Night of the Boy King, Part Five (6/6)
Art Title: Night of the Boy King
Prompt Number: S1025
Artist: expectative
Fic Title: Night of the Boy King
Author: safiyabat
Beta: elwarre
Fandom/Genre: SPN, angst, Wincest,
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean, past Sam/OCs
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 32,157 (entire fic), 7,053 (this chapter)
Warnings: Some explicit sexual content, show-level violence, demonic possession, using the "big boy words." Wincest.
Summary: John Winchester realized that something was "off" about Sammy when the boy was about seven. He abandoned him with the best demonologist he knew, Pastor Jim Murphy in Blue Earth, Minnesota. A little over ten years later, his older son Dean is ready to take on the demon that destroyed his family. All signs point to Blue Earth.
Dean helped Bobby into a more upright position. “How much of that were you awake for?” he asked. His hands trembled but he kept his voice steady.
“Enough,” the bearded hunter grunted. “I came to when Sam put his hands on me. We got troubles, Dean.” His eyes looked deeply sunken, whether from the beating he’d clearly taken or from grief Dean couldn’t tell.
“Tell me about it. Was that another one of his little secret superpowers?” He shook his head. What else had the kid been holding back on?
“Might have been.” Bobby rubbed at his bruised wrists. “Might have been coincidence, too. Not a lot of demons can heal by laying on hands. They took Jim, Dean.”
“Yeah, I got that. They give you any ideas on where they might’ve taken him?”
“Your guess is as good as - “ He cut himself off. “It’s a long shot. But Dean - I know you and the boy were getting along real well there for a while.”
Dean stood very still. “What are you trying to say, Bobby?”
“He’s one of them, Dean. And so were two of the kids that came with that yellow-eyed bastard to take him hostage. We can’t take the chance that he’s somehow not going to turn.” He sighed. “Your daddy… your daddy knew.”
“He knew what, Bobby.” Dean rubbed at his temples. “Knew that there was a kid up in Boston with demon blood in him?”
“He knew about kids with demon blood. He mentioned it to me, a little before he died. Said he’d known for a long time. He and I hunted a couple of them down.”
Dean felt his face draw into confusion more or less independently of his brain. He got it, intellectually, but he just couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of his mentor’s mouth. “You… hunted and killed kids?”
“It ain’t like they’re human, Dean. They’re dangerous. One of them, the ones we went after, was starting fires. Another was controlling people with his mind, making them do all kinds of things they wouldn’t have done. Making them kill themselves, Dean.” He looked at Dean with pity.
Evil is a choice. Sam’s words came back to him without invitation.
“Bobby, none of these kids asked for this.”
“I know. I do. But that don’t change the fact that they’re a danger to the people around them and probably to themselves. Hell, look at your Sam. Does he seem happy to you? Jim’s given him a decent life for the past ten years, a roof over his head and plenty of stability and affection, but he’s still out there looking for any kind of affection he can get anywhere he can get it.” He shook his head.
“Like any hunter’s got any stones to throw about that, Bobby,” Dean objected. He didn’t know why he was defending Sam, not after the kid had hid so much from him, but hiding things that were pretty personal at the end of the day was a world away from deciding to enlist with the king of Hell.
“Didn’t he say you broke up?” Bobby tried.
“I’m pissed that he was hiding his superpowers,” Dean said firmly. “I’m angry. I don’t want to be close with him, no. And the yellow eyes - that grosses me out, not gonna lie. But that doesn’t mean that I want to waste him, man. He can choose to be good. He loves Pastor Jim. And you’d be pretty screwed up if your family just dumped you like trash.” Funny how he could excuse things to Bobby - like the secrecy. Of course he hadn’t wanted to admit to his abilities. “Azazel did something to him, against his will. He shouldn’t be penalized for it.”
“Dean, his family didn’t throw him out like trash. They foisted him on Jim because they knew.” He rubbed at his face. “He wouldn’t tell me who the boy’s family were but he told me that the kid’s father was a hunter. The guy unloaded him on Jim because he couldn’t have a kid with him that people would see as fair game.”
“What a dick.” Yeah, he could say that now but he’d screamed at Sam and then subjected him to fourteen and a half hours of silence, hadn’t even fed him or anything.
“He had his reasons,” Bobby said, stretching out. “Might have been kinder just to kill him at the end of the day, but that’s neither here nor there. We’ll have to go figure out what to do about him eventually but first we need to go find Jim Murphy. Go upstairs and see what you can find that belongs to Pastor Jim, okay? A toothbrush or something.”
He ran upstairs, finding a lone toothbrush in the bathroom. Right - because Sam’s was in his suitcase. In the trunk of the Impala. Because they’d been travelling together, sharing a hotel room. Sharing a bed. Until Dean had completely failed to empathize with a scared kid.
We broke up.
Or what. You’ll shoot me?
He’d had a boyfriend for all of three days. Or was it four? Great job there Winchester, he thought to himself. Batting a thousand. Damn good thing those genes aren’t getting passed on. He didn’t know what Sam was planning to do, wherever he was with Meg. Maybe he was giving in, a fit of teenage pique and angst combining with very justifiable anger and rejection to send him over to the enemy. Or maybe he was trying to be a hero, a skinny eighteen-year-old kid trying to take on the viceroy of Hell all by his lonesome. Either way, it couldn’t end well for anyone.
Bobby, meanwhile, had gone out to his car. He came back a moment later with a small bag of supplies: a map of the local area, a candle and a small copper bowl. He pulled a knife out of his boot and shaved the toothbrush bristles into the bowl before grabbing a couple of stoppered glass jars and adding more components. “What’re you doing, Bobby?” Dean asked.
“Location spell,” his friend replied, not taking his eyes off the bowl. “Pass me that map there, would you? Depending on whatever countermeasures this bastard’s taken we should be able to find Jim and hopefully help him before it’s too late.”
“He’ll still be alive,” Dean predicted, putting a hand onto Bobby’s shoulder. “They were using him as bait to get Sam - Jim’s the only family Sam has.”
Bobby sighed. “Are you sure about that, kid? I mean, his real family’s out there.”
“They’re not his real family, Bobby. They dumped him here and left him - ‘like garbage,’ he says. The only person who’s ever cared about him is Jim. He doesn’t care about them anymore. Sam wouldn’t cross the street for them.”
“What about you,” Bobby grimaced. “You got real attached, don’t think I didn’t see that.”
“Yeah. Well, that don’t matter. We’re not… I mean. We had a bit of a difference of opinion on the way back here and it was very clear that he doesn’t need my help. So let’s just focus on saving Jim.” He swallowed. He’d caused that, and now Sam might die. Probably would die, either because he’d gone dark side or because he’d put himself in harm’s way because he didn’t trust Dean anymore. Because Dean had made it very clear that he didn’t trust him.
“Well where we find one we’ll hopefully find the other,” Bobby told him with a twitch to his lips. He didn’t say anything about what they were going to do with the kid, but that was fine. “Let’s get this party started. “ He lit the candle and began chanting in Latin. Not for the first time Dean eyed his mentor with discomfort. John Winchester had never had much time for spell work; it got dangerously close to witchcraft was what he always said, and didn’t they hunt witches? But Bobby got results and there was no hint of taint on his pure soul. He finished the chanting and used the candle to ignite the materials in the bowl, which flared up into a foul-smelling mess like only burning plastic could offer. Dean tried to breathe shallow breaths and wished he’d found something other than a toothbrush with the priest’s DNA on it. Finally, Bobby dipped a corner of the local street map into the flame.
The map caught instantly. “Bobby, what the hell?” Dean gasped. “We need that!”
“Relax,” his elder ordered with an eye roll. “All we need to worry about is the part of the map where Pastor Jim is. I’ve got like six of them out in the truck.”
The flames died down. Bobby looked at what remained. “That’s an old abandoned farm,” he remembered. “It’s about half an hour from here maybe? I think you squatted there once with your dad and the baby, back before you knew Jim all that well. Come on, let’s get going. Time’s a-wasting.”
Dean started his car and Bobby slid into position. Bobby’s truck might have been a better option - it was larger, probably better equipped all things considered, but the Impala had earned the right to be there. She’d been there in the before time - she’d carried John and Mary back from the Justice of the Peace, carried Dean and baby Sammy both home from the hospital. She’d been their only home, their only consistent home and sometimes their only walls or roof, after the fire. Sometimes she’d been their only hospital too. Now she was going to be there for the end of it. The Yellow-Eyed Demon - Azazel - had taken everything from him. He’d killed his mother, his father, his baby brother. He’d corrupted his lover, driven them apart. Now all that was left was Dean and his car, but by all that was holy he was going to see this end. Tonight.
