When Satan Takes You Over
Chapter 3
When Sam re-entered the house, Bobby was rolling out of the kitchen.
“Food’s ready,” he said, looking past Sam. “Where’s cloud boy?”
Sam felt his lips twitch in spite of himself. “He’s checking out some stuff. He’ll be back later.”
Bobby grunted and turned back toward the kitchen. “There’s sandwiches and chips and beer.”
Sam followed the man to the kitchen and saw a plate of food with a bottle and napkin set out on a tray which he assumed was for Dean. Hesitating for a moment, he picked up his own plate and bottle and put it on the tray as well along with a magazine he saw sitting on the counter.
“I’m just gonna….” Sam gestured toward the basement stairs. “Do you mind keeping an eye on….”
Bobby waved him off, wheeling toward his study. “Go do what you gotta do, kid. I’ll look after Adam,” he said, taking his own food on his lap and heading to his desk.
Sam carried the tray down the stairs, but paused when he reached the bottom, realizing something.
This might be the last time he saw his brother.
Feeling suddenly light headed as a wave of sick apprehension suddenly churned in his gut, Sam set the tray down on the bottom step, feeling it start to tremble in his nerveless fingers. He stared at the panic room door.
God, what the hell was he doing? How was he going to face Dean and eat his lunch as though nothing had changed, when he might be going off to his death soon?
Almost deciding to forgo the ordeal, Sam waivered back and forth for a moment.
He couldn’t do it. He needed to see his brother one last time. There might be nothing left to say, but he couldn’t do what he had to do without spending a few moments with Dean in peace.
At least he hoped it would be peaceful.
Sam bent to pick up the tray….
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dean looked up as the panic room door suddenly rattled, sitting up to see his brother enter, carrying a tray.
Seeing the plates, he gestured, “At least you decided not to starve me until I caved.”
Sam didn’t answer him, and Dean sighed inwardly, not really surprised. Actually, the thing he was most surprised about was seeing his brother at all. After what he’d said to him, Dean wasn’t sure what Sam would do, but coming down to his prison cell to eat with him hadn’t been on the list.
Silently, the younger man placed the tray on the bed next to Dean, before sitting himself on the only chair in the room. Sam still didn’t speak or really look at his brother as he picked up his sandwich.
Regarding him for a moment, Dean shook his head and reached for his own food. If his pig headed brother didn’t want to talk, he wasn’t going to force him. Looking down at the bed where his plate lay, he was surprised to see Bobby’s latest copy of “Guns and Ammo” sitting there. Glancing back up at Sam, he felt a twinge of guilt. His brother appeared to be engrossed in his food, but he knew from experience that Sam wasn’t really eating so much as avoiding him. His eyes were hidden behind his long bangs, as he toyed with his chips before picking up his beer bottle to take a drink.
He hadn’t really wanted to tell him the truth. Part of Dean wished even now that he had just kept his mouth shut when Sam had asked him point blank why he was giving up, but his traitorous mouth had gotten the better of him and he found himself confessing what he’d been holding in since coming awake in his blood spattered body after their disastrous trip to heaven. All of the resentful feelings that had surfaced during that ill fated trip-----culminating in him tossing his amulet in the trash----had come bubbling up, and letting them finally spew out at the object of his feelings had felt good, even as he’d immediately felt guilty seeing Sam’s reaction.
But he’d squashed the feeling. Sam had deserved his words. He’d deserved to know the truth of why Dean was willing to become some angel’s meatsuit to save the world. That he was willing to go against everything they’d been trying to do for the last year if it meant that he wouldn’t have to live with his failure to save his brother. He’d rather give into Michael now and let him do the dirty work, then later when it was too late and Sam was wearing Lucifer to prom.
Dean looked up and found his brother staring at him with an expression that was quickly wiped away at his glance. Something about it bothered him, invoking a feeling he didn’t like.
What he didn’t remember was that it was the same expression Sam wore right before he walked out the door to start his life at Stanford. The same combination of hurt and determination, love and resignation.
A few moments later, he watched Sam rise from his place to walk toward him, taking his plate and empty bottle to put back on the tray. Dean’s eyebrows rose at the slight tremble in his brother’s hands as he took the things away and he wondered what caused it. He found himself unable to keep quiet.
“You okay?”
Sam’s shoulders stiffened where he’d had his back to him, gathering the dishes.
