Requiem For A Dream 13
YES! That is correct...an update. Don't faint everyone, its true.
This is now finished...thank god. Sorry for the wait but I hope you enjoy and thank you for sticking with me.
The incantation that Sam reads, is one I found on the internet, but considering its been such a long time since I started writing this I cant for the life of me remember where!
Previous parts can be found here.
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Sam lies awake, for the fifth night in the row, his body aching, every muscle tense, staring at the mould stained ceiling of some godforsaken motel. He has lost track of where he is. Of time. He has no idea what time of day it is, he spent most of the time lying still, trying to breathe, hating the crippling pain in his chest, the ache in his stomach and the itch in his fingers, all because of Dean. Dean no longer here. And his head hurts from seeing visions of Dean lying ripped apart and bloody on the floor.
He rolls over and on instinct, that he now remembers, his eyes search out Dean's form in the next bed, because he couldn't bring himself to get a single room. He balls his hands into his eyes desperately trying to steam the sting of tears that had started the minute Lilith had come to claim Dean's soul.
His world feels empty and meaningless. Now there is no one to argue with, or fight over the remote with, squabble about which guns to use and the best way to kill something. And Sam remembers everything which makes it that much worse. Because he remembers the look on Dean's face when Jake severed his spinal cord. He remembers burning their fathers body and longing to reach out and touch Dean, remind him that he was there, that Dean still had family. He remembers everything and now he doesn't have it. Empty. His hands feel empty, without Dean to touch or to rut against and fuck, run his fingers over the expanse of muscle on his brothers chest. Dean is gone, ripped from his life...from his arms.
Sam remembers his father, in a rare moment of intimacy, had sat Sam down and told him to look after his brother, as he had said to Dean. But this was different, this wasn’t “Look out for your brother, Dean, keep him safe.” This was, “Look after your brother, Sam, he needs you.” Sam lets out a strangled sob. Goddamit he needs Dean. They need each other.
He sits up in the lumpy bed, ignoring the protest from his aching head and slams his fist against the bedside cabinet. You couldn’t save him, his mind taunts at him and he wrenches the crappy electric radio alarm out of the wall and throws it at the opposite wall. The satisfying crunch of plastic against plaster does nothing to calm his blood that is now pumping hard around his body, making every nerve ending tingle with anger and grief. He spins back around to find something else to throw and his eyes settle on his brother’s lighter. Slowly reaching for it with shaking hands, he curls his fingers around the metal and slips down against the wall.
He gives into the wracking sobs that have been threatening to engulf him and his fingers itch even more now he has something tangible of Dean's in his hands, itch to reach out and touch his brother, to see his brother smile, to feel his brother’s skin, to make him keen low in his throat and breathe out Sam's name.
Sam…
The desperate cry has him snapping his head up with enough force to make him wince. He'd imagined it; he has been torturing himself, imagining that he can hear his brother call out for help from the bowels of hell…hadn’t he? He clutches at the lighter, warming the solid metal in his hands, welcoming the feel of something tangible of his brothers, but wishing, with everything he has, that it is Dean that's in his grasp.
Sam...Help me…
His claps his hands over his ears and rocks back and forth.
Sam…Don’t leave me here...
It isn’t true, this isn’t happening, he can’t hear his brothers desperate, heart wrenching cries.
The knock at the door is both welcoming and an intrusion. The part of him that is Sam, honor student, friend, the half boy, half man that lost his girlfriend and mother too early, welcomes the interruption as a chance to pull himself from the misery surrounding him. The dark part, the part that was John Winchester’s son, the part that Azazel had tried to coax out of him, the part that Dean had scared of, the part that loved licking up his brother's thigh, wants to be left alone, for only in misery does he actually feel anything.
Sam wins through, and he drags himself from the floor, staggering over to the door he pulls it open, not heeding the line of salt that he had automatically put down in front of it. Instincts and habits all working now, since his memories came back to him with his brothers lifeless bloody body in his arms.
“You got a death wish son?” Bobby's voice is harsh yet understanding, rich and gravelly. Sam shrugs.
“Maybe.” His voice is emotionless and Bobby almost winces at the sound. He enters the room, carefully replacing the salt after he shuts the door almost silently. He opens his mouth to speak, but not knowing what else to say, what comfort to give, he opens his arms instead.
Sam goes into them stiffly at first, only sagging as a strangled sob escapes his throat. Bobby holds on as Sam clutches at him, only letting go when Sam awkwardly pushes himself away. Bobby instinctively brushes a tear from Sam's cheek; it's a paternal gestured that speaks volumes of understanding. He knows there is a bond between the brothers that is almost unnatural, they are closer than a lot of couples Bobby knew, he had seen it more times than he could count, but he also understands. Being brought up a hunter, by John Winchester nonetheless, had its drawbacks, and they had only had each other for most of their childhood, it was no wonder they turned to each other. And then Sam loosing his memories, leaving the life he thought he knew and crossing the country, searching for a brother he didn't even knew was real, going from visions in a dream, finding Dean then loosing him again. It had to be hard on the boy. Truth be told Bobby was finding it hard himself, missing the kid that Bobby thought of as a son for most of his life. Despite being a seasoned pro at loss, the pain and loneliness, fear and desperation, anger and fury in Sam's eyes takes Bobby’s breath away. It was then that he speaks the words he had come to say.
