Big Bang: Where We're Heading To: Part Three
To say that Dean was pissed would be the understatement of the year. Dean was angry, he was furious, he was going to murder a bitch, and, most of all, he was hurt. Because, really? With a betrayal like that, he would have to be made of stone not to be hurt. As he climbed behind the wheel of his beloved Impala -- the only thing that still loved him, apparently -- he wondered idly if this was how Sam had felt, when he'd learned of Ruby's manipulative ways (which Dean had totally warned him about, that little ingrate).
Dean started up the car, and he glanced over his shoulder at the Prophet's house. What was taking Castiel so long? Wasn't he going to chase after him, at least try to explain what he'd been thinking, keeping important information from him like that?
This line of thought made Dean feel way too much like a character in a chick flick, and that just wasn't working for him.
So he hit the gas and drove away, not even looking back this time.
He drove for hours, stopping only for minutes at a time. Just when he thought he had reached somewhere to clear his head, he was met with some reminder of what he was running from. This diner had tables just like the one where Castiel had gorged himself on raw hamburger, under Famine's influence. This motel had the same carpet as the one where Castiel had sent him to the past. This gas station. . .
Soon, Dean realized that he wasn't running just from Castiel, that lying bastard. He found that he couldn't stop anywhere that held memories of Sam, either. This stretch of highway felt just like the one in Jericho, where Sam had nearly been wasted by the Woman in White. This town had a stupid little "supernatural" gimmick that was just too similar to the Mystery Spot.
Dean suspected that this was because he'd been betrayed by them both. Castiel for keeping silent about what he knew, and Sam for staying away. Though, at least Sam had an excuse, maybe. He probably didn't want to interrupt Dean's "normal life" with his post-Hell baggage. On the other hand, Dean could think of no unselfish reasons for Castiel's betrayal. Cas must have feared that Dean would leave him if he knew his brother was out and about.
All this driving, with such brief respites, left Dean with a craving for caffeine, which is why he pulled into the next town that promised a Starbucks. Normally, he wouldn't step within a few feet of one, but desperate times call for ignoring the sheer girliness of the coffee served there. Besides, they have to sell plain black coffee, right?
As he stepped into the stupid coffee shop, Dean nearly fainted -- no, no he didn't. He just got a little light headed, that's all.
Because there, sitting at a table with a computer plugged into the wall, sat Sam. Fucking Sam Winchester. Dean couldn't believe his eyes.
Sam couldn't either, when he raised his eyes away from the laptop screen. He met Dean's eyes, and Dean felt like fainting again -- no, he really didn't. Really.
In a matter of seconds, Sam was on his feet and crossing the storefront. If Dean hadn't been frozen in place by his utter shock, he would have met his brother halfway. As it was, all Dean could do was clutch at Sam's jacket and choke out, "Sammy," over and over again. He couldn't bring himself to care about whatever attention they were garnering from the other patrons in the shop.
After some time, Dean looked back up at his brother's face, and was once again shocked speechless by what he saw. The flash of black in those hazel eyes only lasted a moment, but the image (and the implication) stayed with Dean. Until, of course, the rest of the world went black around him, and he had no idea what happened next.
He came to, groaning, an indeterminate amount of time later. He had no idea where he was, but the place stunk. It smelled like someone had bled over a batch of rotten eggs, which Dean's brain thought was a fascinating image to distract itself as it tried to catch up to reality. It took a while, but it finally occurred to him that he should open his eyes if he really wanted to find out where he was.
It turned out, though, that sight didn't actually help him place his current location. He'd been in a shitload of places that had the same color scheme: dull gray, with shifting shadows caused by flickering candlelight. Yes, now he knew that he was inside a building, one that wasn't used much, so it was probably a warehouse or factory or something. But this didn't help him place himself on a map.
He felt like he should get up and look around for clues. He could certainly do with stretching his legs, since they felt like they'd been in this position for hours. Who knew, maybe they had been. So Dean moved to get up, just spreading his legs a bit to gain some leverage. He couldn't even do that.
Confused, Dean tried moving his arms, but that was a no go, too. He finally looked to see what the problem was, and it turned out to be pretty obvious. Someone -- or, some demon, as the case may be -- had tied him up with rope. Seriously, rope. He was almost too offended to be distressed, because, seriously, they thought rope would hold him for long? All he had to do was get at his knife and -- oh. He was wrapped so thoroughly, and against a friggin' pole, that he couldn't even move his hand to reach for that knife. Well, shit.