When he turned back to face him, Dean looked up at him in inquiry as he his brother remained silent.
“You’ll be out of here soon, Dean.” Sam’s voice was husky when he finally answered, and Dean frowned.
“You’re letting me out?”
“Not….not yet, but…” Sam turned away from him again, and picked up the tray. “Cas’s working on something.” He made to leave, but Dean stopped him.
“Wait a minute,” Dean said suspiciously, not liking that answer and the feeling that Sam’s expression left him with. “What…..”
“Don’t worry about it, Dean. This isn’t your problem anymore.”
“What do you mean, ‘This isn’t my problem? The Michael problem or the Lucifer problem?” Dean got up to confront his brother, but Sam was already at the door. “Hey, answer me! What the hell is Cas doing ? What prob….”
“All of the problems,” Sam said, stepping out of the panic room door.
“Damn it, Sam,” Dean growled, his arm shooting out to grab his brother, but Sam shut the door before he managed to make contact. “What the hell’s going on?” Dean peered at him through the open grate in the door, but Sam wouldn’t make eye contact, even though he didn’t move away. “Send Cas down here,” Dean demanded. “Cas!” he shouted, “Get your angelic ass down here and tell me what the hell you and my idiot brother are up to…..now!”
“Cas is gone, Dean,” Sam told him almost wearily. “He’ll be back later and you can talk to him.”
“Sam…”Dean started angrily, but Sam was walking away toward the basement steps.
“Sam!” Dean shouted at him, but his brother ignored him, only the slight flinch in his shoulders showing that he’d heard him.
Dean turned back toward the cot in the panic room, wanting to punch a hole in the wall, but knowing he’d probably break every one of his fingers in the process. Sitting down, he dropped his head in his hands, the uneasy feeling in his gut making him nauseous as he thought of all the trouble that Sam could get into without him there to watch his back. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, also realizing that he’d given up that right the minute he’d left Sam to go say yes to Michael.
He was stuck. Dean closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall, wishing now that he hadn’t eaten the lunch Sam had brought. It was threatening to come back up. God…..Sam…..
Dean sat forward and put his head in his hands.
“Cas, if you’re listening man, you’d better not let that dumbass doing anything stupid….”
TBC.................
When Sam re-entered the house, Bobby was rolling out of the kitchen.
“Food’s ready,” he said, looking past Sam. “Where’s cloud boy?”
Sam felt his lips twitch in spite of himself. “He’s checking out some stuff. He’ll be back later.”
Bobby grunted and turned back toward the kitchen. “There’s sandwiches and chips and beer.”
Sam followed the man to the kitchen and saw a plate of food with a bottle and napkin set out on a tray which he assumed was for Dean. Hesitating for a moment, he picked up his own plate and bottle and put it on the tray as well along with a magazine he saw sitting on the counter.
“I’m just gonna….” Sam gestured toward the basement stairs. “Do you mind keeping an eye on….”
Bobby waved him off, wheeling toward his study. “Go do what you gotta do, kid. I’ll look after Adam,” he said, taking his own food on his lap and heading to his desk.
Sam carried the tray down the stairs, but paused when he reached the bottom, realizing something.
This might be the last time he saw his brother.
Feeling suddenly light headed as a wave of sick apprehension suddenly churned in his gut, Sam set the tray down on the bottom step, feeling it start to tremble in his nerveless fingers. He stared at the panic room door.
God, what the hell was he doing? How was he going to face Dean and eat his lunch as though nothing had changed, when he might be going off to his death soon?
Almost deciding to forgo the ordeal, Sam waivered back and forth for a moment.
He couldn’t do it. He needed to see his brother one last time. There might be nothing left to say, but he couldn’t do what he had to do without spending a few moments with Dean in peace.
At least he hoped it would be peaceful.
Sam bent to pick up the tray….
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dean looked up as the panic room door suddenly rattled, sitting up to see his brother enter, carrying a tray.
Seeing the plates, he gestured, “At least you decided not to starve me until I caved.”
Sam didn’t answer him, and Dean sighed inwardly, not really surprised. Actually, the thing he was most surprised about was seeing his brother at all. After what he’d said to him, Dean wasn’t sure what Sam would do, but coming down to his prison cell to eat with him hadn’t been on the list.
Silently, the younger man placed the tray on the bed next to Dean, before sitting himself on the only chair in the room. Sam still didn’t speak or really look at his brother as he picked up his sandwich.
