Break On Through to the Other Side, for balder12
Title: Break On Through to the Other Side
Recipient: balder12
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~9,000
Warnings: violence, swearing, angst
Author's Notes: At the end of the fic...
Summary: Dean is missing and Sam is worried, not knowing what happened to him. Trying anything to find his brother, he isn't prepared for the unholy reunion.
__
You know the day destroys the night
Night divides the day
Tried to run
Tried to hide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side, yeah
-"The Doors"
--
Prologue:
Dean could feel Sam lay him down on the bed with some concentrated effort. He knew that familiar puff of breath Sam let out whenever exhausted, how he always wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he sighed.
He could hear the echoing sadness in every step and movement Sam made as he tried to move his lifeless brother into something of a comfortable position. Dean could smell the faint hint of alcohol tinged on his breath.
Sam!
The eldest Winchester tried desperately to free himself from the wave of darkness threatening to overtake him, the evil slowly seeping, twirling into the depths of his mind.... latching onto his very being and soul. The pull of it was far too great, intoxicating, and unlike anything he felt before.
Sam gave his cold arm a pat, his breathing shallow and labored. Turning to leave the room, the younger Winchester gave his brother one last look before turning to leave. Dean listened to the familiar heavy footsteps receding, leaving him alone in the room... alone with the thoughts that tugged at the deepest parts of his subconscious.
Sammy, p-please don't leave me...
Time stretched for what seemed like years, but soon the footsteps returned. These were... different. The gait, the way their feet shuffled along the floor, belonged to someone not his brother. The intruder sat down nearby, and Dean could feel the weight of the gaze of the person watching him.
"Your brother, bless his soul, is summoning me as I speak. Make a deal, bring you back. It's exactly what I was talking about, isn't it? It's all become so... expected."
Dean tried to tune out the gravelly voice, but the words 'your brother,' 'make a deal' lit his subconscious on fire.
Oh, God, Sammy, don't...
Even in his catatonic state, the words had a profound effect on the older Winchester. His baby brother was lining up once again to trade his very soul for his own life, the self sacrificing need of the Winchesters to save each other brought them to another full circle of actions.
The demon moved closer to the bed, and placed the handle of the First Blade into the hunter's hand, and a jolt of electricity surged though Dean's body, energizing him, breathing new life into being. Something inside him died that instant, yet his heart began to beat for the first time in what seemed like centuries and the blood in his veins began to thaw.
"Listen to me, Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now -- it's not death. It's life -- a new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. And let's go take a howl at that moon."
Dean opened his eyes, the metaphorical veil being lifted from his sight almost instantly. The bonds of right and wrong, good and evil lifted; it was as though he was finally seeing the world for the first time so vividly without those mortal restrictions.
It felt good.
It was freeing.
Along with it, the need to kill returned with a vengeance.
____
Chapter 1
"What do you mean Dean isn't there?" Sam half shouted at the fallen angel before him.
Cas watched the worried look on Sam's face seamlessly morph from worry, to concern, to down right paranoia. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he repeated again that Dean's body wasn't where Sam had left it. "I went to check on him, and he was gone."
Sam ran a hand through his hair, panic filling every fiber of his being as he paced around the bunker. Heart racing, skipping multiple beats, his mind leapt to the only reasonable conclusion it could muster in his fragile state: Crowley.
Yes. This was all Crowley's doing, he was sure of it.
Sam's fists pounded on the table as he muttered darkly under his breath, a half empty bottle of whiskey falling to its side and shattered. He should have known this would happen. He had only himself to blame. Summoning Crowley here to the bunker to try and resurrect Dean was as helpful as taking an alcoholic to the bar. Of course Crowley would ignore the summons and take Dean for whatever nefarious purposes he had in mind. The body of a Winchester was a precious commodity on the demonic black market.
Jesus, how could he have been so stupid?
"We'll find him," Cas said, though not completely reassuringly.
Sam sighed deeply. He just wanted to bring his brother's body home, and now Crowley was out there somewhere doing God only knew what to Dean's corpse. The thought tore at him, ate him up inside. The very thought of his mind jumping to wild conclusions driving him nearly insane.
Cas left, and in his state of panic, Sam did the only thing he could do.
-0-
Crowley raised a hand, helping the elder Winchester up off the bed. At first Dean seemed a bit dazed, confused even, trying to balance himself on his feet as the newly formed demon looked around before focusing on Crowley - watching him like a newborn animal looking for its mother. It would've touched Crowley deeply... if he had more than an inkling of human emotion.
"Let's get you out of here," Crowley said with a smirk. "I have a lot to teach you, grasshopper. The whole wax-on, wax-off thing." He watched with satisfaction as the ex-hunter's black eyes turned back to their normal vivid green.
"No," Dean replied, his voice hoarse and cracking.
"No?" Crowley repeated, eyebrows raised. "And pray tell me, why would that be?"
Somewhere deep inside, Dean knew why, still clinging to his old life of saving people, hunting things, the family business. But the bloodlust of the Mark of Cain gripped him with such force that the reply got lost in his throat, choking him.
"Just as I thought," Crowley simpered. "Off we go now. Mr. Miyagi has a few things he needs to take care of before the bumbling Moose finds us."
Dean's eyes widened at the mention of his brother, yet before he could say anything, Crowley placed a finger on Dean's forehead, the room around them vanishing from sight before Dean could protest.
-0-
They arrived at simple-looking cabin in the middle of nowhere, hidden from view by the surrounding woods. A perfect hideout away from unwanted attention.
"Make yourself at home, Dean," Crowley smiled, watching as his new toy gripped the nearest wall tightly, not entirely used to teleporting. "We're going to be here a while."
"Where are we? Where's... Sam?" Dean asked.
Crowley exhaled deeply. "Moose is at the bunker, right where we left him. And we're far, far away fro-"
"I want my brother, damn it!" Dean shouted, his eyes turning demonic black. He punched the wall, his fist going through with absurd ease, and Crowley made a mental note to watch himself with the temper of his new toy.
Crowley looked back and forth between Dean and the hole in the wall, sensing a problem he should've seen coming. Despite the Mark still holding onto Dean - twisting him into a new beast - that wretched attachment he had for his brother was still very present. He would need to find a way to satiate Dean's co-dependent need for his brother... or his pet demon would burn himself out, and he didn't want to lose having a Winchester at his beck and call.
-0-
Sam left the bunker in the Impala. Where he was going, he didn't know. He just knew he needed the change of scenery, needed to get away for a while. In the early morning light the young Winchester sped down the dirt road, hoping to clear his mind. And somehow, someway he needed to find Dean's body, though a small voice in the back of his head told him there would be nothing left to find.
Shaking his head, he couldn't let himself think that way. No, he had to find his brother's body at all costs. And do whatever he could to save him.
As the line "Around and around the Winchesters went" replayed in his head, Sam could feel the corners of his eyes slowly grow wet again. The wheels of the Winchester circle of life were sprung into motion, the familiarity of it all too real.
Pulling off alongside a deserted road, he got out of the Impala and dropped to his knees in front of the car, its headlights illuminating his way. He dug his hands into the dirt, the hardened soil stinging and biting painfully into his skin, tearing it and his finger nails as drops of blood soaked into the earth while he buried a small wooden box.
A short, dark-haired woman appeared before the hunter, her red eyes glowing in the night.
"Nicole," Sam growled, "I want to make a deal."
The demon formerly known as Snooki, looked slightly taken aback, but smirked as she played with her hair. "What do you want, love? Money? Fame? Your own reality show?"
"I want Dean back from the dead."
Nicole raised her eyebrows, a faint flicker of fear crossed her otherwise calm face. "Whoa, no can do, Sammy baby. That's a no go."
Sam looked up at the crossroads demon, the corners of his eyes threatening to spring tears.
Nicole stomped her foot impatiently. "Look, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't even mess with this. Sorry, Sam, but I can't help you. Now if you want something else, that I can help you with."
"Just leave," Sam said, defeated.
"Fine, but if you ever change your mind, you know how to contact me."
The demon watched as Sam slowly rose from his spot on the ground, each muscle taking an extraordinary deal of effort to simply move. Climbing back into the car, he drove on, unaware of the scream that escaped from the crossroad demon's mouth, not noticing the thing that held her in place, or a knife sticking out of her bloodied side.
Sam barely paid any attention to the signs of the towns he was leaving and entering. They simply didn't matter to him, nothing really mattered to him anymore. It wasn't until he was a couple of towns over, in some rinky-dink backwoods place that he finally pulled over, the tears and sadness finally giving way to anger.
If he ever saw Crowley again, he'd stab him with Ruby's knife right in the eye.
-0-
Dean finally settled down, falling asleep on the patched couch haphazardly, but not because of exhaustion but because Crowley had been forced to use a heavy-duty sleeping potion on him. The ex-hunter simply wouldn't rest, the constant droning on and on about his brother and needing to protect him. The entire thing was driving the King of Hell crazy. And as an added protection, he tied Dean's arm to the couch's leg, using a chain etched in warding to keep him from zapping off.
Sighing, Crowley took a seat opposite Dean, preparing to take a long-awaited sip of scotch, but things weren't quiet for long, feeling the familiar pull of a summons calling to him.
"Bollocks," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, instantly knowing who was summoning him. That damn Winchester never gave up, did he?
Sighing, he set his glass down on the coffee table. He knew at some point he'd have to face that overgrown moose, but it wouldn't be right away, at least not until he could properly break in his new toy.
Once again Sam's calls went unanswered.
_____
Chapter 2
Time was a fickle thing, fleeting to mortals, but an expansive abyss for those who time didn't touch. He could wait... bide his time. They would have to show themselves eventually.
Weeks had passed, and Dean never felt so much before in his life. The power coursing through his veins was intoxicating, pure. A whirl of energy and stamina, the feeling like he owned the world. Time simply vanished into the hours, days and weeks
Hiding behind a bush, he sat and waited. Silently, Dean watched the small campsite, waited for his opportunity to strike, like a predator stalking his prey. His patience was rewarded when a man emerged from one of the tents, cigarette in one hand, cell phone in the other.
"Yeah, the rawhead's gone. Took some of the neighborhood kids, tried to rescue as many as possible, but -" Dean pressed the First Blade next to the man's throat, a cruel smirk on his face as he pressed into the man's neck, cutting off his speech and digging into his skin in the process.
