FIC: Roads Untravelled 3/4
They sit at the rickety table and stare at everything but each other. After he and Sam had hugged and clutched each other for a solid half hour, they finally broke apart and took a seat. There are so many questions that Dean has for Sam, not to mention telling him about the hellhound, but now that his brother is in front of him, where he can reach out and touch him, he just wants to cherish this moment.
Sam breaks the silence first. “How did you get back?”
That question is one of the easier to answer, because he knows but he also knows that Sam won’t like the answer. Although telling Sam about the hellhound will be better than how Bobby found out. So Dean decides to play dumb and then randomly mention the hellhound, if only to see Sam’s expression.
“I don’t know, Sam. I just woke up in the field where you buried me with a hellhound by my side.
The look on Sam’s face is comical and Dean almost cracks up. Sam’s expression is part confused and part amazed. His right eye starts to twitch and Dean is about to crack a joke about Sam not hurting himself, but decides this is too serious to joke about.
“A hellhound?” Sam says after a moment. “A hellhound?”
“Yes, Sam, a hellhound,” Dean replies, rolling his eyes.
“The same kind of hellhound that dragged you to hell.”
“I’m pretty sure she’s not one of the hellhounds that was biting at my heels.” Sam’s eyes bug and he looks like he is having trouble breathing, of all things, so Dean continues on. “Sammy?”
“It’s a girl?”
Dean pauses. He should be watching his words more carefully. “Uh, yeah. It’s a girl.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Sam asks after a few moments of silence. “Did you check?”
“Sam!” he says. Sam honestly sounds curious.
“Well how did you know it was a girl?” he replies defensively.
Dean wants to tell Sam that when he was in hell, a demon named Alistair liked to mentally torture him with hellhounds, except that a hellhound didn’t do as it was told and was referred to as a girl before Dean stood up for her.
But he doesn’t. “After all the growling she does after I called her dude a dozen times, I finally figured it out. So watch your mouth unless you want to be a chew toy,” Dean jokes, but he stops chuckling when Sam’s face goes blank.
“You mean it’s still here?”
Dean winces. He should have led with that. “Yeah, it’s been sticking pretty close. She’s kind of outside. Bobby didn’t want her in the house and I figured you wouldn’t either, yet, but I can’t just keep her out there.” Dean doesn’t tell Sam that he’s probably going to have nightmares tonight and she always manages to wake him up. He also doesn’t tell Sam that the nightmares are memories of his years in hell.
Sam stands up so quickly that his chair scrapes against the floor and Dean winces at the noise. “You brought a hellhound here?” he asks in a low voice. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because I came here, Sam, and she came with me.”
Sam clenches his fist and stares down at Dean coldly. “I had to watch dogs rip into you like you were just a random chew toy while I was pinned to the wall by Lilith and could do nothing to help you. And you thought bringing a hellhound here would be a good idea?”
He starts to pace the length of the kitchen, his movements stilted and sharp. Dean lets him fume, because nothing he can say will help the situation. Sam needs to get this all out now so that they can move on.
“How do you know that you can trust it, Dean?” Sam snaps. “What if it’s just waiting for the right moment to take you back to hell?”
Dean thinks carefully about what he wants to say to Sam. There’s a chance Bobby knows that Dean lied when he said he didn’t remember hell, but Dean doesn’t want there to be an inkling of doubt when he says the same to Sam. His brother doesn’t need that burden. Luckily, the hellhound has given him plenty of scenarios to work with.
“Well, for starters, when I woke up in the middle of that field, I could barely walk. She helped me along and led to me a gas station where I could get food, water, and a car. Then, when I was scoping this beautiful mansion out,” he says sarcastically, “I almost lost a foot thanks to the bear trap in the front window. She managed to pull me back just in time. If she really wanted me to go back to hell, she had plenty of chances to take me there herself, not to mention the fact that I’ve slept in the car with her in it. Twice. And nothing happened.”
Sam expression is half doubtful and half kicked puppy. Dean finally stands and walks to Sam. “Look, I know what you saw will haunt you for the rest of your life. You think I didn’t have nightmares of you falling to your knees in front of me with a knife in your back for months after it happened?” At that, Sam looks down, his face flushing. “And I hate that that bitch Lilith made you watch, but we’ll find her and put her d-”
“Lilith is dead.”
