After the Fire | Gen, R | (2/3)
title: After the Fire
word-count:~12,000 (5,600 this chapter)
rating: R
characters: Sam, Dean, Zachariah, Lucifer
warnings: End!verse, blood, violence, disturbing imagery, torture
summary: Lucifer always kept his word, but he'd found a way to make Sam regret ever asking him to keep Dean safe.
part 1
part 2
2. (Dean)
Dean woke up to his insides being torn apart. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew he wasn't in Hell, because you couldn't sleep in Hell.
Once he opened his eyes, he was even more sure. Hell had never been this clean. The ceiling above him was the polished kind of latex white normally only reserved for hospitals or brand new office buildings. What felt like a dagger tearing at his leg brought his attention back down to his own body. His hands clutched uselessly at the air as he watched long gashes form up the length of his torso, giant claws tearing him apart one after the other. Hellhound, he thought, as the pain intensified. But when Dean reached out for where the hound's head should have been, he touched nothing but air.
Defying all logic, the non-existent hound tore into Dean again, this time with razor-sharp teeth. The teeth felt the same, just like they had years ago when Lilith had come to collect him. But the burning stench of the hellhound's sulfurous breath was completely absent. Dean didn't even feel a trace of an exhale against his flesh. There was no hound, just the injuries it had given him reforming violently like a nightmare made real. He cried out as the pain grew again and waited for the reprieve of death.
It came hours later than it should have.
****
" -sorry," Sam's voice said.
Dean blinked into the harsh light above and turned his head until he saw his brother's worried face looking down at him.
"Sorry, almost done." Sam brought his teeth down near Dean's stomach and bit through the piece of thread he'd used to stitch the shredded skin back together.
Confused, Dean tried to orient himself. "Where are we? What happened?"
The corner of Sam's mouth twitched and sorrow flickered across his features. He swallowed it back, in typical Sam fashion, but his eyes were glassy. "Hellhound."
Dean sat up, or tried to and then immediately regretted it. "No. I mean yeah-scratches, teeth, they're all hound material, but there was no-" His sentence was interrupted by a coughing fit.
Like he'd been waiting for it, Sam slid his arm gently behind Dean's back and helped him sit up just enough to take a sip from a water bottle. The thin plastic crinkled in his grip, sending way too much into Dean's mouth.
Coughing again, Dean pulled back and held up his hand, grabbing onto Sam's arm for support as he pushed himself further upright, wincing through the pain until he was propped up against the white wall behind him. His vision flickered in and out as his body protested the movement, but he focused on Sam until it steadied again.
"You'll be okay. I know it looks bad, and it hurts, but-" Sam chewed on his lip for a second. "Dean, I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," Dean said, grimacing as he shifted slightly. Oddly enough, the pain was already diminishing. Through the tatters of his shirt he thought he saw the skin right next to where his bellybutton used to be start to close. Impossible, but then his brain wasn't exactly working at 100%, too much blood loss and internal damage. He still had no idea where they were or what had even happened before he got attacked. "Where are we?"
"Detroit," Sam said, eyeing Dean strangely.
"What are we hunting?"
The huff that left Sam's mouth was far too bitter to be a laugh. He stood stiffly and put his hand against the wall, letting his head hang down.
"Look man, I can't remember a damn thing, okay? Whatever got me, got me good, so can you give me the CliffsNotes?"
Sam's lips were pinched and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second before focusing on Dean again. "We're not hunting anything."
"Okay…then how'd I get hurt?" Dean asked. "Hex-bag? Some kind of random mojo?"
"Not random." Sam flexed his right hand. His fingers were shaking just enough to be noticeable. "It's my fault. I'm the reason you're hurt." He turned away, pacing in the empty white room.
Dean followed Sam's movements, waiting for him to explain. He looked out of place against the sterile walls of the room. His white t-shirt and jeans were soaked with Dean's blood-hopefully just Dean's.
"Where are we, then? Hospital? Gotta be a hospital. No windows." Dean's eyes tracked around the room and he squinted at the far corner, partially hidden by shadow. "No door?"
Sam shook his head and stopped pacing. "Not until our time's up."
"Our time?" Dean's throat tightened, the sheer misery in Sam's voice and stance putting him on edge.
Slowly, Sam turned back to Dean. He met his eyes for a quarter-second and then went back to staring at the floor. He crossed his arms and spoke, so quietly Dean had to strain to hear. "We get an hour and six minutes."
"Until what?" Dean asked.
"Until you fall asleep again," Sam said.
He sounded angry and scared, and Dean had no idea what to say. "So get me some coffee. I won't fall asleep."
"It doesn't matter. We tried that last time, and it didn't-"
"What do you mean last time?" Dean sat up further, then wondered why he wasn't doubling over in pain. He looked down at his wounds and froze. The largest of the gashes, the one that had run nearly all the way up to his collarbone last time he'd checked, was completely healed. "Sammy, what the hell's going on?"
"I fucked up!" Sam yelled, throwing his arms out to his sides. "I tried to fight back again and now…" He gestured at Dean, and then let his hands drop. They were shaking noticeably.
"What's wrong with your hands?" Dean asked, nodding his chin towards Sam's fingers.
Sam stared at him incredulously. "My hands are fine."
"Really? 'Cause you're shaking like you drank a gallon of espresso." Dean pushed against the floor and tried to stand. His thigh twinged where a wound was still closing, but he got himself up on his feet and took a step towards Sam.
"It's nothing," Sam said.
Dean narrowed his eyes, and gave his brother his best I can see through your bull-shit look.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is this-this has to stop," Sam said, breaking Dean's gaze again.
"Well, it'd be good to get out of this creepy-ass room for starters. Want to work on that first?"
Sam scoffed. "We can't. Well, you can't."
That was odd. "But you can?" Dean looked around the room again. He started to feel dizzy as he began walking forwards. His right knee buckled completely as his vision started to tunnel. There was a buzzing in his ears that grew louder and louder until it was all he could hear.
Sam rushed to his side and put his arm behind Dean's back, lowering him gently to the floor.
******
"They were just children, and I couldn't- I knew this would happen, but I just couldn't let him…"
Sam's voice trailed off as Dean woke, blinking up at the white ceiling. "Sam?" Dean asked. He propped himself up on his elbows. When he saw the look on Sam's face‚ the dried tears and bloodshot eyes, he rushed to his side. "What happened?" He tried to remember where they were. The room they were in was familiar: the strange sterile walls, the emptiness of it. There was nothing in here-no bed, no door, not even a chair. They'd been here before though. He was pretty sure they'd been here for a few days at least.
His brother was turned away from him, his large frame folded together as he sat with his legs drawn in close to his chest. His chin was resting on his knees and his eyes had closed.
"Sam, what happened?" Dean asked again, trying to get his attention.
