The Other Son: Chapter Fifteen
Title: The Other Son
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Fifteen: COUNTERBALANCE
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'. Violence!
A/N: There is no new Winchester being added into the mix here. This is definitely not one of those fics. Please leave a review! It keeps my muse happy and makes my day!!
Summary: Sam knows there are a lot of things about his father that he will never understand, or agree with -- the first and foremost being why John Winchester is so unnerved by his son's visions. It's why Sam goes alone to Fitchburg when images of the town's 'welcome' sign flash through his head while he's driving and leave him reeling for hours after. He's only looking for a hunt, but what he finds is about to turn Sam's entire world upside-down, and threaten its very foundations.
chapter fifteen | COUNTERBALANCE
"You lost him?" Sophia sounded much the same as she did the first time Sam had ever met her, it wasn't comforting. "Wait," she said a moment later. "You said there were demons or something after him."
"Yeah," he confirmed. He was pacing on the back patio of the Roadhouse, back-and-forth in front of the door that had been scrubbed clean from the demon's mark not long before.
"So, did you lose him, or did the demons take him?"
"I -- I think the demons took him."
"But he had that protection thing! How did that backfire?" Sam knew that if he explained his theory in full Sophia would hop-on a plane, and steal a car, and stop at nothing until she'd reached the Roadhouse where she would browbeat Sam and then go tearing-off after the demons. Mostly she would just be furious at the implications. If they ever recovered Dean, she'd probably kick his ass as well -- Sam wouldn't blame her if she did, he had similar plans. "Well, can you get him back?"
"It's not a question," Sam said. "I'm going to get him back."
"Okay," she said. "Okay. Then you do that, and then bring him home so I can see for myself that he's okay, and then yell at him for making me worry."
Sam smiled, tried to let her weak humor distract him from the seriousness of the situation. "I promise. Bye, Sophia." He flipped his cell closed and leaned against the rail, looking back at the closed door and trying to recreate the other night in his head -- figure-out when Dean was taking and also, what the demons might have planned.
"If there's any demons out there," Jo said as she joined him on the patio. "They're not getting in there. That place if more fortified than a church," she nodded her head back to the Roadhouse. "My mom has a few hunters laying-down even more protections. It can be our home base."
"No. The demons called Dean their weapon," Sam said. "Whatever they have planned, it's large-scale. They could be anywhere by now. Anything could have happened."
"Listen, Mr. Optimism, we can only do so much." She kicked the door and gestured with her head in its direction to the spot where they had scrubbed clean of Dean's blood. "That mark? That's a full-on taunt. They might have big plans for Dean, but they have something pretty personal going on first. They're coming back. They want to rub whatever they're doing in our faces."
"You can't be certain of that. It's a pretty big risk to take," Sam said.
_"Well, we don't have much else to go on. My mom says the hunters that have been checking the area haven't found anything. I figure the demons haven't gone far yet because they're not done yet. From what you've told me, they've been on Dean for a while. They took-out his dad, they were after him in his own house -- that whole torture-thing they had going. It's more than just catching him, they were toying with him; though that was a pretty strange way to do it."
"It was weakening him," Sam said as he picked-up her train of thought.
"So -- they needed him weak? What's the advantage of having a weapon that's weak? It makes no sense."
"Unless it has more to do with his state of mind."
"He'd get hit with all those emotions and bad thoughts and they'd drain him. He'd already be depressed because of his dad, and he'd be alone in the house with all that bad stuff. Then what?" Sam tried to think what would have happened if Dean had stayed in Fitchburg. Sophia would have been killed, maybe even Rosemary, until all Dean had was his house, which he likely wouldn't have been able to leave. Jo raised an eyebrow and glanced sidelong at Sam. "You know, it sounds like they were trying to break him."
"But that would mean that whatever they want him for, it's not something innate in him. He doesn't necessarily have evil in him, but there is something they can do to control him to use him to execute whatever plan they have. Well, that's heartening."
"So what happens now? I mean, their original plan didn't work. Dean didn't break, he went-off with you and was fine until stupid Gordon did a number on him." Sam had explained to Jo as well as to Ellen what had been happening with Dean before he'd disappeared in the hopes that having a clear and (somewhat) complete picture would help come-up with a strategy.
"But they got what they wanted in the end," Sam said. "He told me before that he wanted to stay here because he knew that if anything happened to him and he wasn't able to stop it himself, that he knew having an entire bar full of hunters would mean that they were each more than capable of killing him if it came to that."
"Well then he's already exactly where they want him," Jo said. "He's desperate enough that he could bargain with them, do you think?"
"Demons don't bargain. Dean knows better than that."
_"But all he really wants is to make sure that he doesn't hurt anyone."
"Which is the last thing they'd be willing to negotiate on, if this is personal. Which is what it's looking like."
"It's bigger than us, though," she said. "There's more than one plan for him, because there's no way they'd put that much effort just into someone who could wipe us out. We're a handful of people who could easily be killed some other way."
"So, more than one plan, then." It wasn't getting any clearer. Dean was being controlled, that was about all Sam was certain of, which was better and worse for all sorts of reasons. But it didn't change the fact that Sam still had no idea where to look for him, or what to do when he found him. He pulled open the door and headed inside.
"You know," Jo said, and Sam stopped and turned; saw her standing in the doorway looking at the salt line that had been poured in front of the door. "He's not possessed. He's being controlled, but he's not possessed."
He stared at the salt, then glanced around the room. "Most of the protections on this place keep-out demons and the supernatural..."
"...but they don't do a thing when it comes to people," Jo finished.
.........................................................................................
"So, the first part of the plan is to kill all the hunters, starting with us," Ellen said. She drummed her fingers on the table and then stood-up. "Well, that's great."
"But we know what to expect," Jo offered. "We can anticipate exactly what they have planned."
"Honey," Ellen scoffed. "We can't anticipate anything, except that they might be heading back here at some point. We don't know what they have planned for us, we don't know anything. We have a demonic weapon that walked out of its safe house apparently willingly, and god knows how many demons out there. We have two hunters, one computer genius and I don't want you anywhere near this kind of thing." Jo scowled and tried to argue the point but Sam pushed away from the table, grabbed the keys to the impala and disappeared out the front door.
"I'd like to take this opportunity," Ash offered. "To say with absolute certainty that I'd prefer not to be anywhere near demons. Particularly the killing-kind."
"There are no other kind," Ellen said. Sam returned and dropped an open book onto the table, a small dust cloud billowing from its pages. "What are we looking at?"
"They're still demons, right? Whatever their plan is, they're in the area. It hasn't been more than a day since they got Dean. We know they want to kill hunters, that it's part of the reason why Dean is useful to them. So lets bring them here."
"You're talking about summoning an unknown number of demons here?"
"Why not? They're looking for a target, so lets give them one. We have protections on this place, I know a few more."
“You know this is probably the craziest thing anyone has ever tried before?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah, probably,” Sam admitted.
…………………………………..