“I think I may have it, Sam...The way to get your brother back.” Bobby can hardly blame the shock and hope that flickers across Sam’s face before the mask slides back into place.
“How?” He asks simply.
“Sam…this is serious black magic, you need to be aware of…” Bobby’s warning is cut off as Sam grabs him by the front of his jacket.
“How Bobby?” He whispers dangerously. Bobby stares at Sam, unwilling to believe that he was seeing a different side of Sam, the side that Azazel and John had warned him about.
“Sam…” He says, gently disengaging the young man’s fingers, “We need to summon Lilith.”
“What? Bobby…how do we even know she will come?” Sam asks, throwing his hands up. Bobby takes him by the shoulders.
“Now you listen to me…your brother is in Hell, Sam…Hell.”
“You don’t have to tell me Bobby, you don’t think it tortures me that he is there? You don’t think I hate every second of this? I miss him so much I can’t breathe, Bobby!”
Bobby sighs and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a crumpled, folded piece of paper he hands it to Sam. Sam takes it and unfolds it, throwing Bobby a confused look.
“It’s her mark. You need to put that on the floor, she will appear in it when you call...” Bobby sounds tired as he walks around the room, checking salt at the windows, and Sam suddenly remembers that he isn't the only one grieving. “Well that's one good thing, you have a fire place.”
Sam looks at him again, confused but his eyes express his thanks even though his voice fails him.
“Can I suggest one thing Sam? Put her mark inside a Devil’s Trap.” It's a long shot, she might sense it, but it just might work, and they are all out of sensible ideas.
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Sam replaces the carpet after drawing a devil’s trap. Bobby once again hands him the piece of paper with Lilith’s mark on it and Sam studies the 7 pointed star.
“Sure this’ll work Bobby?” Sam asks as he crouches on the floor, spray can of white paint in his hand.
“It has to.” Bobby replies, lighting black candles and placing them at regular intervals around the star, he doesn’t add that he can’t cope with the failure if this doesn’t work. Sam nods in agreement and feels a lurch in his stomach, almost butterflies, at remembering the way Lilith had so casually tossed him aside and settled her milky, dead stare hungrily on Dean.
Bobby stokes the fire he has lit, placing the brand that will be used to bind Lilith to the body she chose in the embers. Sam reads the summons and nearly burns the paper in the candle flame. He has to appeal to the ego of a demon that prefers child bodies to inhabit? A demon that ripped his brother away? Dean…He is doing this for Dean, he has to remember that. And as he clutches the piece of paper in his shaking hands his brother is the last thing on his mind before Bobby lights the final candle, and he takes a deep breath.
“Ready?” Bobby asks. You don’t have to do to this, the unsaid words hang in the air between them.
“As I’ll ever be.” Sam replies, Of course I do, I can’t live without him. He takes another deep breath and Bobby turns off the overhead lights, bathing the room in muted, flickering yellow light, the candles casting strange shadows against the walls.
“Dark is she, but brilliant! Black are her wings, black on black…” Sam’s deep voice intones as the room suddenly gets colder. Bobby pulls his jacket around him as Sam’s breath curls around his head in white wisps.
“She is Lilith, who leadeth forth the hordes of the Abyss, and leadeth man to liberation…” The flames of the black candles surrounding Her Mark flicker by some unfelt wind and Sam falters until he feels Bobby’s strong hand on his shoulder. Sam nods once at him before finishing the summons with Lilith’s true name, and a sharp cut across his palm letting the blood drip down onto the floor. Blood, it's always blood, Sam thinkst bitterly.
“She is KI-SI-KIL-LIL-LA-KE, Queen of the Magic! Look on her in lust and despair!" The windows shatter, spraying glass everywhere. Bobby and Sam both flinch and cover their faces against the wind that comes howling through the broken windows. As suddenly as it had started, it stops. A small giggle has them both spinning around, weapons drawn.
A child stands in the middle of the star. A blonde child with impossibly curly hair, bright blue eyes and the face of an angel.
“Sam Winchester…” Lilith puts a hand on her hip and cocks her head to one side. “I would like to say that this is a surprise. So…now that you have me here…what are you going to do with me?” Lilith twirls a lock of blonde hair around her fingers in an innocent, childlike way. The room has suddenly gotten hotter and Sam swallows.
He resists the urge to falter at her inhuman, black eyes and hardens his stare; his arm suddenly reaches forward and sears her skin with the binding charm. Lilith screams in pain, the sound is unearthly and rattles the windows. She growls at Sam and launches herself towards the two hunters. On instinct, Bobby and Sam both step back. Sam laughs bitterly as she's stopped in mid air by the Devil’s Trap they had painted on the floor. She growls again, clutching her arm. There is something completely wrong about seeing the face of a child distorted with such hatred and evil.
“Let me ask you something…why do you always choose the body of a child? You’re the queen of Succubae…isn’t that a little bit…wrong?” Sam goads against his better judgement. Lilith lets out a laugh, a laugh that tinkled with forced innocence.
“Ok, first of all…that hurt. And second, it’s no more wrong than the “bond” you have with your brother, Sam.” She taunts back.