The familiar sound of Dean's cell phone ringtone echoed through the building. Further proof that it was something large and empty, Dean thought idly. But then he wondered why his phone wasn't in his pocket like it always was, and instead so far away. Before he could think of a suitable answer, a shadow that he hadn't previously noticed moved across the flickering light.
If Dean squinted, it looked like the Sasquatch silhouette that Sam would cast.
The figure picked up the silly piece of technology and looked to see who was calling. Apparently he was amused by what he saw, because he laughed and said, "Wow. That's the seventh time already," in Sam's voice. He turned toward Dean and continued, "He must really like you."
Dean was surprised to find that he was totally able to respond with, "Fuck you, demon bitch."
Sam stepped closer, and Dean could see that he was wearing a hurt expression. Whoever was riding in his skin said, "You don't have to be mean." After a moment's consideration, he added, "Jerk."
"Get out of him, now," Dean demanded, struggling helplessly against his bonds.
"Dean," the demon said in a tone that allowed no room for protest, "I'm Sam. Really."
"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Sheba," Dean spat back at him.
The demon who may or may not have been Sam sighed. "I guess it doesn't really matter if you believe me or not. You're going to be dead soon, anyway, if I can find Castiel."
Dean would have said something about how Sam would never think of killing him, but something bothered him about what the demon had said. "Wait, why kill me? I thought all you needed was the angel's blood and Grace?"
"What? Where did you hear that?" The demon inside of Sam frowned. "I need an angel and Azazel's killer as a sacrifice."
That sort of made sense, Dean decided. He chose to remain quiet instead of informing his captor both of Chuck's disappearance and of another Prophet's appearance. He just glared at the demon, who sighed again.
But then the bastard brightened up -- smiled, even! -- and looked at the cell phone still in his hand. "Aha!" he crowed, and he grinned at Dean. "Cas has a cell phone. Which I can track!" Dean was moderately surprised that he wasn't wiggling his backside like an excited puppy. "This is perfect!" He moved to run out of the room, but he stopped, sobering up.
"I'm going to need a way to hold him," he said, frowning. "Where did I put that Holy Oil?" he asked, more to himself than to Dean. He quickly scanned the room, until his eyes landed on an old looking jug. "Ah, there you are."
Dean watched as the demon drew out a circle. If he were being honest with himself, Dean would have admitted that this was probably the real Sam. As it was, though, Dean wasn't about to start calling him that.
The demon smiled at Dean and said, "I'm going to be right back, so don't move." Very funny. As if Dean could move when he was tied up like a witch to a stake. And then the demon stalked out of the room, leaving Dean all on his own.
The first thing that Castiel noticed was the smell. The whole building reeked of sulfur and blood, and there was no way to escape it. It permeated everything, and it nearly distracted Castiel from his goal. However, the second thing that Castiel noticed was Dean.
Dean did not look very happy. He could hardly be blamed, of course. Not many people would be happy if they were tied to a pole all alone in an empty warehouse that stank of sulfur and blood, as Dean was.
"Dean," Castiel said, and took an instinctive step toward the hunter.
Dean's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest, "Wait, Cas! It's a-"
He wasn't able finish before a circle of flame flared up around Castiel, capturing him quite effectively.
"Trap," Dean finished anyway, presumably for the sake of letting Cas know that this was by no means a surprise.
"Thank you, Dean. I was previously unaware." Castiel was almost surprised by the sarcasm dripping from his own voice.
"No problem," Dean answered, but Castiel knew better than to think it was sincere.
"Aw, you two are so adorable," a voice said, and a tall figure stepped out. Sam. The flames from the burning Holy Oil flared in his black, inhuman eyes.
"Sam," Castiel intoned, glaring at the gargantuan figure. "Release us immediately."
Sam just laughed.
"It's not really Sam," Dean protested weakly. "Some sick fuck is possessing him."
Sam laughed some more. "No, I'm the only one in here, trust me, Dean."
Dean huffed. "So you're trying to say that you aren't Samael?"
Rubbing at his neck, Sam frowned. "No, I am. It is just a name, Dean."
"Cas said Samael was an angel," Dean contended.
"He was an angel," Castiel pointed out, "when he was possessed by Lucifer."
Dean glared at Castiel. "You need to stop lying to me."
"I did not lie. I merely left out important details."
"Yeah," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Most humans call that lying."
"Why?" Castiel shook his head. "I wasn't saying anything untrue."
