Fic: Programmed to Receive
Author: therellbepeace3
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2900
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Lucifer, Meg; gen.
Summary: Another way the Winchester boys could've found themselves at "The End." AU directly after "No Rest For the Wicked."
Warnings: Angst, language.
Notes: Gift!fic for writewanderlust, who requested fic based on The Eagles' song "Hotel California."
Dean pressed his boot harder onto the accelerator, smiling as the Impala surged forward along the highway. The windows were open, creating a sharp, refreshing wind out of the cool, dry California night air, and he couldn’t help but lean his body towards the window just a little more.
Two bags of food sat on the seat next to him, holding the dinner he’d gotten from a diner for him and Sam. Glancing at the road to make sure no cars were coming, he reached over and snagged a few French fries from their Styrofoam container. He licked the warm grease from his fingers after he stuffed them in his mouth.
Dean settled back against the window, one hand loosely gripping the steering wheel, and thought over the case they were working on. Sam usually avoided working in California, if they could-too many memories they both would rather leave behind them-but Bobby had called, saying he had a friend that needed help, a simple salt n’ burn case that he couldn’t take care of because he was already working one. Dean had left the decision up to Sam, who ultimately agreed, but had been quiet and withdrawn since they crossed the state line a few hours back. Dean hadn’t argued when Sam said he wanted to eat in that night. The deaths of Ellen and Jo were still raw and painful, and not without a fair addition of guilt to both their shoulders, and Dean didn’t want to, couldn’t, think about how that was compounding Sam’s memories of Jessica.
He was only a couple miles out from the motel when the radio started to break-up, white noise cutting into the guitar lines, and Dean slowed the car subtly, moving his left hand to the steering wheel and reaching behind him with his right to grab his gun, keeping his fingers curled over it on the seat next to him. After a minute the static stopped, but so did the music. Frowning, Dean fiddled with the dial, trying to hone in on another station. When the opening notes of an Eagles’ song filtered out through the speakers, he turned it up, mouthing along with the words, “On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair…”
Then he turned off the highway ramp, signaled his right-hand turn, and was met with a bright, colorless light, so overwhelming that even when he closed his eyes, he could feel involuntary tears pooling behind his lids. He blindly tried to pull the Impala into a U-turn, but when a sharp, piercing noise rose up around him, he slammed on the brakes, bringing his hands to his ears, futilely trying to block out the sound. The last thing he remembered was the light and sound comingling, becoming so intense that he felt like he was surrounded by an absolute, weightless silence.
***
Sam laid back on the bed, flipping absently through the channels on the small, outdated TV. He settled on some rerun of Law & Order, before changing the channel to a nature program, and then a few minutes later, changing it again to a local news report.
He’d thought his restlessness would dissipate after a couple hours of settling in, but his long-practiced repression and denial just wasn’t up to par after the past few months. When Dean first left to get dinner, he had tried to do some extra research to supplement what Bobby had sent them, but a half-hour in, he found himself looking through old emails and pictures from his Stanford days that he kept saved on his hard drive (for what, he wasn’t sure). After that, he’d closed his laptop quickly, cleaned their knives, sorted their laundry, and tried to figure out where they’d pick up a copy of The Outsiders and why they still had it in one of their bags.
He was just settling in with a documentary about the Vietnam War, questioning the amount of time it was taking Dean to come back with their food, when the bed dipped next to him, and he almost broke his arm rolling frantically off the bed and reaching for a weapon. When he’d finally gotten his bearings, he found Castiel staring down at him with a practiced expression of regret on his face.
“I’m sorry. It seems I startled you.”
“Shit, Cas, a little warning might be nice, next time. Now I get what Dean complains about…”
Castiel frowned briefly at that, but then shook his head and focused again on Sam. “Yes, I apologize. This time, however, I was in a rush and needed to speak with you as quickly as possible.”
