Revenge of the Jedi, Part 1/3 (complete) SPN fic
Title: Revenge of the Jedi
Author: borgmama1of5
Summary: "No, Dean, I wouldn't. Same circumstances, I wouldn't."
Wordcount: 3000 part 1, 14,600 total
Genre/pairings: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: through 9.13, Major character death
Beta: sandymg
Disclaimer: Not mine...but desperately wish they were!
AO3
Revenge of the Jedi
Sam curses himself nonstop as he presses his foot down on the gas pedal.
He never asked. He never fucking asked.
***
In the six weeks since he got back in the Impala with Dean, they’ve been professional. Gone back to the bunker, to their separate rooms, and worked hunts. Mostly ones Sam’s found. He’ll say, “Four mysterious deaths in Utah…” and before he finishes the sentence Dean says he’ll be ready in five. Maybe three times Dean’s suggested checking something out. Cas calls Dean every few days and Dean reports Cas hasn’t had any breakthroughs on locating Metatron or Gadreel or figuring what else to do about the angel fanatics running around loose.
When they’re not out, meals show up in front of Sam without fanfare. Sometimes they eat sitting silently together at the table, but more often Sam eats his meal alone. As he walks past Dean eating his eggs or burger or pasta at the kitchen table, Sam offers ‘thanks’ as he puts his dishes in the sink. Dean nods acknowledgment. They talk, but only about hunting or angels. Dean’s jaw is always tight, his eyes look away even when they discuss mundane matters like a trip into town to get supplies. One or the other of them goes, it doesn’t take both of them to pick up groceries and beer.
Sam accepts the solitude of the library and the brief interactions with Dean as the norm now. Hunting partners. Because they do work well as a team in the field. And if Dean’s quietness feels eerie, well, Dean ought to feel guilty about what he did.
Until the morning Dean carries his duffle past Sam and starts up the bunker’s stairs.
“Going out. Probably a couple days. Just something I have to take care of on my own.” Dean shifts the strap of the bag as Sam simply looks at him.
After a moment of meeting Sam’s eyes, Dean adds, “Nothing one person can’t handle.” For a moment Sam thinks Dean is going to say something more, but Dean just turns away.
“Is it something to do with angels?”
“Nope. Nothing at all.”
The flat tone of Dean’s voice triggers a rush of anger. Dean was the one who’d broken Sam’s trust, he has no right to hide something from Sam.
“Hey, you want to work on your own, fine. But you owe me the facts before you waltz out on me, Dean. No secrets.”
Dean stops at the top of the stairs. “I get it. I screwed you over. But this has nothing to do with you, Sam, and if it gets your panties in a twist and you want to leave, I guess you will. Leave a note so I don’t waste time looking all over the damn place for you.”
Sam can only gape as Dean shuts the bunker door behind him.
“Asshole,” he finally mutters, and goes back to searching for signs of monsters online.
***
The morning of the third day after Dean’s departure, Sam’s phone rings.
“Sam. How could you let your brother do this alone?”
“Cas … What? What are you talking about?”
“Facing Abaddon.“
Fuck. “Dean left. He didn’t tell me where he was going or what he was doing.” And if he gets himself torn to pieces … “Goddamn him.” Dean didn’t want him involved. Protecting Sam again. Part of Sam wants to hang up and let Dean deal with his own mess … and part of him, the part he’d thought was gone, is terrified of what could happen to Dean.
“Where is he, Cas? What’s going on?”
“Crowley arranged for Dean to fight Abaddon with the First Blade … I believe Dean called it a ‘cage match.’ He is in Gallatin, Tennessee. Heading to a warehouse teeming with demons.”
***
Sam drives like a bat out of hell. No irony intended. Makes the eight-hour drive in six. Squeals the car he’d lifted to a stop in front of a concrete block building where Cas said Dean and Abaddon would be. Faded sign says ‘Harenger’s Building Supplies.’
He steps around the randomly strewn corpses between the car and the door. Realizes from their positions these demons were killed fleeing from what was inside the warehouse, and breaks into a run.
