happened. His smile fades, then falls completely.