“What are you talking about?” Sam snaps. Because he can't worry about Bobby finding out about them right now and the tone of her voice makes him want to squeeze the life out of her small body, heedless of the fact that an innocent child would loose their life.
“Aw…look at you, trying so hard to be brave and pretend to him,” She nods her head in Bobby's direction, “that you don’t know. I have news for you…Sammy…your brother’s soul was mine long before he sold it to me…” She leans forward and whispers conspiratorially.
“All those impure thoughts.” She stands back up and smiles “And unless I am very much mistaken…And I'm not because I can smell you on him...” The smile turns wicked and she stares at him, letting her true eyes shine through the face of the child once again, and sings, “They have something to do with you.”
“I want him back Lilith…now….don’t play games with me because I will end you.”
“Oh Sammy…his soul is well and truly dammed my friend…especially if the way he’s been screaming your name is anything to go by.” The body that Lilith was inhabiting smiles. Something inside Sam’s mind snaps and he sees red. The room melts away and all he can see is Lilith, her true form, not the child’s body she hides behind. Reaching out with a speed that surprises even Lilith, he grabs the demon round the throat. Her small hands immediately go out to defend herself, scratching at his hands, but to no avail. Sam’s grip tightens until he can feel the delicate bones in the neck of the child grind against each other. Bobby holds back, knowing that if he tries to stop Sam now, Sam would probably kill him, because he's all intensely focused on Lilith,, but hating the darkness that he sees in the boy’s eyes.
“You forget Sammy, I know you better than you know yourself.” Lilith taunts again, her voice rasping against the merciless hands that hold fast around her neck. “I know what you are. What you could become. What you are becoming.”
“Is that why you’re scared of me?” Sam’s voice is tinged with danger and blackness. Bobby winces and takes a step back.
“I’m not scared of you. The very idea is laughable. You’re a thorn in my side Sam Winchester, nothing more. A thorn that needs to be removed.” How she can taunt with his relentless hands around her throat, Sam neither knows or cares. A sense of calm descends over his body, he feels warm and safe, it's like being in a dark cave. He has no idea what is going on in the room behind him, he can’t drag his gaze away from the face of the child that fights against his grasp.
“Try it.” Sam coaxes. Bobby frowns as the demon tries to break free from the grasp that the young hunter has around her neck. The child’s feet are dangling a foot in the air and her fingernails are scratching at the hands that threaten to snap her neck like a twig. How Sam had gotten the hold over her, he has no idea, the thought frightens Bobby, as does the look of enjoyment that flickers across Sam’s face as the demon tries to free herself. She is floundering around like a fish on a hook.
“What have you done to me?” She gasps and her body jerks. Sam lets out another bitter laugh. The dangerous, black anger begins swirling around his stomach and Sam tries to fight it, tries to stop it taking him over for he knows this was what Azazel had wanted. He feels and hears himself beginning to speak again.
“Honestly, I have no idea. But there is no way you are going to hurt me or my own again…you hear me?” He pulls the girl closer to him, her face inches from his.
“Give…him…back.” He punctuates every word with a tighter squeeze.
“He belongs with me Sam…deep down you know that. You belong with me too. There is no way you can deny it. The look in your eyes right now proves that.”
“If I end you…will he be free?” Sam asks. Lilith shrugs as well as she can, considering the chokehold Sam holds her in.
“I guess you will have to take that chance Sammy…but are you willing to do that? Are you willing to gamble with your brother’s soul? He might be lost forever.”
Sam finally gives into the pulsing anger that rages around his body and tightens his hands one last time. There is a burst of light and a satisfying crack of delicate bones being broken echoes around the motel room as does Bobby’s cry of “No!”
Sam watches, detached, as he lets the lifeless body of the small girl crumple to the ground. There is no black smoke, no evidence of the emerging demon.
“What did you do?” Bobby asks, his voice is a whisper. Sam looks blankly at him for a second as the dark, unfeeling look leaves his eyes and the pain of a lost brother, and guilt as yet another casualty of his own personal war is added to the list bleeds back in.
“I…I don’t know Bobby. I just couldn’t control it. I…I tried Bobby…oh God I tried to stop it.” Sam collapses onto the ragged carpet, next to the body. Sobs once again convulsing his body.
“I could feel it Bobby…crawling inside and there was nothing I could do.” Sam looks up at the older man and pulls him down to the floor with him, clutching at his jacket again.
“This is what he wanted.” Sam whispers. Bobby cups Sam’s face hard between his hands, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he is talking about Azazel, and gives the boy a shake.
“Sam…only you control your destiny. You have something powerful inside you. Don’t allow it to take you over.”
“I’ve killed him Bobby…I’ve left him there…Oh God what have I done?” Sam’s eyes no longer hold any of the anger they had moments ago.
Just as Bobby opens his mouth to comfort, wind whips through the motel room again. An unnatural howl fills the room as the body of the girl rises slowly into the air. Bobby and Sam can only stare as it starts to spin, making the young girl look like the Vitruvian Man, her arms out wide, her eyes blank. The howl turns into a high pitched scream that has both the men doubling over, hands clasped to their ears. Sam lifts his head to see smoke pouring out of the body; it fills the room with an acrid smell that makes him gag. He shuts his eyes as the body bursts into flames and a wall of heat hits them. The scream continues to fill the room, the wind is still whipping through the broken windows. There is a loud thunder crack and a flash of lighting and all is quiet, except for a quiet shaky breathing. Sam lifts his head again, totally unprepared for what lay, or cowered rather, in front of him.
