Title: The End of All Things
Author: Tahirire
Characters: SamnDean mainly
Rating: Pg -13
Category: Gen
Word Count: 7,738
Spoilers: This verse picks up right at the end of 3.16.
Summary: Sam has Dean back, but not like he expected.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters belong to Eric Kripke, genius, and to the CW, a bunch of morons.
Beta:
lotr_lemmy Author's note: The Spirit Verse is, 1)
Not All Who Wander Are Lost, 2)
The Road Goes Ever On and On, 3)
Into the West, and now this. Titles from this verse are from Tolkien. This is, as the title indicates, the FINAL part. Hee.
The End of All Things
“Dean, I mean it, that’s not funny. We’re gonna get pulled over!”
Aw, come on, grow a pair. It’s fun. Besides, if we get pulled over, you can just tell them my baby’s the new K.I.T.T. prototype.
“K.I.T.T. is a Firebird, Dean.”
Well, they quit making those.
“They quit making these, too! Now seriously, knock it off!”
Fine, geez, you really have no sense of humor.” Dean griped, his body stutter-flashing into view.
Sam leaned back into the leather, finally relaxing after a particularly long stretch of road in which Dean had decided it was more fun to be invisible while driving than just about anything he’d ever done before.
Sam didn’t even want to think about the school bus they had passed.
“You hungry? I kind of want a burger,” Dean asked hopefully, tossing a pleading look in Sam’s direction. Sam laughed, shaking his head in utter disbelief.
“Dude. I’m pretty sure you don’t actually have to eat.” Sam made a show of rolling his eyes, hunching down in his chair, and looking pissed. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into letting you drive.” He turned his head to glare out the window, trying to hide the smile tugging insistently at the corners of his mouth.
The thing was, he could feel Dean’s lighthearted skepticism, and he was fairly sure Dean could feel his surge of fond amusement as well. Stupid psychic link, he thought bitterly.
I heard that. Dean responded instantly, not bothering with actual words.
“Man, shut up.”
“Come on, Sammy. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.” Dean offered casually, tossing it out there the same way most people would say hey, stop and smell the roses. “Once this is over, you don’t get the free Dean Winchester sharing-and-caring pass anymore.” He added fervently, gesturing with an emphatic wave of his hand.
Something clenched in Sam’s chest at the words, but he couldn’t define the actual reason why, not exactly. Standing mind-to-mind with Dean was liberating at times, sure - but he was always careful to keep his distance, knowing Dean would resent any real attempt at an intrusion on his part. There was something to be said for finally being inside Dean’s guard, looking past the high walls his brother kept. But keeping the inside track wasn’t worth the cost of his brother’s life. Getting Dean back for real was the most important thing, and nothing would stop him from seeing that happen.
“Ooh, Hardees,” Dean exclaimed, pulling onto the exit ramp.
Sam didn’t bother pointing out that no matter where they went, no matter how well Dean held it together, people were bound to shy away from him like he was carrying the plague.
There wasn’t any point - nothing stood between Dean and food. Apparently, not even death.
~*~
Sam sat next to Dean in the booth, violating the cardinal rule of one person facing each available exit, but more desperate to block Dean from the curious glances of the other patrons.
Thank God Dean picked Hardees. Sam didn’t know what he’d do if he had to deal with a waitress. With a wicked smirk, Sam thought loudly that food probably wasn’t the only thing death couldn’t keep Dean from indulging in.
Dean tensed, then turned to regard his brother with open disbelief. “Dude. That’s gross. Like I told that vampire chick - I draw the line at necrophilia.”
Sam groaned and dissolved into hysterical fits of laughter. Dean held the glare for a moment longer before his eyes softened and he snorted a soft laugh of his own, nodding slightly and turning to the task at hand.
Sam grinned and sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the solidity of Dean’s shoulder bumping against his own. He’d never once questioned, in the horrific moments after Dean’s death, that he would get his brother back somehow. But he never thought he’d have Dean around to help him, either.
It wasn’t exactly luck, but he was a Winchester, and he figured it was as close as he was ever going to get.
It already seemed like an eternity had passed since yesterday. Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing it to fill him, reaching out to the city, power responding lazily in the early afternoon haze. Even the country air seemed fresher now that Lilith was gone.
He exhaled slowly, drawing the current back in. No demons within 50 miles. He could relax for a moment, just enjoy being.
