Always By Your Side Part 3
The drive to Milwaukee is a strained experience. The car already feels empty, Sam notes sulkily, without a soft warm presence curled up on the bench next to him.
Dean won’t look him in the eyes the entire way, and Sam finds he doesn’t really care. In the backseat, Lucifer sings “Another Brick in the Wall,” for the 12th time, and Sam is seriously considering selling his soul just to get him to stop.
At the motel outside Milwaukee, Dean stalks off (predictably) to find a bar, and Sam tries to get some sleep.
Sam isn’t exactly sure what wakes him up at first. The illuminated clock by the bed says a quarter to 3 and the room is silent, save for the weather which is gathering force outside.
Then he hears it, a soft scratching sound at the door. Sam picks his way over in the dark, carefully unlatches the deadbolt, with his hand on the gun.
The cat is standing there, at a respectful distance from the doorway, while still keeping itself carefully under the motel awning, and out of the rain.
The cat takes a few deliberate steps out into the parking lot, then turns its head back with a meaningful star, a clear invitation for Sam to follow. Sam considers it for a moment, thinking about what Dean had said. Then, Sam turns to find his shoes.
Outside the sky has turned swollen and winds have picked up to a ferocious whine. Scattered rain is beginning, not too hard yet but with the distinct impression of worse to come.
The cat meows inquisitively and flicks its ear in the direction of the ridge across the street from the motel parking lot, a scrub of trees opening up to a more heavily wooded area down below. The cat meows again, this time with more than a hint of impatience, before taking a few careful steps towards the trees. The request to follow is unmistakable and it is possible that Sam is completely cracked. But if not, there is something important going on here, and it’s not going to wait for Sam to drag Dean from whatever bar he is still holed up in.
He takes a step and then another into the parking lot, feeling absurd. Following a cat into a thunderstorm doesn't even rank in the top five stupidest things he has ever done, but it is definitely the one that Dean will have the most fun making sure he never lives down.
The sky crackles ominously, as if to punctuate exactly why what he is doing is a bad idea.
"Oh Sammy, you really need to learn how to let down your hair and live a little." Lucifer is smirking as he lounges against the Impala. Raindrops splatter against Nick's shirt and gelled hair and sizzle a little, before burning off as vapor.
Sam averts his eyes pointedly, and he digs into his palm. Lucifer flickers out exasperatedly, and for a moment, so does the cat. Sam panics for a moment until he spots a small shape crossing the street.
The rain picks up when he reaches the tree line, coming down in sheets that are already starting to transform the ground into a flood of mud and dead leaves. They pick their way carefully down the hill and through the trees, the cat running lightly between the trees.
Sam is starting to shiver, harder than he has since the cage. In the rain and under the moon light, the trees in front of him take on an indistinct psychedelic glow branches melting with chaotic sprays of needles. Sam is suddenly uncertain. “Double time Sammy, Lucifer purrs in his ear. Are you really going to let a little rain slow you down?”
It’s not the rain that is slowing him down, so much as the fact there is too much in his own head. He just wants a moment of peace.
"I'm so sorry Dean," he says out loud, nonsensically.
The cat stands in front of him cocks its head, like it's heard that. Sam watches it as it stares at him, feeling somewhat steadier. The cat's expression is judgmental, like Sam should know by now, that he isn't capable of making decisions by himself. He only makes the wrong one.
The cat nudges him forward, deeper into the trees.
A stuttering flash of light, and a crack of sound sends him skittering down the hill in a rabid burst, panting with sudden, animal fear.
He wants there to be quiet. He wants to learn how to be alone again. For centuries, he was never alone.
The cat is out of sight up ahead Sam realizes with sudden horror. When he said alone, he’s didn’t mean just yet.
Sam steps forward, calling out for any signs of life. No signs of the cat either. He walks further down, picking his way through the trees until a figure emerges out of the dark making a peculiarly unexplainable noise. It’s Lucifer, leaning against a rotten tree stump and laughing himself sick. The cat is currently weaving its way around Lucifer’s feet, Sam notes with a feeling that’s embarrassingly close to betrayal.
“Oh Sam, it's really a joy how painfully, hopelessly naïve you can manage to be, even after all this time. I really treasure that fact about you. Not as much as I treasure some of our other fun times together, mind you.”