Sam looked between the two. "I find it hilarious that you focus on each other when I'm about to kill you both."
This, of course, caught their attention. How could it not? Sam was right; they were about to die.
"You know, it's funny," he continued, as if he didn't even care if either of his prisoners listened, "I was about to go and grab Cas myself, and then he just shows up here on his own. It saved me a bit of trouble."
"How were you going to find me?" Castiel asked, confused.
Dean explained before Sam had the chance. "He was tracking your cell phone. It's not hard to do."
"Especially since I was there when we got it for you. That made it a lot easier," Sam added helpfully.
"Hey," Dean said, and he would have gestured, if he could have moved his arms. "I'm still not a hundred percent sure that you're really Sam."
Sam gave an exasperated sigh. "What can I do that will convince you?"
Dean thought this over. "Pretty much nothing. You've got demon eyes and you're trying to kill Cas and me. Sure, that's Sam on demon blood, but I still gotta hope."
"Well, what if-" Sam began, but Dean cut him off.
"And don't bother with telling me personal memories that only Sam would know. You've got access to his brain."
Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, thinking furiously. Finally, he just heaved a great sigh and folded his arms.
"Dean, it's really me."
"You really aren't as convincing as you think you are," Dean asserted.
"Dean, Sam is the only thing inside that body." Castiel looked at Dean, who frowned back.
"Maybe. But why is he all demon-y if he's Sam?"
"He spent a very long time in Hell."
"What about the body?"
"It was in Hell with him, as I know you're aware."
Dean shook his head. "I was in Hell for forty years, and I didn't turn into some demon."
Sam gaped at him. "Dean, I was down there for centuries! That was plenty of time to go dark side!"
"Well, whatever. I still don't totally believe you."
"Dean. If you don't shut up about this, I am going to-" Sam frowned. There wasn't much he could really threaten, in this situation. Either way, Dean was going to end up dead. And if he wasn't dead at exactly the right time, then bad things were going to happen.
"What I don't understand, if you are Sam, is why you're even doing this. You spent way too long trying to kill Azazel to bring him back willingly." Dean was just talking now, almost pretending that Sam wasn't even there, if he hadn't been addressing him directly.
"I'm not doing this willingly," Sam ground out. Why didn't Dean ever believe anything he said?
"Really. Enlighten me, then. Why are you doing this?"
"Not by choice, that's for sure," Sam sighed. "There are so many other things I could be doing right now."
Dean had, by now, realized that he could at least move his feet. He was taking advantage of this fact by tapping them impatiently. "Are you going to get to the point, or just leave me hanging here?"
Sam gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. "I'm getting there; just hold your horses for a minute." When Dean settled back into merely glaring at him, Sam continued, "Anyway, Hell was awful."
"Never would have guessed," Dean muttered. At a sharp glance from Sam, he closed his mouth again.
"I had to spend hundreds of years locked up with Michael and Lucifer, who aren't exactly power couple of the millennia. Plus, they couldn't kill each other in Hell, so all they could do was bitch."
"Seriously? That's what turned you demon? That's so lame."
Sam's mouth quirked up into a smile. "I thought you didn't 'totally' believe I was Sam."
Dean coughed. "Oh, you're probably not. But that's totally the kind of sissy thing that would make you go dark side."
The smile didn't leave Sam's face, even as he continued, "I was willing to do anything to escape it." And this, Dean could understand. It was same kind of motivation that had prompted Dean's foray into torture. "They made me an offer, and I took it," Sam shrugged.
"Let me guess, if you got out, you would have to try and bring Azazel back?" Dean already knew that this was what the offer had to be, but he said it as a question, just to make sure.
"And I have to go back to Hell if I fail," Sam sighed. He turned a stern gaze on Dean and Castiel and said, "So, don't be overly difficult with this getting sacrificed thing. You wouldn't want to send me to Hell, would you?" He put on his best puppy dog pout, which, it being Sam's face, was pretty darn good. It almost made Dean feel guilty that he couldn't go along with this.
Almost.
"Sorry, but you're not my brother any more." If it weren't for that, of course.
Sam didn't respond to that. Instead he said, "Well, you only have about twenty minutes to wait now."
"Why?" Dean and Castiel both asked, since it was a good question.
"The ritual has to be performed at midnight tonight. It's the only time to do it for a hundred years," Sam answered, and he crossed the warehouse to the altar with the flickering candles.
And, really. He should have known that it was a bad idea to tell them something like this. Apparently, turning evil had diminished his mental capacities, such that he made such a simple mistake.