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The air around him feels different. His shoulder is no longer screaming in agony. His throat no longer feels like he has been forced fed razor blades. The screams of others no longer echo in his ears. Still, he keeps his eyes clamped closed. He knows this torture, he knows what's coming and when he feels a tentative hand on his shoulder, his heart breaks again for the millionth time. He doesn’t know how long he can keep going.
“No...No, no, not again...please...” He mutters incoherently, “Please not again.” He can feel someone crouching in front of him, he wants with everything he has to believe it's Sam. But this has happened too many times, and has been snatched away from him, before he can touch the skin of the one person who can save him.
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Sam crouches in front of his prostrate brother, desperately trying to make him see him.
“Dean...” He whispers softly. Dean's head jerks upwards, his wild, frightened eyes meet Sam's and Sam nearly falls back in shock, but he holds his ground and cups his brother’s face. Dean jerks at the touch and scrambles backwards, backing himself into the corner of the room, and Sam feels a shiver of fear run through him.
“Dean...” He tries again, “It's ok...it's me...Sam.”
“Sammy?” Dean's voice is hoarse, and there is a definite hint of desperation and pleading tingeing it.
“Yeah...it's me.”
“No, no, no...You’re here, then you're not...why do you keep doing this to me?” He shouts. Bobby and Sam both flinch and Sam looks desperately at him.
“They probably tortured him with this Sam...You have to remember he’s been in Hell.” Bobby reminds him quietly.
“Dean...I really am here...I swear...look at me.” Sam cups Dean's face again and Dean once again meets his eyes. This time there is hope. Sam clutches at his brother as he lets out a sob and throws himself at Sam. Bobby quietly leaves the room, leaving the two brothers alone.
“I thought...Sammy...God.” Dean manages to get out before racking sobs envelope his body. Sam clings to him, his hands running through his short cropped hair, his fingers desperately trying to massage away the new scars he finds on his scalp and the back of his neck.
Sam knows his brother better than anyone. He knows the life he has lived and the way he sounds when he comes, and the feel of his skin under his palms and the different ways he says Sam's name. But this Dean, the broken, silently sobbing Dean is someone new entirely.
Before he found Dean, before Sam got his memories back, Sam had been happy, content. But that had all been a lie. With Dean is where he is happy, with Dean in his arms, or with Dean's fingers in his hair and his mouth against his neck, that's where Sam is content. And he vows, with Dean shaking in his lap, that no one and nothing is ever going to take him away again.
“I tried to get out Sammy…” Dean’s broken voice finds its way to Sam’s ears and he tightens his grip on his brother.
“Well, I thought it was my turn to look after you, Dean.” Sam whispers, holding his brother even closer.
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Dean loosens his grip slightly before immediately tightening it again, afraid that if he lets go for any amount of time, the reality of Hell will come crashing back around him. He holds on to Sammy for what feels like an age, but when you have been trapped in Hell for who knows how long, hanging onto your brother for eternity wouldn’t be enough.
Dean feels Sam shift slightly, probably to ease the pain of the cramp that has no doubt set into Sam’s legs. Dean wants to move away, wants to let him stand, but his body can’t stop shaking, he can’t untwist his fingers from the soft cotton of his brother’s shirt, can't bare to drag himself away from the comfort of his brothers arms. Another sob escapes his throat at the thought that this could be taken away from him at any moment.
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Sam is almost surprised when Dean turns and pulls him down to him, his mouth covering his, all teeth, and desperation and longing and relief. But Dean obviously needs some other kind of reassurance that Sam is actually here.
Sam runs his fingers through Dean's hair and locks them round his head. Dean groans into hos mouth and clutches at him, hands slipping under Sam's shirt and finding skin. God Sam has missed this, missed the feel of Dean's hands on him. Dean is still shaking, hands trembling as they move upwards, dragging along Sam's spine.
“Sammy...” Sam's name sounds distant, as if Dean is trying it out in his mouth after years of not saying it, rolling it around his tongue, its almost an question as Dean nips at his lips and places a kiss at the corner of Sam's mouth.
“Sammy, its really you right? I mean, you're really here?” Dean sounds almost childlike and Sam hates it, hates his brother, his hero brother sounding childish and needy and Sam grips him harder, cards his fingers through his hair and tugs his neck backwards, digging his fingers into Dean's scalp and his teeth into Dean's throat.
“You feel that?” He asks, and feels Dean nod. He darts his tongue out and licks at the teeth marks. “And that?”
Dean shudders, pulls back and looks straight as Sam, his eyes haunted and scared. “I feel it. Don't believe it.” He says, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, his nails leaving half moon shapes in Sam's arms.
“I'm here Dean. Not gonna let you go.” Sam replies, pulling his brother to him, kissing him deeply as Dean lets out a ragged breath.
Someone had told him once, during a failed attempt at normalcy by his father had him being sent to Sunday School, that Hell was the absence of God. He now knows that isn’t true. Hell, for both Sam and Dean, is the absence of each other.
And what started with a dream, a convoluted dream of a man Sam didn't know existed, ended with that man in his arms and the world making sense finally.