Regarding him for a moment, Dean shook his head and reached for his own food. If his pig headed brother didn’t want to talk, he wasn’t going to force him. Looking down at the bed where his plate lay, he was surprised to see Bobby’s latest copy of “Guns and Ammo” sitting there. Glancing back up at Sam, he felt a twinge of guilt. His brother appeared to be engrossed in his food, but he knew from experience that Sam wasn’t really eating so much as avoiding him. His eyes were hidden behind his long bangs, as he toyed with his chips before picking up his beer bottle to take a drink.
He hadn’t really wanted to tell him the truth. Part of Dean wished even now that he had just kept his mouth shut when Sam had asked him point blank why he was giving up, but his traitorous mouth had gotten the better of him and he found himself confessing what he’d been holding in since coming awake in his blood spattered body after their disastrous trip to heaven. All of the resentful feelings that had surfaced during that ill fated trip-----culminating in him tossing his amulet in the trash----had come bubbling up, and letting them finally spew out at the object of his feelings had felt good, even as he’d immediately felt guilty seeing Sam’s reaction.
But he’d squashed the feeling. Sam had deserved his words. He’d deserved to know the truth of why Dean was willing to become some angel’s meatsuit to save the world. That he was willing to go against everything they’d been trying to do for the last year if it meant that he wouldn’t have to live with his failure to save his brother. He’d rather give into Michael now and let him do the dirty work, then later when it was too late and Sam was wearing Lucifer to prom.
Dean looked up and found his brother staring at him with an expression that was quickly wiped away at his glance. Something about it bothered him, invoking a feeling he didn’t like.
What he didn’t remember was that it was the same expression Sam wore right before he walked out the door to start his life at Stanford. The same combination of hurt and determination, love and resignation.
A few moments later, he watched Sam rise from his place to walk toward him, taking his plate and empty bottle to put back on the tray. Dean’s eyebrows rose at the slight tremble in his brother’s hands as he took the things away and he wondered what caused it. He found himself unable to keep quiet.
“You okay?”
Sam’s shoulders stiffened where he’d had his back to him, gathering the dishes.
When he turned back to face him, Dean looked up at him in inquiry as he his brother remained silent.
“You’ll be out of here soon, Dean.” Sam’s voice was husky when he finally answered, and Dean frowned.
“You’re letting me out?”
“Not….not yet, but…” Sam turned away from him again, and picked up the tray. “Cas’s working on something.” He made to leave, but Dean stopped him.
“Wait a minute,” Dean said suspiciously, not liking that answer and the feeling that Sam’s expression left him with. “What…..”
“Don’t worry about it, Dean. This isn’t your problem anymore.”
“What do you mean, ‘This isn’t my problem? The Michael problem or the Lucifer problem?” Dean got up to confront his brother, but Sam was already at the door. “Hey, answer me! What the hell is Cas doing ? What prob….”
“All of the problems,” Sam said, stepping out of the panic room door.
“Damn it, Sam,” Dean growled, his arm shooting out to grab his brother, but Sam shut the door before he managed to make contact. “What the hell’s going on?” Dean peered at him through the open grate in the door, but Sam wouldn’t make eye contact, even though he didn’t move away. “Send Cas down here,” Dean demanded. “Cas!” he shouted, “Get your angelic ass down here and tell me what the hell you and my idiot brother are up to…..now!”
“Cas is gone, Dean,” Sam told him almost wearily. “He’ll be back later and you can talk to him.”
“Sam…”Dean started angrily, but Sam was walking away toward the basement steps.
“Sam!” Dean shouted at him, but his brother ignored him, only the slight flinch in his shoulders showing that he’d heard him.
Dean turned back toward the cot in the panic room, wanting to punch a hole in the wall, but knowing he’d probably break every one of his fingers in the process. Sitting down, he dropped his head in his hands, the uneasy feeling in his gut making him nauseous as he thought of all the trouble that Sam could get into without him there to watch his back. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, also realizing that he’d given up that right the minute he’d left Sam to go say yes to Michael.
He was stuck. Dean closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall, wishing now that he hadn’t eaten the lunch Sam had brought. It was threatening to come back up. God…..Sam…..
Dean sat forward and put his head in his hands.
“Cas, if you’re listening man, you’d better not let that dumbass doing anything stupid….”
TBC.................