FIC: The Asphodel and the Acacia
Title: The Asphodel and the Acacia
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Wordcount: 2,906
Notes: For nobadnews for spn_j2_xmas. Um, we don't know each other at all, so hi? Happy belated Chrismukkah! I hope you like this!! I kind of went with your prompts of Bible lore and ennui with a little hope, and based this fic along the ten plagues in Exodus. Oh, and there's a soundtrack at the end of the fic.
Thanks: To rejeneration and dark_reaction for beta-ing! And to ignited for doing a final look-through & helping me sort out a summary! ♥♥♥
Summary: The plagues have begun, and he has to wake up. No use in sleeping through the apocalypse.
The Asphodel and the Acacia:
One
Sam coughs blood into the sink one morning, while he's brushing his teeth.
**
Two
They start their investigation the next day, staking out the town, gathering evidence from the locals about any strange things happening. Sam checks out the library and Dean skulks around the local bars and clubs.
When they get back to the motel, there's a problem with the water and it's been shut off, something is contaminating the reservoir.
Sam and Dean drive down to have a look around, but security at the reservoir is surprisingly tight. So they tell the guards they're reporters for a local paper.
"You know, the people have a right to know what's going on here," Sam says, taking notes in a moleskine book.
The guards sigh, one of them saying, "Like I've been telling you both, we're not risking our jobs here. We were instructed to not let anyone pass until the officials clears the reservoir."
"So you admit the reservoir's been contaminated?" Sam presses. Dean chooses then to fake a call on his cell and wanders off, looping behind the guard station to scale the fence while Sam's got them both distracted.
"We're not saying anything like that! Hey, you can't write this down!"
Sam clicks his tongue, "I'm afraid I can, freedom of the press, you know."
Dean slips on the chain link fence and falls right on his ass, shouting "Sonavabitch!" The guards turn their heads and see Dean, who smiles meekly. Sam does everything he can to keep from slapping his palm to his face.
"Isn't that your partner over there, trying to scale the fence?" the guard asks.
They end up having to bribe the security guards to not contact the authorities.
Dean drives slowly back to the motel along the side of the reservoir, and Sam picks his head up as a sound in the distance starts to overpower the music on the radio. "Listen," he says as he rolls down his window.
The sound of frogs chirping fills the car. There must be thousands of them.
**
Three
Sam swats at his arm, shooing a bug away. A minute later, another is on his neck, and he crushes it under his hand.
"Bet you taste like candy to them, Sammy," Dean says, cleaning his gun.
"Stop thinking about what I taste like," Sam says.
And that night, Dean doesn't think, he finds out for himself. Sam is salt and soap and heat on his lips. He is muscle and joint and sinew to hold.
Sam's mouth is whiskey-bitter, biting at his own. Locking his teeth around Dean's lower lip and holding, clamping down until Dean makes an uncontrollable "more" sound and Sam pulls away, sobering in the moment.
He turns his head, muttering apologies to Dean and goes to the other bed. Dean sits on his own, scratches the side of his head and wonders if he can sneak past Sam later, get into the bathroom and take care of himself.
Dean can hear him slap another bug crawling on his skin. Moments later, there's another. "What the hell is going on here?" Sam asks aloud. Dean stands up and walks to his bed, snatching another mosquito from the air and squishing it in his fist.
"Maybe our room is infested?"
"I'm not imagining these, right? I keep feeling them all over me," Sam says, flopping down backwards on the mattress. "I'm not drunk enough."
Dean arches an eyebrow. "Damn right you're not."
Sam swallows and moves over to one side, letting Dean slide in next to him on the bed. Sam's nose twitches, and he smacks a bug that has landed on his cheek.
"Lucky bug," Dean mumbles dejectedly, trying to stifle a yawn.
Sam rolls his eyes. "Shut up," he says and shoves his hand down the front of Dean's pants. Grabs his cock tight and presses their mouths together.
**
Four
The thing won't stop biting him, even when he puts his elbow under running water, trying to drown it off.
It's big, and black, and ugly. And it won't stop sucking the blood out of his arm. Sam has to yank it off with his hand and throw it on the floor, stomping it angrily.
Dean complains they keep smashing into his windshield, leaving behind streaking trails of bug-goo. Sam would make him eat the bug-goo if he could. At least they're not chomping down on Dean's arm.