Inside is worse, the floor covered with grotesquely distorted bodies, blood splattered in hideous patterns on the cement. Sam has seen corpses eviscerated by werewolves but he is stunned by the savageness of this slaughter, chest cavities gouged open and pulped insides spilling across the floor. He steps carefully, demon-killing knife raised, glancing at each body to confirm none of them are Dean, each negative confirmation vibrating through his body.
He finds Abaddon lying alone near the center of the room, her eyes a blue-glass reflection of the carnage surrounding her. Face unmarked, mouth trapped in a final sneer. Below her collarbone, her body is simply a raw, jagged hole with sharp ends of ribs protruding from pulverized internal organs.
Sam wants to be sick.
Where is Dean?
He whirls at the scrape of a shoe on concrete.
“Hello, Moose.”
“Crowley!” Sam holds the knife steady, lowers his voice to lethal. “Where’s Dean?”
“Oh,” Crowley makes a show of thinking. “Probably halfway to Texas now, he’s got quite the long to-do list. Actually, more like to-kill list …”
“What the fuck do you mean?”
“Here I wondered if a Winchester would ever amount to anything, but your brother’s done the family name proud.” Crowley pauses, savors Sam’s grim expression. “Dean is a Knight of Hell now- the First Knight, actually. Right now he’s the only Knight, but I know he’ll put together a top-notch battalion as soon as he has time to hold his American Idol auditions.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your brother has occasionally had an impressive day or two as a hunter, but with that Blade in his hands he is magnificent. He did all this himself, no hesitation. He might even be a match against the angels.”
“I am going to kill you.”
“You might want to think a moment before you start tossing out idle threats, Moose. The First Knight serves the King of Hell. Who just happens to be, well, yours truly. Dean might interpret your ineffective posturing as aggressive and that could have … unfortunate results.”
“Dean would never work for you, Crowley!”
“Oh, Sam, I have you to thank for giving Dean that final push to the dark side… whatever you said to him was exactly the motivation he needed to accept his destiny as Cain’s heir. I really need to send you a fruit basket in appreciation. It would have been so much harder to convince him to play on my team if he still thought he had something to lose.”
No, Sam thinks wildly, this can’t be his fault. “What did you do to him?”
“I didn’t do anything. Dean did it all himself. The Mark of Cain purified him to his essence. No more wavering over who should live, who should die. He stopped playing by outmoded scruples and unleashed who he really is.” Crowley waves at Abaddon’s corpse. “I simply handed him the weapon he deserved, and you see the result. I actually think Dean felt good releasing his … inner demon.”
Sam jumps forward without conscious thought. The knife pierces Crowley, but he only looks annoyed. “Really, Sam, this is my favorite suit.”
Crowley vanishes.
And Sam has no idea what to do next.
***
The murders are brutal. But they are spread out, and of insignificant people, and the authorities haven’t bothered to notice the pattern.
But Sam sees it.
Tracey Bell.
Charlie Mackey.
Raj Gunderson.
All hunters.
He views the bodies at the morgues. Each has been destroyed with the same inhuman force. Gaping hole where there should have been a chest.
He wants it to be a shapeshifter. A leftover Leviathan. Or even demon possession.
Not Dean.
He calls Cas-prayer and cellphone-but he doesn’t answer.
Research tells him what he already knows - God marked Cain so that others wouldn’t kill him for the sin of murdering his brother. But that’s all he finds.
He searches ineffectively through the Men of Letters files, but there’s nothing there either.
Sam thinks he should warn the remaining hunters. But he can’t figure out what he could say. “Watch out for Dean, he’s currently on a homicidal binge murdering hunters, just avoid him if you can but if you do see him give me a call before you go into hiding, okay?…”
The name on the caller ID makes Sam’s heart freeze.
“Sam?” He’s never heard such fear in Krissy’s voice. “Is … is something wrong with Dean? I think …”
All the other killings had taken place in isolated spots.
“Get yourself to a public place with a lot of people and stay there. I’m on my way.”