Sam realized that he probably should have phoned his father sometime between marking the wards on the ceiling over the front door and hanging the cat's eye shells around the bar. It didn't cause him to stop what he was doing; he knew well enough that there was nothing John could do. If the plan failed, then he would call John - or someone would - but by then he didn't think there would be much of a problem. Sam had every intention of finishing it all right then. Making his father worry, or yell, or drive like a madman across the country wasn't going to change anything.
“Ash, what are you doing?” Jo asked as she lit the sage and used a collection of feathers to send the smoke arching against the walls and tables.
Ash was carrying an armful of canned goods and also several bottles of vodka and rum that he'd liberated from behind the bar. “I'm hiding-out, Man,” he said. “No way I want to be in the middle of this when it goes down.”
“Artful fleeing, right?” Jo scoffed.
“Damn straight!” He shut the door solidly behind him, his sign thumping against the wood. A moment later he opened it again and switched the sign so it read: The Bad Ass is OUT.
“Hey,” Jo said, softly. “You think this is gonna work?” Sam didn't say anything because Ellen came through the door with weapons: guns, knives, and machetes. She laid them out methodically across the bar, set them on the table at the back that they had moved aside. They'd cleared most of the floor. He couldn't quite watch her setting them out. Sam had a plan in mind, but he had to admit that Dean had a point when he had said that there was always the possibility of a plan backfiring. Ellen was part of that back-up plan, but Sam was not in any way prepared for that plan to become necessary.
………………………………..
The fire started at midnight. They'd turned the lights low and alerted the regular crowd. Sam sat in the corner, his back against the wall, and tried not to look at the sawed-off shotgun in his lap. Somewhere out there, hiding in the darkness, were about twenty-six hunters prepared to step-in if all hell broke loose. And also out there in the darkness was an unknown number of demons, and Dean.
At first the fire was nothing more than a flicker of light across the ceiling of the Roadhouse, and no one was quite prepared to acknowledge what it was. The light got brighter and it was Jo who finally peered up out of the window. “They've lit the entire field on fire,” she said. Ellen huffed in irritation, but didn't move to look. Sam stayed where he was, watched the fire's light grow on the ceiling as it came closer. It wasn't far off, growing steadily in the field across from the bar, Jo kept describing what she could see until Ellen told her to be quiet because it was clearly a distraction tactic. The wind was right and Sam thought that if they hadn't already anticipated it, they might have actually had to flee from the Roadhouse. “They're not very bright?” Jo said, she sat mirroring Sam's position, pouting after being told to keep it down.
“Who's not?” Ellen asked.
“The demons. A fire like that? I mean, sure it's not a crowded area or anything, but the fire department will still come out, investigate the smoke.”
“Exactly,” Sam said, tilted his head back against the wood of the wall.
“Oh,” Jo said. “Right.” The demons had no way of knowing that they had been drawn to the area by the combination of sigils they had drawn on the underside of the Roadhouse's overhanging roof. It was the equivalent of a giant bull's-eye on the whole building, but not so unsubtle that the demons would be alerted to it. The best way for a demon to get into a place without raising any eyebrows was to possess someone. The fire served more than one purpose.
The flickering of the few lights they had elected to leave on had been expected, but neither Ellen nor Sam had anticipated that the demons would get close enough to actually start scratching on the door. They did.
Sam shifted his back away from the wall and changed the grip on his gun but otherwise remained still. Ellen stood closer to the centre of the room and glared at her front door. Jo had her gun aimed at it, ready to shoot the minute the door opened, Sam hoped that both women would show the restraint that he knew them for, and also, that they would follow his lead.
There was risk upon risk, and mostly Sam felt like he was walking a tightrope, but at the heart of it the only question that needed answering was whether or not the risk was worth it. Sam figured that was the only thing that wasn't in any doubt. He'd screwed-up, that was true, but he wasn't prepared to say that he'd failed. Wasn't prepared to accept what failure meant. Not while he was still drawing breath.
The scratching got louder and louder, Sam was close enough to hear hissing - like water being poured on a blaze - a sizzling crackle that wove around the sound of claws on wood. “Come away from the door, Sam,” Ellen said. Sam followed the order, rising to his feet and backing-up. The windows started shaking and the intervals between darkness and light were getting longer until Sam was almost grateful for the light the fire outside provided; his ears were filled with the sounds, a growing cacophony that had him thinking that this was what hell must sound like - except with the screams of a million tortured souls joining the chorus.
And then everything just went silent, and Sam thought that might be worse. The lights came back on - the few that they had left on anyway - and he could feel the tension in the room, he and Ellen and Jo, just waiting - for something.
The doorknob twisted of its own volition -- a slow motion squeaky turning and then the door creaked open and there was an opaque darkness surrounding the doorway, blotting out the landscape and the fire beyond - the salt and the sigils and all their careful warding kept the demons out - and Sam watched the blackness surge forward only to be repelled. A voice crooned, long and lilting like a child's lullaby, “Sammy.” Drawing it out so that it was more than two syllables, and the darkness stepped aside, made room for a new adversary, sent something else toward them, something that wasn't stopped by the salt and the sigils; something that barely felt the wards.
“Dean,” Sam said, hadn't meant to but couldn't help it. It escaped passed his lips to sit like a lead weight in the room.
Dean stood in the doorway, his head tilted down, looking-up at them from beneath his lashes and he was smirking. Sam remembered his vision in a flash that had him tensing, that dark look in Dean's eyes was the same - cold and ruthless. There was a razor edge in him that hadn't been visible before, though Sam had always considered that it was present - tempered however much it was. There was a shock that went through him, however much he attempted to fight it - because Dean was standing there, jeans slung low and shirt tight, full of a careless confidence that had been missing since he had joined Sam on the road following Paul's death. He looked flirtatious and coy and dangerous - the stuff of any and every dark fantasy -- and though Sam couldn't stop his immediate reaction to seeing Dean, he wanted nothing more than to have his own Dean back.
“Sammy,” Dean said, nowhere near the soft drawl he usually said it with. Instead, Dean stood there sneering. He pulled a knife free from the back of his jeans and flipped it casually in his hand - the knife Sam had given him before he had left and been abducted by Gordon - the knife Sam had seen clasped in Dean's hands and dripping in blood in his vision. Sam had no doubt that Dean was capable of using it. The darkness reached over Dean's shoulder as if it were wrapping an arm around him, and then pulled back - a message passed. Dean stepped across the salt and into the bar. The trap was set, all that remained was for Sam to catch his mouse before any serious damage was done and someone pulled a rifle.
Of course, as soon as Sam thought that, Dean flicked his knife across the distance and it sunk easily into Ellen's shoulder. She dropped the shotgun she'd been hefting, cursing as she slumped onto the ground. “You son of a bitch!” Jo cried, aimed her gun at Dean, but Sam was quicker. He wrapped a hand around the barrel and forced it down, shook his head when she looked incredulously at him.
