fic: how the mighty fall (in love) - 3/6
prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | epilogue
"You know," Sam says, shortly after Dean deigns to speak to him again. "I met Hecate while you were gone."
"Hecate?" Dean asks, and shudders. "Please don't tell me that's the old witch lady."
Sam's laugh catches him by surprise. "She'd kill you if she heard you call her that."
"What? It's true, isn't it? The whole maiden, mother, crone thing?"
"Nah," Sam says, automatic response, but he thinks better of it as he leans back against the headboard. "I mean, yeah, it is. Kind of. Her face changes sometimes. But she's not what you'd expect at all."
"That so?"
"Yeah." Sam turns to look at Dean. "I asked her to save you."
Dean looks back, surprised. "You asked the Greek witch goddess to save me?"
"Because she's not just a witch goddess," Sam explains, "she's magic. Plus she's got power in a lot of places, and she's big on crossroads."
"Sounds like the kind of chick we're lucky to have on our side."
"She's got some serious juice. Dunno if she's on our side, but she's not gonna kill us, that's for sure." Sam's smile turns rueful. "She couldn't save you, though. And then when I told a crossroads demon I wanted to switch with you, he laughed in my face. Said you were right where they wanted, and that he wouldn't take me. In fact, no one would. Then Ruby came along."
Dean's voice is surprisingly nonchalant as he maneuvers the Impala around a pothole. "And, what? Did she find a loophole in the works? Show you the land over the rainbow?"
Sam shakes his head, even though Dean's not looking. "She saved my life, actually. Got me sober. Taught me everything she knew." He takes a deep breath; enunciates the next sentence as clearly as possible; knows he's testing to see how much Dean remembers. "I slept with her."
The flash of disgusted anger across Dean's face is evident, but it's gone as quickly as it came, and it's not the reaction Sam was looking for. There's no other response, no jealousy accompanying the anger, no heat edging his eyes. Dean, whom Sam's loved for what feels like forever, gives him nothing but mild distaste for Sam's admission.
"So the land over the rainbow was the uncharted territory of her pants, huh, Sam?" Dean says, and flexes his hand on the steering wheel before he pats Sam's thigh. "Look, I appreciate the honesty for a change, but seriously. Too much information."
It's like a knife in his heart. Dean may be upset with Sam, but it's not because he remembers their night together, and Sam feels his face crumple; can't seem to manage any semblance of a mask and doesn't respond when Dean shakes his shoulder.
"Sammy?" He asks, visibly alarmed. "You okay?"
NO, Sam's head screams at him, NO NO NO, but Sam pinches the bridge of his nose; manages something resembling a nod and Dean turns back to the road, his doubt written across his face.
And then Sam laughs, sudden and humorless. Dean was all he kept fighting for, the reason why Sam made the choices he did, but Dean doesn't remember anything, and nothing matters anymore.
He turns to his brother. "I'm done with these powers," Sam tells him. "I'm done with everything."
Dean's reaction is nothing short of relieved. "Thank you."
Sam feels nothing. It's the easiest lie he's told in years.
+ + +
Sam's admission-that he slept with Ruby-kills Dean, and Dean wonders what kind of sick sense of humor God has to make him keep wanting his brother like this; like that night; wonders how much it would take to forget if even going to Hell and back couldn't scrub Dean clean.
So he shifts from trying to boil his skin clean in the shower to drowning himself in alcohol. Castiel doesn't much approve of his experiment, and tells him as such, very pointedly.
"Imbibing such copious quantities of alcohol will not, in fact, turn your blood to wine, Dean. So I suggest that you stop trying."
"I'm a stubborn sonuvabitch, Cass, so who knows? Wait around; I might turn out to be Jesus," Dean says, and raises his drink in a toast to the angel, who flies off in a flurry of exasperation and feathers.
+ + +
Dean isn't afraid to torture Alastair so much so as he's scared of how ready he is to do it; so fucking eager to slice and hurt and hack at this demon who strung him to a rack for three decades and taunted him with everything he wasn't and everything he did.
Alastair's laughter is derisive when he sees Dean, and he struggles to get himself under control. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding anything but. "This is a very serious, very emotional situation for you. But did you think I'd see your little torture toys and sing like a canary?"
"Who's killing the angels?" Dean asks. "I want a name."
"Are you looking for redemption, Dean?" Alastair asks. "I carved you into a new shape. There's no going back."
"Maybe you're right," Dean says, and fills a needle with holy water before injecting it directly into Alastair's eye. "But now it's my turn to carve."
Alastair howls in pain and anger, and Dean watches him passively, refilling the syringe and plunging it into the other eye.
"Do you really think this is gonna fix you?" Alastair chokes out, both eyes foaming; boiling in their sockets; crying ichor and black smoke. "Because that's just sad." And despite the two flasks of holy water Dean just plunged into his system, the demon still manages that ringing mocking tone that haunts Dean in his sleep.
Dean shoves it down; locks it away. "Answer the question. Who's killing the angels?"