“What’s wrong with Dean?” Her voice breaks on the question.
“I’ll explain when I get there. Just stay with other people and you should be safe.”
***
Sam hears the tiny sigh of displaced air a second before Castiel’s ‘Sam’ so he is able to keep the instinctive jerk of the steering wheel under control.
“I’ve found someone to help us.”
Sam looks in the review mirror and swerves onto the shoulder and brakes hard.
“What is he doing here?!” Sam is out of the car and backing away, aware that the weapon he needs is locked in the trunk in his bag.
“Sam.” Cas is between Sam and the man-angel-getting out of the back seat, “Gadreel can help.”
“Why isn’t he dead?”
“Gadreel was deceived by Metratron, just as I was. He sees now what he did was wrong. He will help us save Dean.”
“No.”
“Sam …”
“No.” Sam tries to circle around Cas, thinks there’s a chance he could get the trunk open and the angel blade out before Cas stops him.
Gadreel ‘s voice is void of emotion. “I told you, Castiel, he would not accept my help. I am sorry, Sam Winchester, for the wrong that I have done you and your brother. I wanted to help … I wanted to redeem myself. I failed, and it is you who suffered, and I am sorry.”
Gadreel bows his head and walks away from the car.
Sam needs to know if Cas has answers. “Crowley says that Dean is the First Knight of Hell. He killed Abaddon. Now he’s killing hunters. How do I stop him?”
“Gadreel thinks …”
Sam doesn't want to hear Gadreel's thoughts. “No. He’s not coming. And when I’m done saving Dean,” Sam snarls at the retreating angel, “I am going to kill him.”
“Sam …”
Sam pushes past Cas, and pulls the car back onto the road with a squeal of tires.
***
Krissy texts that Dean has been stalking her through the aisles of a Wal-Mart but the store is closing and she doesn’t know what to do.
Sam texts back that he will be there in fifteen minutes.
***
His brother’s eyes are black.
Dean turns as Sam crashes through the door and Sam’s heart freezes. Dean’s shirt is soaked with red spray. Sam is seconds too late.
Blood is pooling under Krissy where she lies at Dean’s feet.
A massive bone knife, a jawbone, Sam realizes, spatters crimson drops over the tile as Dean raises it at him. Sam tracks the drops back to the expanding puddle under the body, and grief settles in Sam like lead. Krissy’s unseeing eyes are wide open, an unbelieving expression on her too-young face.
For an instant Kevin’s face-black pits instead of eyes-floats over Krissy’s.
“You shouldn’t have come here.” Dean’s voice is flat but clear. He’s not growling like a creature from a horror movie. It’s the same raspy voice that’s washed over Sam for years.
“Dean … This isn’t you …”
“You’re wrong, Sam. It is.”
Sam desperately denies the evidence in front of him. “No, Dean, you’re not a killer! You hunt monsters … but you save people!”
“Never saved enough. For every one I saved, two others ended up dying. Every time I thought I was doing the right thing, it wasn’t. Not gonna lie to myself any more. What I do best is kill. So. That’s what I’m gonna do.”
“Put the Blade down. We’ll find a way to get rid of the Mark. I can’t let you do this!”
“I don’t want to have to kill you … but you can’t stop me. Leave. Now. I won’t come after you. But if you don’t go, right now, I will kill you.”
“It’s the Mark, Dean, Cain tricked you. You’re not …”
Dean steps forward, weapon raised. “Go. Now.”
A trench-coated figure imposes itself in front of Sam and reaches a hand out.
“Dean. Give me your arm.”
Dean snarls and thrusts the Blade and Sam hears the horrible crunch of bone smashing through bone, the repellent rush of organs bursting, and he flinches as a blazing light flares and vanishes. Cas gurgles faintly and falls back against Sam who cannot process what has just happened.
“Finally! And good-bye to that bugger at last!” Sam drops Cas’s body at the words.
Crowley is standing behind Dean. “Well done. And you might as well finish this one, “Crowley points at Sam, “you know he’s just going to keep turning up like a bad penny.”