"I- I stopped him," Sam said. He sniffed and raised his head, turning to Dean. "For a little while, anyway. They got away but they're still alive. At least…I think they are."
"Who's 'they'?" Dean asked. "How'd you even get out of here? There's no friggin' door." He was getting frustrated. He had no idea where this room was, how they'd gotten here in the first place. All he remembered was that a few days ago he'd been hurt-bad. There'd been big gashes across his chest and legs and Sam had stitched him back together, and then they'd healed so damn fast it wasn't right. It couldn't be real. "Are we dreaming? Did we get whammied or something? You're not making sense. None of this makes sense." He stood up, suddenly angry and started to circle the room. No windows, no doors, the wall was the same even shade of white the entire way around. "Who stuck us in here? One of the angels? Is this one of their green rooms?"
"No." Sam pushed himself to his feet. "It's your cell."
Dean's stomach clenched unpleasantly, almost too strong to just be a reaction to Sam's words. "You mean our cell?" he gritted out as the pain intensified.
"Dammit. Not yet," Sam said, moving closer to Dean. "He said he'd give me time to explain."
The pain in Dean's stomach receded as another lance of agony tore through him, this time straight through his ribs, right by his heart. Dean's hand flew up reflexively and his fingers came away bloody. There was a bullet-hole in his chest. "Sam…"what's happening? He fell to the floor, gasping for air. Something was stuck in his throat. If he'd still had the ability to scream he would have as all of his bones shattered-an impossibly heavy invisible weight falling down on him. He should have been dead already five times over, but he wasn't.
"Stop!" Sam yelled into the empty room. "Stop doing this!"
Dean tried to turn to Sam, tried to see who he was yelling at but he couldn't move. The bullet-wound in his chest ached as it started to close and he could already feel his bones reknitting. For whatever reason, his injuries weren't permanent. Maybe because of the weirdo room they were in, or maybe something else was going on. That didn't make the pain any less. He could feel his toes again, and as soon as he found he could move them, they began to tickle and then spark. Lightning traveled up his legs and through his entire body, causing him to arch his head back. He bit his tongue as he thrashed and distantly, he could feel Sam trying to turn him on his side.
"Stop," Sam said more quietly. "Please, stop."
And just like that, Dean's body stopped. Everything stopped.
******
He was in Hell. It had to be Hell, because he remembered this: the tear of the hooks in his flesh, the endless heat running up and down his skin, little flames that hurt but never burned the skin enough to deaden it. This felt familiar, this felt like forever.
His shoulder was about to tear, the hook embedded in it so tautly strung that his skin was separating itself from his muscle. He turned into the tear, trying to keep the tissue together, but that only pulled the hook in his abdomen harder. He clenched his teeth together hard, tired of screaming and forced his body to still, letting himself drift back to center. A fly in a spiderweb of pointed metal.
He thought he heard Sam's voice, but it couldn't be Sam, because Sam wasn't in Hell. He'd done this for Sam, he was here so Sam could live, so it wasn't Sam's voice. It was just some demon fucking with him, using his brother's voice as another hook in his soul.
"I'm sorry," Sam's voice said.
"You're not him, you're not him," Dean said under his breath.
"You're not in Hell. This isn't-this isn't Hell. You got out, remember?" Sam's voice said, and the inflections were so convincing, but it wasn't Sam, no matter how badly Dean wanted to hear his voice.
"This is Hell. You seriously think I'm gonna believe you're my brother?" Dean growled as the hook in his shoulder finally tore through. His body dropped a half foot, hanging by the hook in his gut for a split second before that tore too, just from his weight. He hung by his ankles, upside down, dangling as his limbs brushed layers of heated metal chains. Underneath the tangled mess was a white floor, spotless and empty except for one person standing right beneath him- person who looked a whole lot like Sam. Even if it wasn't him. He looked so much like him. "Sammy? Why are you here? You can't be here."
"We're not in Hell," said the Sam-demon.
"You got me out?" Dean tried to remember, but his brain felt like it was on fire and all he could remember was pain, months, years, decades of metal and flame.
Sam, or the thing that looked like him, hung his head. "No. I wasn't strong enough to get you out...I'm never strong enough." He peered up at Dean with shining eyes. "Cas got you out."
"Who?" The chains below him came to life as he bled on them and started moving, eager for another taste. They snaked their way up his legs, over his torso and finally wrapped around his face. Two hooks dug into his eyes and pulled, blinding him instantly. He screamed as a whole new agony filled him, and thought he heard Sam shouting his name again, but it couldn't be Sam.
*******
Sam was crying. Quietly, but Dean knew the sound, intimately attuned to it since they'd been kids-nose sniffling, inhalations that sounded more like muted gasps then breaths.
Though Dean couldn't remember where they were or why Sam had any reason to be upset, he knew something was off the second he opened his eyes, which ached oddly, like he'd spent too long lying under the sun. The walls were far too clean to be a hotel room, and no matter where he looked, he couldn't find a source of light, even though he could see. He didn't cast a shadow when he stood.
Sam was sitting on the opposite side of the empty room, his long legs bent, arms wrapped around them. His hair was unwashed and speckled with dust like he'd been in a construction site.
"You okay?" Dean asked as he got closer.
Sam wrapped his arms tighter and kept his eyes closed, chin resting on his knees.
Dean let himself sink down next to Sam and scooted over until their shoulders were touching. His brother's thin t-shirt was soaked with sweat like he'd been running for hours on end. "Hey," Dean said, tapping his knee against Sam's.
A few strands of Sam's hair were plastered to the side of his face when he lifted his head, blinking as if he wasn't sure Dean was there.
"What happened? Did we get whammied or something? I don't remem-"
"Two million, four hundred ten thousand, three hundred and sixty-eight dead," Sam said, his voice rough.
"Whoa, what-"
"Because of me. I haven't lost count. I want to, though…but I can't because I know everything, because he knows everything…" Sam's voice trailed off as he rubbed the back of his hand across his nose. He turned his eyes down to the floor and brought his chin back onto his knees.
Dean swallowed, racking his brain, trying to find some clue about where they were, about what had happened. There was a bad fog where his memories should be, like a hangover, only without the headache and queasiness. "Sam, what are you talking about?" His gaze wandered around the room, and when he saw the sterile white ceiling he shuddered without really knowing why.
"After last week…what he did to you, I just couldn't-" Sam lifted his head and took a slow steadying breath. "I couldn't watch you go through that again." He met Dean's eyes again. "So I didn't fight. I let him…I let him tear those cities apart." His breath hitched. "I had no idea how much I'd been holding him back until I stopped."
"Who's he?" Dean asked, frantically trying to put the pieces back together. "Who's hurting you?" A flash came then, a memory of a blinding light, of wicked eyes. "Yellow-eyes?" No that wasn't right, because he was dead, bullet to the head. "Ruby…" No, because he'd killed her too.