"It's okay, I know the bugs think you're just a big wet, Sammypop."
Sam sighs, "A Sammypop?"
"Yeah. How many licks-" Dean starts and Sam shoves him in the arm.
"Quit it, I do not taste like candy."
"Yeah, you do," Dean says, looking at him. Then his eyes are back on the road.
Too fast to see Sam smile.
**
Five
It's not just the fact that the all the livestock dies. That could have been a byproduct of the recent insect infestations in the town, not to mention the fact that the reservoir had to be shut down. What really sets off the warning bells are the riots at the MelloMart, and the grocery stores downtown.
Every piece of poultry, fish, or meat, every egg, has rotted inside out. Every slab of beef and pork in the butcher's display case is covered in mold and maggots. Prepackaged foods, not more than a few hours old from the local slaughterhouse have become inedible, black necrotic flesh in the hands of the shoppers. Right in front of their eyes.
Sam clicks on the radio when they're back in the car. The reporter is talking about how the hospital is flooded with cases of botulism, e. coli, trichinosis and other food-born illnesses.
Dean reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out some beef jerky. He sniffs it, carefully, breaking it in half. There's no signs of rotting or deterioration. He offers a bite to Sam, who refuses.
**
Six
Sam buries his face behind the stack of books he's going through as Dean approaches, cavalier as ever.
"We're dealing with the ten plagues," Sam says.
"Since when did zits show up in the Bible?" Dean remarks and Sam sets the book down.
"These are boils, Dean." Sam points to the red splotches on his neck. The same thing everyone in town has.
"But I didn't get them," Dean says.
"None you can see. Yet." Sam smirks, angling his head to Dean's backside.
"Keep your eyes to yourself, Sammy," Dean grumbles.
"Seriously though, we have to do something soon, we're getting closer and closer to the Tenth plague."
Dean nods, face hardening. "Death of the first-born."
Sam shakes his head. "Not letting it come that close. Not again."
Dean touches Sam's hand from across the desk. "It won't-"
He's interrupted by the sound of thunder, rumbling low and terrible in the distance. The boils start to fade when the rain comes the next day.
**
Seven
Dean wants to cry when he wakes up and sees the condition the car is in after the storm. But he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood.
"I'll kill them. I'll fucking kill whoever's responsible-"
Sam looks down at his feet and then runs off, Dean cocking his head to watch Sam crouching on the ground over the body of a young girl.
Her body is beaten, bruised in black and blue splotches across her face and legs, shallow breaths being forced past her lips. She stirs in Sam's arms and Dean fires up the engine, hoping to god that the car is in good enough shape to get them to the hospital before it's too late.
The car stalls on the road, right before the sign marking the town border. Dean gets out, Sam following. Sam holds up a hand, "Wait."
Sam steps forward, bumping his nose against an invisible wall in the road. He feels the air, feels around the ground and moves from side to side, pushing against the barrier. Dean approaches him.
"It won't let us go," Sam turns to him, panic in his eyes before walking back to the car. "We have to find a doctor in town for her."
Dean wiggles his fingers against the supposed air-barrier Sammy was standing next to, but he can't feel a thing.
**
Eight
Dean dreams that the garden withers away and dies. Of course when he wakes up, he can’t help but ask himself aloud "What garden?"
"Garden?" Sam answers from the other side of the room. He's sitting at his laptop again, familiar stacks of papers and books surrounding him.
"The garden-" Dean starts, but that's when the buzzing converges on them. The sound of the insects swarming, like fat raindrops crashing into walls and the ceiling of their motel room.
It only takes moments, mere minutes for them to come and go. Sam and Dean nod to each other, gathering their gear to go investigate the damage done this time around. "Why do so many of these damn plagues have to involve bugs?" Dean asks. Sam shrugs and opens the door.
Nothing is left. Not a single leaf on a single tree, not a stalk of grass or flower on the ground. If the livestock were still a concern, they'd certainly starve to death now. Anything plant, vegetable, or even slightly green consumed by the swarm.
When they return to the room, Sam hits the books again. Dean sits on the edge of the bed and looks at Sam.
"There was a garden," he says.
"Dean?"