This is now finished...thank god. Sorry for the wait but I hope you enjoy and thank you for sticking with me.
The incantation that Sam reads, is one I found on the internet, but considering its been such a long time since I started writing this I cant for the life of me remember where!
Previous parts can be found here.
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Sam lies awake, for the fifth night in the row, his body aching, every muscle tense, staring at the mould stained ceiling of some godforsaken motel. He has lost track of where he is. Of time. He has no idea what time of day it is, he spent most of the time lying still, trying to breathe, hating the crippling pain in his chest, the ache in his stomach and the itch in his fingers, all because of Dean. Dean no longer here. And his head hurts from seeing visions of Dean lying ripped apart and bloody on the floor.
He rolls over and on instinct, that he now remembers, his eyes search out Dean's form in the next bed, because he couldn't bring himself to get a single room. He balls his hands into his eyes desperately trying to steam the sting of tears that had started the minute Lilith had come to claim Dean's soul.
His world feels empty and meaningless. Now there is no one to argue with, or fight over the remote with, squabble about which guns to use and the best way to kill something. And Sam remembers everything which makes it that much worse. Because he remembers the look on Dean's face when Jake severed his spinal cord. He remembers burning their fathers body and longing to reach out and touch Dean, remind him that he was there, that Dean still had family. He remembers everything and now he doesn't have it. Empty. His hands feel empty, without Dean to touch or to rut against and fuck, run his fingers over the expanse of muscle on his brothers chest. Dean is gone, ripped from his life...from his arms.
Sam remembers his father, in a rare moment of intimacy, had sat Sam down and told him to look after his brother, as he had said to Dean. But this was different, this wasn’t “Look out for your brother, Dean, keep him safe.” This was, “Look after your brother, Sam, he needs you.” Sam lets out a strangled sob. Goddamit he needs Dean. They need each other.
He sits up in the lumpy bed, ignoring the protest from his aching head and slams his fist against the bedside cabinet. You couldn’t save him, his mind taunts at him and he wrenches the crappy electric radio alarm out of the wall and throws it at the opposite wall. The satisfying crunch of plastic against plaster does nothing to calm his blood that is now pumping hard around his body, making every nerve ending tingle with anger and grief. He spins back around to find something else to throw and his eyes settle on his brother’s lighter. Slowly reaching for it with shaking hands, he curls his fingers around the metal and slips down against the wall.
He gives into the wracking sobs that have been threatening to engulf him and his fingers itch even more now he has something tangible of Dean's in his hands, itch to reach out and touch his brother, to see his brother smile, to feel his brother’s skin, to make him keen low in his throat and breathe out Sam's name.
Sam…
The desperate cry has him snapping his head up with enough force to make him wince. He'd imagined it; he has been torturing himself, imagining that he can hear his brother call out for help from the bowels of hell…hadn’t he? He clutches at the lighter, warming the solid metal in his hands, welcoming the feel of something tangible of his brothers, but wishing, with everything he has, that it is Dean that's in his grasp.
Sam...Help me…
His claps his hands over his ears and rocks back and forth.
Sam…Don’t leave me here...
It isn’t true, this isn’t happening, he can’t hear his brothers desperate, heart wrenching cries.
The knock at the door is both welcoming and an intrusion. The part of him that is Sam, honor student, friend, the half boy, half man that lost his girlfriend and mother too early, welcomes the interruption as a chance to pull himself from the misery surrounding him. The dark part, the part that was John Winchester’s son, the part that Azazel had tried to coax out of him, the part that Dean had scared of, the part that loved licking up his brother's thigh, wants to be left alone, for only in misery does he actually feel anything.
Sam wins through, and he drags himself from the floor, staggering over to the door he pulls it open, not heeding the line of salt that he had automatically put down in front of it. Instincts and habits all working now, since his memories came back to him with his brothers lifeless bloody body in his arms.
“You got a death wish son?” Bobby's voice is harsh yet understanding, rich and gravelly. Sam shrugs.
“Maybe.” His voice is emotionless and Bobby almost winces at the sound. He enters the room, carefully replacing the salt after he shuts the door almost silently. He opens his mouth to speak, but not knowing what else to say, what comfort to give, he opens his arms instead.
Sam goes into them stiffly at first, only sagging as a strangled sob escapes his throat. Bobby holds on as Sam clutches at him, only letting go when Sam awkwardly pushes himself away. Bobby instinctively brushes a tear from Sam's cheek; it's a paternal gestured that speaks volumes of understanding. He knows there is a bond between the brothers that is almost unnatural, they are closer than a lot of couples Bobby knew, he had seen it more times than he could count, but he also understands. Being brought up a hunter, by John Winchester nonetheless, had its drawbacks, and they had only had each other for most of their childhood, it was no wonder they turned to each other. And then Sam loosing his memories, leaving the life he thought he knew and crossing the country, searching for a brother he didn't even knew was real, going from visions in a dream, finding Dean then loosing him again. It had to be hard on the boy. Truth be told Bobby was finding it hard himself, missing the kid that Bobby thought of as a son for most of his life. Despite being a seasoned pro at loss, the pain and loneliness, fear and desperation, anger and fury in Sam's eyes takes Bobby’s breath away. It was then that he speaks the words he had come to say.