"Hello, Roy, remember me?" The phone and cigarette dropped from Roy's hand as he struggled against Dean's grip, but the demon was stronger, keeping him pinned right in place.
"Struggle all you want, you're not going anywhere," Dean growled.
Another person emerged from the second tent, hearing the commotion. Just so happened that it was the next person on Dean's hit list. Walt.
"Hey! What the hell!" he yelled, running to the aid of his friend.
"Did you guys really think we wouldn't - more specifically - I wouldn't come back for you two?" Dean asked, his voice a low rumble against Roy's ear.
"Dean, what the hell are you doing?" Walt yelled as he fought against Dean. Dean raised a hand sending Walt sailing across the field, pinning him to the ground.
Revenge felt good, especially after what these two men did to him and his brother. Anger surged through Dean's veins, feeding his motivation. Raising the blade, he spun the hunter around with his other, lunging downwards. Roy's head went sailing next to Walt, who screamed a terrible wail that went unheard in the vast expanse of wilderness.
Leaning down to face the other hunter, their faces inches apart, Dean smiled, his eyes turning pitch black, his face spattered with Roy's blood.
"Dear God no!" Walt screamed as the blade came sailing down at him.
-0-
Weeks had passed, and still Sam had not gotten the drop on Crowley. The whole thing had quickly become a game of wills as Sam constantly tried to summon him, but Crowley simply refused to answer. Dean's body was still missing, and Castiel wasn't around much, what with dealing with his quickly burning grace and the whole Metatron business. Most of the time Sam was left alone in the bunker, his only source of companionship coming in the form of a bottle as he drank his emotions away. Yet, it only served to numb the pain temporarily before they all came blaring back in a surge of pain and vomit. And maybe it was the over abundance of alcohol finally doing something to him, but everyday he felt that same niggling on the back of his neck. And at night when he went to bed, he heard strange voices calling his name, voices that sounded remarkably like Dean.
Maybe he was finally going crazy. Yet it did nothing to quell his ritual, and Sam knew that he would only wind up hurting himself, but deep down, he didn't care. His brother was dead, probably stuck between the veil like Kevin was, and he couldn't even give his brother a proper hunter's burial. He simply lost all hope and will to live. But if Dean was stuck, why didn't he at least send a message like Kevin did?
Sam rubbed his eyes, looking at the clock on the wall. It was only 11am, yet he managed to drink a third of whatever alcohol he decided to imbibe on that day. He looked like shit, and felt even worse. Wobbly standing, he made to go to his bedroom to pass out, but a guest of wind behind him caused him turn suddenly. He slipped and fell, watching as Castiel stood above him.
"C-Cas, where've you been?" Sam muttered.
"Dealing with Metatron," he replied. "And my grace issues."
Sam finally managed to stand back up on his own two feet, under the curious glance of Cas.
"Are you okay, Sam?"
Sam shook his head, but the simple movement felt like a bomb had gone off inside. It ached so terribly bad.
"Sam, far be it from me to tell you what to do, but you need to stop drinking. You don't look so good."
Sam scoffed. "Yeah, tell me about it."
"Maybe you should try getting out of the bunker. Take on a hunt."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Hunt. Yeah right. What's the point?"
Cas watched as the younger Winchester gripped one of the walls for support. "Dean wouldn't want you to kill yourself from drinking."
Dean.
"Yeah, well, Dean isn't here anymore. Crowley took his body right out from under my nose and I couldn't even bury him."
"You still should get out, and maybe give up the drinking a bit," the angel replied, his voice heavy with concern.
"Yeah, maybe."
"Well, if you are interested, I heard there might be a ghost problem in Lawrence. You are familiar with that place, right?"
Sam nodded again, a wave of emotions - and nausea - flooding over him at the name. It brought back a lot of painful memories.
"Maybe you should check it out," Cas prodded.
The younger Winchester was going to decline, and maybe it was the alcohol talking, but a small, non-committal, "We'll see," escaped from his lips.|
-0-
Cas wouldn't take no for an answer. He was just as stubborn as Dean was. It was no wonder they got along so well at times, and fought like cats and dogs the next. And it was because of this stubbornness that two days later, Sam found himself out on the open road, driving from the bunker to Lawrence, Kansas.
It felt weird to be driving there, especially without Dean. The whole situation - heading to the very place where their entire lives started their downward spiral - was wrong on many levels. It was almost, strangely, poetic in a way.
Sighing, he tried to quell the emotions that wanted to rise out of him. If he wanted to do the job, he would need to focus. The mantra he repeated to himself kept his mind sane as he drove into the town: "Find the ghost, salt and burn the body, go home."
Prior to leaving, Sam had tried to do some research on the case. There wasn't much to go on, other than the fact that an old hotel from the turn of the century was being prepared to be demolished, and in the process the activity had started up. One of the crew members set to clear out the place reported seeing a headless apparition before blacking out and waking up at the hospital two days later.
Pulling out one of his fake identification badges, Sam stepped out of the car and walked up to where two men in construction uniforms were standing.
Sam wasted no time in confronting the men, sensing no need for useless preamble. Badge raised, Sam introduced himself as Mr. Sterling from OSHA. The men looked at one another before the oldest, a man in his sixties, introduced himself.
"I'm Paul Kerrigan, the project supervisor, and this is George Mays, the assistant super. Not that we're ungrateful or anything, but, uh, how is John's accident an OSHA matter?"
Sam cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes, refraining from asking where Ringo was. "A man was hurt on the job, so we'll need to investigate to make sure that proper protocol was followed. Otherwise I'll have to slap a 10-50B on this project."
The men shot a look at one another, eyebrows raised.
"We follow safety regulations to a T," Paul replied, slightly affronted.
Sam ignored the man. "I'll need to see the spot where the man was injured."
Paul huffed, but obliged as he motioned for Sam to follow him, leading him into the building as other crew members continued their work inside.
With Paul in the lead, Sam quickly turned on the EMF detector hidden in his pocket once they were away from the others, and no sooner had reached the second floor did it begin emitting a low squeal. Hurriedly, Sam turned it off when Paul started looking around for the strange noise.
In character, Sam pretended to look around the site for evidence.
"So, what exactly happened?" he inquired.
"Well," Paul sighed, "it was strange. When John woke up in the hospital two days after the 'accident', he insisted he saw a dark headless figure staring at him from over there." The man indicated toward a room at the end of the hallway.
Instinctively, Sam went over to investigate, making a mental note of the room number, #29. As he stood by the old, peeling door, an unnatural cold breeze went through him like an electric charge. "Did he mention anything else? Smell anything weird before hand? Notice any cold spots?"
Paul rubbed his head with his hand. "Now that you mention it, he did say he felt cold right before it happened, but how does this -"
Sam held up a hand. "I think I've seen everything here. Let's go."
After parting with the head supervisor, Sam got back into the Impala and drove off, heading to the little motel just off the interstate he saw on the outskirts of Lawrence.
A quick bit of research and a good salt and burn, and he could go back to wallowing in self-pity in the Men of Letters bunker.
Tapping away at the keyboard, he pulled up several articles on the hotel. Nothing seemed to be of any relevance to ghostly activity until one article caught his attention. He quickly pulled up the article and read quietly to himself.
The hotel back in its day had been a grand retreat for the wealthy, and one summer day in 1910, one of the wealthy businessmen had an affair with a fifteen year old maid named Claire Sanders who worked there. The wife found out and killed the girl, beheading her and burying her near the back of the property. Paying off the hotel as not to have the story leaked to the press, the case went uninvestigated until nearly fifty years later when the hotel had undergone some renovations and her body had been discovered. The girl's body had then been moved the local cemetery, and there it remained.
Closing the article, Sam sighed and looked at his watch. It was 9:15pm. If he found her grave and salted and burned her body, he could take a quick nap and be home by tomorrow night.
-0-
The graveyard was not far from Stull, a place that made the lump in Sam's throat grow larger. He drove by, the memories of five years ago still strong and vivid in his mind.
Shoving those from his thoughts, he drove down a little two lane dirt road and turned into a clearing in the woods where he parked the Impala, and grabbed the supplies he needed as he trekked through the darkened pathway, with only his flashlight guiding his way.
Sam continued on, until a weather-worn cross bearing the initials C.S. carved into it appeared before him. Quickly he went to work digging up the grave, each shovel-full of dirt making his heart hurt more, missing his brother more and more.
Finally, the dirt aside, he opened the small wooden coffin and set the body afire. Normally the spirits were forced to move on after their remains were burned, but things definitely weren't normal right now. Heaven was still in lockdown, and no spirit could move on from there. Not Claire's, not Kevin's. Hell, not even Dean's...
A twig snapping off in the distance caused him to turn to see who was there. Raising his flashlight and gun, he looked for the source of the disturbance. Sixth sense blaring, he felt the weight of someone - or something - watching him. It was unnerving as he scanned the darkness, until something caught his attention. A faint unnatural shadow rested beside a tree, darker than the rest of the shadows that lingered about. Sam raised his flashlight to see better, the figure moved, but not before Sam caught the quickest movement of a dark green jacket before it vanished instantly, leaving nothing in it's place.
The fragile, alcohol-soaked walls Sam built up around himself came crashing down as a single word escaped from his lips.
"Dean."
____
Chapter 3
Dean watched his brother dig the grave of the girl up and set her body aflame. It seemed oh so familiar to him, but yet it belonged to another part of him, a part that seemed like another lifetime ago. He wanted to draw closer to his brother, to let him know he was not dead, but the leash Crowley kept him on prevented that. He could only watch from a distance.
It was the least that Crowley would grant him when it came to Sam, yet he still pulled at the invisible restraints, eager to comfort his brother, keep him from hurting himself. A twig underneath him snapped, and Sam looked up, his flashlight aiming in Dean's direction - but he vanished from sight.
When he returned to the cabin, Crowley was waiting for him, arms crossed like an angry wife, his eyebrows raised.
"Just where have you been, Dean?" he asked.
"Out."
"Killed anyone else?" he asked. "Not that I'm complaining... much. Your work on those two hunters, sheer brilliance, by the way. Couldn't have done it better myself. And Snooki? Bitch got on my nerves, but - and as much as this pains me to say - you might want to be careful as to not draw unwanted attention from your former co-workers."
Dean said nothing, but Crowley continued on.
"Let me hazard a guess here, you went to spy on your brother again?"