“Dean,” Sam said. Dean bent and pulled the knife - nice and slow - out of Ellen, flicked her hand away when she tried to pull a blade on him. He swatted her back like she was a fly, and then he grinned -- wide and menacing -- a smile Sam had never seen on his lover's face. “This is between you and me, Dean.”
Dean quirked an eyebrow, but stalked closer just the same. “You're right.” He fisted a hand in Sam's shirt and slammed him hard against the wall, holding him there while he purred in Sam's ear. “I'm not an idiot, you know. They might not know why they came back, but I do. Summoning us. Pretty desperate, huh?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“So talk,” Dean said, then yanked Sam forward and threw him down onto the floor. Sam winced and tried to rise up into a sitting position, shaking his head again when Jo tried to move to his side. He nodded over to Ellen, and she moved to her mother instead, helping her to the far corner of the bar, out of harm's way - hopefully.
“Whatever they did to you, this isn't you,” Sam said. Dean shrugged and flicked his knife casually between his fingers as he walked. “You know, right now there are hunters out there taking care of the demons. It's you and me, Dean. You don't have to worry. There are traps all around this place. Those demons aren't getting free. Whatever they have planned for you, it stops tonight.” Dean stopped pacing and turned to face Sam, tilted his head to the side, considering. It was a gesture Sam had seen Dean make repeatedly over the course of their acquaintance, made an ache of pain lance through him at the familiarity, but it also caught Sam's attention. Unnoticed because it had blended with the neck of Dean's black T-shirt was a thick band of leather, soldered together by a fat blob of metal. Caught and collared, Sam thought darkly, and glared at the band on Dean's throat. “You want revenge, come and get. Either come outside with me and help me kill them one by one - send them back to hell. Or stay here and fight me. Whatever you want, Dean.”
“Well gee,” Dean mocked. “Let me think?” He lunged - his body moving faster than Sam had expected. Sam took the blow; let his head knock back against the hard floor and then - when his vision had cleared - looked back at Dean. “Not so tough, now, are you, Hunter? Gonna fight me?” Dean taunted. He straddled Sam on the floor, his body braced for Sam to strike. When he didn't, Dean sat back, frowned a little, then punched Sam hard, his knuckles impacting against Sam's cheekbone. “Fight me!”
“Dean,” Sam said. His lip was split, he was bruised, his back was aching where he'd struck the wall.
“Sam, goddammit!” Jo hissed. He glanced to where she was kneeling; the gun still close to her as she pressed against her mother's wound. Ellen was losing blood, Jo wanted to end it. Dean did, too. He tried all he could to incite Sam into action, broke tables and chairs as he threw Sam, punched and kicked and pulled his hair back. Sam did nothing. “Dean!” Jo cried, finally, when Sam was finding it difficult to get back up and take another hit. “You left because you didn't want it to come to this!”
“Yeah, about that,” Dean said, scratched his head and smirked somewhat sheepishly. Then he laughed. “There's more going on here than you realized. Hadn't considered that, had you?” Jo was shaking her head and Sam tried to clear his head enough that he could understand anything. “See, I thought I was the problem - s'what you told me. S'what Gordon said, too. Demon bait, and all that, some kind of weapon - which, y'know, makes sense that I would be evil. Only it's not me that's evil, did you know that?”
“What are you talking about?” Jo asked.
Dean planted a foot on Sam's chest and pressed him back to the floorboards, grinned a little at Jo before turning and glaring at Sam. “Think real hard, Sammy. It'll come to you.”
“What will?” Sam asked.
“It kept bothering me - why the demons were suddenly after me when I lived my life in Fitchburg without even knowing that I had to be afraid of the dark. Twenty-five years - seems a bit odd, right? So what changed? What?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't you? I'll spell it out. You did. You came to Fitchburg. You brought them right to me. Right to my family. Did you do it on purpose? Was that part of the plan?”
“I didn't know you were there,” Sam insisted.
Dean snarled and turned away, Sam tried to sit-up again, but couldn't. “The demons were looking for me, have been for the longest time. I'm the weapon, sure, but I'm not the one that's evil.”
“What are you trying to tell me?” Sam asked, because for the first time since Dean had stepped into the doorway there was a conflict in Dean's eyes. Sam hoped that it was that Dean was fighting his way passed the collar that had been marked to control him.
Dean was still holding the knife in a fist, had seemingly forgot about it as he brought a hand to his temple, winced and bent forward. “I can't, Sam. I promised.”
“Dean?”
And then that moment was gone, and Dean surged forward faster than Sam's blurry, pain-dulled senses could track, and Dean was back straddling him on the floor, bending over him and there was no hesitation, no confusion in his eyes. “Trying to keep me talking, huh? Good distraction. - Didn't work, but it was a nice effort.”
“You can fight this, Dean,” Sam said, tried to keep his voice steady even if it was worn around the edges and aching just like every other part of him. “For a minute, you were back.”
“Keep dreaming,” Dean said. “Is that why you aren't fighting? Come one, Sam. Wake up. This is the way it is.”
“I wouldn't ever hurt you.”
“Right. Well, I'm sorry to say that's something that doesn't go both ways.” Dean leaned forward and pressed his forearm against Sam's throat, cut-off his air and watched him choke. Jo clutched the gun and watched with wide eyes but didn't shoot, because Sam's glanced at her as he wrapped his fingers in Dean's shirt, held-on as the life was choked from him, and she knew what the look meant.
“Dean,” Sam said, barely a whisper, his lids were flickering, he couldn't even see Dean anymore although the man was still above him. He thought about his stupid plan and how it had failed, about luring Dean in and separating him from the demons and hoping that their control was weaker then - but it wasn't. The collar made sure of that, kept Dean in check. Sam let his eyes fall closed and thought of Dean's laughter - warm and alive and all consuming, of Dean's kisses, of his moans, of the feel of his body under Sam's fingertips. He decided that, whatever the cost, it had been worth it.
………………………………………………
Sam hadn't expected to open his eyes ever again, so it was a shock when he did. He still hurt everywhere, and he thought that at the very least, some of the bones in his hand were broken. “Dean,” he said.
“Not quite, Honey,” Ellen said, humour in her tone. She dropped a careful hand to Sam's forehead and smoothed his hair back. “Y'know, I'd whoop you good for that dumb-fool thing you tried back there.”
He ignored her scolding in favour or registering that there was sunlight coming in through the window, and that he was lying on his back on the floor, with a pillow under his head. And then, of course, his memory caught-up with him and he was struggling out of bed. “Where is - did you shoot him? You can't …”
“Nobody shot nobody. Somebody got stabbed,” Ellen said. “But she's had a transfusion and is doing better, thanks for asking.”
“Dean.”
“He's downstairs, Sweetie. Nobody knew what in the hell to do with him, but the boys rigged-up a bit of a cage. It's been holding him - mostly because Jo knocked him out pretty good.”