“What is the cat to you?” Sam says, suddenly thinking about Dean’s earlier unease in a whole new light.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Did you really think, when you pull a soul out of Hell, that you would be able to limit the damage to a few hallucinations?”
“What do you mean?” Sam whispers, taking half a step backwards.
“Hell is not just a place Sam. You of all people should know that by now. Its...” Lucifer waves a hand around extravagantly. “Maybe it’s better to think of hell like a parasite right? A parasite that gets inside your bones, learns you, inside and out, and never lets you go. The truth is, Sammy boy, it loves you, and so do I. So, yeah. You know. We’re just a boy, and a cat, standing in front of another boy, asking him to love us back for all eternity.”
Lucifer shrugs.
“Dean,” Sam whispers, which again, doesn’t make any sense.
You need to let Dean go, Sam,” says the cat, or Lucifer, or, or…Sam doesn’t even actually know any more. His head is spinning and he needs to sit down. The ground seems too far down to navigate, and the rain is coming down more heavily.
You really think you’ll be able to have Dean’s back next time, when it counts?” Lucifer shouts louder, over the rain. “Or when push comes to shove, aren’t you more likely to end up with his death on your conscience, sooner rather than later? That conscience of yours must be getting pretty crowded, considering what’s in there."
Sam’s chin comes up, angered, which just provokes a giggle from Lucifer.
“Okay then Sam, how about we play a game, and I show you just what I mean. Hold your hand out, won't you?”
Sam tentatively spreads his fingers, palm down.
“That's my good boy.”
“Now, do you want to hear a secret? Something really important, something Dean will be glad to know? Something that will make things right between you?”
“First you have to do something for me.”
“Break your finger.”
Sam’s head comes up in alarm, but Lucifer just clucks and shakes his head. “Uh-oh Sam, Pull that finger back. Keep going. That much farther.
Good boy. Nice job slugger. Now, keep going, I swear it will be worth it.”
Sam’s shout of pain is muffled by the rain.
“Oh Sam, your expression. I was right, it was worth it. You’re such a twisted, confused cookie, but boy did I train you well. You just need someone to be there, holding your leash.”
A rough tongue is licking at his injured hand. Sam, looks down into blue eyes that seem almost, sympathetic.
The point is, Sam, you're not good at being alone. One way or another, you have always need someone to hold your hand, or you won’t like what happens. And the truth is that we’re better at that than Dean is, always have been. So, just think about it okay? We'll be here, when you are ready for us. But don’t tell Dean. This will be our little secret.”
Sam, thinks about that idea, turns it over in his mind. And then, above him, lightning illuminates the sky, snapping off a heavy tree limb that falls all around him, over him. Everything goes black.
Sam wakes up too suddenly on the thin mattress, spine curled in tight into a defensive crouch, every line of his body, scraped sore and brittle. Pale light is filtering through the heavy motel curtains. His dreams were complicated, Sam vaguely remembers, filled with a cast of shifting, uncertain characters committing terrible, unspeakable acts. He could probably sleep for another full night he thinks. There is something he was supposed to consider, maybe.
There is a blooming pattern of mold beneath the sink. directly in Sam's eye line. When the light hits, it looks a little like a bird in a cage, singing. Screaming for help maybe.
The last word comes unbidden, and Sam thinks he's almost on the edge of making an important connection when Dean bursts in loudly, door banging behind him.
“Dude.” The relief in Dean’s voice is evident, as he rushes over. How are you feeling?”
Sam tries to sit up.
“Whoa there, easy slugger. I was one step from taking your ass to the ER yesterday, how about you take it easy there for a sec?’
Something about the endearment hits Sam the wrong way, makes him feel unsettled and irritated, and he bats Dean’s arm away.
Dean sits on the bed and closes his eyes like he is the one in pain, looking slightly away. “You were so still," he whispers roughly. "When i found you laying there, under that tree, you were so still."
Sam’s chest tightens in sympathy and he closes a hand tightly over one of Dean’s. God, Sam thinks. He doesn’t actually remember what happened in the woods, but what he does know is that really has been a bastard to his brother recently. When all Dean has ever wanted to do is take care of him. Maybe he can try to be better for Dean, now. Make it easier for him. It’s not like either of them are any good on their own, after all.
