Fic: All The King's Horses (2/4)
Title: All The King's Horses
Author: safiyabat
Artist: d00lface_hooker
Beta: tumblr user queen-of-carven-stone
Written for: Sam Dean OTP MiniBang 2014
Rating: PG-13
Genre/Pairing: Gen, with one brief het scene (Sam/OFC, Dean/OFC)
Wordcount: 16,012 (full fic)
Summary: When Sam is unable to restrain Demon!Dean to cure him on his own, he tracks down Gabriel and makes him an offer that makes even an archangel blanch. Instead of giving Sam what he wants, the Trickster enlists the help of Castiel and Flagstaff to help both brothers remember that it was their love story that saved the world once... by sending them on a quest through Sam's mind. AU after 9.23.
Warnings/tags: Descriptions of extreme violence, Demon!Dean, Mark of Cain and associated issues, mentions of suicide and suicidal tendencies, two very damaged guys trying to work out their issues
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, and I own neither Supernatural nor the characters.
Previous
Sam showed up at Gabriel’s apartment at five the next morning. The sun had barely started to show itself over the horizon. The archangel blinked at him a few times. “Don’t you think it’s a little early to be getting on with the end of your life? Maybe want to go on and get a good breakfast? An omelet? French toast with strawberry syrup?” He waggled his eyebrows up and down.
Sam bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to be reminded of the strawberry syrup. He didn’t want to be reminded of anything about Broward County. He honestly never would have wanted to have contact with Gabriel again, but he couldn’t find a way around this one. He’d already tried to chase Dean down and contain him alone; Dean had come at him with nothing but a hammer and a smile as a result. He wouldn’t have much cared if Dean killed him, it wasn’t much less than he deserved, but he couldn’t in good conscience have Dean running around the way he was. Someone needed to neutralize him, to make him safe or take him out, and this was the only way Sam could see to do it.
The fact that he got to rest, finally, with no possibility of ever being brought back, was just icing on the cake. He could finish this, he could get it right. Well, sort of. He could fix his mistakes. All of them. Sure, he’d never be around to appreciate it, to bask in the glory of a world where he hadn’t fucked up. Wasn’t that kind of the point? “I’ll pass, thanks,” he replied drily.
Gabriel deflated. “Come on, Sasquatch. It’s your last meal. Might as well make it worthwhile.”
He inhaled slowly. This was for Dean. This was all for Dean. “I’m not exactly food-motivated, Gabriel. Never have been. But thanks.” He’d have almost thought the diminutive archangel cared. Fortunately he’d learned better than that a long time ago.
“It is true,” came Castiel’s voice from farther inside the apartment. Gabriel opened the door wider and allowed Sam to enter, revealing that both Castiel and that dark-skinned angel that Dean had attacked were present. What was her name again? Flagstaff? “Sam’s relationship with food has never been positive although I must say, Sam, you seem to have neglected yourself exceptionally since your brother’s change.”
“Thanks for that, Cas,” Sam glared. “Why exactly are you here again?”
Gabriel rolled his eyes and shut the door behind them. “There’s been a little bit of a snag in your plan, Sam.” His glare at Cas carried murder as he turned the deadbolts. “I can’t erase you from history quite yet.”
A pit formed in the middle of Sam’s stomach. “Why not, exactly?” He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide the way his heart just doubled in speed. Here he was about to give himself over to a whole gaggle of angels - or whatever the plural of angels was - and the bargain wasn’t going to be filled? He’d been an idiot to hope. He hadn’t even come armed. “Calm down there, drum machine,” the archangel instructed, patting him on the chest. “It’s nothing you did. And I’m going to hold my end of the bargain. You were right - I mean, you are what you are. It’s an affront to the natural order and everything in me cries out to remove you from the world like, like sauce on a favorite white shirt.”
“Descriptive,” he had to admit with a nod. He had to hand it to Gabriel; the guy didn’t insult him by sugar coating things. He’d always been a stain. “So what’s the snag?”
“Your brother’s basically Cain.” He leaned against the doorway. “He’s more than just a demon. He’s more than a Knight of Hell. We have to fix him, break that magic. Otherwise, much as it pains me to say it, you destroying yourself will do nothing but give me a moment’s satisfaction.”
Sam paused and considered. “That’s not what my research suggested,” he said after a moment. Everything he’d found in the Bunker, everything he’d managed to find online strongly suggested that if Dean had never taken on the Mark of Cain he wouldn’t be a demon now.