“I want to see him.” She looked like she was about to protest, but thought better of it. Instead, they both wobbled and hobbled their way down the stairs and toward Ellen's bathroom whose door had been torn from its hinges and had been replaced by slatted wood, nailed haphazardly across the entrance. Sam pressed close to the wood and peered inside, where Dean was sprawled on his stomach, his fists bloody and his body still, but Sam saw his back rise and fall with his breath. Sam slid down the wall. “Tell me what happened.”
“Most of it he did himself,” Jo offered, crouching down in front of him and smiling a little. “When I figured out that you were trying to get him to break free of the control they had on him, I thought you were seven kinds of crazy. I was ready to shoot as soon as you blacked out, but he jerked back like something had pulled him, and then it was like he was fighting something that only he could see, those marks - he did those himself.” Sam could see that scratches along Dean's cheeks and neck, up his arms that were exposed from his T-shirt. “He looked completely devastated, Sam, and he wouldn't come too near you. But he told me that they were coming back for him, and he couldn't keep on fighting it, and then he picked-up your gun and handed it over, and I clocked him.”
“But he's okay?”
“As well as can be,” Ellen offered. “The hunters who survived that little exorcism party outside came in and got him squared away in there - we moved most of the cat's eye shells and things into that bathroom with him, and he's been nice and quiet. The fire was out pretty quick, and the civilians were mostly okay. We lost three hunters, but considering what they were up against, I think it's close to miraculous how many of us walked away.”
“What were we up against?” Sam asked.
“Demons,” Jo said, bounced a little like she couldn't quite believe it. “A whole swarm of them, and they were strong. Ask any of the guys - they're all still in the bar. Mom told me to offer free drinks and not many of them have managed a straight enough line to hit the door yet.” Sam managed a small smile in response to her joking. “You look like shit.”
“Jo!” Ellen said.
“He does, Momma!” She turned back to Sam and frowned. “You should get some sleep.”
“Not yet,” Sam said, twisted a bit so he could look back in where Dean was still sleeping. “You need to wake him up. And then you need to take the collar off.”
“What?” Jo asked.
“Their control was pretty even, it didn't fluctuate based on the demon's nearness to him,” Ellen said, trying to piece things together. “They kept that kind of control through a collar?” Sam nodded. “And breaking the control is just as easy as breaking the collar?”
“He was fighting through the control, but something kept suppressing him. I'm pretty certain that the collar is their connection to him, each time he surfaces, one of the demons influences him through it. I saw the markings.”
“When he pulled back from you, and handed me the gun? He could barely breathe,” Jo volunteered.
“So the collar is also physically changing in punishment?” Ellen wondered.
“They're training him,” Jo said, somewhat stunned and disgusted to follow the logic. “To break him completely, so that he gets to a point where he doesn't even need a demon to suppress him.”
“The perfect weapon,” Ellen said. “They were just getting started here.”
“Well, now they're finished,” Sam said. “Get the collar off, and put the sigil on his skin.”
“The same sigil?” Jo asked.
“No,” Sam said. “I'll have to redraw something because that one was broken. And besides, that was designed to keep something internal suppressed, not to prevent outside influence. I have a new one I think might work.”
“When did you have time to think it up?”
“When he was kicking my ass,” Sam admitted.
“Which reminds me, what to we do about that crazy stuff he was saying last night?” Jo asked.
“We have to see if he remembers any of it. Not much we can do otherwise. Unless we want to look for more demons?”
“Uh, I think you both have had enough demons for now,” Ellen inserted. “I'll go get Hank to break down this door.”
“I better get the henna, I don't want to take any unnecessary risks,” Sam said.
“Sit your butt down,” Jo said. “Tell me where it is, I'll get it. You look like a stiff breeze could blow you right over.”
“You sound just like your mother,” Sam muttered, Jo smiled sweetly.
……………………………………….
Sam pressed a hand to the small of Dean's back, feeling the warmth of his body through his T-shirt, and then traced his hand up until it was resting against the back of Dean's hair. Dean's body jerked beneath his grasp, and he twisted quickly with a snarl and had Sam's hand in a bruising grip before Sam could pull away. In a blink, though, Dean was frowning and letting him go. “Sam,” he said, regret colouring his voice.
“Dean, you need to trust me, okay?” Sam said.
“Get out of here.”
Sam was straddling Dean, keeping him pinned, but he had a knife and also the henna, and hole big enough for him to get through in the make-shift door. “I know you're fighting them, but you need to stop.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No,” Sam said. “Listen. The more you fight, the tighter that thing gets, right? I can get it off pretty quick, but you need to let go and give in for a bit, long enough to get it loose.”
“You're already beat to hell, Sam.”
“Would you stop always trying to fight me and give-in, for once?”
“I give-in plenty of times,” Dean said.
“You're right. But then, what's one more, right?”
“You're weight isn't going to keep me still.”
“I know. You have to trust me, Dean.”
There was silence, filled with Dean's wheezing, choked breath before he jerked his head once. “Okay,” he said, and then his body slumped and Sam braced himself. On the next breath, Dean was bucking beneath him, hissing and Sam gripped his knees tight and rode the motion, snatching-up the knife from where he'd placed it beside them and brought it flat against the skin at the back of Dean's neck, slipped it through the collar. There wasn't much he could do but hope that he didn't draw blood, the way Dean was thrashing. He took a breath and then twisted the knife and drew it back, just enough to get the sharp edge against the tight leather. It broke apart with and Sam hadn't even broken Dean's skin. He tossed the choker aside and rubbed at the bruised skin beneath it until Dean groaned and blinked his eyes back open.
“Told you so,” Sam said with a satisfied grin.”
“Yeah, well,” Dean said.
“Don't move yet,” Sam said, loosened his legs around Dean but kept sitting on him. He pulled over the bowl he'd filled with the henna and the brush. “This time, don't go willing yourself out of this.”
“I promise,” Dean said, sounding about as exhausted as Sam felt.
Sam tugged Dean's shirt up and his pants down slightly. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” he said with an amused smile when Dean went still, his expression both unsure and anticipatory. “I have to put this one here because the one on your neck is still there, however faint, and also broken. A new spot for a new sigil - a stronger, better sigil - and all should be well.” Dean kept his body still while Sam painted. It wasn't a large design, but it was complicated, and Sam went slowly, filling the mark with his intent.
When he was finished he shifted back to let Dean sit-up, stayed still as Dean's eyes traced the bruises on Sam's skin, his fingertips just barely touching. “I-“
“Don't,” Sam said, catching Dean's hand in his own and cutting him off before he could speak. “It's okay.” Dean wouldn't quite meet his gaze and Sam cupped a hand around his jaw and forced Dean to meet his eyes. “Are we gonna have to talk about this?” Dean managed a weak smile, and Sam pressed his lips to it, tried to seal it in place. There were questions that would need answers - if answers could even be given - but what mattered was Dean warm and alive in his arms, and Sam sitting there with him, and the quiet of the morning and the promise of light.