They drove out to the farm in silence. Dean couldn’t remember the place; it had been too long and just another in the seemingly endless stream of abandoned buildings and makeshift shelters that John had thought suitable for his children in those days. Sam should be grateful he hadn’t had to live through that, Dean thought, and maybe it was mean of him but he didn’t try to fight the thought off. Maybe the guy’s bio family had thrown him away but at least he’d gotten to have a real life instead of spending it all preparing for this.
The place, though, was everything that a guy looking for a final confrontation with his family’s demonic nemesis could possibly want. Dean turned off the lights as he turned up the dirt driveway. It was a minor gesture; it wasn’t as though they wouldn’t have been able to hear his baby coming from a mile away anyway. As the car rolled up to the front of the house with its sagging, peeling porch, the door opened. Pastor Jim walked out. His throat had been cut from ear to ear, but his face smiled broadly and he walked with a grace and fluidity that he’d lacked in life.
“Oh, balls,” Bobby whispered.
“Possessed,” Dean declared grimly.
“And they’ve killed his body,” his companion confirmed. “The demon’s the only thing keeping him walking around. There’s no way to tell if he’s still in there or not.”
“Dean,” Jim Murphy’s voice called cheerfully. “And Bobby Singer. It’s good to see you both. There are a couple of Adirondack chairs over there.” He gestured toward a pair of chairs nestled in the tall grass. They looked fairly new. “I’m glad you’re here. We can have a chat, maybe clear some things up.”
Dean reached into the curse-box-cum-pistol-case and withdrew the Colt. “The only thing I’m going to clear,” he vowed in a gruff voice, “is your stain from the earth.
“Oh, but Dean-o,” the demon said, tilting his head to the side and smiling gently. “What happens to loverboy then? See, you might be able to get rid of me. You might not, and my money’s on not since that hunk of steel isn’t even loaded. But you know - details, right?” He gestured and the weapon in Dean’s hand became hot, too hot to hold. The stench of burning flesh filled the air and he hollered, dropping the gun.
Azazel gestured again and both men found themselves forced into the Adirondack chairs, unable to move. “That’s better,” the demon said as Dean’s hand throbbed. “It’s been a little while, you know. Since you and I’ve seen one another, I mean. Hey, Singer, did Dean tell you I actually rode his daddy before John Winchester, Senior made his way into Hell?”
“My father’s not in Hell, you son of a bitch,” Dean ground out, cradling his burned limb to his chest. He could move that much at least. “He’s in Heaven.”
Azazel scoffed. “Please, Dean. You’re not even sure that Heaven exists. And hey - you know who should really be a part of this discussion? I’d like my boy to be out here too. Hey Sam - why don’t you come on out here and join us? I’m pretty sure you’re going to be very interested to hear this.”
Sam emerged from the house. He didn’t seem to be restrained in any way. Meg stood close by him, a hand on his back, but Sam had done something back at the rectory to show that she didn’t have a whole lot of power over him. He didn’t look thrilled, but he didn’t look upset either. He had that same shuttered-up look he’d had in the car, no emotion whatsoever on that beautiful vulpine face of his. Meg, on the other hand, looked nervous. “So you’ve chosen sides, have you, boy?” Bobby demanded.
“My side was chosen a long time ago, Singer,” Sam told him in that cold, terrible tone he’d used when he’d essentially broken things off with Dean. “Not that I ever had a choice. Not really. That’s what you’ve been saying all along, though, isn’t it?” He met Dean’s eyes once, briefly, before looking away. Dean’s stomach roiled. Those yellow orbs, where once had been nothing but beautiful kaleidoscopic hazel, were too much to take. Which was the false color?
“No, you really didn’t, did you?” Azazel mused. “I mean, even before you were born. I was always going to do my experiments, you know. I needed people. I needed people who were loyal to me, but had abilities, and who weren’t limited by pesky things like salt and iron. Human, or at least human enough. You already know about those experiments. There’ve been a few incidents - they think they’re competing for something.”
“Aren’t they?” Bobby asked him.
“Sure. No one wants weak creations running around, you know. But Sam here, he’s special.” Azazel grinned, and now Dean thought he might actually throw up now. He’d always hated that word, hated it the first time he heard his father spit it out like it was some kind of curse. “I’ve worked ever so hard to find you, Sammy. The pesky priest was hiding you the whole time. Up until my daughter - your sister - possessed you, of course.”
Sam allowed himself a thin smile. “I’ll bet that was a stroke of luck, right?” He leaned back a little bit into Meg’s touch and Dean looked away. He wasn’t sure if he was jealous or disgusted but either way he couldn’t watch. The guy was drawing comfort from the touch of a demon - from the touch of a demon who had violated him specifically. Was it Stockholm syndrome or just nature over nurture?
“Boy, I guess I was right about you,” Dean said to Sam then.
The kid gave a little laugh. “Yeah. Heh. I guess you were. I guess we were right about each other, in the end.”
And what the Hell was that supposed to mean? He’d been nothing but good to Sam! Or, well, okay. He had kind of flown off the handle about the whole vision thing. Of course he’d been proven right when Sam had turned around and thrown himself right into Azazel’s arms.
Was it him or was the Colt moving?
He glanced at Bobby, who glanced at him. Neither of them risked a glance at Sam. But at least Bobby had seen it too.
“You know, there’s a reason I possessed your father, Dean,” the monster controlling Pastor Jim’s body continued. “It’s not because of my deep, personal vendetta against the Winchester family. On the contrary, there never was any vendetta.”
“You slaughtered my entire family,” Dean spat back.
“Did I? Your mom, sure. But she went back on her word. Twice, I’ll point out. She made a deal and she tried to weasel out of it; she had to go. I liked her; I regretted having to do that to her. But what kind of viceroy would I be if I let people get away with breaking deals? No. Your brother had to be born and I had to have access to him. Out of all of my ‘experiments,’ Dean, he’s my favorite.”
“My little brother is dead,” Dean reminded him. “You killed him.”
“Did I? Did you see the body?” He gave a low little laugh. “Or did you just take Daddy Dearest’s word for it? Because I’ve got to say, John Winchester was a lot of things and father of the year was none of them.”
“He did the best he could!” Dean yelled, heart hammering against his ribs.
“Really? Then why couldn’t he allow you to mourn for the brother I allegedly killed? Honestly, Dean try to put on your thinking cap. Your brother was the reason for all of it, you know. Every last little detail. Every deal, every child I shared my blood with - it was all for darling little Sammy. My little Prince.”
Prince. Dean felt a pit form in his stomach.
“I looked for him. But your father, he hid him well. I thought that maybe he’d had the balls to kill him outright. When I possessed him a few months ago I did some poking around, I checked. The man had secrets, Dean-o. Most of them were locked up tighter than a drum. But he hadn’t killed Sammy. Probably should have, in the greater scheme of things.” Behind him, Sam shrugged silently. “I’m glad he didn’t, though. I’m proud of the man my boy’s becoming.”
“You think you found my little brother.”
“I know I did,” Azazel purred. “The last time I possessed your father was to get access to his journal, but the stubborn fool had torn out the pages from his journal that referred to your brother. Anything after that incident with the succubus I sent to collect your brother before.”
Dean remembered that. It had been a horrible night, terrifying on so many levels. “And you think he’s hidden here in town,” he pushed, not wanting to hear the demon’s words.
“Not so much. Not anymore. See, my girl, my daughter Meg here, she happened to possess Sam Murphy by chance one day. And she recognized something a lot more powerful than some normal teenaged psychic. Which even if I hadn’t seen to things personally he would have been, by the way. That’s part of what drew me to the line. So I started scoping out the town. Blue Earth Fucking Minnesota, can you believe it?” He shook his head. “Rural America. Rosy pink cheeks, football team - well, basketball for him, you know.”
“You think Sam - Sam Murphy - is my little brother.” He felt his gorge rise again and instead focused on the gun. It was almost at his feet, if he could just get free. Of course there was the issue of ammo - if he could only manage to get to the damn box.
“Oh, I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure until I got into the good padre’s head here,” he said cheerily. “But yes. Your father decided to dump your darling little Sammy on Pastor Jim’s doorstep and trust to him to either contain him or put a bullet in his head.” He gave a little chuckle as Dean turned his head and vomited. “Oh yeah. That’s the spirit. Right there. See, little Sammy was already showing signs of being one of mine. And just between you and me, Johnny was entertaining some doubts about Sammy’s paternity.”
Rage filled Dean then. “My mother would never -”
“No. Not knowingly.” He shrugged. “Even John admitted that it wouldn’t have been difficult, if you know what I mean. And with a kid throwing off as much power as Sammy here - well, it wasn’t exactly a big intuitive leap.”