“I think I may have it, Sam...The way to get your brother back.” Bobby can hardly blame the shock and hope that flickers across Sam’s face before the mask slides back into place.
“How?” He asks simply.
“Sam…this is serious black magic, you need to be aware of…” Bobby’s warning is cut off as Sam grabs him by the front of his jacket.
“How Bobby?” He whispers dangerously. Bobby stares at Sam, unwilling to believe that he was seeing a different side of Sam, the side that Azazel and John had warned him about.
“Sam…” He says, gently disengaging the young man’s fingers, “We need to summon Lilith.”
“What? Bobby…how do we even know she will come?” Sam asks, throwing his hands up. Bobby takes him by the shoulders.
“Now you listen to me…your brother is in Hell, Sam…Hell.”
“You don’t have to tell me Bobby, you don’t think it tortures me that he is there? You don’t think I hate every second of this? I miss him so much I can’t breathe, Bobby!”
Bobby sighs and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a crumpled, folded piece of paper he hands it to Sam. Sam takes it and unfolds it, throwing Bobby a confused look.
“It’s her mark. You need to put that on the floor, she will appear in it when you call...” Bobby sounds tired as he walks around the room, checking salt at the windows, and Sam suddenly remembers that he isn't the only one grieving. “Well that's one good thing, you have a fire place.”
Sam looks at him again, confused but his eyes express his thanks even though his voice fails him.
“Can I suggest one thing Sam? Put her mark inside a Devil’s Trap.” It's a long shot, she might sense it, but it just might work, and they are all out of sensible ideas.
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Sam replaces the carpet after drawing a devil’s trap. Bobby once again hands him the piece of paper with Lilith’s mark on it and Sam studies the 7 pointed star.
“Sure this’ll work Bobby?” Sam asks as he crouches on the floor, spray can of white paint in his hand.
“It has to.” Bobby replies, lighting black candles and placing them at regular intervals around the star, he doesn’t add that he can’t cope with the failure if this doesn’t work. Sam nods in agreement and feels a lurch in his stomach, almost butterflies, at remembering the way Lilith had so casually tossed him aside and settled her milky, dead stare hungrily on Dean.
Bobby stokes the fire he has lit, placing the brand that will be used to bind Lilith to the body she chose in the embers. Sam reads the summons and nearly burns the paper in the candle flame. He has to appeal to the ego of a demon that prefers child bodies to inhabit? A demon that ripped his brother away? Dean…He is doing this for Dean, he has to remember that. And as he clutches the piece of paper in his shaking hands his brother is the last thing on his mind before Bobby lights the final candle, and he takes a deep breath.
“Ready?” Bobby asks. You don’t have to do to this, the unsaid words hang in the air between them.
“As I’ll ever be.” Sam replies, Of course I do, I can’t live without him. He takes another deep breath and Bobby turns off the overhead lights, bathing the room in muted, flickering yellow light, the candles casting strange shadows against the walls.
“Dark is she, but brilliant! Black are her wings, black on black…” Sam’s deep voice intones as the room suddenly gets colder. Bobby pulls his jacket around him as Sam’s breath curls around his head in white wisps.
“She is Lilith, who leadeth forth the hordes of the Abyss, and leadeth man to liberation…” The flames of the black candles surrounding Her Mark flicker by some unfelt wind and Sam falters until he feels Bobby’s strong hand on his shoulder. Sam nods once at him before finishing the summons with Lilith’s true name, and a sharp cut across his palm letting the blood drip down onto the floor. Blood, it's always blood, Sam thinkst bitterly.
“She is KI-SI-KIL-LIL-LA-KE, Queen of the Magic! Look on her in lust and despair!" The windows shatter, spraying glass everywhere. Bobby and Sam both flinch and cover their faces against the wind that comes howling through the broken windows. As suddenly as it had started, it stops. A small giggle has them both spinning around, weapons drawn.
A child stands in the middle of the star. A blonde child with impossibly curly hair, bright blue eyes and the face of an angel.
“Sam Winchester…” Lilith puts a hand on her hip and cocks her head to one side. “I would like to say that this is a surprise. So…now that you have me here…what are you going to do with me?” Lilith twirls a lock of blonde hair around her fingers in an innocent, childlike way. The room has suddenly gotten hotter and Sam swallows.
He resists the urge to falter at her inhuman, black eyes and hardens his stare; his arm suddenly reaches forward and sears her skin with the binding charm. Lilith screams in pain, the sound is unearthly and rattles the windows. She growls at Sam and launches herself towards the two hunters. On instinct, Bobby and Sam both step back. Sam laughs bitterly as she's stopped in mid air by the Devil’s Trap they had painted on the floor. She growls again, clutching her arm. There is something completely wrong about seeing the face of a child distorted with such hatred and evil.
“Let me ask you something…why do you always choose the body of a child? You’re the queen of Succubae…isn’t that a little bit…wrong?” Sam goads against his better judgement. Lilith lets out a laugh, a laugh that tinkled with forced innocence.
“Ok, first of all…that hurt. And second, it’s no more wrong than the “bond” you have with your brother, Sam.” She taunts back.
“What are you talking about?” Sam snaps. Because he can't worry about Bobby finding out about them right now and the tone of her voice makes him want to squeeze the life out of her small body, heedless of the fact that an innocent child would loose their life.