"I need to sleep," Dean says, shaking his head wearily.
Sam narrows his eyes. "You've been sleeping a lot."
"What, you're afraid I'm gonna sleep through the apocalypse?" Dean says, shuffling towards the head of the bed and stripping out of his jacket and shirt.
"I'm afraid you're not gonna wake up," Sam says, in all seriousness.
Dean stops in his tracks, walking back to Sam, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I will always wake up, okay?"
"You can't promise me that," Sam looks up at Dean, and suddenly he's a child again. Telling his big brother to stop playing like he's invincible. To recognize the tenuous grasp they have on life, on safety, on sanity.
And in the very next moment Sam is completely his, lips on the skin of his neck and warm body pressing close. Dean's eyes slip shut and the blood rushes away from him as Sam cups his growing arousal and does everything Dean should hate himself for wanting.
**
Nine
Sam studies all night long, every book within range and on the subject, but it doesn't do any good. And when the sun's supposed to break across the horizon, his world goes pitch black. Sam stumbles, feeling his way around the room after he falls off his chair, ends up crawling on hands and knees towards the bed, feeling his way along the sides of the wall, where it meets the floor.
He collapses on the mattress, too exhausted to deal with the ninth plague of darkness that has befallen them. Sam wakes up when Dean shoves him in his side, and slowly realizes the voice in the background is coming from the radio. Sam feels around for Dean's body, curling into him instinctively and turning to listen to the distressed reporter.
Everyone in town has gone blind.
They listen to the broadcast until the announcer starts to sound too maudlin for even Dean's tastes, and Sam hears him get up, walk over to wherever the radio is, before the sound clicks off.
Dean's body makes the mattress dip again, and Sam moves towards it, wraps his arms around him.
"People out there are going crazy, Sam."
"We can't stop them, not like this." Sam kisses Dean's neck, moving his hands along Dean's skin. Sam inches his way down the curves of Dean's body. Knowing what it should feel like, tracing the familiar patterns and curve of Dean with his lips and tongue.
"Sam," Dean whispers, raising his chin up to level Sam's eyes with his. "I can still see."
Sam jerks in his arms, snaps up and stares off to one side, attempting to face him. "What?"
"I think I'm immune to whatever's going on here," Dean pauses, squeezing Sam's shoulders tight. "I think I'm the one that has to stop it."
Sam feels for Dean's lips with his fingers and Dean kisses the back of his hand. For three days, the darkness holds the town.
For three days, Dean won't let go of Sam.
**
The Passover
"Let them go," Dean says at the God-king sitting before him.
He taps his finger impatiently, gold ring clinking against the marble throne. "No."
Dean moves like a lightning strike, his hands around the old fool's throat. "Deny me this and I will bring upon you a fury like no other."
The God-king gasps and tries to talk. Dean slackens his grip just enough for it to rasp out, "Never! They are mine!"
Dean wakes from the dream, panting. Sam's gone, the room is still and empty and Dean's hand shakes as he reaches for a glass of water. He tries to steady it by holding onto his wrist, breathing deeply in and out.
Sam clicks the door shut and Dean looks at him. Looks at the blood on Sam's fingers.
Sam looks down at his hands. "Lambs' blood on the door. I didn't want to take any chances. I gave the rest of our stash to the owners. They have a son."
"Sam," Dean says, sitting up and crossing his legs. "Why are we the only people in town who have tried to leave and can't?"
"Leave?" Sam asks.
"Dead animals, massive infestations, blindness and hailstones the size of baseballs raining down. And no one seems to want to leave here."
"I know," Sam says, looking away. "We can't leave, though. There's no way out for the rest of us."
Dean blinks. "What do you mean?"
"You have to make him let us go."
**
Because Sam coughed blood into the sink one morning, while he was brushing his teeth. And he couldn't stop.
**
Ten
Dean summons him, the demon with the God-king's eyes.
"They're all dead, aren't they?"
"Dead or dying," it answers.
"And me?"
"You're sleeping in the hospital, while your brother's lungs fill with blood."
Dean licks his lips, fingers tensing over the hilt of his knife. "Why the plagues?"
"Everyone needs a challenge to overcome."
Dean snaps his head up, grabbing the demon by the throat. "I'll hunt you. I'll wake up and hunt you down and I will burn you out and send you back to Hell."