“Oh, and you’ve never screwed anything up?” Gabriel scoffed. “Please. Or do I need to remind you of a certain dark-eyed enchantress?” In the background, Castiel winced and Flagstaff looked away. “Come on - I was there, Bucko, when Cain became what he became. Don’t you forget it. I was watching. I knew Abel. Are you really so arrogant as to think that what you found or didn’t find in some dusty old tome in some grungy old basement outweighs the concrete knowledge of God’s Messenger?” Gabriel got right up and into his space, puffing himself up as much as he could. He could feel Grace crackling around him.
And of course there would be something he’d missed. He’d screwed this up just like everything else. “So what’s your solution?” he ground out. “I’ve tried to trap and cure him already once myself. It, uh, it didn’t work out so hot.”
“That’s because you’re human, Sam,” Flagstaff pointed out gently. Gabriel cleared his throat and she glared. “For all intents and purposes at least. You’ve done extraordinary things, but you’re still human. Even Castiel would be hard pressed to take him down. Fortunately, you came to the right person to help you with this problem.” She glared at the two male angels and took Sam’s hand, leading him to the sofa. He followed along even though the touch of a strange angel made him want to scrub the skin right off his hand.
“That would be Gabriel,” Cas supplied helpfully. Castiel apparently thought he had the brains of sautéed kale but hey, he’d screwed up the research so maybe he wasn’t far off.
“Got it, thanks,” he told Heaven’s apparent leader. “So what exactly do you need me for?”
“Your blood, of course,” Cas pointed out. “No ritual of this sort could possibly be carried out without the use of human blood, and you’re what we have.”
“Also,” Flagstaff told him, patting his hand softly while massacring her boss with her eyes, “he has a tie to your blood, whether he likes it or not. It will be useful.”
“The only problem is that it will be excruciatingly painful. For you,” Gabriel hastened to add. “Not for me.” He gave a giant, cheesy grin. “I’m not going to feel a thing. So what I want to do is knock you out - put you so far under you have no goddamn clue what’s going on. You with me?”
Sam frowned and shook his head a little. Flagstaff was still holding his hand. Why, exactly, was she holding his hand again? Did she think he was six years old or something? “I’m a little uncomfortable with sleeping around angels. No offense, but -“
“But you’ve had a fairly negative relationship with our species over your life and you’re reluctant to let your guard down,” the doctor-angel smiled. “I understand.” Sam very much doubted that she understood - how could she? But he probably shouldn’t judge. He didn’t know anything about her, after all. “But Sam, we only want to spare you as much pain as we can.”
“The point isn’t just to remove the Mark, though,” Sam insisted. “The point is to remove everything that led up to him taking the Mark in the first place. All of the… just everything.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, buddy boy.” Gabriel leered at him. “You made me a promise and I’m going to collect. But in the meantime, we need for you to be alive and all the screaming and thrashing around will annoy the neighbors. So. What you’re going to do is lie down like a good little abomination, close those pretty little eyes of yours and go to sleep. Between Flagstaff and me we’re going to find you a nice, happy memory for you to hang out in while you wait. You’ll never feel a thing. I’ll make with the eradicating from the face of time and space as soon as we get that nasty mark business cleared up so don’t worry; big brother will never even know there was a darling little Sammy to begin with.”
Flagstaff and Cas exchanged glances. “Is this still what you want, Sam?” the latter asked, coming forward and putting an awkward hand on Sam’s shoulder.
Years ago, Cas had not been okay with this same plan. Granted, Dean would have been erased as well and Dean was absolutely Cas’ priority. And when Sam had objected to his life being saved the angel had once again disapproved of Sam’s choices. What had changed that Cas now supported Sam’s right to choose? Was it that Dean had become a demon? Was it because Sam’s choices now could fix everything that had come before? Sam’s choice now would fix Heaven too, because if he had never existed then the angelic wars would never have happened. Cas would never have slaughtered so many of his kind of it weren’t for Sam destroying everything he touched. “Yeah, Cas. This is what I want.” He paused. “I mean, I’m not okay with the whole angels messing with my memories thing. Again. But if it gets me to my goal? This is what I’ve always wanted.”
Flagstaff’s weird patting of his hand stopped for a moment and she looked away. “Oh, Sam.”
He frowned as she moved, still holding his hand, so that he could lie down on the couch. “It’s okay, Flagstaff. There’s nothing that I’ve -“ He stopped himself. “Look. If I can put just one thing right, I’m happy. Okay?” Why she should have that look on her face, like any angel gave a crap about any human never mind something like him, he didn’t know. But soon he wouldn’t care, and neither would she.