Things are good for a while, or at least as good as they ever get, while Sam is recuperating. They call Bobby, who hands off the case in Maine. Dean orders in Chinese food and they sit for hours, watching shitty daytime talk shows. Sam sleeps a lot of the day as well. Lucifer is mercifully not very present, most of the time. He thinks about the cat, more than he admits to Dean, mostly with a weird sense of longing.
Epilogue
Dean's Perspective.
Things are good, after Sam's accident.
Until the fucking cat comes back, the night they are finally ready to get back on the road again, and Sam suggests taking it with them.
Dean flatly refuses, and things escalate from there.
I Don't. Trust. That. Cat." Dean furiously grits out the words.
There's a silence, which is confusing, because Dean had been expecting Sam to yell back, maybe even get in his face a little bit. Instead, when he dares to twist back around, Sam is just watching him, with a curiously gentle expression, like Dean's the one who is two seconds from the nuthouse and doesn't that just take the cake.
"Dean," Sam finally says, and he's using his Calming The Witness Who Is One Step Away From A Nervous Breakdown voice, just perfect. "Dean...I know there's been a lot going on recently, with, the Leviathans and Ca-."
"Sam," Dean says warningly.
Sam throws up his hands, pacifying. "I just wanted to say that it's been hard on you, I get it.
Don't think I don't see that, that's all. But you need to get some rest man. Take care of yourself. I need you to take care of yourself."
Sam is obviously humoring him and it makes Dean want to put his fist through the cheap plaster wall. It makes Dean want to vomit, just a little bit.
Instead, he turns on his heel and grabs for his jacket.
"Dean..." Sam says tentatively behind him, like's he's not sure he wants a response.
"Sure, Sam" Dean grits out, heading for the door. "We'll research. But right now, I need a drink. Don't wait up, honey."
The motel door slams shut decisively behind him. Outside in the parking lot, the night air is about 10 degrees cooler, and Dean is starting to feel like he can breathe again.
It’s miserable again outside, the kind of relentless rain storm that chills you in seconds, makes you swear up and down that you'll never be warm and dry again, no matter what the facts say.
His gaze turns automatically to the Impala, sitting cool and comfortable two spots down, just waiting for him to take her for a spin.
There's a small dark shape perched on the hood. With a sinking feeling, Dean watches as two amber eyes blink open and glare at him. Dean glares right back, not ashamed.
Then as if functioning on automatic, he takes his handgun out.
The cat sits there, looking smug as Dean raises his weapon and clicks the safety off.
"Dean. What the fuck?!"
Sam is right behind him looking outraged.
"Sam, go back inside."
"Not until you give me the gun."
"Sammy."
"No, Look, I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt here, but you are two seconds from murdering a goddamn stray right now, and that is not you man."
"I can't take that chance."
"Do you realize how insane you sound right now?!"
"Yeah, I sound almost as crazy as you huh." It's below the belt and Sam looks hurt, but Dean is having a hard time caring.
Sam darts in quick, manages to grab the gun and send it sliding across the asphalt. Dean makes a move for it, and Sam is on top of him, the two of them going down together, rolling and kicking in the kind of knock out brawl that they haven't really had since Sammy got his soul back. Dean's been so careful with him, treating him like he could break at any second, but honestly maybe it's too late, maybe he's already broken. Maybe Dean is too and if neither of them can be put back together again, then all Dean really wants right now is the chance to hit something and Sam is right there.
Sam's on top, with his knee in Dean's rib cage, like it has any goddamn right to be there, so Dean rolls them again, with a sudden twisting burst of energy and he's about to give his little brother the split lip he deserves for always, always sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong, when suddenly Sam begins to seize below him.
Dean's dreams are fuzzy, nauseatingly nebulous and filled with furiously moving shapes.
The air conditioner turns over begrudgingly and sends out an experimental burst of semi-cool air, carried forward on a float of mold particles.
On the other bed, Sam makes a high, uncontrolled little noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whine. Then he's twisting and arching, fingers clawing frantically at the bed sheets, huge overgrown body trying desperately to fold in on himself. Dean rushes over, practically throws himself bodily on top of his brother, grabbing his wrists, anything, anything just to make this stop happening.
Beneath him, Sam groans quietly, finally stilling. His eyes open into little half slits, but he's still more out of it than in, staring up and just past Dean at a point along the wall.
Dean follows his gaze, almost thinks he can see something low and liquid moving in the dark shadows along the wall.
Then again, most likely it's a trick of the light.