“Aw…look at you, trying so hard to be brave and pretend to him,” She nods her head in Bobby's direction, “that you don’t know. I have news for you…Sammy…your brother’s soul was mine long before he sold it to me…” She leans forward and whispers conspiratorially.
“All those impure thoughts.” She stands back up and smiles “And unless I am very much mistaken…And I'm not because I can smell you on him...” The smile turns wicked and she stares at him, letting her true eyes shine through the face of the child once again, and sings, “They have something to do with you.”
“I want him back Lilith…now….don’t play games with me because I will end you.”
“Oh Sammy…his soul is well and truly dammed my friend…especially if the way he’s been screaming your name is anything to go by.” The body that Lilith was inhabiting smiles. Something inside Sam’s mind snaps and he sees red. The room melts away and all he can see is Lilith, her true form, not the child’s body she hides behind. Reaching out with a speed that surprises even Lilith, he grabs the demon round the throat. Her small hands immediately go out to defend herself, scratching at his hands, but to no avail. Sam’s grip tightens until he can feel the delicate bones in the neck of the child grind against each other. Bobby holds back, knowing that if he tries to stop Sam now, Sam would probably kill him, because he's all intensely focused on Lilith,, but hating the darkness that he sees in the boy’s eyes.
“You forget Sammy, I know you better than you know yourself.” Lilith taunts again, her voice rasping against the merciless hands that hold fast around her neck. “I know what you are. What you could become. What you are becoming.”
“Is that why you’re scared of me?” Sam’s voice is tinged with danger and blackness. Bobby winces and takes a step back.
“I’m not scared of you. The very idea is laughable. You’re a thorn in my side Sam Winchester, nothing more. A thorn that needs to be removed.” How she can taunt with his relentless hands around her throat, Sam neither knows or cares. A sense of calm descends over his body, he feels warm and safe, it's like being in a dark cave. He has no idea what is going on in the room behind him, he can’t drag his gaze away from the face of the child that fights against his grasp.
“Try it.” Sam coaxes. Bobby frowns as the demon tries to break free from the grasp that the young hunter has around her neck. The child’s feet are dangling a foot in the air and her fingernails are scratching at the hands that threaten to snap her neck like a twig. How Sam had gotten the hold over her, he has no idea, the thought frightens Bobby, as does the look of enjoyment that flickers across Sam’s face as the demon tries to free herself. She is floundering around like a fish on a hook.
“What have you done to me?” She gasps and her body jerks. Sam lets out another bitter laugh. The dangerous, black anger begins swirling around his stomach and Sam tries to fight it, tries to stop it taking him over for he knows this was what Azazel had wanted. He feels and hears himself beginning to speak again.
“Honestly, I have no idea. But there is no way you are going to hurt me or my own again…you hear me?” He pulls the girl closer to him, her face inches from his.
“Give…him…back.” He punctuates every word with a tighter squeeze.
“He belongs with me Sam…deep down you know that. You belong with me too. There is no way you can deny it. The look in your eyes right now proves that.”
“If I end you…will he be free?” Sam asks. Lilith shrugs as well as she can, considering the chokehold Sam holds her in.
“I guess you will have to take that chance Sammy…but are you willing to do that? Are you willing to gamble with your brother’s soul? He might be lost forever.”
Sam finally gives into the pulsing anger that rages around his body and tightens his hands one last time. There is a burst of light and a satisfying crack of delicate bones being broken echoes around the motel room as does Bobby’s cry of “No!”
Sam watches, detached, as he lets the lifeless body of the small girl crumple to the ground. There is no black smoke, no evidence of the emerging demon.
“What did you do?” Bobby asks, his voice is a whisper. Sam looks blankly at him for a second as the dark, unfeeling look leaves his eyes and the pain of a lost brother, and guilt as yet another casualty of his own personal war is added to the list bleeds back in.
“I…I don’t know Bobby. I just couldn’t control it. I…I tried Bobby…oh God I tried to stop it.” Sam collapses onto the ragged carpet, next to the body. Sobs once again convulsing his body.
“I could feel it Bobby…crawling inside and there was nothing I could do.” Sam looks up at the older man and pulls him down to the floor with him, clutching at his jacket again.
“This is what he wanted.” Sam whispers. Bobby cups Sam’s face hard between his hands, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he is talking about Azazel, and gives the boy a shake.
“Sam…only you control your destiny. You have something powerful inside you. Don’t allow it to take you over.”
“I’ve killed him Bobby…I’ve left him there…Oh God what have I done?” Sam’s eyes no longer hold any of the anger they had moments ago.
Just as Bobby opens his mouth to comfort, wind whips through the motel room again. An unnatural howl fills the room as the body of the girl rises slowly into the air. Bobby and Sam can only stare as it starts to spin, making the young girl look like the Vitruvian Man, her arms out wide, her eyes blank. The howl turns into a high pitched scream that has both the men doubling over, hands clasped to their ears. Sam lifts his head to see smoke pouring out of the body; it fills the room with an acrid smell that makes him gag. He shuts his eyes as the body bursts into flames and a wall of heat hits them. The scream continues to fill the room, the wind is still whipping through the broken windows. There is a loud thunder crack and a flash of lighting and all is quiet, except for a quiet shaky breathing. Sam lifts his head again, totally unprepared for what lay, or cowered rather, in front of him.