Sam shook his head, clenching his eyes shut.
"Lucifer…" Dean said as he remembered a portal cracking open and the light of an archangel pouring out towards them. The white of the room grew a thousand times brighter and the fog in Dean's mind became a leaden blanket, until it forced him completely under.
*******
"I don't know what to do," Sam said.
Dean opened his eyes and found Sam sitting across from him, cross-legged. He pushed himself up off the floor, trying to remember how he'd gotten there. He'd fallen. Or he'd been shot, or crushed or something.
"I can't keep doing this to you."
"Doing what?" Dean asked, looking around at the white room. Hospital, maybe. But no, there weren't any beds. "Where are we?"
"It's getting worse," Sam said as he lifted his head. There were dark bags under his eyes and his skin was vaguely grey. "It's getting harder to fight back. I'm trying. I'm still trying, but I don't know how much longer I can."
"Look, I must've gotten knocked on the head or something. Seriously, I have no idea what's going on."
Sam's face twisted, misery making him look young and lost. "He says it's better for me if you don't remember. That you'd hate me if you knew. He says he's doing it for me."
"Who does?" The sorrow Dean saw in Sam's eyes was deeper than any he'd known before, and that was in a lifetime filled with heartache.
"Lucifer. You don't remember anything because Lucifer is making you forget," Sam said. The green in his eyes was lighter than usual and for a split second they flashed yellow. "But I want you to remember."
And just like that, Dean did. He remembered everything with startling clarity: they'd parted ways because they thought that would keep Lucifer and Michael away from them, but then Sam…Sam had said 'yes' to Lucifer. He'd let the Devil in and given him his perfect vessel. That on its own was enough for Dean to chew on, but his brain kept filling with other things he didn't want to know-memories of this room, hundreds of days (or nights not like he could tell) waking up screaming or bleeding or both, never dying, just suffering, while Sam spewed a litany of apologies by his side. Sam had stitched him up, held him while invisible weapons tore into him. Sometimes he'd tell Dean what he'd done to incur Lucifer's wrath that day. It happened anytime Sam protested, anytime he fought Lucifer for control of his body. The Devil had kept Dean alive for Sam, but he held that over Sam's head every hour of every day. Any resistance on Sam's part, no matter how small, resulted in agony for Dean.
"How long?" Dean asked, once he got his voice to work again.
Sam shook his head, his eyes downcast. "I'm not sure. I know it was winter when I said yes, and the trees are just starting to change color again."
"There's still trees?" Dean smirked half-heartedly. "Thought they'd all be kindling by now."
"He likes trees," Sam said. "He likes just about everything that's not human, demon or angel."
"Really?" Dean thought for a second. "Even geese?"
Sam stared at his brother.
"They're really annoying. And mean. I'm just sayin'"
"You don't know what it's like out there," Sam said, averting his eyes again. "There's so much ash in the air, and it's-" He choked on his next words for a second, steadied himself and went on, his voice wavering only slightly. "He makes this- this living fire. It only targets people, nothing else. He sent a river of it up and down the entire Appalachian Trail just to wipe out the hikers. Everything else survived, even the deer. They were pretty spooked though."
Dean slid closer to Sam, until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. There was heat pouring off Sam in waves, even though he was dressed in nothing but a thin t-shirt and jeans. "So how do we stop it? How do we stop him?"
"We don't," Sam scoffed. "The only one who can stop him is Michael."
"So why hasn't he?" Dean asked. "Too chicken-shit?"
"He tried. Three times, actually," Sam said. "The last time he was wearing Adam."
Dean stared a him blankly
"Adam Milligan," Sam said.
"Our half-brother? Our very dead, eaten by ghouls half-brother? That Adam?"
Sam nodded.
"I thought I was the only vessel Michael wanted," Dean grumbled. It wasn't bad enough that their lives were cursed because of the angels, now their half-brother had gotten messed up in it all too.
"When I said yes, Michael panicked. He was planning on abducting you, doing whatever he had to until you gave in, but he can't find you."
Dean pointed at his chest. "Because of the scratches on our ribs?"
"No." Sam looked up at the empty ceiling. "Lucifer hiding you here was part of my agreement with him. I made him swear you'd be off of Heaven's radar for good. I made him swear you'd be safe."
The ludicrousness of the statement took a few seconds to sink in.
"So, me being shot and clawed apart by hellhounds and back in Hell...that's safe?
"You'll never die from any of it." Sam's face twisted in anger mixed with misery. "You're always healed before our time's up." He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "As far as Lucifer's concerned, he's following the terms of our agreement to the letter."
"Is he still in there? Right now, I mean?" Dean asked, cocking an eyebrow. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask until that moment.
Sam shook his head. "No. I'm alone" His eyes flicked up to Dean. "That's why we only get forty-three minutes. Might be a little less actually, I'm not really sure." His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "We have however long I can last without him."
Dean's stomach turned to ice. "What?"
"I…I can't survive without him anymore. Not for long, anyway." Sam ran his hand through his hair again, and now Dean noticed the way his fingers shook, the beads of sweat on his brow. He looked like death.
"Is it-" Dean's mouth filled with bile at just the thought. "Is it demon blood?"
Sam scoffed. "Doesn't do a thing for me anymore. It's like a drop in the bucket." His voice went colorless. "No, he's moved onto something much stronger and now, without him inside, my body starts to tear itself apart."
"Isn't that just shooting himself in the foot? I mean, he needs you, right?"
"Yeah, but if I die, he just brings me back and when he's inside of me…" Sam shook his head. "Dean, he's getting stronger."
"Than you?"
"Than everyone." The certainty in Sam's voice was unsettling enough, but when he started to blink back tears, Dean's heart sank even lower. "He's not feeding me demon blood anymore Dean, he's feeding me angel blood."
Dean swallowed. "And…what does angel blood do to you?"
"I've always been…something like an amplifier for his power, I guess. That's why Azazel did what he did-not just so I could be Lucifer's vessel, but so I'd make him even stronger." Sam's voice shook as he continued. "He's smart. He knew he'd be facing off against not just Michael but the whole Host, so he had to make sure he could stand against all of them." His eyes were wide and frozen open, his gaze somewhere else completely. "I'm the end game, Dean." He pulled in a sharp, stuttering breath. "When he's done razing Earth, Heaven's next. There will be nothing left but Hell."
Far past the point of despair, Dean struggled for some kind of response.
"Say yes," Sam said, so quietly Dean was sure he'd imagined it.
"What?"
"I left the door open a crack. Just enough for Michael to hear you. Say yes. Sam wrapped his long fingers around Dean's hands and met his eyes. "Please. Do it now." His face twisted in a grimace. "Stop this. Stop me."