Dean’s eyes finally tore themselves up to Sam. His - the guy, he wasn’t sure how to think of Sam anymore - watched him impassively. “And you’re just… okay with this?”
“I get a choice?” Sam’s mouth twitched in a smirk. It wasn’t pretty. “Least this way I get a family that wants me.”
“Aw, Sammy. Your brother wanted you before,” Meg teased with a nasty sneer. “We’re all going to Hell, might as well enjoy the ride, right?”
Sam’s corresponding smile was tight, but at least he made the effort. “Nah, he kicked me to the curb before this little revelation. But hey - I’m sure we can find other entertainment sources, right?”
Her answering chuckle was delighted, throaty and lascivious. They were just joking, right? Sam wouldn’t move on just like that - and what would demons find entertaining anyway? Bobby was gaping at him. “What?” he whispered to his mentor.
“You and him?” Bobby hissed back.
“You said you knew we’d gotten ‘attached.’”
“That’s not the part I thought you’d gotten attached to!”
Yeah, humor would get him through this. Sure it would. “So why kill Dad if you didn’t have a personal thing against the Winchesters?” Dean prompted, hoping to keep the demon talking until either he or Bobby figured out a plan. He wasn’t going to let himself think about the fact that he’d been screwing his brother, just wasn’t going to think about that at all.
“Oh - he was getting too close. And killing off my experiments. I couldn’t have that. But there’s no reason you can’t go about your merry way. You did make my boy here very happy. Briefly.”
Bobby rolled his eyes. Dean grimaced. “Thanks for that little reminder, pal. What exactly is it that you need Sammy for again? I mean, he’s a young kid.”
“Every ruler needs an heir, Dean.” Azazel smiled beatifically from Pastor Jim’s face. “What do you say, Dean? You give me the gun. You get to go back to your life. I’ll even let you have a night with Sammy again, for old times’ sake. I’m sure he won’t mind, right? I mean, you both liked it before you found out.”
Dean shuddered. “I’ll pass on that last bit, thanks. I’m so not here for the passing the twink around like a joint at a party. But I appreciate the sentiment, big guy.” A twitch in Sam’s hand was the only indication he gave of feeling anything. It could have been anger, but at whom was it directed? “But… I mean, demons, right? You’re not just some pissant acheri. You’re… you’re the stand-in for Lucifer Himself. That’s… that’s way above my pay grade, man.”
“Dean!” Bobby objected.
“Be realistic, Bobby. He’s holding us here with a thought, okay? If we don’t give him the damn gun he’s going to make lampshades out of our skin or some crap like that. If we do we can get back to hunting things that we can kill, you know? Things that go bump in the night, things that truly can’t help themselves. I say we do it. And honestly, it’s my gun.” He turned his head back to Azazel. He hoped he was reading Sam right, hoped that this wasn’t all some kind of joke from Sam or from one of the other demons, from Meg or Azazel himself or Stunt Demon 741 behind the fallen-down silo or something. “I’ll do it.”
“You’ll surrender the Colt?” Azazel urged, as Bobby sagged in his chair.
“Yeah. I’ll give you the Colt. It’s all yours,” Dean sighed. He knew he looked agonized, and that was fine because he felt like he’d been chewing on broken glass. “Let me just pick it up for you.”
He bent down slowly, grabbing the antique firearm and the bullets as he gathered his energy. Then, moving as quickly and as fluidly as he could, he loaded the pistol and brought it online. “What do you think you’re -” Azazel began with a smirk. His humor turned to rage, however, as he realized that he was unable to move.
“Do it,” Sam gritted out. His smooth face was lined with exertion and dripping with sweat. “Fucking do it!”
Dean pulled the trigger. The bullet left the barrel like it was in slow motion, an explosion and a puff of smoke followed by a small blessed iron ball. Dean watched it sail through the air until it hit directly between what had once been Pastor Jim’s eyebrows.
Meg screamed as her father’s form lit up, all orange and yellow under the stolen skin. Then the corpse fell to the ground.
Bobby rose to his feet and clapped Dean on the back. “Nice work, Dean,” he exclaimed. “I’m proud of you.”
Dean stood for a moment and let the elation wash through him. It was over. Everything that he’d endured - the slaughter of his parents, the loss of his brother - he had taken it all back. With a single pull of the trigger he, Dean Winchester, had avenged his family and that felt pretty damn good. Wherever his father was (not in Hell, not in Hell, not in Hell) he might be proud of him now. He might have fucked up at everything else in his life, he might not have finished high school and maybe he couldn’t remember the most basic exorcism and maybe oh yeah he’d had sex with his little brother but he’d successfully hunted down the monster that had ruined their family.
Of course, he hadn’t done it alone. He had Bobby Singer right here, Bobby who’d been through it all with him and helped both him and Dad. And Sam, of course. Sam who had helped him to get the gun. Sam who had told him about Azazel. Sam who had used the telekinetic powers Dean had despised to move the gun over to him slowly and subtly, so that Azazel wouldn’t notice. Sam who had used whatever kind of mojo he had to keep Azazel from moving or smoking out or whatever while Dean shot him, held him down as it were.
He looked around, seeking out his former lover - his brother, he corrected himself. That still felt strange. It would probably always seem strange, but he would worry about that later. Right now he had to deal with an eighteen year old with superpowers who had just learned some pretty disturbing information himself. He needed to find the kid before things got out of hand.
Sam was with Meg, still on the porch near the crooked door. Her face was torn between pain and hate, a mirror to his. He finally seemed to get the upper hand just as Dean got close, though; her host body tossed back her head and opened her mouth, emitting an astonishing volume of thick black smoke. It tried to get away but found itself pulled toward a suddenly glowing spot on the ground; somehow, without a word, Sam had exorcised Meg from her host. Dean realized with a start that he’d done the same thing to Travis, way back when they’d first met. The host body collapsed toward the ground. Dean reached out to catch her, acting more on instinct than anything else. Sam met his eyes briefly before running, back and into the house. “Sam - wait!” he called.
Sam did not wait.
Bobby appeared to take a position on the girl’s other side. Without a demon inside her she looked impossibly young, young and sick. “She’s got a pulse,” he identified. “I can’t tell what else might be wrong with her. Who knows how long Sam’s ‘sister’s’ been riding her, you know? At best it’s going to be a lifetime of therapy bills.”
Dean grimaced. “Yeah, well. I gather possession isn’t exactly a picnic.”
“They ride ‘em hard and put ‘em away wet.” A shadow passed over his face then, and Dean knew that he was thinking of his late wife. “We should get her to a hospital.”
“Good plan. You go ahead. I’m going to try to find Sammy.”
“You gonna…” He indicated the Colt.
“What? No. I mean, probably not. He helped us, Bobby. He’s the one who held Azazel back. He’s the one who made sure we could get the Colt and he exorcised Meg. The kid just lost the only family he’s ever known and he helped to make sure that happened.” He shook his head. “He’s good, Bobby.”
“You got some way of making sure he stays that way?” He sighed. “Dean, look. I get it. He was a good looking kid, you had no idea who he was, but… I mean, come on.”
“I can keep my hands to myself, Bobby. Besides, like he said before. We, uh, we called it off. Before any of this,” he gestured toward the farm and its house, “came about.”
“Why?”
“Trust. I wasn’t cool with the psychic thing. He wasn’t cool with the hunter thing. Neither one of us can change who or what we are.” He sighed. “And it’s for the best, now that we know. So. I’m going to go find my little brother and see if there’s anything I can say or do to help him through this. He thought we - he thought I - threw him away. Because he was garbage. I’ve got ten years of big brothering to catch up on.”
He walked into the farmhouse. The place was a wreck. It had clearly been a place young local kids used as a hideout or retreat, and of course a large part of the problem with places like that is that no one ever feels compelled to clean them up. He made his way gingerly through the debris, broken glass and rotting carpets and food wrappers. Had John Winchester honestly thought that someplace like this was a suitable place to stash his sons while he went off to save other people’s lives?
Maybe he hadn’t been father of the year, at that.
Sam was nowhere to be found on the bottom floor. Neither were the other two psychics Bobby had mentioned; there was no trace of them. They must have fled when stuff went sideways for them. Well, good riddance to them. They’d signed on with the regent of freaking Hell. Maybe they’d done so willingly, maybe not. Dean would make the time to hunt them down for what they’d done to Bobby, to Jim Murphy. Of course, who knew how Azazel had suckered them in? Maybe he had some kind of hold over them, a relative or something. Maybe they could still be saved.