Well, she might remember. Would she? He felt panic well up for a moment. What if they remembered? What if it didn’t work because the angels remembered? No. It had to work. The angels would not remember. Gabriel would see to it. The fact that he’d involved the other angels was annoying, worrying - but nothing could now be done about it.
And he’d gone to Gabriel because the guy had a strong interest in getting rid of Sam, no loyalty or affection toward Dean and no soft spots or squeamishness about the sanctity of human life or whatever. In this, he’d done his planning perfectly. Gabriel loved to screw him, but he wouldn’t screw him on this. He forced himself to close his eyes for what would (hopefully, definitely, certainly) be the last time. He could control his breathing. There was no need to panic. Maybe some of the details had changed but everything was going to work out just fine.
Flagstaff’s hand touched his forehead gently, lightly, and darkness closed in.
He dreamed. Well, that was expected. They’d told him that they were going to put him into one of his memories for a while. They’d have to find one for him to be in, and that was a weird feeling. No, it wasn’t a weird feeling, it was a weird memory and a bad one at that. Lucifer had sifted through his memories like a baker through flour when he’d first taken possession of Sam, and then again when they’d landed in the Cage. He’d been looking for ammunition and he’d found it, plenty of it. He was probably still down there blasting away at Michael with twenty-five years’ worth of hunting memories and shitty choices. But the feeling of Grace carding through his psyche was just too familiar and he struggled, almost without knowing he was doing it.
“Sam” Flagstaff’s voice soothed in his head. “Be calm. Remember, we’re helping. This is part of your plan. This will fix things for you.”
Right. This wasn’t Lucifer. This was necessary and he wasn’t going to have to remember it for very long anyway. He forced himself to relax. After all, there was no one he’d fought nearly as hard or as long as himself.
He was on a street in San Francisco, standing in front of a storefront. It was dark, polished granite with gold lettering. His feet felt like lead. He should go inside - after all, he had the funds. Maybe not for anything huge or earth-shattering but that wasn’t Jess anyway. No, he hesitated because the thought was ridiculous. Sam Winchester, getting married? The universe itself would laugh at the very idea. A meteor would hit the building or something. Walking in would trigger some kind of cosmic event. What the Hell did he know about marriage or family or any of that crap? He’d never even been around the same woman for more than a few weeks at a time until Stanford. But he wanted this, Jess wanted this. They were going to be together forever, stupid dreams aside. Maybe his side of the church would be empty but he didn’t care. Her family was so warm, so welcoming -
“Cut,” Gabriel’s voice interrupted. “Too angsty. It’s not like we don’t know how this ends.”
“We know how it all ends, Gabriel,” Flagstaff’s voice objected. “Can’t we let him enjoy a few moments of hope? She was the love of his life.”
“Oh, he loved her. No doubt about it. And she loved him. Have you seen her Heaven? It’s all Gigantor, all the time. Well, and chocolate chip cookies. A girl after my own heart. But don’t you know when this is from? Two days before Dean came and got him.”
“Isn’t that kind of the point?” she retorted. “It’s before everything happened. He was still happy, he had a future ahead of him. He still wanted to live.”
“Yeah, he looks real happy. He’s out like a light and he’s got tears making my couch cushions all soggy.”
“But if we played it on a loop,” the healer suggested. “I mean, it could work,right?”
“Flagstaff, the kid figured out a time loop I stuck him in for more than a hundred something days based on a minor detail he could only have noticed out of the corner of his eye. He took control of his brother’s dream from an experienced dream walker with nothing more than one dream walk and a bad attitude to spur him on. No way we’re settling for anything less than perfect. Next memory,” the archangel declared firmly.
Sam had a moment for humiliation at the notion of being in tears in front of these people - he’d never liked showing emotion in front of anyone, never mind angels - before the next dream rolled. He saw himself - around the same age as he’d been in the previous dream, maybe a few months older - in a musty tent on a stage. Dean was wearing a brown hoodie that was too large for him, Sam’s hoodie stolen in an attempt to keep himself warm or something. Sam remembered where they were, and he remembered when too. This was Nebraska. This was Roy LaGrange’s revival tent. This was the moment when Dean had been healed of his heart damage, before they’d learned that it had been done by Roy’s evil-minded bigot of a wife and her wicked spell. Before they’d had to prevent the healing of an innocent young woman’s terminal cancer to prevent Sue Ann’s murder of more people.