"If I say yes, you die," Dean said just as quietly, but forcefully enough to get his point across. Hopefully.
"Please," Sam said again. He pulled his hands away and his arms were shaking now, tremors running all the way up to his shoulders. He pushed himself up and his tall frame wavered like it would keel over. He started walking towards the door, putting his hand against the wall to support himself.
"Sam, wait! Where are you going?"
Sam kept shuffling forwards and stopped, right before the faint outline of a door along the far wall, just long enough to turn around and say, "It hurts too much. I'm sorry."
Dean stood and ran after him, his hand stretched out, desperate to keep his brother with him.
The door in the wall glowed as Sam touched it and he vanished instantly, leaving Dean behind.
*******
Dean didn't know how long he sat alone in the empty room. He spent hours pacing, checking every inch of wall to see if he could find another crack that would let him out. He tried punching the wall, kicking it, even throwing himself against it, but it wouldn't give.
He finally sat, leaning against the wall again, frustrated and exhausted. After a while, his eyes drifted shut and he wondered, not for the first time, if this place had some kind of sleeping gas feed. The room had a way of making him tired so quickly, almost like someone was willing him to sleep.
He woke up again to light. There was a noticeable door in the wall across from him this time-not just an outline, but an actual door that was still wide open. Dean couldn't see much detail outside, only a solid white glare. It looked almost like it was snowing.
Sam was walking towards him, his silhouette framed by the light coming from the door. Dean blinked up at Sam as he got closer, trying to remember how long he'd been gone. His stance was different: shoulders no longer hunched over but rolled back, his head held high. His footsteps were nearly weightless, like he'd shrugged off the heavy mantle of sorrow that had been weighing him down more every day. He stopped two feet away from Dean and surveyed him with cold eyes.
"You're not Sam," Dean said.
Lucifer didn't respond, but kept watching him. His body had gone completely still. He didn't breathe or blink or move at all for seconds. It was unnerving.
"What? You got tired of cutting me up from far away? Wanted to get a nice front-row seat? What've you got for me today, hmm? Some more evisceration, or invisible poltergeists with guns?" Dean stood up, tired of feeling like a caged animal. Even standing as tall as he could, he still had to to tilt his chin up slightly up to meet his brother's eyes. They were the same hazel-green as always, but nothing about them felt like Sam. Channeling the rage in the pit of his stomach he moved a step closer, determined not to show fear. "What do you get from this, exactly? You think it's gonna make Sam stop fighting? It won't. He's better than you. He always has been. So go ahead. Do your worst, you son of a bitch."
Dean expected to be slammed against the wall with a thought. He expected to be torn into pieces one inch of skin at a time. Lucifer had created all demons, had created Alistair so anything the master torturer had learned he'd learned because of Lucifer. He braced himself for pain beyond anything he'd ever known, his heart beating faster with every passing second.
But all Lucifer did was turn his head and walk past Dean. He went to the same corner Dean had come to favor, sat down and leaned against the wall, stretching Sam's long legs straight out. He crossed one leg over the other and slouched, folding his arms across his chest and lowering his chin like he was settling in for a nap.
As hard as Dean tried to stay focused on the Devil he couldn't help but notice that the door was still open. If he had some way of getting the Devil out of his brother's body right now, this could be it: they could get away. Sure, the world had gone to shit, but it had been heading that way for a long time. At least they'd still have each other. That's all they ever had, really.
Dean came to a decision. It wasn't an easy one, but he couldn't think of another way out.
With one eye still on the door, he decided he might as well try talking to Sam directly one last time. There was no doubt in his mind that Lucifer could hear every thought in his head if he was listening, so if he hadn't stopped him yet, he wasn't going to. Maybe he didn't think Dean was a threat. His mistake. "Sam, you're still in there. I know you are. I'm gonna get him out of you. You just hang on, okay? Just keep fighting and I'll be back. I'm gonna fix this."
Lucifer scoffed then, more derisively than Sam had ever managed, which was pretty impressive, all things considered.
"Something funny?" Dean asked, unable to bite his tongue.
"You can't fix this. The fact that you still think you can amuses me."
Dean's fingers curled into a fist but he kept his focus, turned his back on Lucifer and walked out the door.
*******
The world outside was pale and filled with smoke. Dean clenched his eyes shut as they started to tear and walked forwards blindly. "I'm gonna fix this, Sammy."
There were only two routes available to him. Option one: become Michael's vessel. Option two: convince Michael to help him get Lucifer out of Sam and back into his cage.
Everything he'd heard and read about Michael made it highly unlikely that he'd ever back down from the plan, but then they'd never talked one on one. There was one thing Dean was banking on and if he was right, then Sam and everyone else left on the planet still had a fighting chance.
Michael was an archangel, the strongest of them all. He was God's right hand, but he was also Lucifer's brother. Dean's only chance was that being a brother meant even a fraction as much to Michael as it did to him.
Dean glared up into the ashen sky, fell to his knees and began to pray.
*******
Dean didn't give up easily, especially when it came to Sam. Failure wasn't an option. So despite the complete lack of response from above, he tried again and again for nearly two hours solid.
He didn't stop until he had to, until he'd nearly lost his voice from yelling. Logically, he knew that angels could hear their vessels regardless of volume, but he'd stopped listening to logic ages ago. They were living in madness, and the laws of the universe itself were changing.
On autopilot, Dean's body stood up and his legs started walking back towards the white room. He'd gone through all the facts in his mind over and over and come to one conclusion, one that lay heavy in his gut and made his knees shake.
The sky had grown dusk-tinged, backlighting the horizon in a shade of orange that bled slowly into violet. Dean walked back the way he'd come, taking in his surroundings with a detached sort of calm. There were no other people around, not even corpses. Whatever fires had torn through the area had long since burnt out, leaving behind scorched store fronts: hardware stores, a medical supply shop, and a veterinarian's office. This had been some kind of small Main Street back in the day.
The building the white room was in looked ordinary enough on the outside. Well, ordinary in a post-apocalyptic sort of way. It was an old apartment complex, with three stone steps leading up to a worn, wooden door. Dean wrapped his hand around the knob and turned.
The white room was just as he'd left it, and once he stepped through he half-expected the door to close behind him. It didn't-there was still a clear outline of a door-frame along the wall, mocking him with false promise.
On the other side of the room, Lucifer sat, watching Dean's every move.
With a deep breath, Dean steeled himself and crossed the floor. He sat down across from Sam, and met the Devil's gaze. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Neither am I," Lucifer answered.
"I was talking to Sam," Dean said, forcing his mouth into half-smile. No matter how long it took, he'd get through to Sam. He'd bring him back to the forefront and then they'd figure out a way to get Lucifer out. Michael might have bailed on him, but that didn't mean there wasn't another way.