Dean tried his best to hide the grin stretching across his face, but Castiel could see it. It was the kind of grin that could only mean that Dean had a brilliant idea. The grin stayed on his face, despite Dean's efforts, as Sam went about preparing for the ritual. Sam was puttering around with herbs and other occult materials, so he didn't even notice the strange behavior of his captive.
"Sammy," Dean started, and Sam turned away from his preparations.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"Listen, I know you're in there Sammy, so-" Dean didn't get to say any more, because Sam dropped his knife and stalked back across the room.
"For the last time, Dean," Sam growled, leaning close to Dean, "I am Sam!"
Now Dean let Sam see his grin, and it threw him off for a second. That was just as well, because in that moment, Dean kicked out, catching Sam's ankles. Caught off guard, Sam stumbled backward, right into the Holy Oil trap that still held Castiel. He regained his balance only then, and he swiped a lock of hair out of his eyes.
"Quick, Cas! Exorcise him!" Dean shouted, wriggling in his ropes in his excitement.
Castiel looked from Dean to Sam and back to Dean. "Dean, he isn't possessed. His body is just as demonic as his soul."
Dean shrugged. "Okay, fine! Send him to Hell or something!"
It was too late for that, though. Sam stepped out of the ring of fire, glaring at Dean.
"Oh my God, Dean. You are so freaking childish, you know that?" he yelled.
Dean said nothing, but he tried to shrink against his pole, as best he could.
"Honestly, you just can't accept that I didn't turn out the way you wanted me to! I am my own person, you know!"
Still Dean kept quiet, except to mutter a curious, "Cristo?"
Sam flinched, but he recovered quickly, in order to glare at Dean. "Real cute," he said. "Next, are you going to throw salt at me?"
By now, Sam was the faintest bit suspicious of Dean's silence.
"What are you up to?" he asked, though it was more for himself than for Dean. He got that Dean wasn't going to be talking much, he just didn't understand why.
What Sam was not expecting was for Castiel to begin speaking instead. "I greatly doubt that Dean would tell you his plans until you were unable to 'foil' them, as you say."
Sam frowned at the angel. "Yeah, great, thanks, Captain Obvious."
Castiel furrowed his brow and tilted his head a smidge. "I am neither a captain nor named 'Obvious'," he said, entirely serious, as best as Sam could tell.
"Has Dean not taught you anything about insults?" No, really, he was curious.
"He says that I shouldn't bother doing it on purpose, since I insult people on my own just fine."
Sam couldn't argue with that. He very clearly recalled a drunken Castiel calling him an "abomination" with no malice intended. (At least, he thought it was without malice.)
A minute or so passed without anyone speaking, and it was bothering Sam. It was just too quiet in here, and he felt like he was forgetting something. But, as far as he knew, he hadn't left the tap on at home.
"Hey, Cas?" Dean finally said, "What time is it?"
Castiel pulled his cell phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. "In this time zone, it is twelve oh three in the morning, December twenty-second."
And, well, shit.
Sam was suddenly struck with a terrible realization. His brother had totally outsmarted him. Not only that, he had done it when it had really counted, when Sam had really not been expecting it. This was just unfair, he decided.
The door to the warehouse slammed open, and a boy strode in. He wasn't a particularly large or menacing boy, but he walked with purpose. He stopped in front of Sam, and his eyes flashed white. "Sam Winchester," he said, frowning as if he'd been sorely disappointed.
Sam sighed. "Yeah, I know. I've failed you for the last time, and all that."
The boy extended a hand. "Well, come on, then."
Sam took the proffered hand. He turned back to Dean and smiled wryly. "I would say, 'See you later,' but I'm guessing you're still heaven-bound."
Before Dean had a chance to reply, the warehouse was filled with a bright light. When the light abated, and Dean could see again, both Sam and the boy demon were gone.
"What was that?"
Castiel huffed. "Asmodeus has a flare for the dramatic."
Dean chewed this over, but, no, it still didn't make sense. "What?"
"Sam must have made his deal with the demon Asmodeus to escape from Hell. Since Sam was unable to uphold his end of the bargain, Asmodeus didn't bother with his."
"Oh."
After a moment of silence, Dean said, "Hey, do you have a knife or something?"
"I still have a box cutter."
"Perfect. Toss it here."
Castiel willingly obliged, and Dean set to work cutting away his bonds. Once he was free, he got Cas out, too. Previous~ Next