Sam looked at Castiel, noticing that his shoulders were even tenser than they usually were, and that he was standing as if he might have to leave at a second’s notice. He nodded towards the table, and sat down in one of the chairs, not surprised when Castiel remained standing. “What’s wrong?”
Castiel looked as if he were debating something, but then seemed to come to a decision, straightening his posture further. “They have Dean.”
Sam looked at him blankly for a moment before the words processed. Then he was on his feet, pressed into Castiel’s personal space, grabbing his jacket off the chair back without even thinking. “What? Who? Michael. Is this about Michael?”
“Sam, I need you to calm down. We need to devise a plan, and I need your help, and I won’t get it if your head is lost over your brother. Sit.”
Sam stared at Castiel in shock but did as he was told, sitting back in his seat and waiting, wide eyed, for Castiel to continue.
“Now, it is not Michael who has Dean. Indeed, that would be much simpler, and I wouldn’t have needed to bother you at all.”
“Okay,” Sam responded slowly, his mind completely frozen, “if it’s not Michael…who is it?”
“Lucifer.”
There was a moment of silence that hung heavy in the motel room, punctuated by the arrhythmic drip of the leaky showerhead.
“Lucifer? But, why? I mean...I’m his vessel, what would he want with Dean? Oh God, he’s not going to try to kill him to try to keep Michael from using him as a vessel, is he?”
While Sam spit out his words in a frantic ramble, Castiel watched patiently, his expression grave.
“No, I don’t believe it’s like that. Now, I do know where it is, but-”
“You know where it is?” Sam asked, popping up again. “Then why are you here? Go get him!”
“Sam. Don’t you think I would have done so if I could?”
Sam said nothing.
“I know where he is, but there’s no way for me to get in. Lucifer and the demons he has with him were incredibly thorough in the protection of the building from angels.”
“You know where it is though. Take me there.”
Castiel considered Sam for a minute, tilting his head slightly. He nodded. “Okay.”
***
When Dean woke up, he tried to run a hand across his eyes and quickly realized that he was bound by his wrists. A quick, efficient attempt to lift his legs revealed that his ankles were bound also.
Blinking away the disorienting remnants of unconsciousness, Dean did a quick scan of his surroundings: he was on a bed in what looked like a hotel room, nicer than the ones he and Sam stayed in; there was a window, but there were bars across it, and the glass was blackened to keep anyone from seeing out or in; and Meg was sitting in a plush chair in the corner of the room.
When Dean met Meg’s eyes she gave him a feral half-smile, rising to walk to the bed. She leaned over his body, placing one hand on his chest. Dean gritted his teeth but said nothing.
“Hiya, Dean. Took you long enough to come around; I almost thought we wouldn’t be able to use you.”
Dean glanced around for anything he could use to break his restraints, to get Meg away from him, to take out revenge for Jo and Ellen on her the way he desperately wanted. Seeing nothing, he cursed internally and rolled his eyes to look at Meg.
“Where am I?”
Meg straightened up, gesturing around the room. “You, Dean, are in one of the finest rooms in this establishment. It’s really quite prestigious-my father runs it himself.”
“What?”
“Well, he needs somewhere to stay, something to do, while he waits for your brother, doesn’t he?” Meg smiled at the way Dean’s mouth tightened at the mention of Sam. “And what better way than taking over an old hotel, fixing it up a bit, getting it ready for some…esteemed guests.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Lucifer in a hotel, in California? This is a joke. God, maybe I’ve finally cracked.”
“Sorry, no God here, Dean.” Meg sat down on the edge of the bed. “My father, though, he knows your fondness for classic rock. Thought you’d appreciate the gesture.”
“Yeah, well fuck you both.”
“Now, Dean, is that anyway to speak in your current condition? You don’t even know what we want from you.”
Dean’s attention sparked at that, but he didn’t let his curiosity change his carefully disinterested expression.
Meg smirked. “Well, lucky for you, we don’t want much from you. Just to keep you here until Sam comes looking. Really, all we need is you alive. The rest will take care of itself.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ll see.” Meg stood up and walked to the door, unlocking it and stepping into the hall. Before she closed it, she called back over her shoulder, “Enjoy your stay!” and then Dean was alone again.