Dean blinks in surprise, his mouth falling open, but no words come out. Sam could have donned a tutu and danced the dying swan and Dean would have been less shocked. “What?” he asks faintly.
“Lilith. Is. Dead.” Sam’s jaw clenches. “I killed her three weeks ago. She’s gone.”
The news is like a punch to his gut and he sits back down in the chair. “How?”
Sam’s shoulders snap straight. “Ruby came back. She found me and started training me, helping me use my powers. Ever since I…died, it’s like the floodgates opened and I could tap into something. She taught me how to hone it. And she helped me kill Lilith.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dean breathes, rubbing his forehead, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his baby brother took out freakin’ Lilith. “Where’s Ruby?” Sam shuts down and the blank expression on his face causes Dean to panic. “Sam? What happened?”
His jaw clenches and Dean leans forward in his seat anxiously. “Lilith had one last play. She had a power reserve, a well of energy that she was waiting to crack open and throw at me. I wasn’t expecting it and so when she released it, I froze. Ruby jumped in front of me.”
“Sam?” Dean asks softly, because he knows-just fucking knows-that nothing about this conversation is going to end well.
“She’s gone, Dean. Really gone this time.”
Dean sits back in his chair, all his energy gone and he’s back to being exhausted. “And you killed Lilith.”
“She used up most of her power in that attack and she hadn’t counted on Ruby helping me. Apparently, she pulled a double-cross and turned her back on Lilith. So now they’re both gone. And you’re back, three weeks later, and you have no idea how.”
He snorts at Sam’s almost disappointed tone. “Gee, Sam, why don’t you sound just a bit angrier about that? I can’t really feel the indagation from where I’m sitting.”
Sam glares at Dean. “I’m angry because I tried everything I could think of to get you out of hell. Everything. No demon would deal with me.”
“You tried to make a deal?” Dean replies loudly, standing up. “That’s your idea of getting me out? Putting you there in my place? Are you really that stupid?”
“It was my last resort! When that failed, Ruby showed up and said she would help teach me to use my powers and that if I killed Lilith, you could get out, because Lilith held your contract. So I pushed myself and almost drove myself crazy going after her, and I killed her, and you were still down there!” Sam’s face flushes and his fists clench at his side. “And then you suddenly show up, alive, with a hellhound following you around like a constant reminder that you could be taken back at any second. I think that I’m allowed to be angry, Dean!”
Dean almost, almost, tells Sam that the hellhound doesn’t have a master anymore, that she’s gone, when he makes the connection and pauses in the middle of the kitchen. The hellhound’s mistress is dead and suddenly Dean is brought back. Sam kills Lilith and suddenly Dean is brought back.
Dean almost tells Sam that Ruby was right, that by killing Lilith, Sam freed Dean. But he doesn’t, because he decides not to tell Sam anything about hell. He’s got enough to deal with and even though he claims to be angry, Dean knows that he’s scared, almost terrified. He hears the small tremor in Sam’s voice and notices how his eyes dart all over the room, checking for trouble. He’s tense, tired, and worried that Dean will just disappear right before his eyes.
He holds out a hand, calming, and slowly walks toward Sam, treating him like a wounded animal. “Nothing is going to happen, Sammy. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m staying right here with you.”
Sam looks around, his expression almost nervous. “Where is it?”
“She’s outside,” Dean replies, looking down the narrow hallway that leads to the porch. When he squints, he sees the outline of the hound at the door. “She won’t make any trouble, I promise, but she’s not going anywhere. Even Bobby noticed how possessive she is.”
When he faces Sam again, he tries to give him a small smile that turns into a grimace. “Let’s just focus on us, okay? It’s the Sam and Dean show, just for a little while longer.”
Sam nods and Dean claps him on the shoulder. The time together would do them well.
When Bobby calls a week later with news of a job, Dean is fucking relieved, and Sam seems to be as well. They spent the previous seven days trying to hold conversations to no avail, tip-toeing around each other, worried that every single word or action would send the other into an emotional tailspin.
The job is a simple salt and burn Bobby seems reluctant to hand over, but he has other things that need to be dealt with that are a higher priority. Dean doesn’t care and happily takes down all the information. The job is close, only about four hours away.