Alastair shows no sign of having heard him. "It was supposed to be your father, you know. Had him on my rack for close to a century, but John-he was made of somethin' special. And then you came along." He looks up at Dean and winks; continues hoarsely. "I thought I was gonna have to do it all over again. Set myself up for another hundred years. But daddy's little girl, he broke in thirty. Just not the man your daddy was, huh?"
Dean picks a knife up, douses it in holy water and salt and shoves it down Alastair's throat. The demon screams; gurgles blood and saliva, and Dean removes the blade, wiping it neatly with a cloth.
The bastard coughs like lung cancer; spits fetid phlegm and gore and what looks like pieces of trachea. "He was supposed to bring it on," he gurgles, hoarsely, "But in the end, it was you."
"Bring what on?" Dean asks.
Alastair's grin is wide and bloody. "And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell."
+ + +
Sam hears what he thinks is Dean, banging frantically on the door. He turns in confusion; can't hear anything over his heartbeat in his ears and then Ruby shakes him, pointing him towards Lilith.
"What are you waiting for?" She shouts. "Now, Sam! Now!"
Lilith laughs, having the time of her life. "Oh, Sam, aren't you just precious? You turned yourself into a freak, and now you're not even gonna bite."
Sam's heartbeat quickens; gets even louder and drowns everything out as he raises his hand and hurls every last drop of his power at Lilith, whose body convulses and glows and goes limp. Sam throws her to the floor, and as his vision and hearing clear he falls to his knees, watching as the blood that pours out of her body pools in a very distinctive circle. "What the hell?"
Ruby is breathless and jubilant. "You did it."
"What?" Sam asks, horrified, "What did I do?"
"You opened the door!" she sings. "And it is written that the first demon shall be the last seal."
"You bitch. You lying bitch! Poisoned me with the blood, with your blood-"
Dean bursts through the door, wood splintering everywhere. "You're too late," Ruby tells him.
"I don't care," Dean says, and Sam holds her in place as Dean stabs her through the heart.
"He's coming," Sam says, broken like Ruby's body. "I'm sorry."
+ + +
They whirl through a year of apocalyptic disasters; fend off more angels and more demons, and despite the fact that he carved Enochian sigils into their fucking ribs, Castiel's visits get more and more frequent.
On his next visit, Castiel asks Dean for his amulet, saying that it will burn hot in God's presence. Dean relents, handing it over, and Sam feels part of his soul close up and disappear with the flap of the angel's wings.
Sam leaves after that, telling Dean it's because he can't trust himself, but it's really because Sam knows he'll kill himself if he stays with Dean any longer-Dean, his beautiful older brother, who's been broken since hell; Dean, who looks pretty and talks tough and is always in the corner of Sam's eye, everything Sam's ever wanted and can't have; Dean, who doesn't care and doesn't remember and hasn't forgiven him for Ruby, and hurts Sam like it's second nature.
But Sam lasts no more than a week; comes back to Dean and knows he'll always come back because he's completely, utterly, stupidly gone for his equally-as-stupid older brother.
+ + +
Later on, when Castiel returns the necklace to Dean, he tells him it's worthless and Sam wants to wrap his hands around the angel's neck and squeeze the grace out of him.
But Dean takes it, cradles it in his hand, and Sam thinks back to how they shared their heaven together, like soulmates; feels light and hope and maybe even happiness for the first time in years.
And then Dean-Dean tosses it into the wastebasket without so much as a second thought, and Sam wonders why Dean doesn't just rip Sam's heart out instead.
+ + +
And in the next few months Dean gets reckless and careless and maybe a little sloppy, but he's just tired. So he takes any case that comes their way; jumps in front of Sam at every opportunity and fights the monster a little longer than necessary before stabbing it with whatever blood-caked, Shinto-blessed, sheepskin-covered bamboo stake is needed that week.
Sam notices, of course; always notices because he's always watching Dean and thinks Dean doesn't know, but Sam's kidding himself. Dean taught him every trick he knows and then some, so he sees the inevitable confrontation coming from a mile away; starts bracing himself a week in advance.
"Do you think," Sam says, one evening, "do you think maybe you could take half a second and stop trying to fucking sacrifice yourself for a change?"
"I don't think so."
"Why not?" Sam asks, and huffs angrily when Dean remains mute. "Dean, seriously. Tell me. I want to know."
Dean, who had prepared a million and one responses, forgets them all and answers him honestly. "Because, Sam. They're gonna turn you. And I don't know whether it's gonna be demon blood or some kinda Ruby three-point-oh or what, but they're gonna find a way, and I just-I don't believe."
"In what?"
"In you."
+ + +
Sam's motionless on the floor, and Dean panics; takes the rings of the Four Horsemen out of his pocket and throws them at the wall. They stick, and Dean reads the Enochian off a slip of paper, the bizarre consonance of syllables sticking like molasses on his tongue.
Sam stirs. "Dean?"
"Sammy!"
"I can feel him," Sam groans, clutching his head. "Oh, god."