The elder Winchester shrugged as Crowley sighed. It wasn't that he didn't understand, he did. It was just they were at a delicate part of the transformation of one Winchester, that he couldn't let this one golden opportunity slip by him.
Gripping hold of the young demon's shoulder, giving it a small pat, Crowley came to the realization that there would be only one way to get his pet completely under his control. The bonds of the brothers' relationship was proving to be a constant nightmare, a battle of wills that Crowley had to fight with every single day. But where others would've seen defeat, Crowley saw opportunity. And it was definitely knocking.
"Look, if you want to kill anyone else, might I suggest a few of the now-defunct Abaddon groupies? The bunch of them have been getting on my nerves of late."
Nodding his head thoughtfully, the prospect of another killing made Dean actually consider the offer, to which Crowley smirked.
"Good. And I know right where we can find a couple of them holed up, pet. But for now, let's have a rest, shall we?"
Crowley snapped his fingers and a beer appeared in Dean's hand, a glass of Craig in his own. Dean saluted him before taking a long, deep pull off the bottle and left the room.
Out of earshot, Crowley snapped his fingers, an invisible chain wrapping itself around Dean's ankle before vanishing into thin air.
"I gave you freedom to do as you pleased, but I can't let you continue on unsupervised anymore."
-0-
Sam drove a bit recklessly back to the motel, his mind racing. Maybe... maybe it was just playing tricks on him, yes, that was probably it. But he also knew there were no such things as coincidences in his life. He would've sworn to God himself that he saw a dark green jacket in that split second.
He was too alert now to even think of sleeping; he needed to do something, anything. He just needed to keep moving as he replayed those fractions of a second over and over in his mind.
Packing up his stuff in record time, he checked out of the motel, sleep be damned.
Sam gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles turning a pale, ghostly white as the speedometer slowly crept up higher. Something just wasn't kosher. His senses were blaring, and maybe it was the lack of sleep fogging his thoughts, but he needed answers.
It was nearly dawn when Sam made it back to the bunker in record time. Throwing on a pot of coffee, Sam rested his head on his hands, trying to process the events from the night before. If Dean was still around, why didn't he at least try and contact him? Then it hit him. Kevin used the coffee machine to make his presence known. Maybe Dean needed the same? It was worth a shot, he reasoned.
As the machine brewed the coffee, Sam tapped the machine lightly with his fingers, hoping to jog some kind of supernatural 1-800 line.
"H-hello?" Sam asked, a bit nervously at first, realizing just how odd this would've been to a bystander watching. However at this point, he would've tried anything. "Dean? Can you hear me?"
He waited a few moments.... and...
Nothing.
Nothing weird or paranormal occurred, and Sam was once again left bereft without any knowledge of his brother. The overwhelming feeling of sadness returned, leaving him feeling hollow and empty inside.
The crossroad demon didn't want to intervene, Crowley wasn't answering summons or phone calls, and Cas - despite his best efforts - hadn't much luck either in sensing his brother. Before giving up all hope completely, he would try one last ditch effort.
Not wasting any precious moments, Sam barged into the room where the summoning supplies still sat abandoned, and went straight to work throwing ingredients into the small metal bowl before setting it aflame.
"C'mon Crowley, answer me you son of a bitch."
"How many times do I have to tell you, she was a witch."
Sam turned around so quickly knocking over the metal bowl that it clanked loudly on the ground, but Sam paid it no mind; he was simply stunned that Crowley actually, finally, answered.
"I might add that the constant summoning, really starting to piss me off," Crowley added, his voice a low grumble.
Sam swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing bigger. Finally the words "Dean... what did you do with his body?" came barreling out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
Crowley simply smirked at Sam, his eyes glinting with the knowledge of a juicy secret.
The younger Winchester's eyes narrowed as he gripped the hilt of Ruby's knife tucked into the waist band of his jeans, ready to strike at any moment as the anger within came back in full force. Crowley watched Sam for a moment, eyes casually glancing at Sam's twitching hand, deciding on choosing his next words more carefully.
"I didn't do anything to your precious brother's body," he retorted. "It should be more of what he is doing to it."
Sam stared blankly at the demon, the words evidently lost on him. "What?"
Crowley sighed as he shoved his hands in his pockets, that familiar sly grin never leaving his face. "I guess I'll need to paint you a picture. You see, Moose, the Mark didn't kill Dean. It - how should I say - gave him a 'new lease on life'."
Before the words even registered, Crowley gripped the younger Winchester on the shoulder, pain erupting in his back as he let out a groan as he fell to the ground. Once the pain finally ebbed, Sam panted and looked around. They were no long in the bunker, but in some rustic cabin that smelt strongly of sulfur. Brows furrowed his instincts going into overdrive.
"Where the hell am I?" Sam demanded of the demon.
"You, my gigantic friend, are where we - and by we - I mean your dear brother and I, are currently playing house."
Snapping his fingers, Dean suddenly appeared beside Crowley, and Sam watched, his heart hurting with every breath, the oxygen slicing into him. His brother, his own flesh and blood, the hunter who he looked up to, looking if anything wild and demented, and nothing like the Dean of old. Instead looking like the very thing they hunted.
A demon.
____
Chapter 4
The corners of Sam's eyes felt wet, though he willed them not to fall. Not here, not now in front of the King of Hell. His emotions were a mess, conflicted, as he his brother's black eyes glinted like brilliant onyx, watching his every move.
"What the hell did you do to him, Crowley?" Sam snapped, facing the shorter man.
"Again, I didn't do anything. This was all the Mark of Cain's doing. You want something to blame, blame that," he retorted.
"You knew what was going to happen to Dean. You knew it was going to change him."
"No, I didn't. I only had an inkling, alright? It's not like this is something that happens every damn day!" Crowley spat, rising up to look Sam in the face, his eyes narrowing.
Sam ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath to try and clam his nerves as he glared back at Crowley.
Shit.
Dean was surprisingly quiet, never taking his eyes of Sam. What he was thinking, Sam didn't know. His brother's face was a blank canvas, unreadable and devoid of any emotion. It was slightly creepy.
"Dean," Sam began, turning to face his brother, his heart feeling like it was breaking in two. Everything his brother did to save his life, everything he did to save innocent people, and this was how he was repaid... by becoming a demon. "Dean, let's go home."
Perhaps it was foolishness on his part, or the familiar Winchester Achilles heel, but Sam thought just maybe if they returned to the bunker, he could 'cure' Dean like they had almost done with Crowley. It was worth a shot.
He had to try.
He couldn't live with himself if he didn't.
"Sorry, Sammy," Crowley said with a smirk. "You two won't be going anywhere, but especially you, Moose."
"What?"
"That pain you felt on the ride over, a little spell of mine etched into your spine. You're going to be here for the long haul, sweetie." Crowley winked as he walked away. "Not even Feathers will find you."
Before Sam could react, Dean swung around, nailing Sam right in the face with his right fist as everything around him went dark, falling to the floor.
-0-
Pain. Searing, burning pain exploded over him as something tugged at his sore arms, holding them above his head, as muffled, indistinguishable sounds came from somewhere off in the distance.
Slowly Sam opened his eyes, unsure where he was. He couldn't remember, everything in his mind was hazy, and he had an awful metallic taste in his mouth that made him gag. Vaguely he could make out a figure before him, but it took a second before his vision cleared enough to see it was Dean. The sight of his brother jogged his memory, the last thing he remembered was Dean sucker punching him before everything went black.
"Dean," came Sam's muffled reply. "Help me."
"Sorry, Sammy," the demon replied, his voice lacking any empathy. "These last few weeks changed me. I'm not the same person I was then."
"No, this isn't y-you," Sam muttered weakly, trying to free himself from the restraints holding him in place. "Lemme save... you,"
"That's the thing with you, Sam, you think that you can just fix me, make me as I was before. But there is nothing left to fix." Dean ran a finger down the length of the First Blade, a cruel, twisted smile curving his face. "This is the new me, Sammy. I'm free of the emotional restrictions of humanity, good and evil. No, there isn't anything left to save. You wanna know what I've done?"
Dean smirked. Raising the blade, he placed it next to his brother's midsection, pressing it in just enough that Sam winced.
A door creaked open and footsteps drew closer to Sam, making Dean stop as the footsteps approached.
"Don't stop on my account," Crowley drawled. "I'm just here to see what you've learned, Dean." Pulling up a chair on the opposite side of the room, he watched Dean begin to work his brother over as he took a sip of scotch, his star pupil smiling as Sam screamed out in pain from the blade carving into tender skin, the anti-possession tattoo he once wore nothing more than a bloody mess.
"Dean, please," Sam gasped between the spasms, hoping to still reach whatever remained of his brother deep inside, before it was too late.... Pain erupted across his body, his clothes soaked in crimson. Tears streamed down his face, streaking the residual backsplatter.
The elder Winchester stopped, and Crowley gave an inpatient huff as Dean looked up, raising the knife once more. Sam closed his eyes as it drew nearer, the last thing he saw was Dean's blood-splattered face, preparing for the worst, but...
Nothing.
No pain.
No feeling of warm blood gushing from yet another wound.
Tentatively he opened his eyes, but instead of being chained up and preparing for death, he was lying down on a bed, his brother sitting at the foot of it, watching him with something akin to concern.
_____
Chapter 5
Sam ran a hand down his side, preparing to feel many deep gashes in his torso, but found nothing. His clothes were clean, and not stained with blotches of his own blood. He breathed a small sigh of relief, yet it was only short lived. Sam noticed the demon killing knife was gone, as was his other weapons, leaving him vulnerable.
"You're not going to need those," Dean said, as though he had read his brother's mind.
Slowly sitting up, Sam's eyes met Dean's, noticing how his eyes were their normal green, yet something about his face seemed harsher... different.
"You were tossing and turning pretty bad," Dean continued, breaking Sam from his thoughts.
"Did you have to punch me?" Sam finally asked after a moment.
"I'm sorry, but I had to. Needed to get you alone." Dean added, something that looked like a smile creeping onto his face.
"Yeah, but did it have to involve punching?" Sam replied indignantly, rubbing his face.
Dean shrugged and blinked, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder.
Sam rested back against the pillows, his head still swimming. The nightmare seemed all too real, and Dean seemed to pick up on his thoughts.
"You know I wouldn't hurt you, Sammy. Not like that."
Sam tilted his head, the words having a strange effect on him as Dean watched with that bizarre smirk as he let go of his shoulder.