Uh - Sam?
Sam was totally unprepared for the wave of sadness that washed through his awareness. His eyes snapped open in alarm, and he turned his gaze towards Dean to find his brother staring forlornly at the burger, elbows on the table and both hands wrapped gently around the bun.
Sam frowned. What’s wrong?
We can go now, if you want. Dean thought, resolutely setting the burger down into the paper wrapper.
Hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?” Sam asked out loud.
Dean actually jumped a little, startled by the sound of Sam’s voice. He pushed back from the table, pressing into the seat of the booth, and ran a hand distractedly through his hair.
He shot Sam a somewhat bitter smile. “Can’t taste it.” His voice was light, but Sam could sense the bitter wash of frustration underneath.
Sam didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He gave Dean a tight nod, smiled sympathetically, and tried to ignore the sick feeling clenching his guts into knots.
Dead. Your brother is dead. It’s not alright, nothing is.
At the sudden stricken look on Sam’s face, Dean laughed, elbowing him out of the booth. He shook his head. “Don’t worry, Sammy. We’ll fix it.”
Sam turned towards the trash can, threw the offending meal away, and tried really hard to believe him.
~*~
Sam took comfort in climbing into the passenger’s seat. It was something familiar, something he hadn’t quite realized how much he missed until he had no choice but to drive.
Once they were safely on the road again, and Sam was convinced that Dean wasn’t going to attract anymore unwanted attention, he allowed his thoughts to drift.
A comfortable silence enveloped the car as the miles ticked by. Sam could feel Dean’s deep contentment as he steered the Impala back to Bobby’s place. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked for missed calls.
Idle curiosity turned quickly to worry when the screen came up blank.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, not bothering to take his eyes from the road.
“Bobby didn’t call me yesterday,” Sam murmured, hitting the older hunter’s speed dial number and raising the phone to his ear.
Singer. Leave a message.
Sam shut the phone with a soft click, hand falling numbly to his side. “Huh.”
“You said he was after some vampires, right?” Dean asked casually, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel.
“Yeah. But he wouldn’t miss a call, Dean.” Sam insisted.
“Maybe he’s closing in on them, needs to keep it quiet for a while.”Dean answered. Sam stared at him, amazed. Dean’s face and body language were completely relaxed, but the undercurrent linking them together was constricting, worry tying his brother up in knots.
Sam blew out a long sigh and looked out the window at the acres of farmland rolling by. Maybe Bobby was busy. Maybe he just forgot to call. Yeah, right.
Dean squinted hard out the windshield, staring at the road like he was expecting it to talk to him and give him all the answers. Sam’s inner tension eased as quickly as it came, vanishing as Dean made his decision.
“He tell you where he was?”
~*~
It was the largest nest he’d ever tracked. Smart, too; from the looks of things there were only a few of them, a small group at best, but as Bobby sat in the back of the large abandoned barn and felt his blood slowly replenish itself he tried not to count all the ways he’d been wrong about that.
Damn stupid, that’s what he was.
The long row of iron cages bracketing the back wall held at least twelve people, and the ravenous swarm of vampires constantly brought in more prey. Bobby had only been in the cage a day or so by his reckoning, but that was plenty long enough. There were at least thirty members in the nest, and as a victim, the rollover around the place was high.
The air was cooling as the afternoon sun dropped below the horizon when a hush fell over the slowly awakening group. They stood, listening, smelling the wind, and they began to smile. Hunter, the leader whispered.
Bobby’s blood stopped pumping. Sam was the only one who knew where he was. The familiar growl of the Impala’s engine reached his ears, and he groaned, willing the boy away.
Within seconds, the wooden doors flew open. Sam burst in like a whirlwind, and force came with him. Bobby’s muddled mind froze in shock at the feel of the air; tinged with electricity, cold as ice. As one, the bloodthirsty crowd turned to regard the boy, hands curling into claws, fangs descending in anticipation of tasting his blood.
Bobby blinked hard, straining to clear the fog from his eyes. Sam looked unarmed. He tried to call out, but his weakened voice was lost in the swelling roar of the crowd yelling for Sam’s blood.
Sam walked directly into the middle of the crowd, barely sparing them a passing glance. His dark eyes swept over Bobby for a single instant, intensely focused as they checked him, and then they closed.