Dean helps him stand up. "You have to go, Sam. Go! Now!"
Sam turns towards the gaping hole in the walk and takes a deep, shuddering breath, before he suddenly stops; straightens up and smiles widely as he turns back to face Dean.
"I told you," he sing-songs, "this would always happen in Detroit."
+ + +
Sam's eyes open in a dark room with mirrored walls; realizes with a cold clarity that he can't control his body.
Lucifer flexes Sam's arm; rolls his neck; cracks his knuckles. "I've been waiting for you, Sam," he tells him, staring into the mirror. "We're two halves made whole."
You're dead. I'll rip you apart.
"Oh, come now, Sam. You know it's always been me."
No, that's not true. It's always been Dean.
"You've been running towards me your entire life," Lucifer insists. "And now we're finally here. I want you to be happy, Sam."
I don't want anything from you.
"No? You sure? Well, I guess precious Deanie-bean's gotta die."
Don't touch him.
"Aw, too late," Lucifer pouts, "you missed your chance. But I'll tell you what; I'll cut you some slack-we'll do a fifty-fifty; see how I feel in an hour, yeah? Consider it a homecoming gift."
You fucking monster.
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, you've got it all backwards."
Liar.
Lucifer tilts his head; grins wide; shows all of Sam's teeth. "Am I?"
Demons lie.
"Yes, but I'm an angel," Lucifer informs him. "Lying goes against my moral code."
You don't have a moral code.
Lucifer laughs, and Sam's dimples show. "But I'm still an angel, and that's more than I can say for you."
+ + +
No matter how he hates Lucifer, all Sam can think about is what Dean said, what Dean says, what he's been saying forever.
You're a monster.
A vampire.
A blood-sucking freak.
Sam doesn't want to believe it; can't-but he knows he will.
I don't believe, Dean says. I don't believe in you.
But you're my everything, Sam thinks. I'm nothing without you.
+ + +
Dean guns the Impala into the middle of the cemetery the only way he knows how: pedal to the metal and blasting Def Leppard with the windows down.
"Sam," he says, "We need to talk."
Lucifer stares. "Dean, don't be stupid. Sammy's long gone."
Michael nods with Adam's steely eyes. "You are not needed here."
"I'm not talking to you, " Dean says, "I'm talking to Sam. But Adam, if you're in there, I am so sorry."
"Adam isn't home right now."
"Well, in that case, you're next on my list for some one-on-one Dean time, sweetcheeks. But right now, I need five minutes with I Love Lucy over here."
Michael fumes. "Dean, you are no longer the vessel! You've no right to be here!"
"Hey, assbutt!" Castiel appears, Bobby in tow, and hurls a Molotov cocktail at Michael, who bursts into flames.
Lucifer, who has been deadly silent the entire time, speaks. "Castiel. Did you just Molotov my brother with holy fire?"
Castiel shifts nervously. "Uh. No."
"No one fucks with my brother but me," Lucifer says, and snaps his fingers. Castiel bursts in a shower of blood and guts and gore.
Dean can feel the panic edging in. "Sammy, can you hear me?"
"Dean," Lucifer says, "you are rapidly becoming a pain in my ass." and he pinches the bridge of his nose, just like Sam, Dean thinks, and it gives him hope-
but then Bobby fires, and Lucifer snaps fast like a rattlesnake; twists his hand in a violent gesture and Bobby's neck snaps so loudly Dean hears it echo through the field.
Dean barely has time to scream no before Lucifer throws him onto the windshield of the Impala, nearly smashing through it, and punches him into the side of the car so hard it leaves a dent in the door the shape of Dean's head.
"Sammy, are you in there?"
"Oh, he's in here all right," Lucifer snarls, punching Dean over and over and over, and Dean can feel the cartilage in his nose snap and his jaw fracturing. "He's gonna feel every snap of your bones, Dean. We're gonna take our time."
Dean's face is so swollen he feels like he's looking through a keyhole, but he holds his hand out to Sam's jacket. Lucifer slams him with another punch, and Dean spits out teeth and blood and a bit of tongue, but he doesn't move a muscle.
"Sam," he promises, "I'm not gonna leave you."
+ + +
The sun shines, sudden and bright, and Sam runs through an entire lifetime's worth of memories-it's spoons in mouths and Nair in shampoos; it's Bon Jovi and coffee and dressing in suits; it's stars and skies and side-by-side; it's sparring in April and fireworks in July; it's libraries and graveyards and endless motels, and it's that one night, the highlight of his life, with Dean looking at Sam like he put the sun in the sky, and it's little green men and Legos in the Impala; it's carving their initials into the rear of the car; it's Sam and Dean, together, forever, and they're driving and driving, but they're always home.
Sam feels himself regain control; lets go of Dean (his brother, his everything, his million and one reasons to fight) as he uncurls his fist as slow as the sun rising in that lonely broken ghosting of a cemetery; pulls Michael with him as he jumps into the hole.
And, as he falls, he swears he sees Dean smile.
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