There was always another way.
on to part 3
original version posted here
*******
word-count:~12,000 (5,600 this chapter)
rating: R
characters: Sam, Dean, Zachariah, Lucifer
warnings: End!verse, blood, violence, disturbing imagery, torture
summary: Lucifer always kept his word, but he'd found a way to make Sam regret ever asking him to keep Dean safe.
part 1
part 2
2. (Dean)
Dean woke up to his insides being torn apart. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew he wasn't in Hell, because you couldn't sleep in Hell.
Once he opened his eyes, he was even more sure. Hell had never been this clean. The ceiling above him was the polished kind of latex white normally only reserved for hospitals or brand new office buildings. What felt like a dagger tearing at his leg brought his attention back down to his own body. His hands clutched uselessly at the air as he watched long gashes form up the length of his torso, giant claws tearing him apart one after the other. Hellhound, he thought, as the pain intensified. But when Dean reached out for where the hound's head should have been, he touched nothing but air.
Defying all logic, the non-existent hound tore into Dean again, this time with razor-sharp teeth. The teeth felt the same, just like they had years ago when Lilith had come to collect him. But the burning stench of the hellhound's sulfurous breath was completely absent. Dean didn't even feel a trace of an exhale against his flesh. There was no hound, just the injuries it had given him reforming violently like a nightmare made real. He cried out as the pain grew again and waited for the reprieve of death.
It came hours later than it should have.
****
" -sorry," Sam's voice said.
Dean blinked into the harsh light above and turned his head until he saw his brother's worried face looking down at him.
"Sorry, almost done." Sam brought his teeth down near Dean's stomach and bit through the piece of thread he'd used to stitch the shredded skin back together.
Confused, Dean tried to orient himself. "Where are we? What happened?"
The corner of Sam's mouth twitched and sorrow flickered across his features. He swallowed it back, in typical Sam fashion, but his eyes were glassy. "Hellhound."
Dean sat up, or tried to and then immediately regretted it. "No. I mean yeah-scratches, teeth, they're all hound material, but there was no-" His sentence was interrupted by a coughing fit.
Like he'd been waiting for it, Sam slid his arm gently behind Dean's back and helped him sit up just enough to take a sip from a water bottle. The thin plastic crinkled in his grip, sending way too much into Dean's mouth.
Coughing again, Dean pulled back and held up his hand, grabbing onto Sam's arm for support as he pushed himself further upright, wincing through the pain until he was propped up against the white wall behind him. His vision flickered in and out as his body protested the movement, but he focused on Sam until it steadied again.
"You'll be okay. I know it looks bad, and it hurts, but-" Sam chewed on his lip for a second. "Dean, I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," Dean said, grimacing as he shifted slightly. Oddly enough, the pain was already diminishing. Through the tatters of his shirt he thought he saw the skin right next to where his bellybutton used to be start to close. Impossible, but then his brain wasn't exactly working at 100%, too much blood loss and internal damage. He still had no idea where they were or what had even happened before he got attacked. "Where are we?"
"Detroit," Sam said, eyeing Dean strangely.
"What are we hunting?"
The huff that left Sam's mouth was far too bitter to be a laugh. He stood stiffly and put his hand against the wall, letting his head hang down.
"Look man, I can't remember a damn thing, okay? Whatever got me, got me good, so can you give me the CliffsNotes?"
Sam's lips were pinched and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second before focusing on Dean again. "We're not hunting anything."
"Okay…then how'd I get hurt?" Dean asked. "Hex-bag? Some kind of random mojo?"
"Not random." Sam flexed his right hand. His fingers were shaking just enough to be noticeable. "It's my fault. I'm the reason you're hurt." He turned away, pacing in the empty white room.
Dean followed Sam's movements, waiting for him to explain. He looked out of place against the sterile walls of the room. His white t-shirt and jeans were soaked with Dean's blood-hopefully just Dean's.
"Where are we, then? Hospital? Gotta be a hospital. No windows." Dean's eyes tracked around the room and he squinted at the far corner, partially hidden by shadow. "No door?"
Sam shook his head and stopped pacing. "Not until our time's up."
"Our time?" Dean's throat tightened, the sheer misery in Sam's voice and stance putting him on edge.
Slowly, Sam turned back to Dean. He met his eyes for a quarter-second and then went back to staring at the floor. He crossed his arms and spoke, so quietly Dean had to strain to hear. "We get an hour and six minutes."
"Until what?" Dean asked.
"Until you fall asleep again," Sam said.
He sounded angry and scared, and Dean had no idea what to say. "So get me some coffee. I won't fall asleep."
"It doesn't matter. We tried that last time, and it didn't-"
"What do you mean last time?" Dean sat up further, then wondered why he wasn't doubling over in pain. He looked down at his wounds and froze. The largest of the gashes, the one that had run nearly all the way up to his collarbone last time he'd checked, was completely healed. "Sammy, what the hell's going on?"
"I fucked up!" Sam yelled, throwing his arms out to his sides. "I tried to fight back again and now…" He gestured at Dean, and then let his hands drop. They were shaking noticeably.
"What's wrong with your hands?" Dean asked, nodding his chin towards Sam's fingers.
Sam stared at him incredulously. "My hands are fine."
"Really? 'Cause you're shaking like you drank a gallon of espresso." Dean pushed against the floor and tried to stand. His thigh twinged where a wound was still closing, but he got himself up on his feet and took a step towards Sam.
"It's nothing," Sam said.
Dean narrowed his eyes, and gave his brother his best I can see through your bull-shit look.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is this-this has to stop," Sam said, breaking Dean's gaze again.
"Well, it'd be good to get out of this creepy-ass room for starters. Want to work on that first?"
Sam scoffed. "We can't. Well, you can't."
That was odd. "But you can?" Dean looked around the room again. He started to feel dizzy as he began walking forwards. His right knee buckled completely as his vision started to tunnel. There was a buzzing in his ears that grew louder and louder until it was all he could hear.
Sam rushed to his side and put his arm behind Dean's back, lowering him gently to the floor.
******
"They were just children, and I couldn't- I knew this would happen, but I just couldn't let him…"
Sam's voice trailed off as Dean woke, blinking up at the white ceiling. "Sam?" Dean asked. He propped himself up on his elbows. When he saw the look on Sam's face‚ the dried tears and bloodshot eyes, he rushed to his side. "What happened?" He tried to remember where they were. The room they were in was familiar: the strange sterile walls, the emptiness of it. There was nothing in here-no bed, no door, not even a chair. They'd been here before though. He was pretty sure they'd been here for a few days at least.
His brother was turned away from him, his large frame folded together as he sat with his legs drawn in close to his chest. His chin was resting on his knees and his eyes had closed.
"Sam, what happened?" Dean asked again, trying to get his attention.