<< END CHAPTER >>
[MASTER POST]
Dating Roanoke
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Fifteen: COUNTERBALANCE
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'. Violence!
A/N: There is no new Winchester being added into the mix here. This is definitely not one of those fics. Please leave a review! It keeps my muse happy and makes my day!!
Summary: Sam knows there are a lot of things about his father that he will never understand, or agree with -- the first and foremost being why John Winchester is so unnerved by his son's visions. It's why Sam goes alone to Fitchburg when images of the town's 'welcome' sign flash through his head while he's driving and leave him reeling for hours after. He's only looking for a hunt, but what he finds is about to turn Sam's entire world upside-down, and threaten its very foundations.
chapter fifteen | COUNTERBALANCE
"You lost him?" Sophia sounded much the same as she did the first time Sam had ever met her, it wasn't comforting. "Wait," she said a moment later. "You said there were demons or something after him."
"Yeah," he confirmed. He was pacing on the back patio of the Roadhouse, back-and-forth in front of the door that had been scrubbed clean from the demon's mark not long before.
"So, did you lose him, or did the demons take him?"
"I -- I think the demons took him."
"But he had that protection thing! How did that backfire?" Sam knew that if he explained his theory in full Sophia would hop-on a plane, and steal a car, and stop at nothing until she'd reached the Roadhouse where she would browbeat Sam and then go tearing-off after the demons. Mostly she would just be furious at the implications. If they ever recovered Dean, she'd probably kick his ass as well -- Sam wouldn't blame her if she did, he had similar plans. "Well, can you get him back?"
"It's not a question," Sam said. "I'm going to get him back."
"Okay," she said. "Okay. Then you do that, and then bring him home so I can see for myself that he's okay, and then yell at him for making me worry."
Sam smiled, tried to let her weak humor distract him from the seriousness of the situation. "I promise. Bye, Sophia." He flipped his cell closed and leaned against the rail, looking back at the closed door and trying to recreate the other night in his head -- figure-out when Dean was taking and also, what the demons might have planned.
"If there's any demons out there," Jo said as she joined him on the patio. "They're not getting in there. That place if more fortified than a church," she nodded her head back to the Roadhouse. "My mom has a few hunters laying-down even more protections. It can be our home base."
"No. The demons called Dean their weapon," Sam said. "Whatever they have planned, it's large-scale. They could be anywhere by now. Anything could have happened."
"Listen, Mr. Optimism, we can only do so much." She kicked the door and gestured with her head in its direction to the spot where they had scrubbed clean of Dean's blood. "That mark? That's a full-on taunt. They might have big plans for Dean, but they have something pretty personal going on first. They're coming back. They want to rub whatever they're doing in our faces."
"You can't be certain of that. It's a pretty big risk to take," Sam said.
_"Well, we don't have much else to go on. My mom says the hunters that have been checking the area haven't found anything. I figure the demons haven't gone far yet because they're not done yet. From what you've told me, they've been on Dean for a while. They took-out his dad, they were after him in his own house -- that whole torture-thing they had going. It's more than just catching him, they were toying with him; though that was a pretty strange way to do it."
"It was weakening him," Sam said as he picked-up her train of thought.
"So -- they needed him weak? What's the advantage of having a weapon that's weak? It makes no sense."
"Unless it has more to do with his state of mind."
"He'd get hit with all those emotions and bad thoughts and they'd drain him. He'd already be depressed because of his dad, and he'd be alone in the house with all that bad stuff. Then what?" Sam tried to think what would have happened if Dean had stayed in Fitchburg. Sophia would have been killed, maybe even Rosemary, until all Dean had was his house, which he likely wouldn't have been able to leave. Jo raised an eyebrow and glanced sidelong at Sam. "You know, it sounds like they were trying to break him."
"But that would mean that whatever they want him for, it's not something innate in him. He doesn't necessarily have evil in him, but there is something they can do to control him to use him to execute whatever plan they have. Well, that's heartening."
"So what happens now? I mean, their original plan didn't work. Dean didn't break, he went-off with you and was fine until stupid Gordon did a number on him." Sam had explained to Jo as well as to Ellen what had been happening with Dean before he'd disappeared in the hopes that having a clear and (somewhat) complete picture would help come-up with a strategy.
"But they got what they wanted in the end," Sam said. "He told me before that he wanted to stay here because he knew that if anything happened to him and he wasn't able to stop it himself, that he knew having an entire bar full of hunters would mean that they were each more than capable of killing him if it came to that."
"Well then he's already exactly where they want him," Jo said. "He's desperate enough that he could bargain with them, do you think?"
"Demons don't bargain. Dean knows better than that."
_"But all he really wants is to make sure that he doesn't hurt anyone."
"Which is the last thing they'd be willing to negotiate on, if this is personal. Which is what it's looking like."
"It's bigger than us, though," she said. "There's more than one plan for him, because there's no way they'd put that much effort just into someone who could wipe us out. We're a handful of people who could easily be killed some other way."
"So, more than one plan, then." It wasn't getting any clearer. Dean was being controlled, that was about all Sam was certain of, which was better and worse for all sorts of reasons. But it didn't change the fact that Sam still had no idea where to look for him, or what to do when he found him. He pulled open the door and headed inside.
"You know," Jo said, and Sam stopped and turned; saw her standing in the doorway looking at the salt line that had been poured in front of the door. "He's not possessed. He's being controlled, but he's not possessed."
He stared at the salt, then glanced around the room. "Most of the protections on this place keep-out demons and the supernatural..."
"...but they don't do a thing when it comes to people," Jo finished.
.........................................................................................
"So, the first part of the plan is to kill all the hunters, starting with us," Ellen said. She drummed her fingers on the table and then stood-up. "Well, that's great."
"But we know what to expect," Jo offered. "We can anticipate exactly what they have planned."
"Honey," Ellen scoffed. "We can't anticipate anything, except that they might be heading back here at some point. We don't know what they have planned for us, we don't know anything. We have a demonic weapon that walked out of its safe house apparently willingly, and god knows how many demons out there. We have two hunters, one computer genius and I don't want you anywhere near this kind of thing." Jo scowled and tried to argue the point but Sam pushed away from the table, grabbed the keys to the impala and disappeared out the front door.
"I'd like to take this opportunity," Ash offered. "To say with absolute certainty that I'd prefer not to be anywhere near demons. Particularly the killing-kind."
"There are no other kind," Ellen said. Sam returned and dropped an open book onto the table, a small dust cloud billowing from its pages. "What are we looking at?"
"They're still demons, right? Whatever their plan is, they're in the area. It hasn't been more than a day since they got Dean. We know they want to kill hunters, that it's part of the reason why Dean is useful to them. So lets bring them here."
"You're talking about summoning an unknown number of demons here?"
"Why not? They're looking for a target, so lets give them one. We have protections on this place, I know a few more."
“You know this is probably the craziest thing anyone has ever tried before?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah, probably,” Sam admitted.
…………………………………..