Sam loads up the trunk, double checking supplies and tossing in their duffle bags with extra clothes in case they need to stay longer, when he gives Dean a strange look for carrying out heavy pads and blankets. “What are you doing?”
Dean returns the strange look. “This is my baby. I don’t care how careful she is, the hellhound has got some claws on her, and I can’t afford to reupholster an entire bench seat. Hopefully, these will protect the leather.”
Sam freezes and his face goes blank. Dean tosses the blankets in the back and straightens. “What?”
“It’s coming with us?” Sam asks after shifting, glancing around, looking for the hellhound. Like Bobby, Sam can’t actually see the hellhound like Dean can.
Dean doesn’t bother pointing out that she’s been sitting at the bottom of the stairs the entire time and Sam has almost walked over her twice already. “Of course she is.”
“Why?”
Dean had bent down to start arranging the blankets but stands back up again with a huff. “Because I said so, Sam. Where I go, she goes. That okay with you, Princess?” Sam looks doubtful. “If she wanted to hurt you, she would have already, and you know it. She’s done nothing all week. She’ll stay out of the way.”
Sam’s jaw clenches and he plants his feet, straightening his shoulders. “He’s not coming with us, Dean.”
“She,” he responds with bite. “She’s not going to take me back, okay? I’m going to get rid of this spirit, and she’s coming with me.”
“How do we know that she won’t betray us?” Sam asks, ignoring the low growling coming from the porch. “She’s from hell, right? From the pit? How do you know she didn’t drag you down there in the first place? What’s to stop her from doing it again?”
Dean makes a tight fist with his hands. “Because she brought me back, Sam!”
Sam stops, his expression freezing on his face. “What?” he asks softly. “I thought you said you didn’t know how you got back.”
Of course Dean would blurt out his bigger secret to Sam when they were having an argument. That really was on par for them. He forces himself to take a deep breath. “I…I don’t remember much,” he says, hating each lie as much as the last. “One minute I was in the pit and the next, I was on the ground next to my grave with a hole in my side and a hellhound waiting to help me up.”
He wets his lips, his eyes straying to the hellhound on the porch. Sam knows he has nightmares and Dean knows that Sam has nightmares, but they never talk about them. At least Dean has someone to sit through them with.
The hellhound walks forward and stops a few feet away from him. Dean pulls the door to the back seat open and she hops in, settling down on the blankets and pads. He pauses before shutting the door, palming the keys, worried about what he would see when he looks up at Sam.
Sam bites his lip, looking past Dean to the hellhound in the backseat. “Why?” he asks softly.
Dean rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know.” He coughs, trying to expel the awkward tension. “I mean, damn, I just figured out she’s a girl.”
Sam snorts and slowly walks toward Dean, his gaze flicking back and forth between Dean and the hellhound. “I guess…” he says, trailing off.
Dean’s hand comes up to grasp his shoulder. “Nothing bad will happen, Sam.”
The quick salt and burn that Bobby promises them is anything but. Instead of one vengeful spirit, there are a dozen and a demon in the middle, egging them on. Sam and Dean figure out that they are in over their heads when Sam gets kicked across the room and Dean is punched down through the ceiling.
They find shelter behind an overturned couch. “Jesus Christ, why can’t things be simple anymore!”
“We don’t have enough salt for all of them, Dean!” Sam says, wincing when another ghost comes screaming towards them. He slashes forward with an iron fire poker, and the spirit vanishes, but it’s only temporary..
“That’s because you used it all to make a ring around the house!” Dean shouts, firing a round of salt from the shotgun. He’s running out of those as well. His back aches from where he hit the ceiling and a cut over his eyebrow won’t stop bleeding. Dean wipes at it quickly to stop the blood from getting in his line of sight. “Which, great plan, now they’re all stuck in here with us!”
“I agree, Sam, not your best choice,” a voice calls out from the other side of the room. Both Dean and Sam tense and glance at each other. That would be the demon stirring up so much trouble for them, making sure the pile of bodies in the basement can’t be reached so they can be destroyed. “Though still not as bad as following a demon around like a lovesick puppy and doing her bidding.”