Bobby loosed a wordless shout as the vampires closed in on Sam as one body, surrounding him completely. “Dammit, Sam, run!” he rasped. He thrashed uselessly against the bars, white spots clouding the edges of his vision as he tried to keep an eye on Sam for one more precious moment, because it seemed like that was all he was going to have before the Winchester family vanished from the damn cursed earth for once and for all.
Bobby stared in horror as Sam’s hands came up from his sides, empty. He spread his arms wide, palms out, never looking at the monsters that threatened to tear him to shreds.
Sam was totally exposed, almost as if he was offering himself to the hoard. Bobby’s stomach clenched, and he almost turned away, but he found he couldn’t. The vampires sensed no threat and lunged, moving lighting fast to take the younger hunter down.
Without even opening his eyes, Sam took a deep breath.
Everything stopped.
If Bobby had had a remote, he’d have sworn he accidentally hit the ‘pause’ button. Every vampire, every moving object in the room just froze. He felt the muscles in his body clamp down tight under an invisible grip. He struggled weakly, but it was no use.
The crowd of vampires writhed, arms reaching out for Sam, but got nowhere. Their feral eyes widened in disbelief. Sam stood motionless in the center of the ring of monsters, eyes closed tight, arms beginning to tremble with an unseen effort.
Bobby already thought he’d been close to losing his mind, but he tipped right on over the edge when through clenched teeth Sam whispered, “Now, Dean. Go.”
The undead didn’t feel the cold, but Bobby did. A surge of ice swept the barn, frosted the iron bars of the cage, seeped into his bones. An aching dread filled him, and he could see the fog of his breath coming in rapid gasps.
There was a flash of motion, a flicker, so fast that Bobby almost didn’t see it, and he wouldn’t have believed it if it weren’t for the fact that the head of the vampire nearest to Sam was lying on the ground, blood pouring out in bursts.
One after another, the monsters began to fall. It seemed that they fell in beat to the pounding of Bobby’s heart in his chest, so fast, so hard to see what was happening. There was no noise but the sudden, eerie wind, no feeling but the cold.
In the center of it all, Sam sank to his knees in the puddle of spilled blood, bowed as if the weight of holding back the vampires was crushing him. Sweat began to pour from his forehead, running down his neck into the damp cotton of his undershirt. His breathing picked up, and he began to shake. “Dean.”
The cry was low and raspy, little more than a gasp for air, but the cold wash of air over Bobby vanished instantly, and he blinked along with the few remaining vampires as the fluid blur of motion came sharply into focus.
Bobby’s jaw dropped and he worked to croak out a cry, but no words could move past the roadblock forming in his throat.
Dean’s face was livid with rage, and his shoulders rolled with effortless power as he stalked the circle; brutal, efficient slashes of the machete in his hand finishing off the nest’s occupants. As he went, he cast sparing glances towards Sam, and Sam’s face seemed to relax, even though Dean never spoke a word.
Slash. Eyes cast to Sam. Slash. Check on Sam. The last vampire fell hard, and Dean lowered the blade, throwing it forcefully to the blood-soaked hay. He nodded once, tightly, as though giving confirmation the job was done.
Sam shuddered, letting out a long, explosive breath, and slumped immediately to the floor. Dean, solid and whole, was at his side in an instant. “Hey, look at me. Sam. Sammy?”
“I’m ok. Get Bobby.” Sam was breathing heavily, like he just ran a marathon.
Or maybe like he just froze thirty vampires with just the power of his mind.
Dean moved away from Sam reluctantly, and finally his eyes met Bobby’s. The chill at the base of Bobby’s spine intensified, but the green in those eyes, the sheepish well-I-guess-you-caught-me grin, those were all Dean.
“Hey, Bobby,” Dean whispered, moving towards the cage. He stopped just outside of arm’s reach, studying the iron with an exasperated look on his face. “Dammit. Sam? A little help here?” Behind him, Sam stood slowly to his feet, waving a hand in Dean’s direction. Dean turned his attention back to Bobby. “You ok?”
Bobby’s breath finally caught up with him, but he was interrupted before he could even start to yell by the youngest Winchester, who had dropped down right in front of his face and was glaring at him with a look he couldn’t put a name to.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sam growled.
“Boy, I oughta -“
“That wouldn’t be very wise of you.” Sam retorted.
Dean grabbed the back of Sam’s jacket and hauled him up, spinning him around face to face. “Sam, what the hell?”