Sam is numb. So many deaths. There’s nothing, no one left. He braces himself, arms at his sides, feels Dean press the knife to his shirt.
He stares into those emotionless black eyes. He knows this cannot be his brother.
“Don’t do this, Dean,” he says softly, “you’re more than just a killer.”
Dean blinks … and green eyes flare.
Instead of feeling the Blade shred his heart, Sam is pushed aside as Dean whirls with enough force to make the air shimmer.
He sees the jawbone plunge bluntly through cloth, skin, muscle, breastbone, sees the savage twist that destroys Crowley’s chest, sees Crowley’s face freeze with a startled expression as Dean pulls the weapon out with a final savage grunt.
The King of Hell crumples.
Dean stands frozen, staring at the body.
A figure appears and a hand seizes Dean’s arm before he can react. Dean drops the knife and cries out as he is forced to his knees.
“No!” Sam tries to move but Gadreel’s other hand flashes out and Sam is immobilized. Smoke rises from Gadreel’s grip on Dean’s forearm. Dean is gasping in pain, trying to pull Gadreel’s hand away.
Dean throws his head back and screams.
Gadreel releases him and Dean collapses. Sam can move and he drops to Dean’s side instantly.
Gadreel’s hand has burned through Dean’s coat and shirts to sear skin. His handprint obliterates Cain’s Mark.
Sam lowers his head, hears a wheezy breath. Dean is still alive.
“He is free from the Mark,” the angel announces without inflection, then looks at Cas’ fallen body.
“I am sorry, brother. Your death is on my conscience as well. I will do my best to carry on as you would want.”
“Bring him back!” Sam orders.
“I cannot. The First Blade destroys the essence of life, there is no resurrection possible.”
Dean’s head on his lap, Sam stares at the rumpled trench coat of the man that put Dean above everything so many times. The man that saved both their lives. Always so human, no matter what he was.
Krissy’s blood is starting to dry, congealing into brown molasses. So much blood. Enough to drown in.
How can Dean bear the responsibility for these killings?
Sam remembers Kevin dying under his hand. The boy’s last, shocked begging gaze, condemning Sam for all time.
Dean will not be able to live with this.
“Gadreel. Do one thing for me and I will let you go. Never look for you. But you have to erase Dean’s memories of killing Castiel and Krissy and the other hunters.”
“Is that what your brother would want?”
“It’s what he needs. He will never forgive himself … he can’t know. It was the Mark making him do this …”
“As First Knight, Dean served the King of Hell. But he could not follow the order to kill you.” Gadreel keeps his empty stare on Dean a long moment.
Sam’s gut constricts with the fear that the angel may refuse. Then a quick nod and Gadreel bends to place his hand on Dean’s forehead. A white glimmer surrounds Dean, almost like a halo. The angel exhales sharply. “I have blurred the memories of his ownership of the Blade and erased his memories of the actual killings. He will sleep now. It will be up to you to explain the deaths in another way.”
“I will.”
“Good-bye, Sam. I have work to do. I hope we do not meet again.”
***
The Wal-Mart conveniently provides all the necessary supplies and Sam gathers enough incendiaries to burn down a small city. From the electronics aisle he pieces together a remote detonator.
He arranges the bodies of their two friends and pours salt over them. He hesitates over the trench coat but leaves it with Castiel. Seeing it would only give Dean false hope.
He places Crowley some distance away, can’t stomach having him near the others.
He maneuvers Dean to the Impala waiting in the parking lot. Sam is grateful that Dean remains unconscious. He drives them a safe distance and triggers the remote.
Tears fill his eyes as the explosion flares sun-bright, bringing the shadows of the surrounding trees into sharp focus. One more fiery ending in their lives. They will never stop paying the price for being born.
Now he has to get Dean away from here, and create a story to cover Dean’s memory gaps.
Dean must never know what he actually did … or what Sam did to protect him.
The irony is bitter indeed.