***
Sam and Castiel crouched behind the shrubbery at the edge of the property facing the hotel.
“You’re sure this is it?”
Castiel nodded. “Yes, I’m positive.”
Sam ran his hands through his hair, watching the people-demons, he guessed-milling around in front of the building. He was trying not to panic, but it was a losing battle. He didn’t know if Dean was okay-if he was alive-or what Lucifer wanted with him. He wondered if Dean was conscious right now, if he was trying to fight his way out, or if he were trapped somewhere, waiting for Sam, hoping that his brother would find him. Sam tried to ignore the thoughts that said that maybe Dean wasn’t expecting him at all, that maybe he didn’t trust Sam as much as it seemed like he was starting to again, that maybe Sam had made some sort of deal with Lucifer, that he’d given his brother over. He tried to focus only on thoughts of Dean needs me and rather than how am I going to do this?, simply I’m going to do this.
He didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right up behind him, and by then he didn’t have time to do more than turn while fumbling for his gun.
Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t Meg staring down at him, a smug smile tugging at her lips. He felt Castiel come up next to him, and he tried to keep breathing through the anger and grief seeing her face slammed into his chest.
“Sam, it’s good to see you again, and so soon. I assume you’re here for Dean?”
Sam tried to keep his poker face, he really did, but then he heard himself ask, “Do you have him? Is he okay?”
The look on Meg’s face made him nauseous, and he tightened his grip on his gun, even though he knew a bullet would do nothing. “That really depends on you, now, Sam. My father would like to speak with you. He’s been waiting.”
“Take me to him.” Sam felt Castiel put a hand on his arm. He shook it off.
“This is a trap,” Castiel whispered angrily into his ear.
“Yeah, I know,” Sam answered. “But it’s Dean.”
***
The first thing that Sam saw when he entered the ballroom a few steps behind Meg was a circle of demons standing around his brother who was pinned to the wall, looking frustrated and pissed and a little bored, but otherwise unharmed. Sam’s pulse double-timed with relief, and he didn’t keep his eyes off Dean as he moved further into the room.
When Dean saw him, he could see shock, concern, anger, and relief flare in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Sam assumed he couldn’t.
When he made it to the front of the room, Lucifer stepped out from the door that led to the kitchen of the hotel. “Sam. So glad you could make it. I wanted to have a little chat.”
“Does Dean need to be here for this chat?” He kept his focus solely on Lucifer, but could feel Dean glaring daggers at him.
“Yes, for now.” Lucifer leaned against the edge of the stage that likely held a band at functions, folding his hands in front of him. “I’ve got a proposal for you Sam. And before you say no, I think you should listen to the options very closely. I think you’ll find the terms are fair.”
Sam swallowed but nodded, not seeing much of an alternative and wishing that he could ask his brother what to do, what was going on, or that Castiel could be in here as back-up.
“I wanted to facilitate the process of saying ‘yes’-all this dancing around each other is really so silly, when in the end, you’re going to let me in anyways. So I’ve got a trade for you: your brother for your body.”
Sam swallowed, glancing at Dean to see his eyes widening. “What?”
“It’s simple, really. You say ‘yes,’ Dean goes free. I won’t bother him; I’ll even call my demons off his tail. I won’t even hold that gunshot in the graveyard against him. If you say no, though, well-I can’t promise you that I won’t help Dean find his way back to Hell. And this time, there won’t be a way off the rack. Those are my cards, Sam. No tricks. It’s all up to you. No fine print, no conditions. Just one word, yes or no. What’s it gonna be?”