Damn it. Sam had gotten to him again.
The top floor - reached by a ladder since the stairs were no longer stable - held even more debris than the bottom, with torn-up books and old curtains and what had to be bat dung. He finally found Sam up here, huddled in one of the corners. Why the guy had decided to come hide up here instead of running off into the corn like the other kids Dean didn’t know, but since he was here Dean had to try to help. It would have been easier, he knew, if Sam had just taken off. Not right, but easier. He wouldn’t have had to face his own fears, his own failures. “You coping, man?” he asked, trying to seem indifferent.
Sam didn’t answer.
Dean moved closer. The guy had been sheltered - not as sheltered as most civilians, but still, he hadn’t exactly been a hunter now had he? Today he’d lost his only real family. There was Dean, but he probably wasn’t thinking of Dean that way, not yet. “If you want to, like talk about it or something,” he offered, squatting down beside his sibling.
Sam didn’t respond. Part of Dean got annoyed by that. He was an injured party too, and oh yeah he’d found out he’d been screwing his little brother, but he’d taken the time to check on the guy the least he could do was to be freaking civil. The rest of him noticed that Sam wasn’t breathing normally. His respirations were fast and shallow. Dean reached out and put a hand to his face; it came back cold and clammy.
“Shocky,” he identified. But when had Sam been injured? He ran a hand along Sam’s side and stopped when he felt dampness. It was dark up here, far too dark to be certain, but somehow that didn’t feel like sweat.
He picked Sam up and carried him back down the stairs. “Got another one for the hospital!” he yelled, so Bobby wouldn’t run off yet.
Bobby drove to the hospital. Dean handed over the keys without a flinch, even going so far as to take the back seat with Sam and try to keep him warm. They concocted a decent story for the doctors; Dean would have been hard pressed to remember it later but for now it would hold up. They let him wait for Sam on the grounds that he was family and they were having trouble reaching his uncle; they swallowed the “brother from back in Boston” story easily enough, everyone knew where Sam Murphy came from.
Sam’s injuries, as it turned out, were fairly extensive. He’d been stabbed in the side, losing a great deal of blood and injuring some internal bits Dean didn’t care about in the process. He thought maybe the spleen might have been one of them? “He didn’t even tell us he’d been hurt, Bobby,” he whispered as he sat in Sam’s hospital room and waited for him to wake up. “He just… scurried off to that room up there and waited for the end.”
Bobby sighed. “You need to decide what you want to do about the boy, Dean. And then you need to talk to him. Idjit.”
Floral offerings began to pour in from Sam’s classmates, but he stayed asleep for another two days. Dean had an opportunity to think about the future.
A future! He’d never had one of those before. Sure he’d indulged in a little fantasy during his road trip with Sam, but that hadn’t worked out so well. And… well, the Yellow-Eyed Demon was dead. Maybe… maybe he didn’t need to live this wandering lifestyle anymore. Maybe he could get a place. Settle down a little. Still hunt - every other hunter he knew, for the most part, lived somewhere.
But he needed to talk to his brother.
When Sam finally opened his eyes, they were hazel again. Dean would have been lying if he said he didn’t feel some relief about that. He blinked when he saw Dean.
“I’m in a hospital,” he identified.
“That you are.”
“With, uh… you’re here.”
“Uh-huh. Nothing gets by you, does it, Stanford guy?” He offered his best cheesy grin.
It got no response. “Why?”
“I wanted to see how you were doing. See what you wanted. When you recovered and everything. “
Sam stared at the ceiling. “I don’t need anything.”
“Bullshit, Sam. We can’t pretend we didn’t… that it didn’t happen. I mean, you lost your father figure, man.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “And, you know. Other stuff.”
Sam gave a bitter chuckle. “Other stuff. Right. Look. Thanks for getting me to the hospital. And for, you know, not killing me, I guess, if that’s what we’re going with. But -”
“Sam. Your beef is with Dad, okay? I was eleven. I didn’t have much control of the situation. He told me you died. Said you… said he burned you alone so I wouldn’t have to… to cope with that. Because I was ‘too young.’ I may be a fuck-up in a lot of ways but this? Not my fault.” He glared at his brother.
Sam’s heart rate monitor picked up a little. “No one’s saying you’re responsible for that, Dean. It would’ve been nice to have been looked for or mourned or something, remembered, but whatever. I was kind of a crappy kid or else John would’ve wanted me, right? We know why now, anyway.” He snorted. “I just… Look, you’re leaving anyway, okay?”
“Who says?”
“Well I mean you’re pissed that I didn’t tell you things that would make you want to kill me so I think I’m going to go ahead and plead the fifth here.”
“Wow. You’ve been all butthurt about being rejected by your family but you’re the one pushing me away, Sam.” He shook his head.
“So you’re not leaving and you’re going to just accept whatever I say without getting pissy and judgmental about it.”
“I never get pissy. Or judgmental.”
Sam’s face told him what he thought about that. To be honest, the only weird thing about it was the idea that Sam could read him that easily with so little knowledge of him. “What if I told you that I don’t care about the brothers thing?” Sam shot back.
Dean wasn’t sure how to describe his emotion at that point - part horror, part joy, part something vaguely like heartburn but with less physical acid. “What?”
“I mean, when I came to Pastor Jim’s - when I got dumped there - he told me I had to forget everything about who I’d been. Name, everything. That meant essentially forgetting being a younger brother. So I’m kind of in this place where brother is just a word - like I know you’re my brother, same mother, probably same father, but it feels weird to me. Not… not real, not significant. So… it doesn’t change anything for me.“
Dean took a deep breath and held it. “Yeah. Okay. But here’s the thing. We broke up. You said so.” He looked away.
“Yeah. I did.” Dean wasn’t looking but he could hear the bedding shift. “Right. Cause you were so affectionate when you found out about the visions.” He sighed. “It was a stupid thing anyway. I mean, you’re a hunter. I’m not.” Dean looked back at his brother. Sam had lowered his head back to the pillow. “Have a nice life, Dean.”
“Sam, I’m not going to leave you alone,” he told him, reaching out for his hand.
“I don’t need your pity, Dean. Pastor Jim had life insurance; I’ll get an apartment in Palo Alto. I’ll be fine.” He sounded tired. Was it the drugs they were giving him, or something else?
“Sam, Meg’s still out there. I mean, you exorcised her but she’ll be back eventually. And there are other kids, other psychics like you.” He swallowed. “I can’t leave you alone and unprotected.”
“I’m hardly unprotected, Dean. Meg’s going to make a play for the throne of Hell. The last thing she wants is competition, and she knows that the last thing I want is to compete with her. And If Azazel isn’t around to try to play us against each other I don’t think the other psychics will be a problem for me. It might not be the life you’d want for yourself, but - “ He shrugged. “I’ll go to school. Then law school. Set up a practice. Succeed.”
“Get married,” Dean pressed, not wanting to acknowledge the way his mouth went dry at the thought. “Two point five kids, the whole nine.”
“Nah,” Sam waved. “I mean, all this… this… shouldn’t be passed on. I don’t think I’m cut out for family life anyway.” He offered a thin, professional smile. “Anyway. I’m sure you’ve got a job to get on to or something. How’s Singer?”
“He’s fine. Says I should bring you over to Sioux Falls sometime.” He shrugged. Sam gave a little huff of laughter. “What?”
“Dean, come on. You wouldn’t voluntarily bring me anywhere, unless it was to finally put me away. And it may not be much of a life, but I’m not ready to have it end.” He turned his head toward the window.
“Sam.” He tried to take Sam’s hand again; Sam again pulled his hand away. “Look. You might have stopped being a little brother - and I understand that, sort of. I mean, you did what you had to do. But you… you gotta understand, you… I hated myself for ten, eleven years for losing you. I never stopped being a big brother, Sam, I just didn’t have anyone to be a big brother to. You were never unwanted; I missed you like burning, and I missed you every day.” He sighed. “The sex thing… it complicates things.”
“No,” Sam said. “It really doesn’t. Not if we don’t want it to.” He still wasn’t looking at Dean.
“I’m. Um. I’ve never been a long-term kind of guy, Sam. Even when Dad was around we weren’t… you know… around each other. I don’t…. I don’t know how I’m going to feel. What I’m going to want, what you’re going to want. But I want to be around you. As a brother, as a friend, as something else, I don’t know. I want to be with you. I don’t know how yet, but… I’m willing to give it a try. Maybe set up in a place down in Stanford? I’ll get a job as a mechanic?” This time, Sam didn’t pull his hand away. “I lost you once. I ain’t doing that again.”
Sam squeezed back. “Promise,” he demanded, looking up at Dean with something between ferocity and hope.