"I didn't come from what you call hell! It was my domain before-" it spits out. Dean releases him and he falls to the ground, face morphing into the shape of a Jackal. "When man was young, you worshipped me as a god. Until another drove me out on my hands and knees, slaughtered my brothers and sisters, turned my people against me."
Dean feels a whisper at his shoulder, gossamer thread of breath and soul. "Anubis, god of the dead," he repeats the words he hears.
"The souls were mine to have, coming to me free and clear. I could recreate what happened. I could win this time. I didn't count on you trying to stop me."
The whispering voice is back, and Dean repeats what he hears, the Latin rolling off his tongue as the Jackal-headed godling writhes on the ground. Smoke and blackness escapes from its mouth, taking with it the disguise of the dog, and leaving behind the empty shell of the possessed.
**
No one dies that night, which is odd for a hospital of its size. Even the patients in critical condition that were hanging on to life by a single thread, are now growing stronger.
It's odd, but no one is complaining.
The nurse shakes him awake and he nearly clocks her in shock. Dean comes to in a chair in the waiting room and the nurse scowls at him and tells him his brother is asking for him.
Sam smiles when Dean walks into the room. He listens to the doctor informing him that Sam's prognosis looks good; all the while he can't take his eyes off of Sam.
The doctor leaves them alone and Dean sits at Sam's side.
"I was worried," Sam coughs.
"See? First-born son and very much still alive."
"Technically, I think Anubis was born before anyone else. So it was kind of fitting in the end."
Dean rolls his eyes. "Sam, this is me desperately trying to forget the fact that you had to use your psychic mojo to pull me into the dream in the first place. Let's not over-analyze the situation. Just tell me I'm your hero and that you'll never doubt me again."
"Tell me you're always gonna wake up next to me. Then you can be my hero."
Dean doesn't answer, just runs his thumb along the bow of Sam's lip.
**
Soundtrack:
50 MB Zip
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Wordcount: 2,906
Notes: For nobadnews for spn_j2_xmas. Um, we don't know each other at all, so hi? Happy belated Chrismukkah! I hope you like this!! I kind of went with your prompts of Bible lore and ennui with a little hope, and based this fic along the ten plagues in Exodus. Oh, and there's a soundtrack at the end of the fic.
Thanks: To rejeneration and dark_reaction for beta-ing! And to ignited for doing a final look-through & helping me sort out a summary! ♥♥♥
Summary: The plagues have begun, and he has to wake up. No use in sleeping through the apocalypse.
The Asphodel and the Acacia:
One
Sam coughs blood into the sink one morning, while he's brushing his teeth.
**
Two
They start their investigation the next day, staking out the town, gathering evidence from the locals about any strange things happening. Sam checks out the library and Dean skulks around the local bars and clubs.
When they get back to the motel, there's a problem with the water and it's been shut off, something is contaminating the reservoir.
Sam and Dean drive down to have a look around, but security at the reservoir is surprisingly tight. So they tell the guards they're reporters for a local paper.
"You know, the people have a right to know what's going on here," Sam says, taking notes in a moleskine book.
The guards sigh, one of them saying, "Like I've been telling you both, we're not risking our jobs here. We were instructed to not let anyone pass until the officials clears the reservoir."
"So you admit the reservoir's been contaminated?" Sam presses. Dean chooses then to fake a call on his cell and wanders off, looping behind the guard station to scale the fence while Sam's got them both distracted.
"We're not saying anything like that! Hey, you can't write this down!"
Sam clicks his tongue, "I'm afraid I can, freedom of the press, you know."
Dean slips on the chain link fence and falls right on his ass, shouting "Sonavabitch!" The guards turn their heads and see Dean, who smiles meekly. Sam does everything he can to keep from slapping his palm to his face.
"Isn't that your partner over there, trying to scale the fence?" the guard asks.
They end up having to bribe the security guards to not contact the authorities.
Dean drives slowly back to the motel along the side of the reservoir, and Sam picks his head up as a sound in the distance starts to overpower the music on the radio. "Listen," he says as he rolls down his window.
The sound of frogs chirping fills the car. There must be thousands of them.
**
Three
Sam swats at his arm, shooing a bug away. A minute later, another is on his neck, and he crushes it under his hand.