Sam couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could only stare shell-shocked at Dean, whose eyes were pleading no but whether he was pleading for Sam to save him or for Sam to save himself, he couldn’t be sure. All he could think of was the weeks after Dean had first gotten back from Hell, when he was jumpy and trying to hide it, the conversation on the Impala when Dean finally admitted his pain and there was nothing Sam could do to fix it. He thought of the months when Dean was in Hell, knowing that his brother was suffering because of him, for him, that he had sacrificed everything he had, and there was no taking it back. Sam remember the year before Dean’s soul had been collected by the hell hounds, how he’d tried so hard, so desperately, to find a way out for Dean, and how he hadn’t been able to. He saw Dean’s fear when Meg had showed up with the hell hounds that night with Jo and Ellen. He thought about how this time, he had a way to protect Dean, save dean, sitting right in front of him. A life for a life. Just one little word.
“Yes.” Sam watched Lucifer’s face break into a slow smile.
“You’re sure, now, Sam. Wouldn’t want anyone claiming I’d twisted your arm.”
“I’m sure. Yes.” Sam took a deep breath and looked over at Dean, who’d managed to get his mouth open, but no sound came out. His eyes were bright and frantic, and didn’t move from Sam’s face once.
“Okay, then.”
***
There was another blinding light, and Dean registered somewhere in the back of his head that this was it. He closed his eyes, and he dropped to the ground, feeling shaky and lost without the pressure that had been holding him against the wall.
Dean took a few minutes to breathe on hands and knees before he opened his eyes. When he did, he saw that he was alone in the room with Sam-Lucifer. He wasn’t able to process it on more than factual level. Sam is gone. Sam said yes. It’s over. We lost. Sammy. He wanted to say something snarky, wanted to jump up and fight and kick and scream. Instead, he let his head hang heavy off his neck, and the only word that passed his lips was a broken, “No.”
He saw boots step into his line of vision, Sam’s boots-no, not Sam’s boots-and he thought he was going to throw up. Lucifer crouched down; he looked at him through his brother’s eyes, but Dean couldn’t see Sam in them at all, and his smirk twisted Sam’s lips into a shape that seemed unnatural and cold.
“What do you say, Dean? It’s not Detroit, but I’d say it’s good enough.” He winked.
And then he was gone.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2900
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Lucifer, Meg; gen.
Summary: Another way the Winchester boys could've found themselves at "The End." AU directly after "No Rest For the Wicked."
Warnings: Angst, language.
Notes: Gift!fic for writewanderlust, who requested fic based on The Eagles' song "Hotel California."
Dean pressed his boot harder onto the accelerator, smiling as the Impala surged forward along the highway. The windows were open, creating a sharp, refreshing wind out of the cool, dry California night air, and he couldn’t help but lean his body towards the window just a little more.
Two bags of food sat on the seat next to him, holding the dinner he’d gotten from a diner for him and Sam. Glancing at the road to make sure no cars were coming, he reached over and snagged a few French fries from their Styrofoam container. He licked the warm grease from his fingers after he stuffed them in his mouth.
Dean settled back against the window, one hand loosely gripping the steering wheel, and thought over the case they were working on. Sam usually avoided working in California, if they could-too many memories they both would rather leave behind them-but Bobby had called, saying he had a friend that needed help, a simple salt n’ burn case that he couldn’t take care of because he was already working one. Dean had left the decision up to Sam, who ultimately agreed, but had been quiet and withdrawn since they crossed the state line a few hours back. Dean hadn’t argued when Sam said he wanted to eat in that night. The deaths of Ellen and Jo were still raw and painful, and not without a fair addition of guilt to both their shoulders, and Dean didn’t want to, couldn’t, think about how that was compounding Sam’s memories of Jessica.