Sam stood firm, stepping between Bobby and Dean. “He doesn’t understand, Dean. You’re a revenant. What did you think he was gonna say?”
Bobby blinked in surprise at how easily he’d gotten confirmation. Sam knelt back down beside the iron door, his voice pitched low, pleading. “I needed him, Bobby. I needed him, and he stayed. And I should have told you before, I know. I’m sorry. But we’re almost there, we’re halfway there, ok? Just give us some time. Please?”
Bobby thought that he seriously needed to look up some kind of charm that would protect him from that boy’s damned puppy eyes. He cleared his throat, studied the hay instead. “What do you mean, halfway there?”
“Lilith’s dead, man. Sam tracked her down - and I killed her. The deal’s broken.” Dean’s whispered voice flowed over the older man like cold shards of ice. Bobby looked to Sam in disbelief.
“So you’re a real psychic now, are ya?” He smiled weakly, knowing that Sam would see it for what it was; an honest effort not to lose his temper.
Sam smiled back, but something in his gaze was hard, warning. Sam’s face stilled in concentration, and with a loud wrenching sound, the iron door pulled loose from the cage.
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
~*~
Bobby helped Sam evacuate the other victims before getting down to the clean-up. Dean hovered at the edge of Bobby’s senses, keeping his space out of respect, maybe. Or maybe even as a revenant, Dean still had a shred of common sense.
“What should we - yeah. You’re prolly right. I’ll get the kerosene.” Sam was holding one-sided conversations like it happened every day, and Bobby couldn’t shake the crawling feeling in his bones.
Sam headed out to the Impala, but not before fixing Bobby with a level stare, point very well implied, thank-you-very-much.
Bobby had just finished lugging the last body into the burning pile when Dean popped up right in front of his face, nearly giving him a heart attack in the process. Dean - no, not Dean, dammit, a spirit, - looked furious. He blurted out three words, “We’ve got trouble,” and vanished.
~*~
Dean stopped cold just past the splintered barn doors, staring. Sam was facing the tree line, his eyes locked on six figures approaching from the woods. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his right hand flew to the bridge of his nose, rubbing there like he was in pain.
Dean rushed forward, gripping him by the shoulders, bracing him. “Sam?”
Before Sam had a chance to reply, the shorter blond man in the center of the group stepped forward, voice raised loud enough to carry through the dark. “That you, Sammy? Thanks for the broadcast, thought we’d never find you.” The low, oily voice gurgled and rasped, and in the dark, Dean’s heightened senses could see the slick-shine of blood dripping down from the man’s deeply slit throat.
Sam growled, feral, and still clutching his head with one hand, he threw out his other hand in defiance. His weight shifted dangerously. Dean stepped underneath his open side to steady him, cry of protest sticking in his throat like glue.
The light of Sam’s power was flaring outward, pushing back against the approaching demons, moving in slow spirals from the tips of his fingers. The dark taint of Azazel’s blood trailed along, running counterpoint to the light in a twisted swirl.
The six figures slowed, uncertainty on their faces, almost as though they were moving through water. Dean watched, horrified, as an opposing dark force spread out from the group, meeting Sam’s light and pushing it slowly back.
Sam gasped for air. Already exhausted, his defenses were crumbling rapidly. I can’t hold them, I. Dean. Sam’s thoughts were fragmented and fuzzy, not so much flowing across the connection as buzzing around it. H..help me. He cried out once more, and a strong surge burst forward from his fingertips, regaining precious ground.
Immediately both hands flew to his head, and Dean barely caught him as he collapsed gracelessly to the dirt.
“Sam, talk to me man, how can I -“
“Hold them back,” Sam gasped, redirecting his left hand to fist the front of Dean’s jacket. “Keep, mmm.” Heavy, shaky breath. “Keep them still.”
Dean thought he could maybe figure out what that meant, if he had time to think about it and they weren’t all about to get killed, or, ok, if Sam and Bobby weren’t about to get killed; but instead he reached into Sam’s jacket pocket, came up empty, and starting checking the waistline of his jeans. He allowed himself a quick glace. The demons were moving swiftly now, and Dean could see Sam’s light flickering and going out, giving in to the demon’s dark Serge.
Sam wasn’t so out of it he didn’t swat Dean’s hand away. “What’re you doin’?” He slurred indignantly. “Demons, Dean!” Releasing his brother, he gestured grandly towards the advancing group. Dean rolled his eyes and gripped Sam’s face hard, demanding his attention.