Back to Part Four -- Back to Masterpost
Prompt Number: S1025
Artist: expectative
Fic Title: Night of the Boy King
Author: safiyabat
Beta: elwarre
Fandom/Genre: SPN, angst, Wincest,
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean, past Sam/OCs
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 32,157 (entire fic), 7,053 (this chapter)
Warnings: Some explicit sexual content, show-level violence, demonic possession, using the "big boy words." Wincest.
Summary: John Winchester realized that something was "off" about Sammy when the boy was about seven. He abandoned him with the best demonologist he knew, Pastor Jim Murphy in Blue Earth, Minnesota. A little over ten years later, his older son Dean is ready to take on the demon that destroyed his family. All signs point to Blue Earth.
Dean helped Bobby into a more upright position. “How much of that were you awake for?” he asked. His hands trembled but he kept his voice steady.
“Enough,” the bearded hunter grunted. “I came to when Sam put his hands on me. We got troubles, Dean.” His eyes looked deeply sunken, whether from the beating he’d clearly taken or from grief Dean couldn’t tell.
“Tell me about it. Was that another one of his little secret superpowers?” He shook his head. What else had the kid been holding back on?
“Might have been.” Bobby rubbed at his bruised wrists. “Might have been coincidence, too. Not a lot of demons can heal by laying on hands. They took Jim, Dean.”
“Yeah, I got that. They give you any ideas on where they might’ve taken him?”
“Your guess is as good as - “ He cut himself off. “It’s a long shot. But Dean - I know you and the boy were getting along real well there for a while.”
Dean stood very still. “What are you trying to say, Bobby?”
“He’s one of them, Dean. And so were two of the kids that came with that yellow-eyed bastard to take him hostage. We can’t take the chance that he’s somehow not going to turn.” He sighed. “Your daddy… your daddy knew.”
“He knew what, Bobby.” Dean rubbed at his temples. “Knew that there was a kid up in Boston with demon blood in him?”
“He knew about kids with demon blood. He mentioned it to me, a little before he died. Said he’d known for a long time. He and I hunted a couple of them down.”
Dean felt his face draw into confusion more or less independently of his brain. He got it, intellectually, but he just couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of his mentor’s mouth. “You… hunted and killed kids?”
“It ain’t like they’re human, Dean. They’re dangerous. One of them, the ones we went after, was starting fires. Another was controlling people with his mind, making them do all kinds of things they wouldn’t have done. Making them kill themselves, Dean.” He looked at Dean with pity.
Evil is a choice. Sam’s words came back to him without invitation.
“Bobby, none of these kids asked for this.”
“I know. I do. But that don’t change the fact that they’re a danger to the people around them and probably to themselves. Hell, look at your Sam. Does he seem happy to you? Jim’s given him a decent life for the past ten years, a roof over his head and plenty of stability and affection, but he’s still out there looking for any kind of affection he can get anywhere he can get it.” He shook his head.
“Like any hunter’s got any stones to throw about that, Bobby,” Dean objected. He didn’t know why he was defending Sam, not after the kid had hid so much from him, but hiding things that were pretty personal at the end of the day was a world away from deciding to enlist with the king of Hell.
“Didn’t he say you broke up?” Bobby tried.
“I’m pissed that he was hiding his superpowers,” Dean said firmly. “I’m angry. I don’t want to be close with him, no. And the yellow eyes - that grosses me out, not gonna lie. But that doesn’t mean that I want to waste him, man. He can choose to be good. He loves Pastor Jim. And you’d be pretty screwed up if your family just dumped you like trash.” Funny how he could excuse things to Bobby - like the secrecy. Of course he hadn’t wanted to admit to his abilities. “Azazel did something to him, against his will. He shouldn’t be penalized for it.”
“Dean, his family didn’t throw him out like trash. They foisted him on Jim because they knew.” He rubbed at his face. “He wouldn’t tell me who the boy’s family were but he told me that the kid’s father was a hunter. The guy unloaded him on Jim because he couldn’t have a kid with him that people would see as fair game.”
“What a dick.” Yeah, he could say that now but he’d screamed at Sam and then subjected him to fourteen and a half hours of silence, hadn’t even fed him or anything.
“He had his reasons,” Bobby said, stretching out. “Might have been kinder just to kill him at the end of the day, but that’s neither here nor there. We’ll have to go figure out what to do about him eventually but first we need to go find Jim Murphy. Go upstairs and see what you can find that belongs to Pastor Jim, okay? A toothbrush or something.”
He ran upstairs, finding a lone toothbrush in the bathroom. Right - because Sam’s was in his suitcase. In the trunk of the Impala. Because they’d been travelling together, sharing a hotel room. Sharing a bed. Until Dean had completely failed to empathize with a scared kid.
We broke up.
Or what. You’ll shoot me?
He’d had a boyfriend for all of three days. Or was it four? Great job there Winchester, he thought to himself. Batting a thousand. Damn good thing those genes aren’t getting passed on. He didn’t know what Sam was planning to do, wherever he was with Meg. Maybe he was giving in, a fit of teenage pique and angst combining with very justifiable anger and rejection to send him over to the enemy. Or maybe he was trying to be a hero, a skinny eighteen-year-old kid trying to take on the viceroy of Hell all by his lonesome. Either way, it couldn’t end well for anyone.
Bobby, meanwhile, had gone out to his car. He came back a moment later with a small bag of supplies: a map of the local area, a candle and a small copper bowl. He pulled a knife out of his boot and shaved the toothbrush bristles into the bowl before grabbing a couple of stoppered glass jars and adding more components. “What’re you doing, Bobby?” Dean asked.
“Location spell,” his friend replied, not taking his eyes off the bowl. “Pass me that map there, would you? Depending on whatever countermeasures this bastard’s taken we should be able to find Jim and hopefully help him before it’s too late.”
“He’ll still be alive,” Dean predicted, putting a hand onto Bobby’s shoulder. “They were using him as bait to get Sam - Jim’s the only family Sam has.”
Bobby sighed. “Are you sure about that, kid? I mean, his real family’s out there.”
“They’re not his real family, Bobby. They dumped him here and left him - ‘like garbage,’ he says. The only person who’s ever cared about him is Jim. He doesn’t care about them anymore. Sam wouldn’t cross the street for them.”
“What about you,” Bobby grimaced. “You got real attached, don’t think I didn’t see that.”
“Yeah. Well, that don’t matter. We’re not… I mean. We had a bit of a difference of opinion on the way back here and it was very clear that he doesn’t need my help. So let’s just focus on saving Jim.” He swallowed. He’d caused that, and now Sam might die. Probably would die, either because he’d gone dark side or because he’d put himself in harm’s way because he didn’t trust Dean anymore. Because Dean had made it very clear that he didn’t trust him.
“Well where we find one we’ll hopefully find the other,” Bobby told him with a twitch to his lips. He didn’t say anything about what they were going to do with the kid, but that was fine. “Let’s get this party started. “ He lit the candle and began chanting in Latin. Not for the first time Dean eyed his mentor with discomfort. John Winchester had never had much time for spell work; it got dangerously close to witchcraft was what he always said, and didn’t they hunt witches? But Bobby got results and there was no hint of taint on his pure soul. He finished the chanting and used the candle to ignite the materials in the bowl, which flared up into a foul-smelling mess like only burning plastic could offer. Dean tried to breathe shallow breaths and wished he’d found something other than a toothbrush with the priest’s DNA on it. Finally, Bobby dipped a corner of the local street map into the flame.
The map caught instantly. “Bobby, what the hell?” Dean gasped. “We need that!”
“Relax,” his elder ordered with an eye roll. “All we need to worry about is the part of the map where Pastor Jim is. I’ve got like six of them out in the truck.”
The flames died down. Bobby looked at what remained. “That’s an old abandoned farm,” he remembered. “It’s about half an hour from here maybe? I think you squatted there once with your dad and the baby, back before you knew Jim all that well. Come on, let’s get going. Time’s a-wasting.”
Dean started his car and Bobby slid into position. Bobby’s truck might have been a better option - it was larger, probably better equipped all things considered, but the Impala had earned the right to be there. She’d been there in the before time - she’d carried John and Mary back from the Justice of the Peace, carried Dean and baby Sammy both home from the hospital. She’d been their only home, their only consistent home and sometimes their only walls or roof, after the fire. Sometimes she’d been their only hospital too. Now she was going to be there for the end of it. The Yellow-Eyed Demon - Azazel - had taken everything from him. He’d killed his mother, his father, his baby brother. He’d corrupted his lover, driven them apart. Now all that was left was Dean and his car, but by all that was holy he was going to see this end. Tonight.