He was only a couple miles out from the motel when the radio started to break-up, white noise cutting into the guitar lines, and Dean slowed the car subtly, moving his left hand to the steering wheel and reaching behind him with his right to grab his gun, keeping his fingers curled over it on the seat next to him. After a minute the static stopped, but so did the music. Frowning, Dean fiddled with the dial, trying to hone in on another station. When the opening notes of an Eagles’ song filtered out through the speakers, he turned it up, mouthing along with the words, “On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair…”
Then he turned off the highway ramp, signaled his right-hand turn, and was met with a bright, colorless light, so overwhelming that even when he closed his eyes, he could feel involuntary tears pooling behind his lids. He blindly tried to pull the Impala into a U-turn, but when a sharp, piercing noise rose up around him, he slammed on the brakes, bringing his hands to his ears, futilely trying to block out the sound. The last thing he remembered was the light and sound comingling, becoming so intense that he felt like he was surrounded by an absolute, weightless silence.
***
Sam laid back on the bed, flipping absently through the channels on the small, outdated TV. He settled on some rerun of Law & Order, before changing the channel to a nature program, and then a few minutes later, changing it again to a local news report.
He’d thought his restlessness would dissipate after a couple hours of settling in, but his long-practiced repression and denial just wasn’t up to par after the past few months. When Dean first left to get dinner, he had tried to do some extra research to supplement what Bobby had sent them, but a half-hour in, he found himself looking through old emails and pictures from his Stanford days that he kept saved on his hard drive (for what, he wasn’t sure). After that, he’d closed his laptop quickly, cleaned their knives, sorted their laundry, and tried to figure out where they’d pick up a copy of The Outsiders and why they still had it in one of their bags.
He was just settling in with a documentary about the Vietnam War, questioning the amount of time it was taking Dean to come back with their food, when the bed dipped next to him, and he almost broke his arm rolling frantically off the bed and reaching for a weapon. When he’d finally gotten his bearings, he found Castiel staring down at him with a practiced expression of regret on his face.
“I’m sorry. It seems I startled you.”
“Shit, Cas, a little warning might be nice, next time. Now I get what Dean complains about…”
Castiel frowned briefly at that, but then shook his head and focused again on Sam. “Yes, I apologize. This time, however, I was in a rush and needed to speak with you as quickly as possible.”
Sam looked at Castiel, noticing that his shoulders were even tenser than they usually were, and that he was standing as if he might have to leave at a second’s notice. He nodded towards the table, and sat down in one of the chairs, not surprised when Castiel remained standing. “What’s wrong?”
Castiel looked as if he were debating something, but then seemed to come to a decision, straightening his posture further. “They have Dean.”
Sam looked at him blankly for a moment before the words processed. Then he was on his feet, pressed into Castiel’s personal space, grabbing his jacket off the chair back without even thinking. “What? Who? Michael. Is this about Michael?”
“Sam, I need you to calm down. We need to devise a plan, and I need your help, and I won’t get it if your head is lost over your brother. Sit.”
Sam stared at Castiel in shock but did as he was told, sitting back in his seat and waiting, wide eyed, for Castiel to continue.
“Now, it is not Michael who has Dean. Indeed, that would be much simpler, and I wouldn’t have needed to bother you at all.”
“Okay,” Sam responded slowly, his mind completely frozen, “if it’s not Michael…who is it?”
“Lucifer.”
There was a moment of silence that hung heavy in the motel room, punctuated by the arrhythmic drip of the leaky showerhead.
“Lucifer? But, why? I mean...I’m his vessel, what would he want with Dean? Oh God, he’s not going to try to kill him to try to keep Michael from using him as a vessel, is he?”
While Sam spit out his words in a frantic ramble, Castiel watched patiently, his expression grave.
“No, I don’t believe it’s like that. Now, I do know where it is, but-”
“You know where it is?” Sam asked, popping up again. “Then why are you here? Go get him!”
“Sam. Don’t you think I would have done so if I could?”
Sam said nothing.
“I know where he is, but there’s no way for me to get in. Lucifer and the demons he has with him were incredibly thorough in the protection of the building from angels.”
“You know where it is though. Take me there.”
Castiel considered Sam for a minute, tilting his head slightly. He nodded. “Okay.”
***
When Dean woke up, he tried to run a hand across his eyes and quickly realized that he was bound by his wrists. A quick, efficient attempt to lift his legs revealed that his ankles were bound also.