Sam clenches the iron poker tightly in his hands, and Dean lurches back when another ghost comes near them. He can’t shoot it, so he yells at Sam, who quickly swings in a wide arc, making the ghost disappear. The demon cackles, knowing that he has them flustered. Dean wants to punch the son of a bitch in the face.
“Sammy,” Dean says after firing another round through a spirit trying to sneak up on them, “we aren’t prepared for this shit.”
Sam pants and leans back against the couch. “Bobby is going to drink himself to death after this,” he replies, rolling his head over to look at Dean. “You know that, right? He’s going to blame himself for this.”
But this wasn’t Bobby’s fault either. They should have researched the area better, scoped out the family home, and fucking noticed there was a demon traipsing around their haunting site. He huffs angrily because they knew better, damn it. “At least they’re stuck here,” he says. “That salt line is solid.”
A large blast of wind blows into the house, busting out most of the windows. Dean’s eyes sting. Sam shouts as well, rubbing his eyes.
“Son of a bitch. You broke the salt line.”
The demon doesn’t answer because he’s too busy screaming.
Dean stands up quickly, looking at the last place he had seen the demon standing with burning eyes. The demon was now on the ground, thrashing from side to side. Sam stands beside him, squinting against his tears. “What the hell is going on?”
He can’t see what is happening, but Dean can. The hellhound stands over the demon, digging its claws into the flesh like it’s wet toilet paper. The sight makes Dean’s stomach heave, but he shoves at Sam, pushing him to the door to the basement. “Come on, we have to get the bodies toasted.”
Sam shakes his head and rubs at his eyes again, and Dean is grateful that he can’t see very well either, since the noises the demon is making are nauseating on their own.
By the time they salt and burn the bodies in the basement and make their way up the stairs, the demon is dead, or at least the body it was inhabiting is gone, and the hellhound is sitting at the top of the stairs, waiting for them. Sam can finally see what happened to the demon and he stops, his heels slamming on the floor.
“Dean, did…” he trails off, swallowing so loudly that Dean can hear it clearly in the now silent house.
“Yeah, Sam,” he says, “The damn hellhound tore up the meat suit and distracted the ghosts long enough for us to get rid of them.”
Although, when Dean walks up to the body, he can see black powder around the mouth and the eyes that should be white with death are still pitch black.
“Sam, I think the hellhound killed the demon. I think it never got out.”
His brother walks over and stares down at the body in shock, leaning down to take in all the details. “The eyes, the mouth…it’s like every mark clawed the demon and not the body.”
The hellhound walks over and noses at the body. Dean makes a face at the moving corpse, but he takes a step back. “You broke the salt line, right? And came in here?”
Sam looks between Dean and the body, finally asking the question Dean meant to ask. “Why?”
The hellhound nudges Dean’s side, the one with the bite, before turning and walking out of the house. Sam and Dean share a look before following her out.
Sam doesn’t make a fuss about the hellhound coming along on hunts after that. More often than not, she actually helps them, going so far as to save Sam’s life from a revenant.
They’ve been hunting for three weeks, stuck in a motel in Indiana, when Sam brings up an important point.
“So, what do you call her?” Sam asks and, for a moment, Dean has no clue what he’s talking about.
“Call who?”
Sam’s exasperated face reminds him of a pouting four-year-old. “The hellhound. What do you call her?”
Sam gestures to the room at large,, but Dean’s eyes zero in on where she lays by the hotel door. “Um, hellhound? Her? She? Lassie?”
She growls, making the nearby table and chairs vibrate. Sam jumps at the noise but Dean simply leans away. “Not Lassie, then.”
Sam shakes off the chill caused by the hellhound’s growl. “You can’t just call her ‘hellhound’, Dean. She needs a name.”
Dean shrugs. “Helly for short?”
The responding growl is so loud that the pictures on the wall are knocked off, and Sam actually loses his footing, falling to the bed with a shocked expression. The hellhounds’ claws dig into the carpet and damn it, Dean is not paying for that.
“Jesus, fine, not Helly. It was just a joke. Ease up with those talons, will you?” he says, giving the beast a mild glare.
Sam takes a deep breath and sits up. “What about just…Hel?” He clearly waits for the growls of rejection, but when none come, he sits up straighter. “So, that will work? Hel?”