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The air around him feels different. His shoulder is no longer screaming in agony. His throat no longer feels like he has been forced fed razor blades. The screams of others no longer echo in his ears. Still, he keeps his eyes clamped closed. He knows this torture, he knows what's coming and when he feels a tentative hand on his shoulder, his heart breaks again for the millionth time. He doesn’t know how long he can keep going.
“No...No, no, not again...please...” He mutters incoherently, “Please not again.” He can feel someone crouching in front of him, he wants with everything he has to believe it's Sam. But this has happened too many times, and has been snatched away from him, before he can touch the skin of the one person who can save him.
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Sam crouches in front of his prostrate brother, desperately trying to make him see him.
“Dean...” He whispers softly. Dean's head jerks upwards, his wild, frightened eyes meet Sam's and Sam nearly falls back in shock, but he holds his ground and cups his brother’s face. Dean jerks at the touch and scrambles backwards, backing himself into the corner of the room, and Sam feels a shiver of fear run through him.
“Dean...” He tries again, “It's ok...it's me...Sam.”
“Sammy?” Dean's voice is hoarse, and there is a definite hint of desperation and pleading tingeing it.
“Yeah...it's me.”
“No, no, no...You’re here, then you're not...why do you keep doing this to me?” He shouts. Bobby and Sam both flinch and Sam looks desperately at him.
“They probably tortured him with this Sam...You have to remember he’s been in Hell.” Bobby reminds him quietly.
“Dean...I really am here...I swear...look at me.” Sam cups Dean's face again and Dean once again meets his eyes. This time there is hope. Sam clutches at his brother as he lets out a sob and throws himself at Sam. Bobby quietly leaves the room, leaving the two brothers alone.
“I thought...Sammy...God.” Dean manages to get out before racking sobs envelope his body. Sam clings to him, his hands running through his short cropped hair, his fingers desperately trying to massage away the new scars he finds on his scalp and the back of his neck.
Sam knows his brother better than anyone. He knows the life he has lived and the way he sounds when he comes, and the feel of his skin under his palms and the different ways he says Sam's name. But this Dean, the broken, silently sobbing Dean is someone new entirely.
Before he found Dean, before Sam got his memories back, Sam had been happy, content. But that had all been a lie. With Dean is where he is happy, with Dean in his arms, or with Dean's fingers in his hair and his mouth against his neck, that's where Sam is content. And he vows, with Dean shaking in his lap, that no one and nothing is ever going to take him away again.
“I tried to get out Sammy…” Dean’s broken voice finds its way to Sam’s ears and he tightens his grip on his brother.
“Well, I thought it was my turn to look after you, Dean.” Sam whispers, holding his brother even closer.
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Dean loosens his grip slightly before immediately tightening it again, afraid that if he lets go for any amount of time, the reality of Hell will come crashing back around him. He holds on to Sammy for what feels like an age, but when you have been trapped in Hell for who knows how long, hanging onto your brother for eternity wouldn’t be enough.
Dean feels Sam shift slightly, probably to ease the pain of the cramp that has no doubt set into Sam’s legs. Dean wants to move away, wants to let him stand, but his body can’t stop shaking, he can’t untwist his fingers from the soft cotton of his brother’s shirt, can't bare to drag himself away from the comfort of his brothers arms. Another sob escapes his throat at the thought that this could be taken away from him at any moment.
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Sam is almost surprised when Dean turns and pulls him down to him, his mouth covering his, all teeth, and desperation and longing and relief. But Dean obviously needs some other kind of reassurance that Sam is actually here.
Sam runs his fingers through Dean's hair and locks them round his head. Dean groans into hos mouth and clutches at him, hands slipping under Sam's shirt and finding skin. God Sam has missed this, missed the feel of Dean's hands on him. Dean is still shaking, hands trembling as they move upwards, dragging along Sam's spine.
“Sammy...” Sam's name sounds distant, as if Dean is trying it out in his mouth after years of not saying it, rolling it around his tongue, its almost an question as Dean nips at his lips and places a kiss at the corner of Sam's mouth.
“Sammy, its really you right? I mean, you're really here?” Dean sounds almost childlike and Sam hates it, hates his brother, his hero brother sounding childish and needy and Sam grips him harder, cards his fingers through his hair and tugs his neck backwards, digging his fingers into Dean's scalp and his teeth into Dean's throat.
“You feel that?” He asks, and feels Dean nod. He darts his tongue out and licks at the teeth marks. “And that?”
Dean shudders, pulls back and looks straight as Sam, his eyes haunted and scared. “I feel it. Don't believe it.” He says, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, his nails leaving half moon shapes in Sam's arms.
“I'm here Dean. Not gonna let you go.” Sam replies, pulling his brother to him, kissing him deeply as Dean lets out a ragged breath.
Someone had told him once, during a failed attempt at normalcy by his father had him being sent to Sunday School, that Hell was the absence of God. He now knows that isn’t true. Hell, for both Sam and Dean, is the absence of each other.
And what started with a dream, a convoluted dream of a man Sam didn't know existed, ended with that man in his arms and the world making sense finally.