Blinking away the disorienting remnants of unconsciousness, Dean did a quick scan of his surroundings: he was on a bed in what looked like a hotel room, nicer than the ones he and Sam stayed in; there was a window, but there were bars across it, and the glass was blackened to keep anyone from seeing out or in; and Meg was sitting in a plush chair in the corner of the room.
When Dean met Meg’s eyes she gave him a feral half-smile, rising to walk to the bed. She leaned over his body, placing one hand on his chest. Dean gritted his teeth but said nothing.
“Hiya, Dean. Took you long enough to come around; I almost thought we wouldn’t be able to use you.”
Dean glanced around for anything he could use to break his restraints, to get Meg away from him, to take out revenge for Jo and Ellen on her the way he desperately wanted. Seeing nothing, he cursed internally and rolled his eyes to look at Meg.
“Where am I?”
Meg straightened up, gesturing around the room. “You, Dean, are in one of the finest rooms in this establishment. It’s really quite prestigious-my father runs it himself.”
“What?”
“Well, he needs somewhere to stay, something to do, while he waits for your brother, doesn’t he?” Meg smiled at the way Dean’s mouth tightened at the mention of Sam. “And what better way than taking over an old hotel, fixing it up a bit, getting it ready for some…esteemed guests.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Lucifer in a hotel, in California? This is a joke. God, maybe I’ve finally cracked.”
“Sorry, no God here, Dean.” Meg sat down on the edge of the bed. “My father, though, he knows your fondness for classic rock. Thought you’d appreciate the gesture.”
“Yeah, well fuck you both.”
“Now, Dean, is that anyway to speak in your current condition? You don’t even know what we want from you.”
Dean’s attention sparked at that, but he didn’t let his curiosity change his carefully disinterested expression.
Meg smirked. “Well, lucky for you, we don’t want much from you. Just to keep you here until Sam comes looking. Really, all we need is you alive. The rest will take care of itself.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ll see.” Meg stood up and walked to the door, unlocking it and stepping into the hall. Before she closed it, she called back over her shoulder, “Enjoy your stay!” and then Dean was alone again.
***
Sam and Castiel crouched behind the shrubbery at the edge of the property facing the hotel.
“You’re sure this is it?”
Castiel nodded. “Yes, I’m positive.”
Sam ran his hands through his hair, watching the people-demons, he guessed-milling around in front of the building. He was trying not to panic, but it was a losing battle. He didn’t know if Dean was okay-if he was alive-or what Lucifer wanted with him. He wondered if Dean was conscious right now, if he was trying to fight his way out, or if he were trapped somewhere, waiting for Sam, hoping that his brother would find him. Sam tried to ignore the thoughts that said that maybe Dean wasn’t expecting him at all, that maybe he didn’t trust Sam as much as it seemed like he was starting to again, that maybe Sam had made some sort of deal with Lucifer, that he’d given his brother over. He tried to focus only on thoughts of Dean needs me and rather than how am I going to do this?, simply I’m going to do this.
He didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right up behind him, and by then he didn’t have time to do more than turn while fumbling for his gun.
Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t Meg staring down at him, a smug smile tugging at her lips. He felt Castiel come up next to him, and he tried to keep breathing through the anger and grief seeing her face slammed into his chest.
“Sam, it’s good to see you again, and so soon. I assume you’re here for Dean?”
Sam tried to keep his poker face, he really did, but then he heard himself ask, “Do you have him? Is he okay?”
The look on Meg’s face made him nauseous, and he tightened his grip on his gun, even though he knew a bullet would do nothing. “That really depends on you, now, Sam. My father would like to speak with you. He’s been waiting.”
“Take me to him.” Sam felt Castiel put a hand on his arm. He shook it off.
“This is a trap,” Castiel whispered angrily into his ear.
“Yeah, I know,” Sam answered. “But it’s Dean.”