But here, in this moment, Dean was alive. Dean was alive, he was going to live, and he was alive because Sam had done something right. He’d managed to pull it off, he’d solved the problem. He’d done something for Dean, proved to Dean that he did love him and want to be around him.
“Oh for the love of Pete, this one’s worse!” Gabriel’s voice cut in.
“Are you really telling me that it’s a bad thing that Sam feels good about saving his brother’s life?” Flagstaff challenged.
“He doesn’t feel good, lady. Look deeper. It’s already stained with the ‘after’ part of this memory. I think it took him all of what, four hours to figure out that this wasn’t a miracle but a case? And then of course the big lummox drowned in guilt about it.”
Of course Sam had drowned in guilt about it. People - good people - had died and he’d enabled it, even if he hadn’t known. And then he’d stopped her, even though he’d known more people would die. “Gabriel, Sam feels guilt about possibly driving over insects on his way to get salad. I don’t think that’s a benchmark we should be using.”
“Valid,” Gabriel admitted. Sam glared. Or would have glared, if he had form in his dream-space. “But still - next!”
The next memory turned out to be a moment with which he was more than familiar. He stood on the edge of the chasm. He could feel Lucifer inside him, struggling against his iron grip. The archangel would not escape; not this time. “It’s okay, Dean,” he gasped out. “I’ve got him.”
It almost hadn’t worked but in the end it had - he, the abomination, the addict, the unwanted son and the castaway and the millstone around Dean’s neck, had done it. He’d taken control back from the monster possessing his body, stopped him from killing Dean. Surely now Dean would see how much he loved him. Now Dean could be proud of him, call him his brother without that defeated tone. He leaned back and closed his eyes. This was going to hurt but that was okay - he knew that when he’d made this decision and it was worth it, if Dean remembered him well. He leaned back. At least he’d finally gotten something right -
“No,” Flagstaff’s voice interrupted.
“What? How is it any different than what he’s trying to do here?” Gabriel objected.
“Just… no,” the healer shuddered. Sam couldn’t even see her but he heard the shudder. Sam privately agreed with her. He’d done that right, but not fast enough, not soon enough, and of course they hadn’t let the job stay done.
“All right. How about this?” Gabriel’s tone was resigned and exasperated, and the dream changed again.
Sam was sitting on the hood of the Impala, leaning against the windshield. Some residual heat from the engine warmed his seat and made an excellent contrast to the bite in the October air. Somewhere off in the distance he could smell someone burning leaves. The only things nearby were woods and empty cornfields. No book rested in his hands tonight; there wasn’t even a moon to offer her light, only millions and millions of stars. And Sam was perfectly content to sit and stare at them in silence, all night long if need be. Boots on gravel broke the silence. A beer bottle popped open; cool wet glass pressed itself into his hand. “Thanks,” he murmured. He didn’t want to raise his voice; the night was too perfect to be marred by loud sounds.
Dean didn’t answer; apparently he too appreciated the silence tonight. Instead he circled around the hood of the car before climbing up to the other side and taking his own position on the driver’s side. He had his own beer and he sipped from it.
Sam never did figure out when it happened. They sat on the hood of the Impala, staring at the sky exactly where they would have been if they were inside the car. They didn’t speak and Sam didn’t move. He didn’t hear Dean move either. Somehow, though, he found his brother right up flush against him, head on his shoulder. Sam didn’t say a word. After a few moments, when he realized that the even tone of Dean’s breathing meant that he’d fallen asleep, he rescued his brother’s beer and wrapped an arm around him. He didn’t fall asleep that night. He was going to make this memory last forever, however long that might be all things considered.
Sam found himself relaxing into the memory. For a moment, just a brief second, he sensed a distant thrum of satisfaction coming from two different Graces. Soon enough he ignored it, lost in the feeling of an entire night when he’d had his brother to himself and nothing to come between them.
*
Gabriel looked at Flagstaff. “Well. Glad we found something useful at least.”
The junior angel shivered. “He’s not a happy man, Gabriel.”
He snorted. “You think? All right. Let’s get this party started.”
Castiel provided a knife. “Are you certain there is no other way to summon Dean?” he demanded.
“I could do it without the blood,” the archangel admitted. “But I want to keep myself a surprise until the last minute. Don’t want to let him know what we’re really planning. Come on, let’s get this show on the road.”
Castiel looked back at Sam. He’d never seen the younger Winchester look so relaxed or happy as he did now, not even in death. “I suppose we must.”