Sam realized that he probably should have phoned his father sometime between marking the wards on the ceiling over the front door and hanging the cat's eye shells around the bar. It didn't cause him to stop what he was doing; he knew well enough that there was nothing John could do. If the plan failed, then he would call John - or someone would - but by then he didn't think there would be much of a problem. Sam had every intention of finishing it all right then. Making his father worry, or yell, or drive like a madman across the country wasn't going to change anything.
“Ash, what are you doing?” Jo asked as she lit the sage and used a collection of feathers to send the smoke arching against the walls and tables.
Ash was carrying an armful of canned goods and also several bottles of vodka and rum that he'd liberated from behind the bar. “I'm hiding-out, Man,” he said. “No way I want to be in the middle of this when it goes down.”
“Artful fleeing, right?” Jo scoffed.
“Damn straight!” He shut the door solidly behind him, his sign thumping against the wood. A moment later he opened it again and switched the sign so it read: The Bad Ass is OUT.
“Hey,” Jo said, softly. “You think this is gonna work?” Sam didn't say anything because Ellen came through the door with weapons: guns, knives, and machetes. She laid them out methodically across the bar, set them on the table at the back that they had moved aside. They'd cleared most of the floor. He couldn't quite watch her setting them out. Sam had a plan in mind, but he had to admit that Dean had a point when he had said that there was always the possibility of a plan backfiring. Ellen was part of that back-up plan, but Sam was not in any way prepared for that plan to become necessary.
………………………………..
The fire started at midnight. They'd turned the lights low and alerted the regular crowd. Sam sat in the corner, his back against the wall, and tried not to look at the sawed-off shotgun in his lap. Somewhere out there, hiding in the darkness, were about twenty-six hunters prepared to step-in if all hell broke loose. And also out there in the darkness was an unknown number of demons, and Dean.
At first the fire was nothing more than a flicker of light across the ceiling of the Roadhouse, and no one was quite prepared to acknowledge what it was. The light got brighter and it was Jo who finally peered up out of the window. “They've lit the entire field on fire,” she said. Ellen huffed in irritation, but didn't move to look. Sam stayed where he was, watched the fire's light grow on the ceiling as it came closer. It wasn't far off, growing steadily in the field across from the bar, Jo kept describing what she could see until Ellen told her to be quiet because it was clearly a distraction tactic. The wind was right and Sam thought that if they hadn't already anticipated it, they might have actually had to flee from the Roadhouse. “They're not very bright?” Jo said, she sat mirroring Sam's position, pouting after being told to keep it down.
“Who's not?” Ellen asked.
“The demons. A fire like that? I mean, sure it's not a crowded area or anything, but the fire department will still come out, investigate the smoke.”
“Exactly,” Sam said, tilted his head back against the wood of the wall.
“Oh,” Jo said. “Right.” The demons had no way of knowing that they had been drawn to the area by the combination of sigils they had drawn on the underside of the Roadhouse's overhanging roof. It was the equivalent of a giant bull's-eye on the whole building, but not so unsubtle that the demons would be alerted to it. The best way for a demon to get into a place without raising any eyebrows was to possess someone. The fire served more than one purpose.
The flickering of the few lights they had elected to leave on had been expected, but neither Ellen nor Sam had anticipated that the demons would get close enough to actually start scratching on the door. They did.
Sam shifted his back away from the wall and changed the grip on his gun but otherwise remained still. Ellen stood closer to the centre of the room and glared at her front door. Jo had her gun aimed at it, ready to shoot the minute the door opened, Sam hoped that both women would show the restraint that he knew them for, and also, that they would follow his lead.
There was risk upon risk, and mostly Sam felt like he was walking a tightrope, but at the heart of it the only question that needed answering was whether or not the risk was worth it. Sam figured that was the only thing that wasn't in any doubt. He'd screwed-up, that was true, but he wasn't prepared to say that he'd failed. Wasn't prepared to accept what failure meant. Not while he was still drawing breath.
The scratching got louder and louder, Sam was close enough to hear hissing - like water being poured on a blaze - a sizzling crackle that wove around the sound of claws on wood. “Come away from the door, Sam,” Ellen said. Sam followed the order, rising to his feet and backing-up. The windows started shaking and the intervals between darkness and light were getting longer until Sam was almost grateful for the light the fire outside provided; his ears were filled with the sounds, a growing cacophony that had him thinking that this was what hell must sound like - except with the screams of a million tortured souls joining the chorus.
And then everything just went silent, and Sam thought that might be worse. The lights came back on - the few that they had left on anyway - and he could feel the tension in the room, he and Ellen and Jo, just waiting - for something.
The doorknob twisted of its own volition -- a slow motion squeaky turning and then the door creaked open and there was an opaque darkness surrounding the doorway, blotting out the landscape and the fire beyond - the salt and the sigils and all their careful warding kept the demons out - and Sam watched the blackness surge forward only to be repelled. A voice crooned, long and lilting like a child's lullaby, “Sammy.” Drawing it out so that it was more than two syllables, and the darkness stepped aside, made room for a new adversary, sent something else toward them, something that wasn't stopped by the salt and the sigils; something that barely felt the wards.
“Dean,” Sam said, hadn't meant to but couldn't help it. It escaped passed his lips to sit like a lead weight in the room.
Dean stood in the doorway, his head tilted down, looking-up at them from beneath his lashes and he was smirking. Sam remembered his vision in a flash that had him tensing, that dark look in Dean's eyes was the same - cold and ruthless. There was a razor edge in him that hadn't been visible before, though Sam had always considered that it was present - tempered however much it was. There was a shock that went through him, however much he attempted to fight it - because Dean was standing there, jeans slung low and shirt tight, full of a careless confidence that had been missing since he had joined Sam on the road following Paul's death. He looked flirtatious and coy and dangerous - the stuff of any and every dark fantasy -- and though Sam couldn't stop his immediate reaction to seeing Dean, he wanted nothing more than to have his own Dean back.
“Sammy,” Dean said, nowhere near the soft drawl he usually said it with. Instead, Dean stood there sneering. He pulled a knife free from the back of his jeans and flipped it casually in his hand - the knife Sam had given him before he had left and been abducted by Gordon - the knife Sam had seen clasped in Dean's hands and dripping in blood in his vision. Sam had no doubt that Dean was capable of using it. The darkness reached over Dean's shoulder as if it were wrapping an arm around him, and then pulled back - a message passed. Dean stepped across the salt and into the bar. The trap was set, all that remained was for Sam to catch his mouse before any serious damage was done and someone pulled a rifle.
Of course, as soon as Sam thought that, Dean flicked his knife across the distance and it sunk easily into Ellen's shoulder. She dropped the shotgun she'd been hefting, cursing as she slumped onto the ground. “You son of a bitch!” Jo cried, aimed her gun at Dean, but Sam was quicker. He wrapped a hand around the barrel and forced it down, shook his head when she looked incredulously at him.