"I- I stopped him," Sam said. He sniffed and raised his head, turning to Dean. "For a little while, anyway. They got away but they're still alive. At least…I think they are."
"Who's 'they'?" Dean asked. "How'd you even get out of here? There's no friggin' door." He was getting frustrated. He had no idea where this room was, how they'd gotten here in the first place. All he remembered was that a few days ago he'd been hurt-bad. There'd been big gashes across his chest and legs and Sam had stitched him back together, and then they'd healed so damn fast it wasn't right. It couldn't be real. "Are we dreaming? Did we get whammied or something? You're not making sense. None of this makes sense." He stood up, suddenly angry and started to circle the room. No windows, no doors, the wall was the same even shade of white the entire way around. "Who stuck us in here? One of the angels? Is this one of their green rooms?"
"No." Sam pushed himself to his feet. "It's your cell."
Dean's stomach clenched unpleasantly, almost too strong to just be a reaction to Sam's words. "You mean our cell?" he gritted out as the pain intensified.
"Dammit. Not yet," Sam said, moving closer to Dean. "He said he'd give me time to explain."
The pain in Dean's stomach receded as another lance of agony tore through him, this time straight through his ribs, right by his heart. Dean's hand flew up reflexively and his fingers came away bloody. There was a bullet-hole in his chest. "Sam…"what's happening? He fell to the floor, gasping for air. Something was stuck in his throat. If he'd still had the ability to scream he would have as all of his bones shattered-an impossibly heavy invisible weight falling down on him. He should have been dead already five times over, but he wasn't.
"Stop!" Sam yelled into the empty room. "Stop doing this!"
Dean tried to turn to Sam, tried to see who he was yelling at but he couldn't move. The bullet-wound in his chest ached as it started to close and he could already feel his bones reknitting. For whatever reason, his injuries weren't permanent. Maybe because of the weirdo room they were in, or maybe something else was going on. That didn't make the pain any less. He could feel his toes again, and as soon as he found he could move them, they began to tickle and then spark. Lightning traveled up his legs and through his entire body, causing him to arch his head back. He bit his tongue as he thrashed and distantly, he could feel Sam trying to turn him on his side.
"Stop," Sam said more quietly. "Please, stop."
And just like that, Dean's body stopped. Everything stopped.
******
He was in Hell. It had to be Hell, because he remembered this: the tear of the hooks in his flesh, the endless heat running up and down his skin, little flames that hurt but never burned the skin enough to deaden it. This felt familiar, this felt like forever.
His shoulder was about to tear, the hook embedded in it so tautly strung that his skin was separating itself from his muscle. He turned into the tear, trying to keep the tissue together, but that only pulled the hook in his abdomen harder. He clenched his teeth together hard, tired of screaming and forced his body to still, letting himself drift back to center. A fly in a spiderweb of pointed metal.
He thought he heard Sam's voice, but it couldn't be Sam, because Sam wasn't in Hell. He'd done this for Sam, he was here so Sam could live, so it wasn't Sam's voice. It was just some demon fucking with him, using his brother's voice as another hook in his soul.
"I'm sorry," Sam's voice said.
"You're not him, you're not him," Dean said under his breath.
"You're not in Hell. This isn't-this isn't Hell. You got out, remember?" Sam's voice said, and the inflections were so convincing, but it wasn't Sam, no matter how badly Dean wanted to hear his voice.
"This is Hell. You seriously think I'm gonna believe you're my brother?" Dean growled as the hook in his shoulder finally tore through. His body dropped a half foot, hanging by the hook in his gut for a split second before that tore too, just from his weight. He hung by his ankles, upside down, dangling as his limbs brushed layers of heated metal chains. Underneath the tangled mess was a white floor, spotless and empty except for one person standing right beneath him- person who looked a whole lot like Sam. Even if it wasn't him. He looked so much like him. "Sammy? Why are you here? You can't be here."
"We're not in Hell," said the Sam-demon.
"You got me out?" Dean tried to remember, but his brain felt like it was on fire and all he could remember was pain, months, years, decades of metal and flame.
Sam, or the thing that looked like him, hung his head. "No. I wasn't strong enough to get you out...I'm never strong enough." He peered up at Dean with shining eyes. "Cas got you out."
"Who?" The chains below him came to life as he bled on them and started moving, eager for another taste. They snaked their way up his legs, over his torso and finally wrapped around his face. Two hooks dug into his eyes and pulled, blinding him instantly. He screamed as a whole new agony filled him, and thought he heard Sam shouting his name again, but it couldn't be Sam.
*******
Sam was crying. Quietly, but Dean knew the sound, intimately attuned to it since they'd been kids-nose sniffling, inhalations that sounded more like muted gasps then breaths.
Though Dean couldn't remember where they were or why Sam had any reason to be upset, he knew something was off the second he opened his eyes, which ached oddly, like he'd spent too long lying under the sun. The walls were far too clean to be a hotel room, and no matter where he looked, he couldn't find a source of light, even though he could see. He didn't cast a shadow when he stood.
Sam was sitting on the opposite side of the empty room, his long legs bent, arms wrapped around them. His hair was unwashed and speckled with dust like he'd been in a construction site.
"You okay?" Dean asked as he got closer.
Sam wrapped his arms tighter and kept his eyes closed, chin resting on his knees.
Dean let himself sink down next to Sam and scooted over until their shoulders were touching. His brother's thin t-shirt was soaked with sweat like he'd been running for hours on end. "Hey," Dean said, tapping his knee against Sam's.
A few strands of Sam's hair were plastered to the side of his face when he lifted his head, blinking as if he wasn't sure Dean was there.
"What happened? Did we get whammied or something? I don't remem-"
"Two million, four hundred ten thousand, three hundred and sixty-eight dead," Sam said, his voice rough.
"Whoa, what-"
"Because of me. I haven't lost count. I want to, though…but I can't because I know everything, because he knows everything…" Sam's voice trailed off as he rubbed the back of his hand across his nose. He turned his eyes down to the floor and brought his chin back onto his knees.
Dean swallowed, racking his brain, trying to find some clue about where they were, about what had happened. There was a bad fog where his memories should be, like a hangover, only without the headache and queasiness. "Sam, what are you talking about?" His gaze wandered around the room, and when he saw the sterile white ceiling he shuddered without really knowing why.
"After last week…what he did to you, I just couldn't-" Sam lifted his head and took a slow steadying breath. "I couldn't watch you go through that again." He met Dean's eyes again. "So I didn't fight. I let him…I let him tear those cities apart." His breath hitched. "I had no idea how much I'd been holding him back until I stopped."
"Who's he?" Dean asked, frantically trying to put the pieces back together. "Who's hurting you?" A flash came then, a memory of a blinding light, of wicked eyes. "Yellow-eyes?" No that wasn't right, because he was dead, bullet to the head. "Ruby…" No, because he'd killed her too.