5/5/14 ETA: I thought this was a one-shot, but the end wouldn't let me rest, so it is continued--completed--here:
Revenge of the Jedi, Part 2
Revenge of the Jedi, Part 3
Author: borgmama1of5
Summary: "No, Dean, I wouldn't. Same circumstances, I wouldn't."
Wordcount: 3000 part 1, 14,600 total
Genre/pairings: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: through 9.13, Major character death
Beta: sandymg
Disclaimer: Not mine...but desperately wish they were!
AO3
Revenge of the Jedi
Sam curses himself nonstop as he presses his foot down on the gas pedal.
He never asked. He never fucking asked.
***
In the six weeks since he got back in the Impala with Dean, they’ve been professional. Gone back to the bunker, to their separate rooms, and worked hunts. Mostly ones Sam’s found. He’ll say, “Four mysterious deaths in Utah…” and before he finishes the sentence Dean says he’ll be ready in five. Maybe three times Dean’s suggested checking something out. Cas calls Dean every few days and Dean reports Cas hasn’t had any breakthroughs on locating Metatron or Gadreel or figuring what else to do about the angel fanatics running around loose.
When they’re not out, meals show up in front of Sam without fanfare. Sometimes they eat sitting silently together at the table, but more often Sam eats his meal alone. As he walks past Dean eating his eggs or burger or pasta at the kitchen table, Sam offers ‘thanks’ as he puts his dishes in the sink. Dean nods acknowledgment. They talk, but only about hunting or angels. Dean’s jaw is always tight, his eyes look away even when they discuss mundane matters like a trip into town to get supplies. One or the other of them goes, it doesn’t take both of them to pick up groceries and beer.
Sam accepts the solitude of the library and the brief interactions with Dean as the norm now. Hunting partners. Because they do work well as a team in the field. And if Dean’s quietness feels eerie, well, Dean ought to feel guilty about what he did.
Until the morning Dean carries his duffle past Sam and starts up the bunker’s stairs.
“Going out. Probably a couple days. Just something I have to take care of on my own.” Dean shifts the strap of the bag as Sam simply looks at him.
After a moment of meeting Sam’s eyes, Dean adds, “Nothing one person can’t handle.” For a moment Sam thinks Dean is going to say something more, but Dean just turns away.
“Is it something to do with angels?”
“Nope. Nothing at all.”
The flat tone of Dean’s voice triggers a rush of anger. Dean was the one who’d broken Sam’s trust, he has no right to hide something from Sam.
“Hey, you want to work on your own, fine. But you owe me the facts before you waltz out on me, Dean. No secrets.”
Dean stops at the top of the stairs. “I get it. I screwed you over. But this has nothing to do with you, Sam, and if it gets your panties in a twist and you want to leave, I guess you will. Leave a note so I don’t waste time looking all over the damn place for you.”
Sam can only gape as Dean shuts the bunker door behind him.
“Asshole,” he finally mutters, and goes back to searching for signs of monsters online.
***
The morning of the third day after Dean’s departure, Sam’s phone rings.
“Sam. How could you let your brother do this alone?”
“Cas … What? What are you talking about?”
“Facing Abaddon.“
Fuck. “Dean left. He didn’t tell me where he was going or what he was doing.” And if he gets himself torn to pieces … “Goddamn him.” Dean didn’t want him involved. Protecting Sam again. Part of Sam wants to hang up and let Dean deal with his own mess … and part of him, the part he’d thought was gone, is terrified of what could happen to Dean.
“Where is he, Cas? What’s going on?”
“Crowley arranged for Dean to fight Abaddon with the First Blade … I believe Dean called it a ‘cage match.’ He is in Gallatin, Tennessee. Heading to a warehouse teeming with demons.”
***
Sam drives like a bat out of hell. No irony intended. Makes the eight-hour drive in six. Squeals the car he’d lifted to a stop in front of a concrete block building where Cas said Dean and Abaddon would be. Faded sign says ‘Harenger’s Building Supplies.’
He steps around the randomly strewn corpses between the car and the door. Realizes from their positions these demons were killed fleeing from what was inside the warehouse, and breaks into a run.