"Bet you taste like candy to them, Sammy," Dean says, cleaning his gun.
"Stop thinking about what I taste like," Sam says.
And that night, Dean doesn't think, he finds out for himself. Sam is salt and soap and heat on his lips. He is muscle and joint and sinew to hold.
Sam's mouth is whiskey-bitter, biting at his own. Locking his teeth around Dean's lower lip and holding, clamping down until Dean makes an uncontrollable "more" sound and Sam pulls away, sobering in the moment.
He turns his head, muttering apologies to Dean and goes to the other bed. Dean sits on his own, scratches the side of his head and wonders if he can sneak past Sam later, get into the bathroom and take care of himself.
Dean can hear him slap another bug crawling on his skin. Moments later, there's another. "What the hell is going on here?" Sam asks aloud. Dean stands up and walks to his bed, snatching another mosquito from the air and squishing it in his fist.
"Maybe our room is infested?"
"I'm not imagining these, right? I keep feeling them all over me," Sam says, flopping down backwards on the mattress. "I'm not drunk enough."
Dean arches an eyebrow. "Damn right you're not."
Sam swallows and moves over to one side, letting Dean slide in next to him on the bed. Sam's nose twitches, and he smacks a bug that has landed on his cheek.
"Lucky bug," Dean mumbles dejectedly, trying to stifle a yawn.
Sam rolls his eyes. "Shut up," he says and shoves his hand down the front of Dean's pants. Grabs his cock tight and presses their mouths together.
**
Four
The thing won't stop biting him, even when he puts his elbow under running water, trying to drown it off.
It's big, and black, and ugly. And it won't stop sucking the blood out of his arm. Sam has to yank it off with his hand and throw it on the floor, stomping it angrily.
Dean complains they keep smashing into his windshield, leaving behind streaking trails of bug-goo. Sam would make him eat the bug-goo if he could. At least they're not chomping down on Dean's arm.
"It's okay, I know the bugs think you're just a big wet, Sammypop."
Sam sighs, "A Sammypop?"
"Yeah. How many licks-" Dean starts and Sam shoves him in the arm.
"Quit it, I do not taste like candy."
"Yeah, you do," Dean says, looking at him. Then his eyes are back on the road.
Too fast to see Sam smile.
**
Five
It's not just the fact that the all the livestock dies. That could have been a byproduct of the recent insect infestations in the town, not to mention the fact that the reservoir had to be shut down. What really sets off the warning bells are the riots at the MelloMart, and the grocery stores downtown.
Every piece of poultry, fish, or meat, every egg, has rotted inside out. Every slab of beef and pork in the butcher's display case is covered in mold and maggots. Prepackaged foods, not more than a few hours old from the local slaughterhouse have become inedible, black necrotic flesh in the hands of the shoppers. Right in front of their eyes.
Sam clicks on the radio when they're back in the car. The reporter is talking about how the hospital is flooded with cases of botulism, e. coli, trichinosis and other food-born illnesses.
Dean reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out some beef jerky. He sniffs it, carefully, breaking it in half. There's no signs of rotting or deterioration. He offers a bite to Sam, who refuses.
**
Six
Sam buries his face behind the stack of books he's going through as Dean approaches, cavalier as ever.
"We're dealing with the ten plagues," Sam says.
"Since when did zits show up in the Bible?" Dean remarks and Sam sets the book down.
"These are boils, Dean." Sam points to the red splotches on his neck. The same thing everyone in town has.
"But I didn't get them," Dean says.
"None you can see. Yet." Sam smirks, angling his head to Dean's backside.
"Keep your eyes to yourself, Sammy," Dean grumbles.
"Seriously though, we have to do something soon, we're getting closer and closer to the Tenth plague."
Dean nods, face hardening. "Death of the first-born."
Sam shakes his head. "Not letting it come that close. Not again."
Dean touches Sam's hand from across the desk. "It won't-"
He's interrupted by the sound of thunder, rumbling low and terrible in the distance. The boils start to fade when the rain comes the next day.
**
Seven
Dean wants to cry when he wakes up and sees the condition the car is in after the storm. But he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood.
"I'll kill them. I'll fucking kill whoever's responsible-"
Sam looks down at his feet and then runs off, Dean cocking his head to watch Sam crouching on the ground over the body of a young girl.