Dean alternates between staring at Sam incredulously and giving the hellhound looks of irritation. “So he gets to knock the y off of my name and you like it?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “H-e-l. You know? The being in Norse mythology? Loki’s daughter?” Sam’s bitchface rivals any he ever received from Hel. Dean can’t believe he’s missed it. “That’s how the phrase ‘go to hell’ was started. It was said that if you go to Hel, as in the person, you would die.”
“God, do you spend all your waking moments reading Wikipedia or something?” Dean asks after a few moments, but he thinks that Hel sounds like a good name for the hellhound. At least she wasn’t gouging marks in the carpet anymore. He turns to her with his eyebrows raised before Sam can make any further smartass comments. “Does that work with you, Hel?”
The hellhound-Hel- jumps on his bed and settles on his pillow. He takes that for a yes.
“And you’re sure Helly’s out?”
With a swipe of her paw, the hellhound launches the other pillow at him, stuffing flying everywhere. “Damn it!”
But Sam is smiling and…Hel…is settling in to take a nap.
Dean guesses he’ll pay for the damages anyway.
At first, Dean thinks he’s simply imagining things. The irritated expression on Sam’s face is just a trick of the light or a product of too-little sleep, even though Sam made him replace all the bulbs with energy-efficient bulbs-whatever the hell that means-and he sleeps better now than he has since he was little.
But Sam’s attitude and bitchy tone can’t be explained by faulty wiring or Dean’s sleep patterns. His frustration flares up at the strangest times, or at least Dean thinks so, until he finally calls Bobby to bitch and rant. He’s ten minutes into his venting time when Bobby interrupts him.
“You boys are both blind as bats.”
Bobby’s words disrupts his flow, and he almost trips where he’s pacing in the kitchen. Half the renovation is finished, but they still have to put the new laminate on the counter tops and finish painting the cabinet doors.
“What?”
“I’m understanding where the poor guy is coming from,” Bobby answers. “Even though you’re talking to me about Sam, every other word that comes out of your mouth is about that damn hellhound.”
Dean sputters and tries to disagree, except he rewinds the last few sentences, repeating them in his mind. Perhaps Bobby is right. “So?” he asks finally. “She saved my life, Bobby. She pulled me out of hell and she’s been covering my ass-both of our asses-when we’re out hunting. She single-handedly took down the wendigo that was up in Montana last week.”
Bobby’s sigh comes through the line loud and clear. “Dean, you dealt with that wendigo almost a month ago and yeah, she’s been helping, but you just won’t shut the hell up about it. Before the wendigo, it was the skinwalker and how she could sniff it out without you boys looking for the old skins. Before that was the rugaru. Before that-”
“All right, I get the point,” Dean replies gruffly. He leans against the refrigerator. “Sam’s jealous.”
“Don’t you dare sell your brother short, Dean.” Bobby scoffs. “That hound is a constant reminder of where you were. It’s bad enough that you won’t talk about it, and I get that your time in the pit isn’t something that you can just jabber on about over a couple of beers, but the way I hear it from Sam, you talk more to that dog than your own brother.”
Dean clenches his hand into a fist, his grip tightening around the cell phone. In his empty palm, his nails dig into his flesh so hard, he’s sure to have marks. Dean wants to shout that what Bobby is saying isn’t true because of course he talks to Sam more than Hel. But as he tries to think of the last time he and Sam had a one-on-one conversation, Dean comes up blank.
Bobby gives him time to work out his issues, remaining silent on the other end of the line. Dean takes a deep breath. “I can’t talk to him, Bobby. He doesn’t need that guilt.”
“You think he doesn’t already feel guilty? That boy has been carrying his guilt around since the moment he found out about your deal.”
Dean hears something slam through the receiver-a book, or a drawer maybe. Bobby sighs and pops open a beer, the hiss after the top is popped off coming through loud and clear. “Dean, Sam knows you remember hell, but he also knows you would rather confide in one of the creatures that put you there than in him, when he was the one person trying to keep you out.”
Bobby’s words knock the breath out of him. Sam could do less damage if he punched him in the stomach. Dean tries to deny it again, but the words catch in his throat. All of his excuses taste like ash in his mouth.