Next
Author: safiyabat
Artist: d00lface_hooker
Beta: tumblr user queen-of-carven-stone
Written for: Sam Dean OTP MiniBang 2014
Rating: PG-13
Genre/Pairing: Gen, with one brief het scene (Sam/OFC, Dean/OFC)
Wordcount: 16,012 (full fic)
Summary: When Sam is unable to restrain Demon!Dean to cure him on his own, he tracks down Gabriel and makes him an offer that makes even an archangel blanch. Instead of giving Sam what he wants, the Trickster enlists the help of Castiel and Flagstaff to help both brothers remember that it was their love story that saved the world once... by sending them on a quest through Sam's mind. AU after 9.23.
Warnings/tags: Descriptions of extreme violence, Demon!Dean, Mark of Cain and associated issues, mentions of suicide and suicidal tendencies, two very damaged guys trying to work out their issues
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, and I own neither Supernatural nor the characters.
Previous
Sam showed up at Gabriel’s apartment at five the next morning. The sun had barely started to show itself over the horizon. The archangel blinked at him a few times. “Don’t you think it’s a little early to be getting on with the end of your life? Maybe want to go on and get a good breakfast? An omelet? French toast with strawberry syrup?” He waggled his eyebrows up and down.
Sam bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to be reminded of the strawberry syrup. He didn’t want to be reminded of anything about Broward County. He honestly never would have wanted to have contact with Gabriel again, but he couldn’t find a way around this one. He’d already tried to chase Dean down and contain him alone; Dean had come at him with nothing but a hammer and a smile as a result. He wouldn’t have much cared if Dean killed him, it wasn’t much less than he deserved, but he couldn’t in good conscience have Dean running around the way he was. Someone needed to neutralize him, to make him safe or take him out, and this was the only way Sam could see to do it.
The fact that he got to rest, finally, with no possibility of ever being brought back, was just icing on the cake. He could finish this, he could get it right. Well, sort of. He could fix his mistakes. All of them. Sure, he’d never be around to appreciate it, to bask in the glory of a world where he hadn’t fucked up. Wasn’t that kind of the point? “I’ll pass, thanks,” he replied drily.
Gabriel deflated. “Come on, Sasquatch. It’s your last meal. Might as well make it worthwhile.”
He inhaled slowly. This was for Dean. This was all for Dean. “I’m not exactly food-motivated, Gabriel. Never have been. But thanks.” He’d have almost thought the diminutive archangel cared. Fortunately he’d learned better than that a long time ago.
“It is true,” came Castiel’s voice from farther inside the apartment. Gabriel opened the door wider and allowed Sam to enter, revealing that both Castiel and that dark-skinned angel that Dean had attacked were present. What was her name again? Flagstaff? “Sam’s relationship with food has never been positive although I must say, Sam, you seem to have neglected yourself exceptionally since your brother’s change.”
“Thanks for that, Cas,” Sam glared. “Why exactly are you here again?”
Gabriel rolled his eyes and shut the door behind them. “There’s been a little bit of a snag in your plan, Sam.” His glare at Cas carried murder as he turned the deadbolts. “I can’t erase you from history quite yet.”
A pit formed in the middle of Sam’s stomach. “Why not, exactly?” He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide the way his heart just doubled in speed. Here he was about to give himself over to a whole gaggle of angels - or whatever the plural of angels was - and the bargain wasn’t going to be filled? He’d been an idiot to hope. He hadn’t even come armed. “Calm down there, drum machine,” the archangel instructed, patting him on the chest. “It’s nothing you did. And I’m going to hold my end of the bargain. You were right - I mean, you are what you are. It’s an affront to the natural order and everything in me cries out to remove you from the world like, like sauce on a favorite white shirt.”
“Descriptive,” he had to admit with a nod. He had to hand it to Gabriel; the guy didn’t insult him by sugar coating things. He’d always been a stain. “So what’s the snag?”
“Your brother’s basically Cain.” He leaned against the doorway. “He’s more than just a demon. He’s more than a Knight of Hell. We have to fix him, break that magic. Otherwise, much as it pains me to say it, you destroying yourself will do nothing but give me a moment’s satisfaction.”
Sam paused and considered. “That’s not what my research suggested,” he said after a moment. Everything he’d found in the Bunker, everything he’d managed to find online strongly suggested that if Dean had never taken on the Mark of Cain he wouldn’t be a demon now.