Her body is beaten, bruised in black and blue splotches across her face and legs, shallow breaths being forced past her lips. She stirs in Sam's arms and Dean fires up the engine, hoping to god that the car is in good enough shape to get them to the hospital before it's too late.
The car stalls on the road, right before the sign marking the town border. Dean gets out, Sam following. Sam holds up a hand, "Wait."
Sam steps forward, bumping his nose against an invisible wall in the road. He feels the air, feels around the ground and moves from side to side, pushing against the barrier. Dean approaches him.
"It won't let us go," Sam turns to him, panic in his eyes before walking back to the car. "We have to find a doctor in town for her."
Dean wiggles his fingers against the supposed air-barrier Sammy was standing next to, but he can't feel a thing.
**
Eight
Dean dreams that the garden withers away and dies. Of course when he wakes up, he can’t help but ask himself aloud "What garden?"
"Garden?" Sam answers from the other side of the room. He's sitting at his laptop again, familiar stacks of papers and books surrounding him.
"The garden-" Dean starts, but that's when the buzzing converges on them. The sound of the insects swarming, like fat raindrops crashing into walls and the ceiling of their motel room.
It only takes moments, mere minutes for them to come and go. Sam and Dean nod to each other, gathering their gear to go investigate the damage done this time around. "Why do so many of these damn plagues have to involve bugs?" Dean asks. Sam shrugs and opens the door.
Nothing is left. Not a single leaf on a single tree, not a stalk of grass or flower on the ground. If the livestock were still a concern, they'd certainly starve to death now. Anything plant, vegetable, or even slightly green consumed by the swarm.
When they return to the room, Sam hits the books again. Dean sits on the edge of the bed and looks at Sam.
"There was a garden," he says.
"Dean?"
"I need to sleep," Dean says, shaking his head wearily.
Sam narrows his eyes. "You've been sleeping a lot."
"What, you're afraid I'm gonna sleep through the apocalypse?" Dean says, shuffling towards the head of the bed and stripping out of his jacket and shirt.
"I'm afraid you're not gonna wake up," Sam says, in all seriousness.
Dean stops in his tracks, walking back to Sam, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I will always wake up, okay?"
"You can't promise me that," Sam looks up at Dean, and suddenly he's a child again. Telling his big brother to stop playing like he's invincible. To recognize the tenuous grasp they have on life, on safety, on sanity.
And in the very next moment Sam is completely his, lips on the skin of his neck and warm body pressing close. Dean's eyes slip shut and the blood rushes away from him as Sam cups his growing arousal and does everything Dean should hate himself for wanting.
**
Nine
Sam studies all night long, every book within range and on the subject, but it doesn't do any good. And when the sun's supposed to break across the horizon, his world goes pitch black. Sam stumbles, feeling his way around the room after he falls off his chair, ends up crawling on hands and knees towards the bed, feeling his way along the sides of the wall, where it meets the floor.
He collapses on the mattress, too exhausted to deal with the ninth plague of darkness that has befallen them. Sam wakes up when Dean shoves him in his side, and slowly realizes the voice in the background is coming from the radio. Sam feels around for Dean's body, curling into him instinctively and turning to listen to the distressed reporter.
Everyone in town has gone blind.
They listen to the broadcast until the announcer starts to sound too maudlin for even Dean's tastes, and Sam hears him get up, walk over to wherever the radio is, before the sound clicks off.
Dean's body makes the mattress dip again, and Sam moves towards it, wraps his arms around him.
"People out there are going crazy, Sam."
"We can't stop them, not like this." Sam kisses Dean's neck, moving his hands along Dean's skin. Sam inches his way down the curves of Dean's body. Knowing what it should feel like, tracing the familiar patterns and curve of Dean with his lips and tongue.
"Sam," Dean whispers, raising his chin up to level Sam's eyes with his. "I can still see."
Sam jerks in his arms, snaps up and stares off to one side, attempting to face him. "What?"
"I think I'm immune to whatever's going on here," Dean pauses, squeezing Sam's shoulders tight. "I think I'm the one that has to stop it."
Sam feels for Dean's lips with his fingers and Dean kisses the back of his hand. For three days, the darkness holds the town.