“Where’s the knife, moron,” Dean snarled. Comprehension dawned bright in Sam’s pain-damped eyes, but the look on his face told Dean all he needed to know. He didn’t have it. “Dammit, Sammy, I don’t know how to … do what you do.” He whispered frantically.
As soon as the admission left his lips, Sam yanked hard on his jacket, tugging Dean forcefully down onto the ground with him. Sam refocused his attention on the demons, but inside Dean felt Sam clearly across the link. Sam’s presence was weakened and pained, but underneath, his brother’s will was iron. The sharp edges of Sam’s power flared through Dean’s arm as Sam grabbed his hand and directed it outward, using Dean as a conduit. Push, Sam commanded, and, drawing on his fear and rage, Dean did.
Sam’s light filled Dean instantly, and with a single thought Dean released the power. It rushed across the field on revanant’s wind; leaving frost on the tips of the grass blades and turning the humid air to fog.
The blanket of black shadow surrounding the advancing demons was washed away, and the demons froze in place as the light entrapped them, wrapping glowing chains around them and holding them fast.
Sam took a breath of fresh air, lines of tension in his face easing as he let Dean share the burden. The shaking in his muscles quieted, and he stood smoothly. Focusing on controlling the telekinetic field in his command, Dean didn’t have time to shiver at the deadly look in Sam’s eyes.
The demons howled and writhed in his hold, but the light stood firm. Their indignant cries turned to terror as Sam moved closer, the void inside him flaring outward viciously. Free now from the restraining power of the light, the demon’s tainted blood rushed forward eagerly. Underneath, through their link, Dean felt blood lust and hatred, and he was suddenly afraid.
Sam, be careful.
Sam eyed the demons almost with disinterest. “So you were looking for me?” Sam purred, a rattlesnake’s strike. “Too bad for you.”
As one the demon’s hosts doubled over, retching violently. Slowly, the foul black smoke of possession flowed from every orifice, falling like soot to the ground, swirling in panic at Sam’s inexorable pull.
Sam gave one final push, heady with the power. The final traces of black smoke seeped into the grass, flames rushing up to claim the remnants as the demons were dragged screaming into the Pit.
Dean stared in awe as the flames died, barely aware of the sound of Bobby running out to meet them. He turned to Sam, ready with congratulations, and froze in horror.
Sam’s hazel eyes were rimmed with yellow. The light of Sam’s own power was spent, and all around him, the pulsing aura of darkness remained. Inside, Dean couldn’t grasp his presence. Sam’s gaze was stricken, and he raised a trembling hand to his brother in a wordless plea. Everything slowed as Dean opened his mouth to yell, but it was too late.
Sam fell, deep inside himself, and the darkness followed him down. The light in his eyes faded well before his legs gave out, and he collapsed silently into the grass at Dean’s feet.
Bobby’s voice seemed far away as Dean followed Sam to the ground. He stopped the man’s movement with little more than a stray thought and he looked up to meet his gaze, apology in his eyes. “It’s his powers. The dark side … it’s taking him over.”
“Jesus,” Bobby breathed, casting his eyes back and forth between them.
“I know you hate this, but you gotta trust me. I need to go in there. He’s … he’s drowning.” Dean ignored the way his voice cracked on the last word, and felt a pathetic rush of gratitude when Bobby did the same.
“You ain’t gonna …” Bobby trailed off, question dying on the night air.
“I won’t hurt him. I swear.” Dean’s second sight searched deep. The black, inky essence of the yellow-eyed demon was surrounding his brother, and he didn’t have any more time to waste. “I could use a lookout, otherwise stay out of my way.” He said.
Dean’s eyes held no room for argument, and Bobby unconsciously shrank back from the intensity of his glare. Dean moved forward and leaned down, lifting Sam easily in his arms like he didn’t weigh a damn thing. Dean stood, one arm beneath Sam’s knees and one wrapped carefully around his neck and shoulders, cradling him as his head lolled loosely to the side.
“You comin’ or what?”
Dean walked to the edge of the property and laid Sam gently on a rough wooden picnic table near the treeline. Bobby fidgeted on the edges of his senses, but Dean shut him out. He sat down on the bench seat, rested the palm of his hand on Sam’s forehead, and vanished.
Part two