"I can't do this alone," Dean sighed. "I need you here with me." The way he spoke tore at Sam's heart, but a lump grew in his throat.
"You and me, we're a package deal. There's no me if there's no you."
"But Crowley -"
"Crowley. It was his idea to bring you here. You keep me sane, Sammy. You keep me from losing my mind completely."
Sam didn't know what to say. The words were of the old Dean, the Dean he knew, but hearing these words out of the bizarre demon version that looked like him... that was just insane.
"This isn't you, Dean. I can help you. Let me try and help you. We can try the cure and-" Dean shook his head no.
"No, the cure almost killed you. This is the first time in a long time I've been free. I got out of the rat race and with you here, I can finally be happy."
"But look at what it cost you!" Sam exclaimed. You're a demon!"
"You'll understand one day." Dean snapped his fingers, and Sam felt the weight of an invisible chain weigh him down. He tried to move, but the force kept him from moving. Before Sam could protest, Dean snapped his fingers again and disappeared.
"Dean!"
-0-
Crowley pressed a glass to his lips, smirking as he overheard the Winchester boys have their demon-heart-to-human-heart talk. It never ceased to amaze him, how deep human emotions and feelings ran, and how strong the bonds of family were, even when one family member was a slightly unstable killing machine.
Until he had been forced to take part in their cure, he never would've realized this. And it was this that gave him an edge.
Dare he dream, but could it be that maybe he could have two Winchesters under his control?
Smiling, he took another sip of Craig, pondering something that no demon had ever dared hope before.
____
Chapter 6
Rain battered against the windows as Sam looked out upon the drenched world while the seconds slowly faded by. His thoughts were broken by the screams of one of Abaddon's followers that Crowley currently had tied up in the living room and Dean was all to happy to slice off "any bits that stuck out." It must've said, or more likely gurgled something from the blood in its mouth, that Dean didn't like as it's head rolled over to rest at Sam's feet like a giant ugly marble, its blank eyes staring up at him.
He grimaced.
Minutes turned into hours, then days.... weeks.... Time seemed to morph into an endless, repeating cycle of the same monotonous, blood-soaked drivel. It was a strange situation Sam found himself in, being held captive with a demonized version of his brother and the ruler of all evil.
Most of his days were spent wandering the little room he was confined to and cut off from the rest of the world, the irony of being held captive like Crowley was in the bunker not lost on him. Crowley even noticed this, but instead of his usual snark, kept insisting that his being here was for the best, but for the best of what, Sam didn't know. For all intents and purposes, Crowley even tried making Sam feel more at home, but the effect was lost, slightly disturbing to the younger Winchester that the King of Hell was actually making an effort to try and be his friend.
But for all that, it was the bloodlust and joy Dean wore so proudly on his face with each cut from the blade into the endless supply of demons Crowley provided was etched into Sam's mind, the images seared into his brain when he slept at night. The screams were the worst.... Sometimes during the late night, Sam would awake from a nightmare, sweat dripping from his face, his voice hoarse from yelling in his sleep. It went on and on like this, and as Sam climbed into bed one night, feeling emotionally drained and exhausted, knowing that his rest would ultimately be broken once again. With a deep breath, he watched the shadows float across the ceiling, his mind adrift with worry.
"Cas, if you hear me, please help my brother." The prayer hung in the air, unanswered. Each and every night, Sam prayed to Castiel for a miracle, and each time there was no answer.
Rolling to his side, Sam closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come, not that it would, at least not without the visual of demon Dean. Instead, his mind continued to churn with the thought of how out of control everything was, this completely messed up situation they were in spiraling into an endless abyss. He used to always have hope, there was always a way out of whatever mess they were in. But that was then and this was now. In the past, he at least had Dean. Now, he didn't even have him anymore. Everything was being taken away from him, one by one, being stripped to the bare bone.
At some point he finally fell asleep, all hope feeling lost. When he awoke the next morning, it took him a second to remember where he was, before the blackness drifted over him like a blanket, and it took an extraordinary amount of will to even get out of bed.
The sun lit the tiny room, an offer of hope and happiness, but all Sam saw was his own personal Hell.
-0-
The change had been gradual - almost unnoticeable at first - but once Sam started refusing to eat, Dean began to see the changes, and deep inside he was worried. He didn't think Sam knew that he knew, but he did. Despite being a demon, his big brother instincts were still going into overdrive.
Seeing Sam grow more depressed as time went on... no... this wasn't right. He wanted his family together, but not at the cost of his brother's happiness. A pit in his stomach began to grow. Dean watched, even going so far as to bring his brother food every day.
"Dean, you don't have to do this," Sam said, sitting up as Dean brought it a tray of something. It was a burger and a slice of pie, the sight of it bringing a small smile to his face.
"You didn't have to," Sam repeated, the smells making his stomach ache in hunger.
Dean smiled, creasing the corners of his brilliant green eyes. "You're my brother, Sammy, can't let you go hungry. What kind of big brother would I be?"
Sam looked at the plate of food before him before focusing on Dean. The old Dean was still there, just buried underneath the rough demonic exterior, and that gave him a renewed hope... and a small tear threatening to spill out from the corner of his right eye.
Hurriedly, he wiped it with the back of his hand, not wanting Dean to see it. The old Dean would've laughed and called him Samantha for this chick flick moment, but this version he wasn't sure on.
Sam took a tentative bite of the food, it tasting so good and delicious. Dean watched, and smiled.
"We're family, Sam. Good, bad, or a little unorthodox, we're all we have."
The words filled Sam with a lightness and warmth he hadn't felt in a long time, as Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.
"Eat up, Sammy. There's more where that came from."
Sam looked at the pie, something about it seemed a little off. "What kind of pie is this anyway?"
Dean smiled and looked rather pleased with himself. "It's one of my own creation: Blood meringue."
Sam looked at it and at Dean again, not wanting to hurt his brother's feelings he smiled. "Looks... uh good. I'll try it later."
The older Winchester smiled and disappeared.
For that brief moment, Sam felt a faint glimmer of hope, that his brother wasn't completely gone. Somewhere deep inside, the old Dean remained, and he needed to try and pull him up from the abyss Crowley had thrown him in.
_____
Chapter 7
Sam awoke around midnight to the sounds of a struggle, of furniture breaking and glass smashing. Yells and screaming, Dean cursing, and Crowley fighting something off.
Quietly, Sam peeked out the bedroom door, utter chaos besieged him. Broken glass littered the floor, debris and various broken pieces of furniture strewn about. A figure he thought he would no longer see stood in the middle of the room, and turning his head, his eyes meet Sam's.
"Cas? What are you, I mean, how did you -"
The angel smiled. "I finally tracked you down, Sam. I'm here to rescue you."
"How is that even possible?" Crowley yelled. "This place was angel-proofed!"
"Not as well as you might have thought, Crowley," Castiel replied, turning to face him. Crowley snarled and muttered darkly under his breath.
"One of the wardings was smudged," Cas continued. "That is how I was able to sense your whereabouts, Sam."
"Feathers," the demon began, but Castiel shot a look at the demon, silencing him, then at Dean. "Sam Winchester is not your prisoner. Release him now."
"Or what? What if I don't? You're going to take away all my toys and make me sit in the corner?" Crowley answered with a sneer, pulling out an angelic blade hidden from inside his coat, twirling it in his hand as he watched the angel.
Cas raised a hand toward Crowley, but the demon swung the blade, causing Castiel to step back. Pulling out his own blade, a second fight broke out between the two. Castiel held his own, showing no sign of fatigue, the sound of metal on metal filling the room as the blades made contact with one another.
"Got a power boost, Cas? Which poor schlub's grace did you steal this time?" Crowley asked with venom dripping in his voice as he swung again at the angel. Sam watched the two powerful beings, as did Dean who stood there transfixed, his loyalties between the two torn and conflicted.
Cas narrowed his eyes at the demon, but said nothing, his only reply coming in the form of Crowley's blade flying across the room from his strike. Gaining the upper hand, Castiel pinned Crowley to the wall.
With his free hand, Cas raised a hand to Sam, welcoming him over. Tentatively, Sam left the room, walking over to the angel, the weight of the glare from Crowley heavy upon him.
Quickly stealing a look back at his brother, Sam was surprised to find a small smirk crossing Dean's face as he gave his baby brother a wink before the two figures disappeared from sight.
As the room around them melted away, Sam could've sworn he heard his brother howl.
When they landed inside the bunker, the happiness of being free should have filled Sam's heart with happiness, but instead he felt the bitter sting of loneliness again. It felt good to be home, but it was only home when Dean was there. At this, Sam sighed deeply.
"What is the matter, Sam?" Castiel asked, tilting his head in confusion.
"My brother, he's... he's not here. He's still stuck with Crowley."
Castiel sighed. "Dean is a demon, there isn't any way to save him."
"No," Sam objected, "there still is something good inside him, I saw it. He can be saved."
"But if you try to cure him, you will only end up harming yourself."
"I know that," Sam huffed, slumping down into a chair in the library. "But he's my brother, and I have to do something. He'd do the same for me."
Something was niggling at the back of Sam's mind, and before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out. "By the way, how did you power up?" Sam asked, not entirely sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Cas looked down, avoiding looking at Sam, and the hunter knew. "It was... unavoidable. If I didn't, I would have died."
Sam ran a hand through his hair. This was just the latest testament to how screwed up their lives were. "Was it Metatron's?"
"No. I-I wouldn't touch his grace with a ten foot pole," Cas said, half attempting to make a joke to which Sam couldn't help but laugh. It felt so good, but felt so foreign. It was like after these last few months he had almost forgotten how to laugh. Or even be happy.
"Well," Sam began, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye, "once I figure out a way to help Dean, I promise to help you out."
Cas smiled. "Don't worry about me. Take care of your brother."
Take care of Dean. Sighing, the happiness disappearing almost as quickly as it came. Heading to grab a pile of books stacked neatly in the corner of the library, Sam began rifling through them, setting out to find a way to help his brother... no matter what. Thousands of books, knowledge from all over... surely there had to be something within one of them.
He had to have hope. It was the only thing he had at the moment.
The End
____________
A/N: Huge thanks to the prompter for coming up with this prompt. You had some truly awesome ideas and it was really hard trying to pick just one to write. Thanks also goes to my betas, for taking time out of their busy schedules to look this over, and their handholding when I thought I was stuck with massive writer's block. And last, but definitely not least, Thanks to the community runners for hosting such an awesome exchange!