They drove out to the farm in silence. Dean couldn’t remember the place; it had been too long and just another in the seemingly endless stream of abandoned buildings and makeshift shelters that John had thought suitable for his children in those days. Sam should be grateful he hadn’t had to live through that, Dean thought, and maybe it was mean of him but he didn’t try to fight the thought off. Maybe the guy’s bio family had thrown him away but at least he’d gotten to have a real life instead of spending it all preparing for this.
The place, though, was everything that a guy looking for a final confrontation with his family’s demonic nemesis could possibly want. Dean turned off the lights as he turned up the dirt driveway. It was a minor gesture; it wasn’t as though they wouldn’t have been able to hear his baby coming from a mile away anyway. As the car rolled up to the front of the house with its sagging, peeling porch, the door opened. Pastor Jim walked out. His throat had been cut from ear to ear, but his face smiled broadly and he walked with a grace and fluidity that he’d lacked in life.
“Oh, balls,” Bobby whispered.
“Possessed,” Dean declared grimly.
“And they’ve killed his body,” his companion confirmed. “The demon’s the only thing keeping him walking around. There’s no way to tell if he’s still in there or not.”
“Dean,” Jim Murphy’s voice called cheerfully. “And Bobby Singer. It’s good to see you both. There are a couple of Adirondack chairs over there.” He gestured toward a pair of chairs nestled in the tall grass. They looked fairly new. “I’m glad you’re here. We can have a chat, maybe clear some things up.”
Dean reached into the curse-box-cum-pistol-case and withdrew the Colt. “The only thing I’m going to clear,” he vowed in a gruff voice, “is your stain from the earth.
“Oh, but Dean-o,” the demon said, tilting his head to the side and smiling gently. “What happens to loverboy then? See, you might be able to get rid of me. You might not, and my money’s on not since that hunk of steel isn’t even loaded. But you know - details, right?” He gestured and the weapon in Dean’s hand became hot, too hot to hold. The stench of burning flesh filled the air and he hollered, dropping the gun.
Azazel gestured again and both men found themselves forced into the Adirondack chairs, unable to move. “That’s better,” the demon said as Dean’s hand throbbed. “It’s been a little while, you know. Since you and I’ve seen one another, I mean. Hey, Singer, did Dean tell you I actually rode his daddy before John Winchester, Senior made his way into Hell?”
“My father’s not in Hell, you son of a bitch,” Dean ground out, cradling his burned limb to his chest. He could move that much at least. “He’s in Heaven.”
Azazel scoffed. “Please, Dean. You’re not even sure that Heaven exists. And hey - you know who should really be a part of this discussion? I’d like my boy to be out here too. Hey Sam - why don’t you come on out here and join us? I’m pretty sure you’re going to be very interested to hear this.”
Sam emerged from the house. He didn’t seem to be restrained in any way. Meg stood close by him, a hand on his back, but Sam had done something back at the rectory to show that she didn’t have a whole lot of power over him. He didn’t look thrilled, but he didn’t look upset either. He had that same shuttered-up look he’d had in the car, no emotion whatsoever on that beautiful vulpine face of his. Meg, on the other hand, looked nervous. “So you’ve chosen sides, have you, boy?” Bobby demanded.
“My side was chosen a long time ago, Singer,” Sam told him in that cold, terrible tone he’d used when he’d essentially broken things off with Dean. “Not that I ever had a choice. Not really. That’s what you’ve been saying all along, though, isn’t it?” He met Dean’s eyes once, briefly, before looking away. Dean’s stomach roiled. Those yellow orbs, where once had been nothing but beautiful kaleidoscopic hazel, were too much to take. Which was the false color?
“No, you really didn’t, did you?” Azazel mused. “I mean, even before you were born. I was always going to do my experiments, you know. I needed people. I needed people who were loyal to me, but had abilities, and who weren’t limited by pesky things like salt and iron. Human, or at least human enough. You already know about those experiments. There’ve been a few incidents - they think they’re competing for something.”
“Aren’t they?” Bobby asked him.
“Sure. No one wants weak creations running around, you know. But Sam here, he’s special.” Azazel grinned, and now Dean thought he might actually throw up now. He’d always hated that word, hated it the first time he heard his father spit it out like it was some kind of curse. “I’ve worked ever so hard to find you, Sammy. The pesky priest was hiding you the whole time. Up until my daughter - your sister - possessed you, of course.”
Sam allowed himself a thin smile. “I’ll bet that was a stroke of luck, right?” He leaned back a little bit into Meg’s touch and Dean looked away. He wasn’t sure if he was jealous or disgusted but either way he couldn’t watch. The guy was drawing comfort from the touch of a demon - from the touch of a demon who had violated him specifically. Was it Stockholm syndrome or just nature over nurture?
“Boy, I guess I was right about you,” Dean said to Sam then.
The kid gave a little laugh. “Yeah. Heh. I guess you were. I guess we were right about each other, in the end.”
And what the Hell was that supposed to mean? He’d been nothing but good to Sam! Or, well, okay. He had kind of flown off the handle about the whole vision thing. Of course he’d been proven right when Sam had turned around and thrown himself right into Azazel’s arms.
Was it him or was the Colt moving?
He glanced at Bobby, who glanced at him. Neither of them risked a glance at Sam. But at least Bobby had seen it too.
“You know, there’s a reason I possessed your father, Dean,” the monster controlling Pastor Jim’s body continued. “It’s not because of my deep, personal vendetta against the Winchester family. On the contrary, there never was any vendetta.”
“You slaughtered my entire family,” Dean spat back.
“Did I? Your mom, sure. But she went back on her word. Twice, I’ll point out. She made a deal and she tried to weasel out of it; she had to go. I liked her; I regretted having to do that to her. But what kind of viceroy would I be if I let people get away with breaking deals? No. Your brother had to be born and I had to have access to him. Out of all of my ‘experiments,’ Dean, he’s my favorite.”
“My little brother is dead,” Dean reminded him. “You killed him.”
“Did I? Did you see the body?” He gave a low little laugh. “Or did you just take Daddy Dearest’s word for it? Because I’ve got to say, John Winchester was a lot of things and father of the year was none of them.”
“He did the best he could!” Dean yelled, heart hammering against his ribs.
“Really? Then why couldn’t he allow you to mourn for the brother I allegedly killed? Honestly, Dean try to put on your thinking cap. Your brother was the reason for all of it, you know. Every last little detail. Every deal, every child I shared my blood with - it was all for darling little Sammy. My little Prince.”
Prince. Dean felt a pit form in his stomach.
“I looked for him. But your father, he hid him well. I thought that maybe he’d had the balls to kill him outright. When I possessed him a few months ago I did some poking around, I checked. The man had secrets, Dean-o. Most of them were locked up tighter than a drum. But he hadn’t killed Sammy. Probably should have, in the greater scheme of things.” Behind him, Sam shrugged silently. “I’m glad he didn’t, though. I’m proud of the man my boy’s becoming.”
“You think you found my little brother.”
“I know I did,” Azazel purred. “The last time I possessed your father was to get access to his journal, but the stubborn fool had torn out the pages from his journal that referred to your brother. Anything after that incident with the succubus I sent to collect your brother before.”
Dean remembered that. It had been a horrible night, terrifying on so many levels. “And you think he’s hidden here in town,” he pushed, not wanting to hear the demon’s words.
“Not so much. Not anymore. See, my girl, my daughter Meg here, she happened to possess Sam Murphy by chance one day. And she recognized something a lot more powerful than some normal teenaged psychic. Which even if I hadn’t seen to things personally he would have been, by the way. That’s part of what drew me to the line. So I started scoping out the town. Blue Earth Fucking Minnesota, can you believe it?” He shook his head. “Rural America. Rosy pink cheeks, football team - well, basketball for him, you know.”
“You think Sam - Sam Murphy - is my little brother.” He felt his gorge rise again and instead focused on the gun. It was almost at his feet, if he could just get free. Of course there was the issue of ammo - if he could only manage to get to the damn box.
“Oh, I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure until I got into the good padre’s head here,” he said cheerily. “But yes. Your father decided to dump your darling little Sammy on Pastor Jim’s doorstep and trust to him to either contain him or put a bullet in his head.” He gave a little chuckle as Dean turned his head and vomited. “Oh yeah. That’s the spirit. Right there. See, little Sammy was already showing signs of being one of mine. And just between you and me, Johnny was entertaining some doubts about Sammy’s paternity.”
Rage filled Dean then. “My mother would never -”
“No. Not knowingly.” He shrugged. “Even John admitted that it wouldn’t have been difficult, if you know what I mean. And with a kid throwing off as much power as Sammy here - well, it wasn’t exactly a big intuitive leap.”