He hangs up the phone. Bobby doesn’t call back.
Dean tries to be careful about how much time he spends with Hel after that. He includes Sam in more conversations over lunches and dinners and even tells Hel to stay home when they have to go to the grocery store. Sam has been doing all the shopping for them, since Hel in a crowded supermarket is just asking for trouble, but Dean thinks they need the time to themselves, even if they spend the entire time bickering about which brands to purchase.
Some of the tension in Sam eases, but they both hesitate before starting conversations. Dean knows that getting back to the camaraderie they shared before they both died will take time and a whole lot of alcohol, but he’s impatient and wants whatever the hell is wrong fixed now. Dean slowly copes with his time in the pit, and Hel helps more than he thought was possible.
Sam killed Lilith, watched Ruby die to save him, and was without an anchor for months, but unlike Dean, Sam doesn’t have a companion. Dean listens when Sam tries to talk about it, but Sam gets flustered, choked up, guilting himself into believing that Dean doesn’t need to hear about his issues.
Dean has Hel. Sam needs his own Hel.
Jackson doesn’t have a pet shop, so Dean travels to the vet clinic in town to ask about any dogs up for adoption. The rather cute tech behind the desk smiles and bats her eyelashes, telling him that the vet gave a litter of puppies to a foster family just two months before when the mother died. Three puppies were still up for adoption.
When Dean goes to the house to see the puppies, there is no question which one he’s getting for Sam. The dog is considerably smaller than the others but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in energy. The moment Dean steps into the room, the pup takes off running across slick, wood floors, spinning around when its hind legs run faster than the front.
The adoption papers go through relatively quickly, and Dean has the official yes within a couple of weeks. When he picks up the puppy, the foster family gives Dean a blanket for the trip back to the house. He absolutely did not want the thing pissing on his upholstery, but he keeps it tucked close to his side so it won’t tumble across the seats. It yips constantly and squirms in his grasp, but Dean keeps a firm hold even after he pulls up to the house and opens the door.
Dean quickly realizes there is no way the damn thing will shut up and be a surprise for Sam, so as soon as they are inside the house with the front door firmly closed behind him, he leans over to put the pup on the floor. He chuckles when the dog starts running in mid-air the closer it gets the floor, the small paws curving through the air. Dean finally puts it on the floor and the nails click loudly against the wood as the pup takes off, barking wildly.
Sam appears in the doorframe to the kitchen, and Dean laughs outright at the bewildered expression on his face. The pup runs straight for him and doesn’t stop fast enough, crashing into Sam’s legs while he stares down at the dog in wonder.
“What…” Sam asks faintly, the wet, soapy washcloth in his hand dripping all over the floor. The pup runs underneath it and jumps at the cold sensation on his back.
“It’s a dog,” Dean replies with a grin.
“I got that, but what is it doing here?” Sam’s eyes never leaving the dog that is now running circles around the kitchen table. Dean starts to doubt his choice because, holy God, how hyper is this thing?
“He’s yours,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck when Sam finally looks up at him with a shocked expression. “I’ve got Hel and I know that we’re…doing better at the whole feelings crap, but maybe you need someone like Hel. So…he’s yours.”
Sam doesn’t say anything. He looks down at the dog, who thankfully seems to be winding down, sniffing at random objects throughout the kitchen. The refrigerator hisses as the ice machine starts up, and that sends the pup into a tailspin of barking and growling that sounds more like a kitten purring.
“Or, I can take him back,” Dean replies quickly, even though he’s pretty sure he actually can’t. “If you don’t want him-”
“No!” Sam snaps, taking a step towards the dog like Dean is two seconds away from snatching him up and running away. Dean holds up his hands in surrender and backs away, watching as Sam leans over to hold his fingers out for the pup to sniff. After a few moments, the puppy forgets about the evil refrigerator and happily licks at Sam’s face when he’s picked up. His feet are kicking in the air again and Sam is trying to hold back a grin, but he doesn’t succeed.
The dog is back to barking, and Dean really regrets not choosing the quiet pup left in the litter, until it pees all over Sam. Then the pup is the best puppy ever.
Master Post | Part One | Part Two | Part Four | Notes and Acknowledgements | Story Art