Sam shook his head, clenching his eyes shut.
"Lucifer…" Dean said as he remembered a portal cracking open and the light of an archangel pouring out towards them. The white of the room grew a thousand times brighter and the fog in Dean's mind became a leaden blanket, until it forced him completely under.
*******
"I don't know what to do," Sam said.
Dean opened his eyes and found Sam sitting across from him, cross-legged. He pushed himself up off the floor, trying to remember how he'd gotten there. He'd fallen. Or he'd been shot, or crushed or something.
"I can't keep doing this to you."
"Doing what?" Dean asked, looking around at the white room. Hospital, maybe. But no, there weren't any beds. "Where are we?"
"It's getting worse," Sam said as he lifted his head. There were dark bags under his eyes and his skin was vaguely grey. "It's getting harder to fight back. I'm trying. I'm still trying, but I don't know how much longer I can."
"Look, I must've gotten knocked on the head or something. Seriously, I have no idea what's going on."
Sam's face twisted, misery making him look young and lost. "He says it's better for me if you don't remember. That you'd hate me if you knew. He says he's doing it for me."
"Who does?" The sorrow Dean saw in Sam's eyes was deeper than any he'd known before, and that was in a lifetime filled with heartache.
"Lucifer. You don't remember anything because Lucifer is making you forget," Sam said. The green in his eyes was lighter than usual and for a split second they flashed yellow. "But I want you to remember."
And just like that, Dean did. He remembered everything with startling clarity: they'd parted ways because they thought that would keep Lucifer and Michael away from them, but then Sam…Sam had said 'yes' to Lucifer. He'd let the Devil in and given him his perfect vessel. That on its own was enough for Dean to chew on, but his brain kept filling with other things he didn't want to know-memories of this room, hundreds of days (or nights not like he could tell) waking up screaming or bleeding or both, never dying, just suffering, while Sam spewed a litany of apologies by his side. Sam had stitched him up, held him while invisible weapons tore into him. Sometimes he'd tell Dean what he'd done to incur Lucifer's wrath that day. It happened anytime Sam protested, anytime he fought Lucifer for control of his body. The Devil had kept Dean alive for Sam, but he held that over Sam's head every hour of every day. Any resistance on Sam's part, no matter how small, resulted in agony for Dean.
"How long?" Dean asked, once he got his voice to work again.
Sam shook his head, his eyes downcast. "I'm not sure. I know it was winter when I said yes, and the trees are just starting to change color again."
"There's still trees?" Dean smirked half-heartedly. "Thought they'd all be kindling by now."
"He likes trees," Sam said. "He likes just about everything that's not human, demon or angel."
"Really?" Dean thought for a second. "Even geese?"
Sam stared at his brother.
"They're really annoying. And mean. I'm just sayin'"
"You don't know what it's like out there," Sam said, averting his eyes again. "There's so much ash in the air, and it's-" He choked on his next words for a second, steadied himself and went on, his voice wavering only slightly. "He makes this- this living fire. It only targets people, nothing else. He sent a river of it up and down the entire Appalachian Trail just to wipe out the hikers. Everything else survived, even the deer. They were pretty spooked though."
Dean slid closer to Sam, until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. There was heat pouring off Sam in waves, even though he was dressed in nothing but a thin t-shirt and jeans. "So how do we stop it? How do we stop him?"
"We don't," Sam scoffed. "The only one who can stop him is Michael."
"So why hasn't he?" Dean asked. "Too chicken-shit?"
"He tried. Three times, actually," Sam said. "The last time he was wearing Adam."
Dean stared a him blankly
"Adam Milligan," Sam said.
"Our half-brother? Our very dead, eaten by ghouls half-brother? That Adam?"
Sam nodded.
"I thought I was the only vessel Michael wanted," Dean grumbled. It wasn't bad enough that their lives were cursed because of the angels, now their half-brother had gotten messed up in it all too.
"When I said yes, Michael panicked. He was planning on abducting you, doing whatever he had to until you gave in, but he can't find you."
Dean pointed at his chest. "Because of the scratches on our ribs?"
"No." Sam looked up at the empty ceiling. "Lucifer hiding you here was part of my agreement with him. I made him swear you'd be off of Heaven's radar for good. I made him swear you'd be safe."
The ludicrousness of the statement took a few seconds to sink in.
"So, me being shot and clawed apart by hellhounds and back in Hell...that's safe?
"You'll never die from any of it." Sam's face twisted in anger mixed with misery. "You're always healed before our time's up." He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "As far as Lucifer's concerned, he's following the terms of our agreement to the letter."
"Is he still in there? Right now, I mean?" Dean asked, cocking an eyebrow. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask until that moment.
Sam shook his head. "No. I'm alone" His eyes flicked up to Dean. "That's why we only get forty-three minutes. Might be a little less actually, I'm not really sure." His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "We have however long I can last without him."
Dean's stomach turned to ice. "What?"
"I…I can't survive without him anymore. Not for long, anyway." Sam ran his hand through his hair again, and now Dean noticed the way his fingers shook, the beads of sweat on his brow. He looked like death.
"Is it-" Dean's mouth filled with bile at just the thought. "Is it demon blood?"
Sam scoffed. "Doesn't do a thing for me anymore. It's like a drop in the bucket." His voice went colorless. "No, he's moved onto something much stronger and now, without him inside, my body starts to tear itself apart."
"Isn't that just shooting himself in the foot? I mean, he needs you, right?"
"Yeah, but if I die, he just brings me back and when he's inside of me…" Sam shook his head. "Dean, he's getting stronger."
"Than you?"
"Than everyone." The certainty in Sam's voice was unsettling enough, but when he started to blink back tears, Dean's heart sank even lower. "He's not feeding me demon blood anymore Dean, he's feeding me angel blood."
Dean swallowed. "And…what does angel blood do to you?"
"I've always been…something like an amplifier for his power, I guess. That's why Azazel did what he did-not just so I could be Lucifer's vessel, but so I'd make him even stronger." Sam's voice shook as he continued. "He's smart. He knew he'd be facing off against not just Michael but the whole Host, so he had to make sure he could stand against all of them." His eyes were wide and frozen open, his gaze somewhere else completely. "I'm the end game, Dean." He pulled in a sharp, stuttering breath. "When he's done razing Earth, Heaven's next. There will be nothing left but Hell."
Far past the point of despair, Dean struggled for some kind of response.
"Say yes," Sam said, so quietly Dean was sure he'd imagined it.
"What?"
"I left the door open a crack. Just enough for Michael to hear you. Say yes. Sam wrapped his long fingers around Dean's hands and met his eyes. "Please. Do it now." His face twisted in a grimace. "Stop this. Stop me."