Recipient: balder12
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~9,000
Warnings: violence, swearing, angst
Author's Notes: At the end of the fic...
Summary: Dean is missing and Sam is worried, not knowing what happened to him. Trying anything to find his brother, he isn't prepared for the unholy reunion.
__
You know the day destroys the night
Night divides the day
Tried to run
Tried to hide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side, yeah
-"The Doors"
--
Prologue:
Dean could feel Sam lay him down on the bed with some concentrated effort. He knew that familiar puff of breath Sam let out whenever exhausted, how he always wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he sighed.
He could hear the echoing sadness in every step and movement Sam made as he tried to move his lifeless brother into something of a comfortable position. Dean could smell the faint hint of alcohol tinged on his breath.
Sam!
The eldest Winchester tried desperately to free himself from the wave of darkness threatening to overtake him, the evil slowly seeping, twirling into the depths of his mind.... latching onto his very being and soul. The pull of it was far too great, intoxicating, and unlike anything he felt before.
Sam gave his cold arm a pat, his breathing shallow and labored. Turning to leave the room, the younger Winchester gave his brother one last look before turning to leave. Dean listened to the familiar heavy footsteps receding, leaving him alone in the room... alone with the thoughts that tugged at the deepest parts of his subconscious.
Sammy, p-please don't leave me...
Time stretched for what seemed like years, but soon the footsteps returned. These were... different. The gait, the way their feet shuffled along the floor, belonged to someone not his brother. The intruder sat down nearby, and Dean could feel the weight of the gaze of the person watching him.
"Your brother, bless his soul, is summoning me as I speak. Make a deal, bring you back. It's exactly what I was talking about, isn't it? It's all become so... expected."
Dean tried to tune out the gravelly voice, but the words 'your brother,' 'make a deal' lit his subconscious on fire.
Oh, God, Sammy, don't...
Even in his catatonic state, the words had a profound effect on the older Winchester. His baby brother was lining up once again to trade his very soul for his own life, the self sacrificing need of the Winchesters to save each other brought them to another full circle of actions.
The demon moved closer to the bed, and placed the handle of the First Blade into the hunter's hand, and a jolt of electricity surged though Dean's body, energizing him, breathing new life into being. Something inside him died that instant, yet his heart began to beat for the first time in what seemed like centuries and the blood in his veins began to thaw.
"Listen to me, Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now -- it's not death. It's life -- a new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. And let's go take a howl at that moon."
Dean opened his eyes, the metaphorical veil being lifted from his sight almost instantly. The bonds of right and wrong, good and evil lifted; it was as though he was finally seeing the world for the first time so vividly without those mortal restrictions.
It felt good.
It was freeing.
Along with it, the need to kill returned with a vengeance.
____
Chapter 1
"What do you mean Dean isn't there?" Sam half shouted at the fallen angel before him.
Cas watched the worried look on Sam's face seamlessly morph from worry, to concern, to down right paranoia. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he repeated again that Dean's body wasn't where Sam had left it. "I went to check on him, and he was gone."
Sam ran a hand through his hair, panic filling every fiber of his being as he paced around the bunker. Heart racing, skipping multiple beats, his mind leapt to the only reasonable conclusion it could muster in his fragile state: Crowley.
Yes. This was all Crowley's doing, he was sure of it.
Sam's fists pounded on the table as he muttered darkly under his breath, a half empty bottle of whiskey falling to its side and shattered. He should have known this would happen. He had only himself to blame. Summoning Crowley here to the bunker to try and resurrect Dean was as helpful as taking an alcoholic to the bar. Of course Crowley would ignore the summons and take Dean for whatever nefarious purposes he had in mind. The body of a Winchester was a precious commodity on the demonic black market.
Jesus, how could he have been so stupid?
"We'll find him," Cas said, though not completely reassuringly.
Sam sighed deeply. He just wanted to bring his brother's body home, and now Crowley was out there somewhere doing God only knew what to Dean's corpse. The thought tore at him, ate him up inside. The very thought of his mind jumping to wild conclusions driving him nearly insane.
Cas left, and in his state of panic, Sam did the only thing he could do.
-0-
Crowley raised a hand, helping the elder Winchester up off the bed. At first Dean seemed a bit dazed, confused even, trying to balance himself on his feet as the newly formed demon looked around before focusing on Crowley - watching him like a newborn animal looking for its mother. It would've touched Crowley deeply... if he had more than an inkling of human emotion.
"Let's get you out of here," Crowley said with a smirk. "I have a lot to teach you, grasshopper. The whole wax-on, wax-off thing." He watched with satisfaction as the ex-hunter's black eyes turned back to their normal vivid green.
"No," Dean replied, his voice hoarse and cracking.
"No?" Crowley repeated, eyebrows raised. "And pray tell me, why would that be?"
Somewhere deep inside, Dean knew why, still clinging to his old life of saving people, hunting things, the family business. But the bloodlust of the Mark of Cain gripped him with such force that the reply got lost in his throat, choking him.
"Just as I thought," Crowley simpered. "Off we go now. Mr. Miyagi has a few things he needs to take care of before the bumbling Moose finds us."
Dean's eyes widened at the mention of his brother, yet before he could say anything, Crowley placed a finger on Dean's forehead, the room around them vanishing from sight before Dean could protest.
-0-
They arrived at simple-looking cabin in the middle of nowhere, hidden from view by the surrounding woods. A perfect hideout away from unwanted attention.
"Make yourself at home, Dean," Crowley smiled, watching as his new toy gripped the nearest wall tightly, not entirely used to teleporting. "We're going to be here a while."
"Where are we? Where's... Sam?" Dean asked.
Crowley exhaled deeply. "Moose is at the bunker, right where we left him. And we're far, far away fro-"
"I want my brother, damn it!" Dean shouted, his eyes turning demonic black. He punched the wall, his fist going through with absurd ease, and Crowley made a mental note to watch himself with the temper of his new toy.
Crowley looked back and forth between Dean and the hole in the wall, sensing a problem he should've seen coming. Despite the Mark still holding onto Dean - twisting him into a new beast - that wretched attachment he had for his brother was still very present. He would need to find a way to satiate Dean's co-dependent need for his brother... or his pet demon would burn himself out, and he didn't want to lose having a Winchester at his beck and call.
-0-
Sam left the bunker in the Impala. Where he was going, he didn't know. He just knew he needed the change of scenery, needed to get away for a while. In the early morning light the young Winchester sped down the dirt road, hoping to clear his mind. And somehow, someway he needed to find Dean's body, though a small voice in the back of his head told him there would be nothing left to find.
Shaking his head, he couldn't let himself think that way. No, he had to find his brother's body at all costs. And do whatever he could to save him.
As the line "Around and around the Winchesters went" replayed in his head, Sam could feel the corners of his eyes slowly grow wet again. The wheels of the Winchester circle of life were sprung into motion, the familiarity of it all too real.
Pulling off alongside a deserted road, he got out of the Impala and dropped to his knees in front of the car, its headlights illuminating his way. He dug his hands into the dirt, the hardened soil stinging and biting painfully into his skin, tearing it and his finger nails as drops of blood soaked into the earth while he buried a small wooden box.
A short, dark-haired woman appeared before the hunter, her red eyes glowing in the night.
"Nicole," Sam growled, "I want to make a deal."
The demon formerly known as Snooki, looked slightly taken aback, but smirked as she played with her hair. "What do you want, love? Money? Fame? Your own reality show?"
"I want Dean back from the dead."
Nicole raised her eyebrows, a faint flicker of fear crossed her otherwise calm face. "Whoa, no can do, Sammy baby. That's a no go."
Sam looked up at the crossroads demon, the corners of his eyes threatening to spring tears.
Nicole stomped her foot impatiently. "Look, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't even mess with this. Sorry, Sam, but I can't help you. Now if you want something else, that I can help you with."
"Just leave," Sam said, defeated.
"Fine, but if you ever change your mind, you know how to contact me."
The demon watched as Sam slowly rose from his spot on the ground, each muscle taking an extraordinary deal of effort to simply move. Climbing back into the car, he drove on, unaware of the scream that escaped from the crossroad demon's mouth, not noticing the thing that held her in place, or a knife sticking out of her bloodied side.
Sam barely paid any attention to the signs of the towns he was leaving and entering. They simply didn't matter to him, nothing really mattered to him anymore. It wasn't until he was a couple of towns over, in some rinky-dink backwoods place that he finally pulled over, the tears and sadness finally giving way to anger.
If he ever saw Crowley again, he'd stab him with Ruby's knife right in the eye.
-0-
Dean finally settled down, falling asleep on the patched couch haphazardly, but not because of exhaustion but because Crowley had been forced to use a heavy-duty sleeping potion on him. The ex-hunter simply wouldn't rest, the constant droning on and on about his brother and needing to protect him. The entire thing was driving the King of Hell crazy. And as an added protection, he tied Dean's arm to the couch's leg, using a chain etched in warding to keep him from zapping off.
Sighing, Crowley took a seat opposite Dean, preparing to take a long-awaited sip of scotch, but things weren't quiet for long, feeling the familiar pull of a summons calling to him.
"Bollocks," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, instantly knowing who was summoning him. That damn Winchester never gave up, did he?
Sighing, he set his glass down on the coffee table. He knew at some point he'd have to face that overgrown moose, but it wouldn't be right away, at least not until he could properly break in his new toy.
Once again Sam's calls went unanswered.
_____
Chapter 2
Time was a fickle thing, fleeting to mortals, but an expansive abyss for those who time didn't touch. He could wait... bide his time. They would have to show themselves eventually.
Weeks had passed, and Dean never felt so much before in his life. The power coursing through his veins was intoxicating, pure. A whirl of energy and stamina, the feeling like he owned the world. Time simply vanished into the hours, days and weeks
Hiding behind a bush, he sat and waited. Silently, Dean watched the small campsite, waited for his opportunity to strike, like a predator stalking his prey. His patience was rewarded when a man emerged from one of the tents, cigarette in one hand, cell phone in the other.
"Yeah, the rawhead's gone. Took some of the neighborhood kids, tried to rescue as many as possible, but -" Dean pressed the First Blade next to the man's throat, a cruel smirk on his face as he pressed into the man's neck, cutting off his speech and digging into his skin in the process.
"Hello, Roy, remember me?" The phone and cigarette dropped from Roy's hand as he struggled against Dean's grip, but the demon was stronger, keeping him pinned right in place.