Dean’s eyes finally tore themselves up to Sam. His - the guy, he wasn’t sure how to think of Sam anymore - watched him impassively. “And you’re just… okay with this?”
“I get a choice?” Sam’s mouth twitched in a smirk. It wasn’t pretty. “Least this way I get a family that wants me.”
“Aw, Sammy. Your brother wanted you before,” Meg teased with a nasty sneer. “We’re all going to Hell, might as well enjoy the ride, right?”
Sam’s corresponding smile was tight, but at least he made the effort. “Nah, he kicked me to the curb before this little revelation. But hey - I’m sure we can find other entertainment sources, right?”
Her answering chuckle was delighted, throaty and lascivious. They were just joking, right? Sam wouldn’t move on just like that - and what would demons find entertaining anyway? Bobby was gaping at him. “What?” he whispered to his mentor.
“You and him?” Bobby hissed back.
“You said you knew we’d gotten ‘attached.’”
“That’s not the part I thought you’d gotten attached to!”
Yeah, humor would get him through this. Sure it would. “So why kill Dad if you didn’t have a personal thing against the Winchesters?” Dean prompted, hoping to keep the demon talking until either he or Bobby figured out a plan. He wasn’t going to let himself think about the fact that he’d been screwing his brother, just wasn’t going to think about that at all.
“Oh - he was getting too close. And killing off my experiments. I couldn’t have that. But there’s no reason you can’t go about your merry way. You did make my boy here very happy. Briefly.”
Bobby rolled his eyes. Dean grimaced. “Thanks for that little reminder, pal. What exactly is it that you need Sammy for again? I mean, he’s a young kid.”
“Every ruler needs an heir, Dean.” Azazel smiled beatifically from Pastor Jim’s face. “What do you say, Dean? You give me the gun. You get to go back to your life. I’ll even let you have a night with Sammy again, for old times’ sake. I’m sure he won’t mind, right? I mean, you both liked it before you found out.”
Dean shuddered. “I’ll pass on that last bit, thanks. I’m so not here for the passing the twink around like a joint at a party. But I appreciate the sentiment, big guy.” A twitch in Sam’s hand was the only indication he gave of feeling anything. It could have been anger, but at whom was it directed? “But… I mean, demons, right? You’re not just some pissant acheri. You’re… you’re the stand-in for Lucifer Himself. That’s… that’s way above my pay grade, man.”
“Dean!” Bobby objected.
“Be realistic, Bobby. He’s holding us here with a thought, okay? If we don’t give him the damn gun he’s going to make lampshades out of our skin or some crap like that. If we do we can get back to hunting things that we can kill, you know? Things that go bump in the night, things that truly can’t help themselves. I say we do it. And honestly, it’s my gun.” He turned his head back to Azazel. He hoped he was reading Sam right, hoped that this wasn’t all some kind of joke from Sam or from one of the other demons, from Meg or Azazel himself or Stunt Demon 741 behind the fallen-down silo or something. “I’ll do it.”
“You’ll surrender the Colt?” Azazel urged, as Bobby sagged in his chair.
“Yeah. I’ll give you the Colt. It’s all yours,” Dean sighed. He knew he looked agonized, and that was fine because he felt like he’d been chewing on broken glass. “Let me just pick it up for you.”
He bent down slowly, grabbing the antique firearm and the bullets as he gathered his energy. Then, moving as quickly and as fluidly as he could, he loaded the pistol and brought it online. “What do you think you’re -” Azazel began with a smirk. His humor turned to rage, however, as he realized that he was unable to move.
“Do it,” Sam gritted out. His smooth face was lined with exertion and dripping with sweat. “Fucking do it!”
Dean pulled the trigger. The bullet left the barrel like it was in slow motion, an explosion and a puff of smoke followed by a small blessed iron ball. Dean watched it sail through the air until it hit directly between what had once been Pastor Jim’s eyebrows.
Meg screamed as her father’s form lit up, all orange and yellow under the stolen skin. Then the corpse fell to the ground.
Bobby rose to his feet and clapped Dean on the back. “Nice work, Dean,” he exclaimed. “I’m proud of you.”
Dean stood for a moment and let the elation wash through him. It was over. Everything that he’d endured - the slaughter of his parents, the loss of his brother - he had taken it all back. With a single pull of the trigger he, Dean Winchester, had avenged his family and that felt pretty damn good. Wherever his father was (not in Hell, not in Hell, not in Hell) he might be proud of him now. He might have fucked up at everything else in his life, he might not have finished high school and maybe he couldn’t remember the most basic exorcism and maybe oh yeah he’d had sex with his little brother but he’d successfully hunted down the monster that had ruined their family.
Of course, he hadn’t done it alone. He had Bobby Singer right here, Bobby who’d been through it all with him and helped both him and Dad. And Sam, of course. Sam who had helped him to get the gun. Sam who had told him about Azazel. Sam who had used the telekinetic powers Dean had despised to move the gun over to him slowly and subtly, so that Azazel wouldn’t notice. Sam who had used whatever kind of mojo he had to keep Azazel from moving or smoking out or whatever while Dean shot him, held him down as it were.
He looked around, seeking out his former lover - his brother, he corrected himself. That still felt strange. It would probably always seem strange, but he would worry about that later. Right now he had to deal with an eighteen year old with superpowers who had just learned some pretty disturbing information himself. He needed to find the kid before things got out of hand.
Sam was with Meg, still on the porch near the crooked door. Her face was torn between pain and hate, a mirror to his. He finally seemed to get the upper hand just as Dean got close, though; her host body tossed back her head and opened her mouth, emitting an astonishing volume of thick black smoke. It tried to get away but found itself pulled toward a suddenly glowing spot on the ground; somehow, without a word, Sam had exorcised Meg from her host. Dean realized with a start that he’d done the same thing to Travis, way back when they’d first met. The host body collapsed toward the ground. Dean reached out to catch her, acting more on instinct than anything else. Sam met his eyes briefly before running, back and into the house. “Sam - wait!” he called.
Sam did not wait.
Bobby appeared to take a position on the girl’s other side. Without a demon inside her she looked impossibly young, young and sick. “She’s got a pulse,” he identified. “I can’t tell what else might be wrong with her. Who knows how long Sam’s ‘sister’s’ been riding her, you know? At best it’s going to be a lifetime of therapy bills.”
Dean grimaced. “Yeah, well. I gather possession isn’t exactly a picnic.”
“They ride ‘em hard and put ‘em away wet.” A shadow passed over his face then, and Dean knew that he was thinking of his late wife. “We should get her to a hospital.”
“Good plan. You go ahead. I’m going to try to find Sammy.”
“You gonna…” He indicated the Colt.
“What? No. I mean, probably not. He helped us, Bobby. He’s the one who held Azazel back. He’s the one who made sure we could get the Colt and he exorcised Meg. The kid just lost the only family he’s ever known and he helped to make sure that happened.” He shook his head. “He’s good, Bobby.”
“You got some way of making sure he stays that way?” He sighed. “Dean, look. I get it. He was a good looking kid, you had no idea who he was, but… I mean, come on.”
“I can keep my hands to myself, Bobby. Besides, like he said before. We, uh, we called it off. Before any of this,” he gestured toward the farm and its house, “came about.”
“Why?”
“Trust. I wasn’t cool with the psychic thing. He wasn’t cool with the hunter thing. Neither one of us can change who or what we are.” He sighed. “And it’s for the best, now that we know. So. I’m going to go find my little brother and see if there’s anything I can say or do to help him through this. He thought we - he thought I - threw him away. Because he was garbage. I’ve got ten years of big brothering to catch up on.”
He walked into the farmhouse. The place was a wreck. It had clearly been a place young local kids used as a hideout or retreat, and of course a large part of the problem with places like that is that no one ever feels compelled to clean them up. He made his way gingerly through the debris, broken glass and rotting carpets and food wrappers. Had John Winchester honestly thought that someplace like this was a suitable place to stash his sons while he went off to save other people’s lives?
Maybe he hadn’t been father of the year, at that.
Sam was nowhere to be found on the bottom floor. Neither were the other two psychics Bobby had mentioned; there was no trace of them. They must have fled when stuff went sideways for them. Well, good riddance to them. They’d signed on with the regent of freaking Hell. Maybe they’d done so willingly, maybe not. Dean would make the time to hunt them down for what they’d done to Bobby, to Jim Murphy. Of course, who knew how Azazel had suckered them in? Maybe he had some kind of hold over them, a relative or something. Maybe they could still be saved.
Damn it. Sam had gotten to him again.