"If I say yes, you die," Dean said just as quietly, but forcefully enough to get his point across. Hopefully.
"Please," Sam said again. He pulled his hands away and his arms were shaking now, tremors running all the way up to his shoulders. He pushed himself up and his tall frame wavered like it would keel over. He started walking towards the door, putting his hand against the wall to support himself.
"Sam, wait! Where are you going?"
Sam kept shuffling forwards and stopped, right before the faint outline of a door along the far wall, just long enough to turn around and say, "It hurts too much. I'm sorry."
Dean stood and ran after him, his hand stretched out, desperate to keep his brother with him.
The door in the wall glowed as Sam touched it and he vanished instantly, leaving Dean behind.
*******
Dean didn't know how long he sat alone in the empty room. He spent hours pacing, checking every inch of wall to see if he could find another crack that would let him out. He tried punching the wall, kicking it, even throwing himself against it, but it wouldn't give.
He finally sat, leaning against the wall again, frustrated and exhausted. After a while, his eyes drifted shut and he wondered, not for the first time, if this place had some kind of sleeping gas feed. The room had a way of making him tired so quickly, almost like someone was willing him to sleep.
He woke up again to light. There was a noticeable door in the wall across from him this time-not just an outline, but an actual door that was still wide open. Dean couldn't see much detail outside, only a solid white glare. It looked almost like it was snowing.
Sam was walking towards him, his silhouette framed by the light coming from the door. Dean blinked up at Sam as he got closer, trying to remember how long he'd been gone. His stance was different: shoulders no longer hunched over but rolled back, his head held high. His footsteps were nearly weightless, like he'd shrugged off the heavy mantle of sorrow that had been weighing him down more every day. He stopped two feet away from Dean and surveyed him with cold eyes.
"You're not Sam," Dean said.
Lucifer didn't respond, but kept watching him. His body had gone completely still. He didn't breathe or blink or move at all for seconds. It was unnerving.
"What? You got tired of cutting me up from far away? Wanted to get a nice front-row seat? What've you got for me today, hmm? Some more evisceration, or invisible poltergeists with guns?" Dean stood up, tired of feeling like a caged animal. Even standing as tall as he could, he still had to to tilt his chin up slightly up to meet his brother's eyes. They were the same hazel-green as always, but nothing about them felt like Sam. Channeling the rage in the pit of his stomach he moved a step closer, determined not to show fear. "What do you get from this, exactly? You think it's gonna make Sam stop fighting? It won't. He's better than you. He always has been. So go ahead. Do your worst, you son of a bitch."
Dean expected to be slammed against the wall with a thought. He expected to be torn into pieces one inch of skin at a time. Lucifer had created all demons, had created Alistair so anything the master torturer had learned he'd learned because of Lucifer. He braced himself for pain beyond anything he'd ever known, his heart beating faster with every passing second.
But all Lucifer did was turn his head and walk past Dean. He went to the same corner Dean had come to favor, sat down and leaned against the wall, stretching Sam's long legs straight out. He crossed one leg over the other and slouched, folding his arms across his chest and lowering his chin like he was settling in for a nap.
As hard as Dean tried to stay focused on the Devil he couldn't help but notice that the door was still open. If he had some way of getting the Devil out of his brother's body right now, this could be it: they could get away. Sure, the world had gone to shit, but it had been heading that way for a long time. At least they'd still have each other. That's all they ever had, really.
Dean came to a decision. It wasn't an easy one, but he couldn't think of another way out.
With one eye still on the door, he decided he might as well try talking to Sam directly one last time. There was no doubt in his mind that Lucifer could hear every thought in his head if he was listening, so if he hadn't stopped him yet, he wasn't going to. Maybe he didn't think Dean was a threat. His mistake. "Sam, you're still in there. I know you are. I'm gonna get him out of you. You just hang on, okay? Just keep fighting and I'll be back. I'm gonna fix this."
Lucifer scoffed then, more derisively than Sam had ever managed, which was pretty impressive, all things considered.
"Something funny?" Dean asked, unable to bite his tongue.
"You can't fix this. The fact that you still think you can amuses me."
Dean's fingers curled into a fist but he kept his focus, turned his back on Lucifer and walked out the door.
*******
The world outside was pale and filled with smoke. Dean clenched his eyes shut as they started to tear and walked forwards blindly. "I'm gonna fix this, Sammy."
There were only two routes available to him. Option one: become Michael's vessel. Option two: convince Michael to help him get Lucifer out of Sam and back into his cage.
Everything he'd heard and read about Michael made it highly unlikely that he'd ever back down from the plan, but then they'd never talked one on one. There was one thing Dean was banking on and if he was right, then Sam and everyone else left on the planet still had a fighting chance.
Michael was an archangel, the strongest of them all. He was God's right hand, but he was also Lucifer's brother. Dean's only chance was that being a brother meant even a fraction as much to Michael as it did to him.
Dean glared up into the ashen sky, fell to his knees and began to pray.
*******
Dean didn't give up easily, especially when it came to Sam. Failure wasn't an option. So despite the complete lack of response from above, he tried again and again for nearly two hours solid.
He didn't stop until he had to, until he'd nearly lost his voice from yelling. Logically, he knew that angels could hear their vessels regardless of volume, but he'd stopped listening to logic ages ago. They were living in madness, and the laws of the universe itself were changing.
On autopilot, Dean's body stood up and his legs started walking back towards the white room. He'd gone through all the facts in his mind over and over and come to one conclusion, one that lay heavy in his gut and made his knees shake.
The sky had grown dusk-tinged, backlighting the horizon in a shade of orange that bled slowly into violet. Dean walked back the way he'd come, taking in his surroundings with a detached sort of calm. There were no other people around, not even corpses. Whatever fires had torn through the area had long since burnt out, leaving behind scorched store fronts: hardware stores, a medical supply shop, and a veterinarian's office. This had been some kind of small Main Street back in the day.
The building the white room was in looked ordinary enough on the outside. Well, ordinary in a post-apocalyptic sort of way. It was an old apartment complex, with three stone steps leading up to a worn, wooden door. Dean wrapped his hand around the knob and turned.
The white room was just as he'd left it, and once he stepped through he half-expected the door to close behind him. It didn't-there was still a clear outline of a door-frame along the wall, mocking him with false promise.
On the other side of the room, Lucifer sat, watching Dean's every move.
With a deep breath, Dean steeled himself and crossed the floor. He sat down across from Sam, and met the Devil's gaze. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Neither am I," Lucifer answered.
"I was talking to Sam," Dean said, forcing his mouth into half-smile. No matter how long it took, he'd get through to Sam. He'd bring him back to the forefront and then they'd figure out a way to get Lucifer out. Michael might have bailed on him, but that didn't mean there wasn't another way.
There was always another way.
on to part 3
original version posted here
*******