"Struggle all you want, you're not going anywhere," Dean growled.
Another person emerged from the second tent, hearing the commotion. Just so happened that it was the next person on Dean's hit list. Walt.
"Hey! What the hell!" he yelled, running to the aid of his friend.
"Did you guys really think we wouldn't - more specifically - I wouldn't come back for you two?" Dean asked, his voice a low rumble against Roy's ear.
"Dean, what the hell are you doing?" Walt yelled as he fought against Dean. Dean raised a hand sending Walt sailing across the field, pinning him to the ground.
Revenge felt good, especially after what these two men did to him and his brother. Anger surged through Dean's veins, feeding his motivation. Raising the blade, he spun the hunter around with his other, lunging downwards. Roy's head went sailing next to Walt, who screamed a terrible wail that went unheard in the vast expanse of wilderness.
Leaning down to face the other hunter, their faces inches apart, Dean smiled, his eyes turning pitch black, his face spattered with Roy's blood.
"Dear God no!" Walt screamed as the blade came sailing down at him.
-0-
Weeks had passed, and still Sam had not gotten the drop on Crowley. The whole thing had quickly become a game of wills as Sam constantly tried to summon him, but Crowley simply refused to answer. Dean's body was still missing, and Castiel wasn't around much, what with dealing with his quickly burning grace and the whole Metatron business. Most of the time Sam was left alone in the bunker, his only source of companionship coming in the form of a bottle as he drank his emotions away. Yet, it only served to numb the pain temporarily before they all came blaring back in a surge of pain and vomit. And maybe it was the over abundance of alcohol finally doing something to him, but everyday he felt that same niggling on the back of his neck. And at night when he went to bed, he heard strange voices calling his name, voices that sounded remarkably like Dean.
Maybe he was finally going crazy. Yet it did nothing to quell his ritual, and Sam knew that he would only wind up hurting himself, but deep down, he didn't care. His brother was dead, probably stuck between the veil like Kevin was, and he couldn't even give his brother a proper hunter's burial. He simply lost all hope and will to live. But if Dean was stuck, why didn't he at least send a message like Kevin did?
Sam rubbed his eyes, looking at the clock on the wall. It was only 11am, yet he managed to drink a third of whatever alcohol he decided to imbibe on that day. He looked like shit, and felt even worse. Wobbly standing, he made to go to his bedroom to pass out, but a guest of wind behind him caused him turn suddenly. He slipped and fell, watching as Castiel stood above him.
"C-Cas, where've you been?" Sam muttered.
"Dealing with Metatron," he replied. "And my grace issues."
Sam finally managed to stand back up on his own two feet, under the curious glance of Cas.
"Are you okay, Sam?"
Sam shook his head, but the simple movement felt like a bomb had gone off inside. It ached so terribly bad.
"Sam, far be it from me to tell you what to do, but you need to stop drinking. You don't look so good."
Sam scoffed. "Yeah, tell me about it."
"Maybe you should try getting out of the bunker. Take on a hunt."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Hunt. Yeah right. What's the point?"
Cas watched as the younger Winchester gripped one of the walls for support. "Dean wouldn't want you to kill yourself from drinking."
Dean.
"Yeah, well, Dean isn't here anymore. Crowley took his body right out from under my nose and I couldn't even bury him."
"You still should get out, and maybe give up the drinking a bit," the angel replied, his voice heavy with concern.
"Yeah, maybe."
"Well, if you are interested, I heard there might be a ghost problem in Lawrence. You are familiar with that place, right?"
Sam nodded again, a wave of emotions - and nausea - flooding over him at the name. It brought back a lot of painful memories.
"Maybe you should check it out," Cas prodded.
The younger Winchester was going to decline, and maybe it was the alcohol talking, but a small, non-committal, "We'll see," escaped from his lips.|
-0-
Cas wouldn't take no for an answer. He was just as stubborn as Dean was. It was no wonder they got along so well at times, and fought like cats and dogs the next. And it was because of this stubbornness that two days later, Sam found himself out on the open road, driving from the bunker to Lawrence, Kansas.
It felt weird to be driving there, especially without Dean. The whole situation - heading to the very place where their entire lives started their downward spiral - was wrong on many levels. It was almost, strangely, poetic in a way.
Sighing, he tried to quell the emotions that wanted to rise out of him. If he wanted to do the job, he would need to focus. The mantra he repeated to himself kept his mind sane as he drove into the town: "Find the ghost, salt and burn the body, go home."
Prior to leaving, Sam had tried to do some research on the case. There wasn't much to go on, other than the fact that an old hotel from the turn of the century was being prepared to be demolished, and in the process the activity had started up. One of the crew members set to clear out the place reported seeing a headless apparition before blacking out and waking up at the hospital two days later.
Pulling out one of his fake identification badges, Sam stepped out of the car and walked up to where two men in construction uniforms were standing.
Sam wasted no time in confronting the men, sensing no need for useless preamble. Badge raised, Sam introduced himself as Mr. Sterling from OSHA. The men looked at one another before the oldest, a man in his sixties, introduced himself.
"I'm Paul Kerrigan, the project supervisor, and this is George Mays, the assistant super. Not that we're ungrateful or anything, but, uh, how is John's accident an OSHA matter?"
Sam cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes, refraining from asking where Ringo was. "A man was hurt on the job, so we'll need to investigate to make sure that proper protocol was followed. Otherwise I'll have to slap a 10-50B on this project."
The men shot a look at one another, eyebrows raised.
"We follow safety regulations to a T," Paul replied, slightly affronted.
Sam ignored the man. "I'll need to see the spot where the man was injured."
Paul huffed, but obliged as he motioned for Sam to follow him, leading him into the building as other crew members continued their work inside.
With Paul in the lead, Sam quickly turned on the EMF detector hidden in his pocket once they were away from the others, and no sooner had reached the second floor did it begin emitting a low squeal. Hurriedly, Sam turned it off when Paul started looking around for the strange noise.
In character, Sam pretended to look around the site for evidence.
"So, what exactly happened?" he inquired.
"Well," Paul sighed, "it was strange. When John woke up in the hospital two days after the 'accident', he insisted he saw a dark headless figure staring at him from over there." The man indicated toward a room at the end of the hallway.
Instinctively, Sam went over to investigate, making a mental note of the room number, #29. As he stood by the old, peeling door, an unnatural cold breeze went through him like an electric charge. "Did he mention anything else? Smell anything weird before hand? Notice any cold spots?"
Paul rubbed his head with his hand. "Now that you mention it, he did say he felt cold right before it happened, but how does this -"
Sam held up a hand. "I think I've seen everything here. Let's go."
After parting with the head supervisor, Sam got back into the Impala and drove off, heading to the little motel just off the interstate he saw on the outskirts of Lawrence.
A quick bit of research and a good salt and burn, and he could go back to wallowing in self-pity in the Men of Letters bunker.
Tapping away at the keyboard, he pulled up several articles on the hotel. Nothing seemed to be of any relevance to ghostly activity until one article caught his attention. He quickly pulled up the article and read quietly to himself.
The hotel back in its day had been a grand retreat for the wealthy, and one summer day in 1910, one of the wealthy businessmen had an affair with a fifteen year old maid named Claire Sanders who worked there. The wife found out and killed the girl, beheading her and burying her near the back of the property. Paying off the hotel as not to have the story leaked to the press, the case went uninvestigated until nearly fifty years later when the hotel had undergone some renovations and her body had been discovered. The girl's body had then been moved the local cemetery, and there it remained.
Closing the article, Sam sighed and looked at his watch. It was 9:15pm. If he found her grave and salted and burned her body, he could take a quick nap and be home by tomorrow night.
-0-
The graveyard was not far from Stull, a place that made the lump in Sam's throat grow larger. He drove by, the memories of five years ago still strong and vivid in his mind.
Shoving those from his thoughts, he drove down a little two lane dirt road and turned into a clearing in the woods where he parked the Impala, and grabbed the supplies he needed as he trekked through the darkened pathway, with only his flashlight guiding his way.
Sam continued on, until a weather-worn cross bearing the initials C.S. carved into it appeared before him. Quickly he went to work digging up the grave, each shovel-full of dirt making his heart hurt more, missing his brother more and more.
Finally, the dirt aside, he opened the small wooden coffin and set the body afire. Normally the spirits were forced to move on after their remains were burned, but things definitely weren't normal right now. Heaven was still in lockdown, and no spirit could move on from there. Not Claire's, not Kevin's. Hell, not even Dean's...
A twig snapping off in the distance caused him to turn to see who was there. Raising his flashlight and gun, he looked for the source of the disturbance. Sixth sense blaring, he felt the weight of someone - or something - watching him. It was unnerving as he scanned the darkness, until something caught his attention. A faint unnatural shadow rested beside a tree, darker than the rest of the shadows that lingered about. Sam raised his flashlight to see better, the figure moved, but not before Sam caught the quickest movement of a dark green jacket before it vanished instantly, leaving nothing in it's place.
The fragile, alcohol-soaked walls Sam built up around himself came crashing down as a single word escaped from his lips.
"Dean."
____
Chapter 3
Dean watched his brother dig the grave of the girl up and set her body aflame. It seemed oh so familiar to him, but yet it belonged to another part of him, a part that seemed like another lifetime ago. He wanted to draw closer to his brother, to let him know he was not dead, but the leash Crowley kept him on prevented that. He could only watch from a distance.
It was the least that Crowley would grant him when it came to Sam, yet he still pulled at the invisible restraints, eager to comfort his brother, keep him from hurting himself. A twig underneath him snapped, and Sam looked up, his flashlight aiming in Dean's direction - but he vanished from sight.
When he returned to the cabin, Crowley was waiting for him, arms crossed like an angry wife, his eyebrows raised.
"Just where have you been, Dean?" he asked.
"Out."
"Killed anyone else?" he asked. "Not that I'm complaining... much. Your work on those two hunters, sheer brilliance, by the way. Couldn't have done it better myself. And Snooki? Bitch got on my nerves, but - and as much as this pains me to say - you might want to be careful as to not draw unwanted attention from your former co-workers."
Dean said nothing, but Crowley continued on.
"Let me hazard a guess here, you went to spy on your brother again?"
The elder Winchester shrugged as Crowley sighed. It wasn't that he didn't understand, he did. It was just they were at a delicate part of the transformation of one Winchester, that he couldn't let this one golden opportunity slip by him.