“Dean,” Sam said. Dean bent and pulled the knife - nice and slow - out of Ellen, flicked her hand away when she tried to pull a blade on him. He swatted her back like she was a fly, and then he grinned -- wide and menacing -- a smile Sam had never seen on his lover's face. “This is between you and me, Dean.”
Dean quirked an eyebrow, but stalked closer just the same. “You're right.” He fisted a hand in Sam's shirt and slammed him hard against the wall, holding him there while he purred in Sam's ear. “I'm not an idiot, you know. They might not know why they came back, but I do. Summoning us. Pretty desperate, huh?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“So talk,” Dean said, then yanked Sam forward and threw him down onto the floor. Sam winced and tried to rise up into a sitting position, shaking his head again when Jo tried to move to his side. He nodded over to Ellen, and she moved to her mother instead, helping her to the far corner of the bar, out of harm's way - hopefully.
“Whatever they did to you, this isn't you,” Sam said. Dean shrugged and flicked his knife casually between his fingers as he walked. “You know, right now there are hunters out there taking care of the demons. It's you and me, Dean. You don't have to worry. There are traps all around this place. Those demons aren't getting free. Whatever they have planned for you, it stops tonight.” Dean stopped pacing and turned to face Sam, tilted his head to the side, considering. It was a gesture Sam had seen Dean make repeatedly over the course of their acquaintance, made an ache of pain lance through him at the familiarity, but it also caught Sam's attention. Unnoticed because it had blended with the neck of Dean's black T-shirt was a thick band of leather, soldered together by a fat blob of metal. Caught and collared, Sam thought darkly, and glared at the band on Dean's throat. “You want revenge, come and get. Either come outside with me and help me kill them one by one - send them back to hell. Or stay here and fight me. Whatever you want, Dean.”
“Well gee,” Dean mocked. “Let me think?” He lunged - his body moving faster than Sam had expected. Sam took the blow; let his head knock back against the hard floor and then - when his vision had cleared - looked back at Dean. “Not so tough, now, are you, Hunter? Gonna fight me?” Dean taunted. He straddled Sam on the floor, his body braced for Sam to strike. When he didn't, Dean sat back, frowned a little, then punched Sam hard, his knuckles impacting against Sam's cheekbone. “Fight me!”
“Dean,” Sam said. His lip was split, he was bruised, his back was aching where he'd struck the wall.
“Sam, goddammit!” Jo hissed. He glanced to where she was kneeling; the gun still close to her as she pressed against her mother's wound. Ellen was losing blood, Jo wanted to end it. Dean did, too. He tried all he could to incite Sam into action, broke tables and chairs as he threw Sam, punched and kicked and pulled his hair back. Sam did nothing. “Dean!” Jo cried, finally, when Sam was finding it difficult to get back up and take another hit. “You left because you didn't want it to come to this!”
“Yeah, about that,” Dean said, scratched his head and smirked somewhat sheepishly. Then he laughed. “There's more going on here than you realized. Hadn't considered that, had you?” Jo was shaking her head and Sam tried to clear his head enough that he could understand anything. “See, I thought I was the problem - s'what you told me. S'what Gordon said, too. Demon bait, and all that, some kind of weapon - which, y'know, makes sense that I would be evil. Only it's not me that's evil, did you know that?”
“What are you talking about?” Jo asked.
Dean planted a foot on Sam's chest and pressed him back to the floorboards, grinned a little at Jo before turning and glaring at Sam. “Think real hard, Sammy. It'll come to you.”
“What will?” Sam asked.
“It kept bothering me - why the demons were suddenly after me when I lived my life in Fitchburg without even knowing that I had to be afraid of the dark. Twenty-five years - seems a bit odd, right? So what changed? What?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't you? I'll spell it out. You did. You came to Fitchburg. You brought them right to me. Right to my family. Did you do it on purpose? Was that part of the plan?”
“I didn't know you were there,” Sam insisted.
Dean snarled and turned away, Sam tried to sit-up again, but couldn't. “The demons were looking for me, have been for the longest time. I'm the weapon, sure, but I'm not the one that's evil.”
“What are you trying to tell me?” Sam asked, because for the first time since Dean had stepped into the doorway there was a conflict in Dean's eyes. Sam hoped that it was that Dean was fighting his way passed the collar that had been marked to control him.
Dean was still holding the knife in a fist, had seemingly forgot about it as he brought a hand to his temple, winced and bent forward. “I can't, Sam. I promised.”
“Dean?”
And then that moment was gone, and Dean surged forward faster than Sam's blurry, pain-dulled senses could track, and Dean was back straddling him on the floor, bending over him and there was no hesitation, no confusion in his eyes. “Trying to keep me talking, huh? Good distraction. - Didn't work, but it was a nice effort.”
“You can fight this, Dean,” Sam said, tried to keep his voice steady even if it was worn around the edges and aching just like every other part of him. “For a minute, you were back.”
“Keep dreaming,” Dean said. “Is that why you aren't fighting? Come one, Sam. Wake up. This is the way it is.”
“I wouldn't ever hurt you.”
“Right. Well, I'm sorry to say that's something that doesn't go both ways.” Dean leaned forward and pressed his forearm against Sam's throat, cut-off his air and watched him choke. Jo clutched the gun and watched with wide eyes but didn't shoot, because Sam's glanced at her as he wrapped his fingers in Dean's shirt, held-on as the life was choked from him, and she knew what the look meant.
“Dean,” Sam said, barely a whisper, his lids were flickering, he couldn't even see Dean anymore although the man was still above him. He thought about his stupid plan and how it had failed, about luring Dean in and separating him from the demons and hoping that their control was weaker then - but it wasn't. The collar made sure of that, kept Dean in check. Sam let his eyes fall closed and thought of Dean's laughter - warm and alive and all consuming, of Dean's kisses, of his moans, of the feel of his body under Sam's fingertips. He decided that, whatever the cost, it had been worth it.
………………………………………………
Sam hadn't expected to open his eyes ever again, so it was a shock when he did. He still hurt everywhere, and he thought that at the very least, some of the bones in his hand were broken. “Dean,” he said.
“Not quite, Honey,” Ellen said, humour in her tone. She dropped a careful hand to Sam's forehead and smoothed his hair back. “Y'know, I'd whoop you good for that dumb-fool thing you tried back there.”
He ignored her scolding in favour or registering that there was sunlight coming in through the window, and that he was lying on his back on the floor, with a pillow under his head. And then, of course, his memory caught-up with him and he was struggling out of bed. “Where is - did you shoot him? You can't …”
“Nobody shot nobody. Somebody got stabbed,” Ellen said. “But she's had a transfusion and is doing better, thanks for asking.”
“Dean.”
“He's downstairs, Sweetie. Nobody knew what in the hell to do with him, but the boys rigged-up a bit of a cage. It's been holding him - mostly because Jo knocked him out pretty good.”