Inside is worse, the floor covered with grotesquely distorted bodies, blood splattered in hideous patterns on the cement. Sam has seen corpses eviscerated by werewolves but he is stunned by the savageness of this slaughter, chest cavities gouged open and pulped insides spilling across the floor. He steps carefully, demon-killing knife raised, glancing at each body to confirm none of them are Dean, each negative confirmation vibrating through his body.
He finds Abaddon lying alone near the center of the room, her eyes a blue-glass reflection of the carnage surrounding her. Face unmarked, mouth trapped in a final sneer. Below her collarbone, her body is simply a raw, jagged hole with sharp ends of ribs protruding from pulverized internal organs.
Sam wants to be sick.
Where is Dean?
He whirls at the scrape of a shoe on concrete.
“Hello, Moose.”
“Crowley!” Sam holds the knife steady, lowers his voice to lethal. “Where’s Dean?”
“Oh,” Crowley makes a show of thinking. “Probably halfway to Texas now, he’s got quite the long to-do list. Actually, more like to-kill list …”
“What the fuck do you mean?”
“Here I wondered if a Winchester would ever amount to anything, but your brother’s done the family name proud.” Crowley pauses, savors Sam’s grim expression. “Dean is a Knight of Hell now- the First Knight, actually. Right now he’s the only Knight, but I know he’ll put together a top-notch battalion as soon as he has time to hold his American Idol auditions.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your brother has occasionally had an impressive day or two as a hunter, but with that Blade in his hands he is magnificent. He did all this himself, no hesitation. He might even be a match against the angels.”
“I am going to kill you.”
“You might want to think a moment before you start tossing out idle threats, Moose. The First Knight serves the King of Hell. Who just happens to be, well, yours truly. Dean might interpret your ineffective posturing as aggressive and that could have … unfortunate results.”
“Dean would never work for you, Crowley!”
“Oh, Sam, I have you to thank for giving Dean that final push to the dark side… whatever you said to him was exactly the motivation he needed to accept his destiny as Cain’s heir. I really need to send you a fruit basket in appreciation. It would have been so much harder to convince him to play on my team if he still thought he had something to lose.”
No, Sam thinks wildly, this can’t be his fault. “What did you do to him?”
“I didn’t do anything. Dean did it all himself. The Mark of Cain purified him to his essence. No more wavering over who should live, who should die. He stopped playing by outmoded scruples and unleashed who he really is.” Crowley waves at Abaddon’s corpse. “I simply handed him the weapon he deserved, and you see the result. I actually think Dean felt good releasing his … inner demon.”
Sam jumps forward without conscious thought. The knife pierces Crowley, but he only looks annoyed. “Really, Sam, this is my favorite suit.”
Crowley vanishes.
And Sam has no idea what to do next.
***
The murders are brutal. But they are spread out, and of insignificant people, and the authorities haven’t bothered to notice the pattern.
But Sam sees it.
Tracey Bell.
Charlie Mackey.
Raj Gunderson.
All hunters.
He views the bodies at the morgues. Each has been destroyed with the same inhuman force. Gaping hole where there should have been a chest.
He wants it to be a shapeshifter. A leftover Leviathan. Or even demon possession.
Not Dean.
He calls Cas-prayer and cellphone-but he doesn’t answer.
Research tells him what he already knows - God marked Cain so that others wouldn’t kill him for the sin of murdering his brother. But that’s all he finds.
He searches ineffectively through the Men of Letters files, but there’s nothing there either.
Sam thinks he should warn the remaining hunters. But he can’t figure out what he could say. “Watch out for Dean, he’s currently on a homicidal binge murdering hunters, just avoid him if you can but if you do see him give me a call before you go into hiding, okay?…”
The name on the caller ID makes Sam’s heart freeze.
“Sam?” He’s never heard such fear in Krissy’s voice. “Is … is something wrong with Dean? I think …”
All the other killings had taken place in isolated spots.
“Get yourself to a public place with a lot of people and stay there. I’m on my way.”
“What’s wrong with Dean?” Her voice breaks on the question.