***
The first thing that Sam saw when he entered the ballroom a few steps behind Meg was a circle of demons standing around his brother who was pinned to the wall, looking frustrated and pissed and a little bored, but otherwise unharmed. Sam’s pulse double-timed with relief, and he didn’t keep his eyes off Dean as he moved further into the room.
When Dean saw him, he could see shock, concern, anger, and relief flare in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Sam assumed he couldn’t.
When he made it to the front of the room, Lucifer stepped out from the door that led to the kitchen of the hotel. “Sam. So glad you could make it. I wanted to have a little chat.”
“Does Dean need to be here for this chat?” He kept his focus solely on Lucifer, but could feel Dean glaring daggers at him.
“Yes, for now.” Lucifer leaned against the edge of the stage that likely held a band at functions, folding his hands in front of him. “I’ve got a proposal for you Sam. And before you say no, I think you should listen to the options very closely. I think you’ll find the terms are fair.”
Sam swallowed but nodded, not seeing much of an alternative and wishing that he could ask his brother what to do, what was going on, or that Castiel could be in here as back-up.
“I wanted to facilitate the process of saying ‘yes’-all this dancing around each other is really so silly, when in the end, you’re going to let me in anyways. So I’ve got a trade for you: your brother for your body.”
Sam swallowed, glancing at Dean to see his eyes widening. “What?”
“It’s simple, really. You say ‘yes,’ Dean goes free. I won’t bother him; I’ll even call my demons off his tail. I won’t even hold that gunshot in the graveyard against him. If you say no, though, well-I can’t promise you that I won’t help Dean find his way back to Hell. And this time, there won’t be a way off the rack. Those are my cards, Sam. No tricks. It’s all up to you. No fine print, no conditions. Just one word, yes or no. What’s it gonna be?”
Sam couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could only stare shell-shocked at Dean, whose eyes were pleading no but whether he was pleading for Sam to save him or for Sam to save himself, he couldn’t be sure. All he could think of was the weeks after Dean had first gotten back from Hell, when he was jumpy and trying to hide it, the conversation on the Impala when Dean finally admitted his pain and there was nothing Sam could do to fix it. He thought of the months when Dean was in Hell, knowing that his brother was suffering because of him, for him, that he had sacrificed everything he had, and there was no taking it back. Sam remember the year before Dean’s soul had been collected by the hell hounds, how he’d tried so hard, so desperately, to find a way out for Dean, and how he hadn’t been able to. He saw Dean’s fear when Meg had showed up with the hell hounds that night with Jo and Ellen. He thought about how this time, he had a way to protect Dean, save dean, sitting right in front of him. A life for a life. Just one little word.
“Yes.” Sam watched Lucifer’s face break into a slow smile.
“You’re sure, now, Sam. Wouldn’t want anyone claiming I’d twisted your arm.”
“I’m sure. Yes.” Sam took a deep breath and looked over at Dean, who’d managed to get his mouth open, but no sound came out. His eyes were bright and frantic, and didn’t move from Sam’s face once.
“Okay, then.”
***
There was another blinding light, and Dean registered somewhere in the back of his head that this was it. He closed his eyes, and he dropped to the ground, feeling shaky and lost without the pressure that had been holding him against the wall.
Dean took a few minutes to breathe on hands and knees before he opened his eyes. When he did, he saw that he was alone in the room with Sam-Lucifer. He wasn’t able to process it on more than factual level. Sam is gone. Sam said yes. It’s over. We lost. Sammy. He wanted to say something snarky, wanted to jump up and fight and kick and scream. Instead, he let his head hang heavy off his neck, and the only word that passed his lips was a broken, “No.”
He saw boots step into his line of vision, Sam’s boots-no, not Sam’s boots-and he thought he was going to throw up. Lucifer crouched down; he looked at him through his brother’s eyes, but Dean couldn’t see Sam in them at all, and his smirk twisted Sam’s lips into a shape that seemed unnatural and cold.
“What do you say, Dean? It’s not Detroit, but I’d say it’s good enough.” He winked.
And then he was gone.