“Oh, and you’ve never screwed anything up?” Gabriel scoffed. “Please. Or do I need to remind you of a certain dark-eyed enchantress?” In the background, Castiel winced and Flagstaff looked away. “Come on - I was there, Bucko, when Cain became what he became. Don’t you forget it. I was watching. I knew Abel. Are you really so arrogant as to think that what you found or didn’t find in some dusty old tome in some grungy old basement outweighs the concrete knowledge of God’s Messenger?” Gabriel got right up and into his space, puffing himself up as much as he could. He could feel Grace crackling around him.
And of course there would be something he’d missed. He’d screwed this up just like everything else. “So what’s your solution?” he ground out. “I’ve tried to trap and cure him already once myself. It, uh, it didn’t work out so hot.”
“That’s because you’re human, Sam,” Flagstaff pointed out gently. Gabriel cleared his throat and she glared. “For all intents and purposes at least. You’ve done extraordinary things, but you’re still human. Even Castiel would be hard pressed to take him down. Fortunately, you came to the right person to help you with this problem.” She glared at the two male angels and took Sam’s hand, leading him to the sofa. He followed along even though the touch of a strange angel made him want to scrub the skin right off his hand.
“That would be Gabriel,” Cas supplied helpfully. Castiel apparently thought he had the brains of sautéed kale but hey, he’d screwed up the research so maybe he wasn’t far off.
“Got it, thanks,” he told Heaven’s apparent leader. “So what exactly do you need me for?”
“Your blood, of course,” Cas pointed out. “No ritual of this sort could possibly be carried out without the use of human blood, and you’re what we have.”
“Also,” Flagstaff told him, patting his hand softly while massacring her boss with her eyes, “he has a tie to your blood, whether he likes it or not. It will be useful.”
“The only problem is that it will be excruciatingly painful. For you,” Gabriel hastened to add. “Not for me.” He gave a giant, cheesy grin. “I’m not going to feel a thing. So what I want to do is knock you out - put you so far under you have no goddamn clue what’s going on. You with me?”
Sam frowned and shook his head a little. Flagstaff was still holding his hand. Why, exactly, was she holding his hand again? Did she think he was six years old or something? “I’m a little uncomfortable with sleeping around angels. No offense, but -“
“But you’ve had a fairly negative relationship with our species over your life and you’re reluctant to let your guard down,” the doctor-angel smiled. “I understand.” Sam very much doubted that she understood - how could she? But he probably shouldn’t judge. He didn’t know anything about her, after all. “But Sam, we only want to spare you as much pain as we can.”
“The point isn’t just to remove the Mark, though,” Sam insisted. “The point is to remove everything that led up to him taking the Mark in the first place. All of the… just everything.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, buddy boy.” Gabriel leered at him. “You made me a promise and I’m going to collect. But in the meantime, we need for you to be alive and all the screaming and thrashing around will annoy the neighbors. So. What you’re going to do is lie down like a good little abomination, close those pretty little eyes of yours and go to sleep. Between Flagstaff and me we’re going to find you a nice, happy memory for you to hang out in while you wait. You’ll never feel a thing. I’ll make with the eradicating from the face of time and space as soon as we get that nasty mark business cleared up so don’t worry; big brother will never even know there was a darling little Sammy to begin with.”
Flagstaff and Cas exchanged glances. “Is this still what you want, Sam?” the latter asked, coming forward and putting an awkward hand on Sam’s shoulder.
Years ago, Cas had not been okay with this same plan. Granted, Dean would have been erased as well and Dean was absolutely Cas’ priority. And when Sam had objected to his life being saved the angel had once again disapproved of Sam’s choices. What had changed that Cas now supported Sam’s right to choose? Was it that Dean had become a demon? Was it because Sam’s choices now could fix everything that had come before? Sam’s choice now would fix Heaven too, because if he had never existed then the angelic wars would never have happened. Cas would never have slaughtered so many of his kind of it weren’t for Sam destroying everything he touched. “Yeah, Cas. This is what I want.” He paused. “I mean, I’m not okay with the whole angels messing with my memories thing. Again. But if it gets me to my goal? This is what I’ve always wanted.”
Flagstaff’s weird patting of his hand stopped for a moment and she looked away. “Oh, Sam.”
He frowned as she moved, still holding his hand, so that he could lie down on the couch. “It’s okay, Flagstaff. There’s nothing that I’ve -“ He stopped himself. “Look. If I can put just one thing right, I’m happy. Okay?” Why she should have that look on her face, like any angel gave a crap about any human never mind something like him, he didn’t know. But soon he wouldn’t care, and neither would she.