Gripping hold of the young demon's shoulder, giving it a small pat, Crowley came to the realization that there would be only one way to get his pet completely under his control. The bonds of the brothers' relationship was proving to be a constant nightmare, a battle of wills that Crowley had to fight with every single day. But where others would've seen defeat, Crowley saw opportunity. And it was definitely knocking.
"Look, if you want to kill anyone else, might I suggest a few of the now-defunct Abaddon groupies? The bunch of them have been getting on my nerves of late."
Nodding his head thoughtfully, the prospect of another killing made Dean actually consider the offer, to which Crowley smirked.
"Good. And I know right where we can find a couple of them holed up, pet. But for now, let's have a rest, shall we?"
Crowley snapped his fingers and a beer appeared in Dean's hand, a glass of Craig in his own. Dean saluted him before taking a long, deep pull off the bottle and left the room.
Out of earshot, Crowley snapped his fingers, an invisible chain wrapping itself around Dean's ankle before vanishing into thin air.
"I gave you freedom to do as you pleased, but I can't let you continue on unsupervised anymore."
-0-
Sam drove a bit recklessly back to the motel, his mind racing. Maybe... maybe it was just playing tricks on him, yes, that was probably it. But he also knew there were no such things as coincidences in his life. He would've sworn to God himself that he saw a dark green jacket in that split second.
He was too alert now to even think of sleeping; he needed to do something, anything. He just needed to keep moving as he replayed those fractions of a second over and over in his mind.
Packing up his stuff in record time, he checked out of the motel, sleep be damned.
Sam gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles turning a pale, ghostly white as the speedometer slowly crept up higher. Something just wasn't kosher. His senses were blaring, and maybe it was the lack of sleep fogging his thoughts, but he needed answers.
It was nearly dawn when Sam made it back to the bunker in record time. Throwing on a pot of coffee, Sam rested his head on his hands, trying to process the events from the night before. If Dean was still around, why didn't he at least try and contact him? Then it hit him. Kevin used the coffee machine to make his presence known. Maybe Dean needed the same? It was worth a shot, he reasoned.
As the machine brewed the coffee, Sam tapped the machine lightly with his fingers, hoping to jog some kind of supernatural 1-800 line.
"H-hello?" Sam asked, a bit nervously at first, realizing just how odd this would've been to a bystander watching. However at this point, he would've tried anything. "Dean? Can you hear me?"
He waited a few moments.... and...
Nothing.
Nothing weird or paranormal occurred, and Sam was once again left bereft without any knowledge of his brother. The overwhelming feeling of sadness returned, leaving him feeling hollow and empty inside.
The crossroad demon didn't want to intervene, Crowley wasn't answering summons or phone calls, and Cas - despite his best efforts - hadn't much luck either in sensing his brother. Before giving up all hope completely, he would try one last ditch effort.
Not wasting any precious moments, Sam barged into the room where the summoning supplies still sat abandoned, and went straight to work throwing ingredients into the small metal bowl before setting it aflame.
"C'mon Crowley, answer me you son of a bitch."
"How many times do I have to tell you, she was a witch."
Sam turned around so quickly knocking over the metal bowl that it clanked loudly on the ground, but Sam paid it no mind; he was simply stunned that Crowley actually, finally, answered.
"I might add that the constant summoning, really starting to piss me off," Crowley added, his voice a low grumble.
Sam swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing bigger. Finally the words "Dean... what did you do with his body?" came barreling out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
Crowley simply smirked at Sam, his eyes glinting with the knowledge of a juicy secret.
The younger Winchester's eyes narrowed as he gripped the hilt of Ruby's knife tucked into the waist band of his jeans, ready to strike at any moment as the anger within came back in full force. Crowley watched Sam for a moment, eyes casually glancing at Sam's twitching hand, deciding on choosing his next words more carefully.
"I didn't do anything to your precious brother's body," he retorted. "It should be more of what he is doing to it."
Sam stared blankly at the demon, the words evidently lost on him. "What?"
Crowley sighed as he shoved his hands in his pockets, that familiar sly grin never leaving his face. "I guess I'll need to paint you a picture. You see, Moose, the Mark didn't kill Dean. It - how should I say - gave him a 'new lease on life'."
Before the words even registered, Crowley gripped the younger Winchester on the shoulder, pain erupting in his back as he let out a groan as he fell to the ground. Once the pain finally ebbed, Sam panted and looked around. They were no long in the bunker, but in some rustic cabin that smelt strongly of sulfur. Brows furrowed his instincts going into overdrive.
"Where the hell am I?" Sam demanded of the demon.
"You, my gigantic friend, are where we - and by we - I mean your dear brother and I, are currently playing house."
Snapping his fingers, Dean suddenly appeared beside Crowley, and Sam watched, his heart hurting with every breath, the oxygen slicing into him. His brother, his own flesh and blood, the hunter who he looked up to, looking if anything wild and demented, and nothing like the Dean of old. Instead looking like the very thing they hunted.
A demon.
____
Chapter 4
The corners of Sam's eyes felt wet, though he willed them not to fall. Not here, not now in front of the King of Hell. His emotions were a mess, conflicted, as he his brother's black eyes glinted like brilliant onyx, watching his every move.
"What the hell did you do to him, Crowley?" Sam snapped, facing the shorter man.
"Again, I didn't do anything. This was all the Mark of Cain's doing. You want something to blame, blame that," he retorted.
"You knew what was going to happen to Dean. You knew it was going to change him."
"No, I didn't. I only had an inkling, alright? It's not like this is something that happens every damn day!" Crowley spat, rising up to look Sam in the face, his eyes narrowing.
Sam ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath to try and clam his nerves as he glared back at Crowley.
Shit.
Dean was surprisingly quiet, never taking his eyes of Sam. What he was thinking, Sam didn't know. His brother's face was a blank canvas, unreadable and devoid of any emotion. It was slightly creepy.
"Dean," Sam began, turning to face his brother, his heart feeling like it was breaking in two. Everything his brother did to save his life, everything he did to save innocent people, and this was how he was repaid... by becoming a demon. "Dean, let's go home."
Perhaps it was foolishness on his part, or the familiar Winchester Achilles heel, but Sam thought just maybe if they returned to the bunker, he could 'cure' Dean like they had almost done with Crowley. It was worth a shot.
He had to try.
He couldn't live with himself if he didn't.
"Sorry, Sammy," Crowley said with a smirk. "You two won't be going anywhere, but especially you, Moose."
"What?"
"That pain you felt on the ride over, a little spell of mine etched into your spine. You're going to be here for the long haul, sweetie." Crowley winked as he walked away. "Not even Feathers will find you."
Before Sam could react, Dean swung around, nailing Sam right in the face with his right fist as everything around him went dark, falling to the floor.
-0-
Pain. Searing, burning pain exploded over him as something tugged at his sore arms, holding them above his head, as muffled, indistinguishable sounds came from somewhere off in the distance.
Slowly Sam opened his eyes, unsure where he was. He couldn't remember, everything in his mind was hazy, and he had an awful metallic taste in his mouth that made him gag. Vaguely he could make out a figure before him, but it took a second before his vision cleared enough to see it was Dean. The sight of his brother jogged his memory, the last thing he remembered was Dean sucker punching him before everything went black.
"Dean," came Sam's muffled reply. "Help me."
"Sorry, Sammy," the demon replied, his voice lacking any empathy. "These last few weeks changed me. I'm not the same person I was then."
"No, this isn't y-you," Sam muttered weakly, trying to free himself from the restraints holding him in place. "Lemme save... you,"
"That's the thing with you, Sam, you think that you can just fix me, make me as I was before. But there is nothing left to fix." Dean ran a finger down the length of the First Blade, a cruel, twisted smile curving his face. "This is the new me, Sammy. I'm free of the emotional restrictions of humanity, good and evil. No, there isn't anything left to save. You wanna know what I've done?"
Dean smirked. Raising the blade, he placed it next to his brother's midsection, pressing it in just enough that Sam winced.
A door creaked open and footsteps drew closer to Sam, making Dean stop as the footsteps approached.
"Don't stop on my account," Crowley drawled. "I'm just here to see what you've learned, Dean." Pulling up a chair on the opposite side of the room, he watched Dean begin to work his brother over as he took a sip of scotch, his star pupil smiling as Sam screamed out in pain from the blade carving into tender skin, the anti-possession tattoo he once wore nothing more than a bloody mess.
"Dean, please," Sam gasped between the spasms, hoping to still reach whatever remained of his brother deep inside, before it was too late.... Pain erupted across his body, his clothes soaked in crimson. Tears streamed down his face, streaking the residual backsplatter.
The elder Winchester stopped, and Crowley gave an inpatient huff as Dean looked up, raising the knife once more. Sam closed his eyes as it drew nearer, the last thing he saw was Dean's blood-splattered face, preparing for the worst, but...
Nothing.
No pain.
No feeling of warm blood gushing from yet another wound.
Tentatively he opened his eyes, but instead of being chained up and preparing for death, he was lying down on a bed, his brother sitting at the foot of it, watching him with something akin to concern.
_____
Chapter 5
Sam ran a hand down his side, preparing to feel many deep gashes in his torso, but found nothing. His clothes were clean, and not stained with blotches of his own blood. He breathed a small sigh of relief, yet it was only short lived. Sam noticed the demon killing knife was gone, as was his other weapons, leaving him vulnerable.
"You're not going to need those," Dean said, as though he had read his brother's mind.
Slowly sitting up, Sam's eyes met Dean's, noticing how his eyes were their normal green, yet something about his face seemed harsher... different.
"You were tossing and turning pretty bad," Dean continued, breaking Sam from his thoughts.
"Did you have to punch me?" Sam finally asked after a moment.
"I'm sorry, but I had to. Needed to get you alone." Dean added, something that looked like a smile creeping onto his face.
"Yeah, but did it have to involve punching?" Sam replied indignantly, rubbing his face.
Dean shrugged and blinked, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder.
Sam rested back against the pillows, his head still swimming. The nightmare seemed all too real, and Dean seemed to pick up on his thoughts.
"You know I wouldn't hurt you, Sammy. Not like that."
Sam tilted his head, the words having a strange effect on him as Dean watched with that bizarre smirk as he let go of his shoulder.
"I can't do this alone," Dean sighed. "I need you here with me." The way he spoke tore at Sam's heart, but a lump grew in his throat.