The top floor - reached by a ladder since the stairs were no longer stable - held even more debris than the bottom, with torn-up books and old curtains and what had to be bat dung. He finally found Sam up here, huddled in one of the corners. Why the guy had decided to come hide up here instead of running off into the corn like the other kids Dean didn’t know, but since he was here Dean had to try to help. It would have been easier, he knew, if Sam had just taken off. Not right, but easier. He wouldn’t have had to face his own fears, his own failures. “You coping, man?” he asked, trying to seem indifferent.
Sam didn’t answer.
Dean moved closer. The guy had been sheltered - not as sheltered as most civilians, but still, he hadn’t exactly been a hunter now had he? Today he’d lost his only real family. There was Dean, but he probably wasn’t thinking of Dean that way, not yet. “If you want to, like talk about it or something,” he offered, squatting down beside his sibling.
Sam didn’t respond. Part of Dean got annoyed by that. He was an injured party too, and oh yeah he’d found out he’d been screwing his little brother, but he’d taken the time to check on the guy the least he could do was to be freaking civil. The rest of him noticed that Sam wasn’t breathing normally. His respirations were fast and shallow. Dean reached out and put a hand to his face; it came back cold and clammy.
“Shocky,” he identified. But when had Sam been injured? He ran a hand along Sam’s side and stopped when he felt dampness. It was dark up here, far too dark to be certain, but somehow that didn’t feel like sweat.
He picked Sam up and carried him back down the stairs. “Got another one for the hospital!” he yelled, so Bobby wouldn’t run off yet.
Bobby drove to the hospital. Dean handed over the keys without a flinch, even going so far as to take the back seat with Sam and try to keep him warm. They concocted a decent story for the doctors; Dean would have been hard pressed to remember it later but for now it would hold up. They let him wait for Sam on the grounds that he was family and they were having trouble reaching his uncle; they swallowed the “brother from back in Boston” story easily enough, everyone knew where Sam Murphy came from.
Sam’s injuries, as it turned out, were fairly extensive. He’d been stabbed in the side, losing a great deal of blood and injuring some internal bits Dean didn’t care about in the process. He thought maybe the spleen might have been one of them? “He didn’t even tell us he’d been hurt, Bobby,” he whispered as he sat in Sam’s hospital room and waited for him to wake up. “He just… scurried off to that room up there and waited for the end.”
Bobby sighed. “You need to decide what you want to do about the boy, Dean. And then you need to talk to him. Idjit.”
Floral offerings began to pour in from Sam’s classmates, but he stayed asleep for another two days. Dean had an opportunity to think about the future.
A future! He’d never had one of those before. Sure he’d indulged in a little fantasy during his road trip with Sam, but that hadn’t worked out so well. And… well, the Yellow-Eyed Demon was dead. Maybe… maybe he didn’t need to live this wandering lifestyle anymore. Maybe he could get a place. Settle down a little. Still hunt - every other hunter he knew, for the most part, lived somewhere.
But he needed to talk to his brother.
When Sam finally opened his eyes, they were hazel again. Dean would have been lying if he said he didn’t feel some relief about that. He blinked when he saw Dean.
“I’m in a hospital,” he identified.
“That you are.”
“With, uh… you’re here.”
“Uh-huh. Nothing gets by you, does it, Stanford guy?” He offered his best cheesy grin.
It got no response. “Why?”
“I wanted to see how you were doing. See what you wanted. When you recovered and everything. “
Sam stared at the ceiling. “I don’t need anything.”
“Bullshit, Sam. We can’t pretend we didn’t… that it didn’t happen. I mean, you lost your father figure, man.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “And, you know. Other stuff.”
Sam gave a bitter chuckle. “Other stuff. Right. Look. Thanks for getting me to the hospital. And for, you know, not killing me, I guess, if that’s what we’re going with. But -”
“Sam. Your beef is with Dad, okay? I was eleven. I didn’t have much control of the situation. He told me you died. Said you… said he burned you alone so I wouldn’t have to… to cope with that. Because I was ‘too young.’ I may be a fuck-up in a lot of ways but this? Not my fault.” He glared at his brother.
Sam’s heart rate monitor picked up a little. “No one’s saying you’re responsible for that, Dean. It would’ve been nice to have been looked for or mourned or something, remembered, but whatever. I was kind of a crappy kid or else John would’ve wanted me, right? We know why now, anyway.” He snorted. “I just… Look, you’re leaving anyway, okay?”
“Who says?”
“Well I mean you’re pissed that I didn’t tell you things that would make you want to kill me so I think I’m going to go ahead and plead the fifth here.”
“Wow. You’ve been all butthurt about being rejected by your family but you’re the one pushing me away, Sam.” He shook his head.
“So you’re not leaving and you’re going to just accept whatever I say without getting pissy and judgmental about it.”
“I never get pissy. Or judgmental.”
Sam’s face told him what he thought about that. To be honest, the only weird thing about it was the idea that Sam could read him that easily with so little knowledge of him. “What if I told you that I don’t care about the brothers thing?” Sam shot back.
Dean wasn’t sure how to describe his emotion at that point - part horror, part joy, part something vaguely like heartburn but with less physical acid. “What?”
“I mean, when I came to Pastor Jim’s - when I got dumped there - he told me I had to forget everything about who I’d been. Name, everything. That meant essentially forgetting being a younger brother. So I’m kind of in this place where brother is just a word - like I know you’re my brother, same mother, probably same father, but it feels weird to me. Not… not real, not significant. So… it doesn’t change anything for me.“
Dean took a deep breath and held it. “Yeah. Okay. But here’s the thing. We broke up. You said so.” He looked away.
“Yeah. I did.” Dean wasn’t looking but he could hear the bedding shift. “Right. Cause you were so affectionate when you found out about the visions.” He sighed. “It was a stupid thing anyway. I mean, you’re a hunter. I’m not.” Dean looked back at his brother. Sam had lowered his head back to the pillow. “Have a nice life, Dean.”
“Sam, I’m not going to leave you alone,” he told him, reaching out for his hand.
“I don’t need your pity, Dean. Pastor Jim had life insurance; I’ll get an apartment in Palo Alto. I’ll be fine.” He sounded tired. Was it the drugs they were giving him, or something else?
“Sam, Meg’s still out there. I mean, you exorcised her but she’ll be back eventually. And there are other kids, other psychics like you.” He swallowed. “I can’t leave you alone and unprotected.”
“I’m hardly unprotected, Dean. Meg’s going to make a play for the throne of Hell. The last thing she wants is competition, and she knows that the last thing I want is to compete with her. And If Azazel isn’t around to try to play us against each other I don’t think the other psychics will be a problem for me. It might not be the life you’d want for yourself, but - “ He shrugged. “I’ll go to school. Then law school. Set up a practice. Succeed.”
“Get married,” Dean pressed, not wanting to acknowledge the way his mouth went dry at the thought. “Two point five kids, the whole nine.”
“Nah,” Sam waved. “I mean, all this… this… shouldn’t be passed on. I don’t think I’m cut out for family life anyway.” He offered a thin, professional smile. “Anyway. I’m sure you’ve got a job to get on to or something. How’s Singer?”
“He’s fine. Says I should bring you over to Sioux Falls sometime.” He shrugged. Sam gave a little huff of laughter. “What?”
“Dean, come on. You wouldn’t voluntarily bring me anywhere, unless it was to finally put me away. And it may not be much of a life, but I’m not ready to have it end.” He turned his head toward the window.
“Sam.” He tried to take Sam’s hand again; Sam again pulled his hand away. “Look. You might have stopped being a little brother - and I understand that, sort of. I mean, you did what you had to do. But you… you gotta understand, you… I hated myself for ten, eleven years for losing you. I never stopped being a big brother, Sam, I just didn’t have anyone to be a big brother to. You were never unwanted; I missed you like burning, and I missed you every day.” He sighed. “The sex thing… it complicates things.”
“No,” Sam said. “It really doesn’t. Not if we don’t want it to.” He still wasn’t looking at Dean.
“I’m. Um. I’ve never been a long-term kind of guy, Sam. Even when Dad was around we weren’t… you know… around each other. I don’t…. I don’t know how I’m going to feel. What I’m going to want, what you’re going to want. But I want to be around you. As a brother, as a friend, as something else, I don’t know. I want to be with you. I don’t know how yet, but… I’m willing to give it a try. Maybe set up in a place down in Stanford? I’ll get a job as a mechanic?” This time, Sam didn’t pull his hand away. “I lost you once. I ain’t doing that again.”
Sam squeezed back. “Promise,” he demanded, looking up at Dean with something between ferocity and hope.
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