Well, she might remember. Would she? He felt panic well up for a moment. What if they remembered? What if it didn’t work because the angels remembered? No. It had to work. The angels would not remember. Gabriel would see to it. The fact that he’d involved the other angels was annoying, worrying - but nothing could now be done about it.
And he’d gone to Gabriel because the guy had a strong interest in getting rid of Sam, no loyalty or affection toward Dean and no soft spots or squeamishness about the sanctity of human life or whatever. In this, he’d done his planning perfectly. Gabriel loved to screw him, but he wouldn’t screw him on this. He forced himself to close his eyes for what would (hopefully, definitely, certainly) be the last time. He could control his breathing. There was no need to panic. Maybe some of the details had changed but everything was going to work out just fine.
Flagstaff’s hand touched his forehead gently, lightly, and darkness closed in.
He dreamed. Well, that was expected. They’d told him that they were going to put him into one of his memories for a while. They’d have to find one for him to be in, and that was a weird feeling. No, it wasn’t a weird feeling, it was a weird memory and a bad one at that. Lucifer had sifted through his memories like a baker through flour when he’d first taken possession of Sam, and then again when they’d landed in the Cage. He’d been looking for ammunition and he’d found it, plenty of it. He was probably still down there blasting away at Michael with twenty-five years’ worth of hunting memories and shitty choices. But the feeling of Grace carding through his psyche was just too familiar and he struggled, almost without knowing he was doing it.
“Sam” Flagstaff’s voice soothed in his head. “Be calm. Remember, we’re helping. This is part of your plan. This will fix things for you.”
Right. This wasn’t Lucifer. This was necessary and he wasn’t going to have to remember it for very long anyway. He forced himself to relax. After all, there was no one he’d fought nearly as hard or as long as himself.
He was on a street in San Francisco, standing in front of a storefront. It was dark, polished granite with gold lettering. His feet felt like lead. He should go inside - after all, he had the funds. Maybe not for anything huge or earth-shattering but that wasn’t Jess anyway. No, he hesitated because the thought was ridiculous. Sam Winchester, getting married? The universe itself would laugh at the very idea. A meteor would hit the building or something. Walking in would trigger some kind of cosmic event. What the Hell did he know about marriage or family or any of that crap? He’d never even been around the same woman for more than a few weeks at a time until Stanford. But he wanted this, Jess wanted this. They were going to be together forever, stupid dreams aside. Maybe his side of the church would be empty but he didn’t care. Her family was so warm, so welcoming -
“Cut,” Gabriel’s voice interrupted. “Too angsty. It’s not like we don’t know how this ends.”
“We know how it all ends, Gabriel,” Flagstaff’s voice objected. “Can’t we let him enjoy a few moments of hope? She was the love of his life.”
“Oh, he loved her. No doubt about it. And she loved him. Have you seen her Heaven? It’s all Gigantor, all the time. Well, and chocolate chip cookies. A girl after my own heart. But don’t you know when this is from? Two days before Dean came and got him.”
“Isn’t that kind of the point?” she retorted. “It’s before everything happened. He was still happy, he had a future ahead of him. He still wanted to live.”
“Yeah, he looks real happy. He’s out like a light and he’s got tears making my couch cushions all soggy.”
“But if we played it on a loop,” the healer suggested. “I mean, it could work,right?”
“Flagstaff, the kid figured out a time loop I stuck him in for more than a hundred something days based on a minor detail he could only have noticed out of the corner of his eye. He took control of his brother’s dream from an experienced dream walker with nothing more than one dream walk and a bad attitude to spur him on. No way we’re settling for anything less than perfect. Next memory,” the archangel declared firmly.
Sam had a moment for humiliation at the notion of being in tears in front of these people - he’d never liked showing emotion in front of anyone, never mind angels - before the next dream rolled. He saw himself - around the same age as he’d been in the previous dream, maybe a few months older - in a musty tent on a stage. Dean was wearing a brown hoodie that was too large for him, Sam’s hoodie stolen in an attempt to keep himself warm or something. Sam remembered where they were, and he remembered when too. This was Nebraska. This was Roy LaGrange’s revival tent. This was the moment when Dean had been healed of his heart damage, before they’d learned that it had been done by Roy’s evil-minded bigot of a wife and her wicked spell. Before they’d had to prevent the healing of an innocent young woman’s terminal cancer to prevent Sue Ann’s murder of more people.