“I’ll explain when I get there. Just stay with other people and you should be safe.”
***
Sam hears the tiny sigh of displaced air a second before Castiel’s ‘Sam’ so he is able to keep the instinctive jerk of the steering wheel under control.
“I’ve found someone to help us.”
Sam looks in the review mirror and swerves onto the shoulder and brakes hard.
“What is he doing here?!” Sam is out of the car and backing away, aware that the weapon he needs is locked in the trunk in his bag.
“Sam.” Cas is between Sam and the man-angel-getting out of the back seat, “Gadreel can help.”
“Why isn’t he dead?”
“Gadreel was deceived by Metratron, just as I was. He sees now what he did was wrong. He will help us save Dean.”
“No.”
“Sam …”
“No.” Sam tries to circle around Cas, thinks there’s a chance he could get the trunk open and the angel blade out before Cas stops him.
Gadreel ‘s voice is void of emotion. “I told you, Castiel, he would not accept my help. I am sorry, Sam Winchester, for the wrong that I have done you and your brother. I wanted to help … I wanted to redeem myself. I failed, and it is you who suffered, and I am sorry.”
Gadreel bows his head and walks away from the car.
Sam needs to know if Cas has answers. “Crowley says that Dean is the First Knight of Hell. He killed Abaddon. Now he’s killing hunters. How do I stop him?”
“Gadreel thinks …”
Sam doesn't want to hear Gadreel's thoughts. “No. He’s not coming. And when I’m done saving Dean,” Sam snarls at the retreating angel, “I am going to kill him.”
“Sam …”
Sam pushes past Cas, and pulls the car back onto the road with a squeal of tires.
***
Krissy texts that Dean has been stalking her through the aisles of a Wal-Mart but the store is closing and she doesn’t know what to do.
Sam texts back that he will be there in fifteen minutes.
***
His brother’s eyes are black.
Dean turns as Sam crashes through the door and Sam’s heart freezes. Dean’s shirt is soaked with red spray. Sam is seconds too late.
Blood is pooling under Krissy where she lies at Dean’s feet.
A massive bone knife, a jawbone, Sam realizes, spatters crimson drops over the tile as Dean raises it at him. Sam tracks the drops back to the expanding puddle under the body, and grief settles in Sam like lead. Krissy’s unseeing eyes are wide open, an unbelieving expression on her too-young face.
For an instant Kevin’s face-black pits instead of eyes-floats over Krissy’s.
“You shouldn’t have come here.” Dean’s voice is flat but clear. He’s not growling like a creature from a horror movie. It’s the same raspy voice that’s washed over Sam for years.
“Dean … This isn’t you …”
“You’re wrong, Sam. It is.”
Sam desperately denies the evidence in front of him. “No, Dean, you’re not a killer! You hunt monsters … but you save people!”
“Never saved enough. For every one I saved, two others ended up dying. Every time I thought I was doing the right thing, it wasn’t. Not gonna lie to myself any more. What I do best is kill. So. That’s what I’m gonna do.”
“Put the Blade down. We’ll find a way to get rid of the Mark. I can’t let you do this!”
“I don’t want to have to kill you … but you can’t stop me. Leave. Now. I won’t come after you. But if you don’t go, right now, I will kill you.”
“It’s the Mark, Dean, Cain tricked you. You’re not …”
Dean steps forward, weapon raised. “Go. Now.”
A trench-coated figure imposes itself in front of Sam and reaches a hand out.
“Dean. Give me your arm.”
Dean snarls and thrusts the Blade and Sam hears the horrible crunch of bone smashing through bone, the repellent rush of organs bursting, and he flinches as a blazing light flares and vanishes. Cas gurgles faintly and falls back against Sam who cannot process what has just happened.
“Finally! And good-bye to that bugger at last!” Sam drops Cas’s body at the words.
Crowley is standing behind Dean. “Well done. And you might as well finish this one, “Crowley points at Sam, “you know he’s just going to keep turning up like a bad penny.”
Sam is numb. So many deaths. There’s nothing, no one left. He braces himself, arms at his sides, feels Dean press the knife to his shirt.