"You and me, we're a package deal. There's no me if there's no you."
"But Crowley -"
"Crowley. It was his idea to bring you here. You keep me sane, Sammy. You keep me from losing my mind completely."
Sam didn't know what to say. The words were of the old Dean, the Dean he knew, but hearing these words out of the bizarre demon version that looked like him... that was just insane.
"This isn't you, Dean. I can help you. Let me try and help you. We can try the cure and-" Dean shook his head no.
"No, the cure almost killed you. This is the first time in a long time I've been free. I got out of the rat race and with you here, I can finally be happy."
"But look at what it cost you!" Sam exclaimed. You're a demon!"
"You'll understand one day." Dean snapped his fingers, and Sam felt the weight of an invisible chain weigh him down. He tried to move, but the force kept him from moving. Before Sam could protest, Dean snapped his fingers again and disappeared.
"Dean!"
-0-
Crowley pressed a glass to his lips, smirking as he overheard the Winchester boys have their demon-heart-to-human-heart talk. It never ceased to amaze him, how deep human emotions and feelings ran, and how strong the bonds of family were, even when one family member was a slightly unstable killing machine.
Until he had been forced to take part in their cure, he never would've realized this. And it was this that gave him an edge.
Dare he dream, but could it be that maybe he could have two Winchesters under his control?
Smiling, he took another sip of Craig, pondering something that no demon had ever dared hope before.
____
Chapter 6
Rain battered against the windows as Sam looked out upon the drenched world while the seconds slowly faded by. His thoughts were broken by the screams of one of Abaddon's followers that Crowley currently had tied up in the living room and Dean was all to happy to slice off "any bits that stuck out." It must've said, or more likely gurgled something from the blood in its mouth, that Dean didn't like as it's head rolled over to rest at Sam's feet like a giant ugly marble, its blank eyes staring up at him.
He grimaced.
Minutes turned into hours, then days.... weeks.... Time seemed to morph into an endless, repeating cycle of the same monotonous, blood-soaked drivel. It was a strange situation Sam found himself in, being held captive with a demonized version of his brother and the ruler of all evil.
Most of his days were spent wandering the little room he was confined to and cut off from the rest of the world, the irony of being held captive like Crowley was in the bunker not lost on him. Crowley even noticed this, but instead of his usual snark, kept insisting that his being here was for the best, but for the best of what, Sam didn't know. For all intents and purposes, Crowley even tried making Sam feel more at home, but the effect was lost, slightly disturbing to the younger Winchester that the King of Hell was actually making an effort to try and be his friend.
But for all that, it was the bloodlust and joy Dean wore so proudly on his face with each cut from the blade into the endless supply of demons Crowley provided was etched into Sam's mind, the images seared into his brain when he slept at night. The screams were the worst.... Sometimes during the late night, Sam would awake from a nightmare, sweat dripping from his face, his voice hoarse from yelling in his sleep. It went on and on like this, and as Sam climbed into bed one night, feeling emotionally drained and exhausted, knowing that his rest would ultimately be broken once again. With a deep breath, he watched the shadows float across the ceiling, his mind adrift with worry.
"Cas, if you hear me, please help my brother." The prayer hung in the air, unanswered. Each and every night, Sam prayed to Castiel for a miracle, and each time there was no answer.
Rolling to his side, Sam closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come, not that it would, at least not without the visual of demon Dean. Instead, his mind continued to churn with the thought of how out of control everything was, this completely messed up situation they were in spiraling into an endless abyss. He used to always have hope, there was always a way out of whatever mess they were in. But that was then and this was now. In the past, he at least had Dean. Now, he didn't even have him anymore. Everything was being taken away from him, one by one, being stripped to the bare bone.
At some point he finally fell asleep, all hope feeling lost. When he awoke the next morning, it took him a second to remember where he was, before the blackness drifted over him like a blanket, and it took an extraordinary amount of will to even get out of bed.
The sun lit the tiny room, an offer of hope and happiness, but all Sam saw was his own personal Hell.
-0-
The change had been gradual - almost unnoticeable at first - but once Sam started refusing to eat, Dean began to see the changes, and deep inside he was worried. He didn't think Sam knew that he knew, but he did. Despite being a demon, his big brother instincts were still going into overdrive.
Seeing Sam grow more depressed as time went on... no... this wasn't right. He wanted his family together, but not at the cost of his brother's happiness. A pit in his stomach began to grow. Dean watched, even going so far as to bring his brother food every day.
"Dean, you don't have to do this," Sam said, sitting up as Dean brought it a tray of something. It was a burger and a slice of pie, the sight of it bringing a small smile to his face.
"You didn't have to," Sam repeated, the smells making his stomach ache in hunger.
Dean smiled, creasing the corners of his brilliant green eyes. "You're my brother, Sammy, can't let you go hungry. What kind of big brother would I be?"
Sam looked at the plate of food before him before focusing on Dean. The old Dean was still there, just buried underneath the rough demonic exterior, and that gave him a renewed hope... and a small tear threatening to spill out from the corner of his right eye.
Hurriedly, he wiped it with the back of his hand, not wanting Dean to see it. The old Dean would've laughed and called him Samantha for this chick flick moment, but this version he wasn't sure on.
Sam took a tentative bite of the food, it tasting so good and delicious. Dean watched, and smiled.
"We're family, Sam. Good, bad, or a little unorthodox, we're all we have."
The words filled Sam with a lightness and warmth he hadn't felt in a long time, as Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.
"Eat up, Sammy. There's more where that came from."
Sam looked at the pie, something about it seemed a little off. "What kind of pie is this anyway?"
Dean smiled and looked rather pleased with himself. "It's one of my own creation: Blood meringue."
Sam looked at it and at Dean again, not wanting to hurt his brother's feelings he smiled. "Looks... uh good. I'll try it later."
The older Winchester smiled and disappeared.
For that brief moment, Sam felt a faint glimmer of hope, that his brother wasn't completely gone. Somewhere deep inside, the old Dean remained, and he needed to try and pull him up from the abyss Crowley had thrown him in.
_____
Chapter 7
Sam awoke around midnight to the sounds of a struggle, of furniture breaking and glass smashing. Yells and screaming, Dean cursing, and Crowley fighting something off.
Quietly, Sam peeked out the bedroom door, utter chaos besieged him. Broken glass littered the floor, debris and various broken pieces of furniture strewn about. A figure he thought he would no longer see stood in the middle of the room, and turning his head, his eyes meet Sam's.
"Cas? What are you, I mean, how did you -"
The angel smiled. "I finally tracked you down, Sam. I'm here to rescue you."
"How is that even possible?" Crowley yelled. "This place was angel-proofed!"
"Not as well as you might have thought, Crowley," Castiel replied, turning to face him. Crowley snarled and muttered darkly under his breath.
"One of the wardings was smudged," Cas continued. "That is how I was able to sense your whereabouts, Sam."
"Feathers," the demon began, but Castiel shot a look at the demon, silencing him, then at Dean. "Sam Winchester is not your prisoner. Release him now."
"Or what? What if I don't? You're going to take away all my toys and make me sit in the corner?" Crowley answered with a sneer, pulling out an angelic blade hidden from inside his coat, twirling it in his hand as he watched the angel.
Cas raised a hand toward Crowley, but the demon swung the blade, causing Castiel to step back. Pulling out his own blade, a second fight broke out between the two. Castiel held his own, showing no sign of fatigue, the sound of metal on metal filling the room as the blades made contact with one another.
"Got a power boost, Cas? Which poor schlub's grace did you steal this time?" Crowley asked with venom dripping in his voice as he swung again at the angel. Sam watched the two powerful beings, as did Dean who stood there transfixed, his loyalties between the two torn and conflicted.
Cas narrowed his eyes at the demon, but said nothing, his only reply coming in the form of Crowley's blade flying across the room from his strike. Gaining the upper hand, Castiel pinned Crowley to the wall.
With his free hand, Cas raised a hand to Sam, welcoming him over. Tentatively, Sam left the room, walking over to the angel, the weight of the glare from Crowley heavy upon him.
Quickly stealing a look back at his brother, Sam was surprised to find a small smirk crossing Dean's face as he gave his baby brother a wink before the two figures disappeared from sight.
As the room around them melted away, Sam could've sworn he heard his brother howl.
When they landed inside the bunker, the happiness of being free should have filled Sam's heart with happiness, but instead he felt the bitter sting of loneliness again. It felt good to be home, but it was only home when Dean was there. At this, Sam sighed deeply.
"What is the matter, Sam?" Castiel asked, tilting his head in confusion.
"My brother, he's... he's not here. He's still stuck with Crowley."
Castiel sighed. "Dean is a demon, there isn't any way to save him."
"No," Sam objected, "there still is something good inside him, I saw it. He can be saved."
"But if you try to cure him, you will only end up harming yourself."
"I know that," Sam huffed, slumping down into a chair in the library. "But he's my brother, and I have to do something. He'd do the same for me."
Something was niggling at the back of Sam's mind, and before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out. "By the way, how did you power up?" Sam asked, not entirely sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Cas looked down, avoiding looking at Sam, and the hunter knew. "It was... unavoidable. If I didn't, I would have died."
Sam ran a hand through his hair. This was just the latest testament to how screwed up their lives were. "Was it Metatron's?"
"No. I-I wouldn't touch his grace with a ten foot pole," Cas said, half attempting to make a joke to which Sam couldn't help but laugh. It felt so good, but felt so foreign. It was like after these last few months he had almost forgotten how to laugh. Or even be happy.
"Well," Sam began, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye, "once I figure out a way to help Dean, I promise to help you out."
Cas smiled. "Don't worry about me. Take care of your brother."
Take care of Dean. Sighing, the happiness disappearing almost as quickly as it came. Heading to grab a pile of books stacked neatly in the corner of the library, Sam began rifling through them, setting out to find a way to help his brother... no matter what. Thousands of books, knowledge from all over... surely there had to be something within one of them.
He had to have hope. It was the only thing he had at the moment.
The End
____________
A/N: Huge thanks to the prompter for coming up with this prompt. You had some truly awesome ideas and it was really hard trying to pick just one to write. Thanks also goes to my betas, for taking time out of their busy schedules to look this over, and their handholding when I thought I was stuck with massive writer's block. And last, but definitely not least, Thanks to the community runners for hosting such an awesome exchange!