But here, in this moment, Dean was alive. Dean was alive, he was going to live, and he was alive because Sam had done something right. He’d managed to pull it off, he’d solved the problem. He’d done something for Dean, proved to Dean that he did love him and want to be around him.
“Oh for the love of Pete, this one’s worse!” Gabriel’s voice cut in.
“Are you really telling me that it’s a bad thing that Sam feels good about saving his brother’s life?” Flagstaff challenged.
“He doesn’t feel good, lady. Look deeper. It’s already stained with the ‘after’ part of this memory. I think it took him all of what, four hours to figure out that this wasn’t a miracle but a case? And then of course the big lummox drowned in guilt about it.”
Of course Sam had drowned in guilt about it. People - good people - had died and he’d enabled it, even if he hadn’t known. And then he’d stopped her, even though he’d known more people would die. “Gabriel, Sam feels guilt about possibly driving over insects on his way to get salad. I don’t think that’s a benchmark we should be using.”
“Valid,” Gabriel admitted. Sam glared. Or would have glared, if he had form in his dream-space. “But still - next!”
The next memory turned out to be a moment with which he was more than familiar. He stood on the edge of the chasm. He could feel Lucifer inside him, struggling against his iron grip. The archangel would not escape; not this time. “It’s okay, Dean,” he gasped out. “I’ve got him.”
It almost hadn’t worked but in the end it had - he, the abomination, the addict, the unwanted son and the castaway and the millstone around Dean’s neck, had done it. He’d taken control back from the monster possessing his body, stopped him from killing Dean. Surely now Dean would see how much he loved him. Now Dean could be proud of him, call him his brother without that defeated tone. He leaned back and closed his eyes. This was going to hurt but that was okay - he knew that when he’d made this decision and it was worth it, if Dean remembered him well. He leaned back. At least he’d finally gotten something right -
“No,” Flagstaff’s voice interrupted.
“What? How is it any different than what he’s trying to do here?” Gabriel objected.
“Just… no,” the healer shuddered. Sam couldn’t even see her but he heard the shudder. Sam privately agreed with her. He’d done that right, but not fast enough, not soon enough, and of course they hadn’t let the job stay done.
“All right. How about this?” Gabriel’s tone was resigned and exasperated, and the dream changed again.
Sam was sitting on the hood of the Impala, leaning against the windshield. Some residual heat from the engine warmed his seat and made an excellent contrast to the bite in the October air. Somewhere off in the distance he could smell someone burning leaves. The only things nearby were woods and empty cornfields. No book rested in his hands tonight; there wasn’t even a moon to offer her light, only millions and millions of stars. And Sam was perfectly content to sit and stare at them in silence, all night long if need be. Boots on gravel broke the silence. A beer bottle popped open; cool wet glass pressed itself into his hand. “Thanks,” he murmured. He didn’t want to raise his voice; the night was too perfect to be marred by loud sounds.
Dean didn’t answer; apparently he too appreciated the silence tonight. Instead he circled around the hood of the car before climbing up to the other side and taking his own position on the driver’s side. He had his own beer and he sipped from it.
Sam never did figure out when it happened. They sat on the hood of the Impala, staring at the sky exactly where they would have been if they were inside the car. They didn’t speak and Sam didn’t move. He didn’t hear Dean move either. Somehow, though, he found his brother right up flush against him, head on his shoulder. Sam didn’t say a word. After a few moments, when he realized that the even tone of Dean’s breathing meant that he’d fallen asleep, he rescued his brother’s beer and wrapped an arm around him. He didn’t fall asleep that night. He was going to make this memory last forever, however long that might be all things considered.
Sam found himself relaxing into the memory. For a moment, just a brief second, he sensed a distant thrum of satisfaction coming from two different Graces. Soon enough he ignored it, lost in the feeling of an entire night when he’d had his brother to himself and nothing to come between them.
*
Gabriel looked at Flagstaff. “Well. Glad we found something useful at least.”
The junior angel shivered. “He’s not a happy man, Gabriel.”
He snorted. “You think? All right. Let’s get this party started.”
Castiel provided a knife. “Are you certain there is no other way to summon Dean?” he demanded.
“I could do it without the blood,” the archangel admitted. “But I want to keep myself a surprise until the last minute. Don’t want to let him know what we’re really planning. Come on, let’s get this show on the road.”
Castiel looked back at Sam. He’d never seen the younger Winchester look so relaxed or happy as he did now, not even in death. “I suppose we must.”
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