“I want to see him.” She looked like she was about to protest, but thought better of it. Instead, they both wobbled and hobbled their way down the stairs and toward Ellen's bathroom whose door had been torn from its hinges and had been replaced by slatted wood, nailed haphazardly across the entrance. Sam pressed close to the wood and peered inside, where Dean was sprawled on his stomach, his fists bloody and his body still, but Sam saw his back rise and fall with his breath. Sam slid down the wall. “Tell me what happened.”
“Most of it he did himself,” Jo offered, crouching down in front of him and smiling a little. “When I figured out that you were trying to get him to break free of the control they had on him, I thought you were seven kinds of crazy. I was ready to shoot as soon as you blacked out, but he jerked back like something had pulled him, and then it was like he was fighting something that only he could see, those marks - he did those himself.” Sam could see that scratches along Dean's cheeks and neck, up his arms that were exposed from his T-shirt. “He looked completely devastated, Sam, and he wouldn't come too near you. But he told me that they were coming back for him, and he couldn't keep on fighting it, and then he picked-up your gun and handed it over, and I clocked him.”
“But he's okay?”
“As well as can be,” Ellen offered. “The hunters who survived that little exorcism party outside came in and got him squared away in there - we moved most of the cat's eye shells and things into that bathroom with him, and he's been nice and quiet. The fire was out pretty quick, and the civilians were mostly okay. We lost three hunters, but considering what they were up against, I think it's close to miraculous how many of us walked away.”
“What were we up against?” Sam asked.
“Demons,” Jo said, bounced a little like she couldn't quite believe it. “A whole swarm of them, and they were strong. Ask any of the guys - they're all still in the bar. Mom told me to offer free drinks and not many of them have managed a straight enough line to hit the door yet.” Sam managed a small smile in response to her joking. “You look like shit.”
“Jo!” Ellen said.
“He does, Momma!” She turned back to Sam and frowned. “You should get some sleep.”
“Not yet,” Sam said, twisted a bit so he could look back in where Dean was still sleeping. “You need to wake him up. And then you need to take the collar off.”
“What?” Jo asked.
“Their control was pretty even, it didn't fluctuate based on the demon's nearness to him,” Ellen said, trying to piece things together. “They kept that kind of control through a collar?” Sam nodded. “And breaking the control is just as easy as breaking the collar?”
“He was fighting through the control, but something kept suppressing him. I'm pretty certain that the collar is their connection to him, each time he surfaces, one of the demons influences him through it. I saw the markings.”
“When he pulled back from you, and handed me the gun? He could barely breathe,” Jo volunteered.
“So the collar is also physically changing in punishment?” Ellen wondered.
“They're training him,” Jo said, somewhat stunned and disgusted to follow the logic. “To break him completely, so that he gets to a point where he doesn't even need a demon to suppress him.”
“The perfect weapon,” Ellen said. “They were just getting started here.”
“Well, now they're finished,” Sam said. “Get the collar off, and put the sigil on his skin.”
“The same sigil?” Jo asked.
“No,” Sam said. “I'll have to redraw something because that one was broken. And besides, that was designed to keep something internal suppressed, not to prevent outside influence. I have a new one I think might work.”
“When did you have time to think it up?”
“When he was kicking my ass,” Sam admitted.
“Which reminds me, what to we do about that crazy stuff he was saying last night?” Jo asked.
“We have to see if he remembers any of it. Not much we can do otherwise. Unless we want to look for more demons?”
“Uh, I think you both have had enough demons for now,” Ellen inserted. “I'll go get Hank to break down this door.”
“I better get the henna, I don't want to take any unnecessary risks,” Sam said.
“Sit your butt down,” Jo said. “Tell me where it is, I'll get it. You look like a stiff breeze could blow you right over.”
“You sound just like your mother,” Sam muttered, Jo smiled sweetly.
……………………………………….
Sam pressed a hand to the small of Dean's back, feeling the warmth of his body through his T-shirt, and then traced his hand up until it was resting against the back of Dean's hair. Dean's body jerked beneath his grasp, and he twisted quickly with a snarl and had Sam's hand in a bruising grip before Sam could pull away. In a blink, though, Dean was frowning and letting him go. “Sam,” he said, regret colouring his voice.
“Dean, you need to trust me, okay?” Sam said.
“Get out of here.”
Sam was straddling Dean, keeping him pinned, but he had a knife and also the henna, and hole big enough for him to get through in the make-shift door. “I know you're fighting them, but you need to stop.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No,” Sam said. “Listen. The more you fight, the tighter that thing gets, right? I can get it off pretty quick, but you need to let go and give in for a bit, long enough to get it loose.”
“You're already beat to hell, Sam.”
“Would you stop always trying to fight me and give-in, for once?”
“I give-in plenty of times,” Dean said.
“You're right. But then, what's one more, right?”
“You're weight isn't going to keep me still.”
“I know. You have to trust me, Dean.”
There was silence, filled with Dean's wheezing, choked breath before he jerked his head once. “Okay,” he said, and then his body slumped and Sam braced himself. On the next breath, Dean was bucking beneath him, hissing and Sam gripped his knees tight and rode the motion, snatching-up the knife from where he'd placed it beside them and brought it flat against the skin at the back of Dean's neck, slipped it through the collar. There wasn't much he could do but hope that he didn't draw blood, the way Dean was thrashing. He took a breath and then twisted the knife and drew it back, just enough to get the sharp edge against the tight leather. It broke apart with and Sam hadn't even broken Dean's skin. He tossed the choker aside and rubbed at the bruised skin beneath it until Dean groaned and blinked his eyes back open.
“Told you so,” Sam said with a satisfied grin.”
“Yeah, well,” Dean said.
“Don't move yet,” Sam said, loosened his legs around Dean but kept sitting on him. He pulled over the bowl he'd filled with the henna and the brush. “This time, don't go willing yourself out of this.”
“I promise,” Dean said, sounding about as exhausted as Sam felt.
Sam tugged Dean's shirt up and his pants down slightly. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” he said with an amused smile when Dean went still, his expression both unsure and anticipatory. “I have to put this one here because the one on your neck is still there, however faint, and also broken. A new spot for a new sigil - a stronger, better sigil - and all should be well.” Dean kept his body still while Sam painted. It wasn't a large design, but it was complicated, and Sam went slowly, filling the mark with his intent.
When he was finished he shifted back to let Dean sit-up, stayed still as Dean's eyes traced the bruises on Sam's skin, his fingertips just barely touching. “I-“
“Don't,” Sam said, catching Dean's hand in his own and cutting him off before he could speak. “It's okay.” Dean wouldn't quite meet his gaze and Sam cupped a hand around his jaw and forced Dean to meet his eyes. “Are we gonna have to talk about this?” Dean managed a weak smile, and Sam pressed his lips to it, tried to seal it in place. There were questions that would need answers - if answers could even be given - but what mattered was Dean warm and alive in his arms, and Sam sitting there with him, and the quiet of the morning and the promise of light.
<< END CHAPTER >>
[MASTER POST]
Dating Roanoke