He stares into those emotionless black eyes. He knows this cannot be his brother.
“Don’t do this, Dean,” he says softly, “you’re more than just a killer.”
Dean blinks … and green eyes flare.
Instead of feeling the Blade shred his heart, Sam is pushed aside as Dean whirls with enough force to make the air shimmer.
He sees the jawbone plunge bluntly through cloth, skin, muscle, breastbone, sees the savage twist that destroys Crowley’s chest, sees Crowley’s face freeze with a startled expression as Dean pulls the weapon out with a final savage grunt.
The King of Hell crumples.
Dean stands frozen, staring at the body.
A figure appears and a hand seizes Dean’s arm before he can react. Dean drops the knife and cries out as he is forced to his knees.
“No!” Sam tries to move but Gadreel’s other hand flashes out and Sam is immobilized. Smoke rises from Gadreel’s grip on Dean’s forearm. Dean is gasping in pain, trying to pull Gadreel’s hand away.
Dean throws his head back and screams.
Gadreel releases him and Dean collapses. Sam can move and he drops to Dean’s side instantly.
Gadreel’s hand has burned through Dean’s coat and shirts to sear skin. His handprint obliterates Cain’s Mark.
Sam lowers his head, hears a wheezy breath. Dean is still alive.
“He is free from the Mark,” the angel announces without inflection, then looks at Cas’ fallen body.
“I am sorry, brother. Your death is on my conscience as well. I will do my best to carry on as you would want.”
“Bring him back!” Sam orders.
“I cannot. The First Blade destroys the essence of life, there is no resurrection possible.”
Dean’s head on his lap, Sam stares at the rumpled trench coat of the man that put Dean above everything so many times. The man that saved both their lives. Always so human, no matter what he was.
Krissy’s blood is starting to dry, congealing into brown molasses. So much blood. Enough to drown in.
How can Dean bear the responsibility for these killings?
Sam remembers Kevin dying under his hand. The boy’s last, shocked begging gaze, condemning Sam for all time.
Dean will not be able to live with this.
“Gadreel. Do one thing for me and I will let you go. Never look for you. But you have to erase Dean’s memories of killing Castiel and Krissy and the other hunters.”
“Is that what your brother would want?”
“It’s what he needs. He will never forgive himself … he can’t know. It was the Mark making him do this …”
“As First Knight, Dean served the King of Hell. But he could not follow the order to kill you.” Gadreel keeps his empty stare on Dean a long moment.
Sam’s gut constricts with the fear that the angel may refuse. Then a quick nod and Gadreel bends to place his hand on Dean’s forehead. A white glimmer surrounds Dean, almost like a halo. The angel exhales sharply. “I have blurred the memories of his ownership of the Blade and erased his memories of the actual killings. He will sleep now. It will be up to you to explain the deaths in another way.”
“I will.”
“Good-bye, Sam. I have work to do. I hope we do not meet again.”
***
The Wal-Mart conveniently provides all the necessary supplies and Sam gathers enough incendiaries to burn down a small city. From the electronics aisle he pieces together a remote detonator.
He arranges the bodies of their two friends and pours salt over them. He hesitates over the trench coat but leaves it with Castiel. Seeing it would only give Dean false hope.
He places Crowley some distance away, can’t stomach having him near the others.
He maneuvers Dean to the Impala waiting in the parking lot. Sam is grateful that Dean remains unconscious. He drives them a safe distance and triggers the remote.
Tears fill his eyes as the explosion flares sun-bright, bringing the shadows of the surrounding trees into sharp focus. One more fiery ending in their lives. They will never stop paying the price for being born.
Now he has to get Dean away from here, and create a story to cover Dean’s memory gaps.
Dean must never know what he actually did … or what Sam did to protect him.
The irony is bitter indeed.
5/5/14 ETA: I thought this was a one-shot, but the end wouldn't let me rest, so it is continued--completed--here:
Revenge of the Jedi, Part 2
Revenge of the Jedi, Part 3