For three days, Dean won't let go of Sam.
**
The Passover
"Let them go," Dean says at the God-king sitting before him.
He taps his finger impatiently, gold ring clinking against the marble throne. "No."
Dean moves like a lightning strike, his hands around the old fool's throat. "Deny me this and I will bring upon you a fury like no other."
The God-king gasps and tries to talk. Dean slackens his grip just enough for it to rasp out, "Never! They are mine!"
Dean wakes from the dream, panting. Sam's gone, the room is still and empty and Dean's hand shakes as he reaches for a glass of water. He tries to steady it by holding onto his wrist, breathing deeply in and out.
Sam clicks the door shut and Dean looks at him. Looks at the blood on Sam's fingers.
Sam looks down at his hands. "Lambs' blood on the door. I didn't want to take any chances. I gave the rest of our stash to the owners. They have a son."
"Sam," Dean says, sitting up and crossing his legs. "Why are we the only people in town who have tried to leave and can't?"
"Leave?" Sam asks.
"Dead animals, massive infestations, blindness and hailstones the size of baseballs raining down. And no one seems to want to leave here."
"I know," Sam says, looking away. "We can't leave, though. There's no way out for the rest of us."
Dean blinks. "What do you mean?"
"You have to make him let us go."
**
Because Sam coughed blood into the sink one morning, while he was brushing his teeth. And he couldn't stop.
**
Ten
Dean summons him, the demon with the God-king's eyes.
"They're all dead, aren't they?"
"Dead or dying," it answers.
"And me?"
"You're sleeping in the hospital, while your brother's lungs fill with blood."
Dean licks his lips, fingers tensing over the hilt of his knife. "Why the plagues?"
"Everyone needs a challenge to overcome."
Dean snaps his head up, grabbing the demon by the throat. "I'll hunt you. I'll wake up and hunt you down and I will burn you out and send you back to Hell."
"I didn't come from what you call hell! It was my domain before-" it spits out. Dean releases him and he falls to the ground, face morphing into the shape of a Jackal. "When man was young, you worshipped me as a god. Until another drove me out on my hands and knees, slaughtered my brothers and sisters, turned my people against me."
Dean feels a whisper at his shoulder, gossamer thread of breath and soul. "Anubis, god of the dead," he repeats the words he hears.
"The souls were mine to have, coming to me free and clear. I could recreate what happened. I could win this time. I didn't count on you trying to stop me."
The whispering voice is back, and Dean repeats what he hears, the Latin rolling off his tongue as the Jackal-headed godling writhes on the ground. Smoke and blackness escapes from its mouth, taking with it the disguise of the dog, and leaving behind the empty shell of the possessed.
**
No one dies that night, which is odd for a hospital of its size. Even the patients in critical condition that were hanging on to life by a single thread, are now growing stronger.
It's odd, but no one is complaining.
The nurse shakes him awake and he nearly clocks her in shock. Dean comes to in a chair in the waiting room and the nurse scowls at him and tells him his brother is asking for him.
Sam smiles when Dean walks into the room. He listens to the doctor informing him that Sam's prognosis looks good; all the while he can't take his eyes off of Sam.
The doctor leaves them alone and Dean sits at Sam's side.
"I was worried," Sam coughs.
"See? First-born son and very much still alive."
"Technically, I think Anubis was born before anyone else. So it was kind of fitting in the end."
Dean rolls his eyes. "Sam, this is me desperately trying to forget the fact that you had to use your psychic mojo to pull me into the dream in the first place. Let's not over-analyze the situation. Just tell me I'm your hero and that you'll never doubt me again."
"Tell me you're always gonna wake up next to me. Then you can be my hero."
Dean doesn't answer, just runs his thumb along the bow of Sam's lip.
**
Soundtrack:
- L7 - Bitter Wine
- Modest Mouse - March Into The Sea
- Soul Coughing - The Bug
- Veruca Salt - Fly
- The Raveonettes - Little Animals
- Jimmy Eat World - Blister
- Pixies - Stormy Weather
- Windsor For The Derby - The Melody Of A Fallen Tree
- Johnny Cash - I See A Darkness
- Wolf Parade - Dear Sons And Daughters Of Hungry Ghosts
50 MB Zip