Supernatural: Formed of Dust [Part 1/2]
Title: Formed of Dust
Fandom: Supernatural X His Dark Materials
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, some Dean/Lisa
Rating: R for Mild sexuality (non-explicit underage in which Sam is 16), Non-explicit Dean/soulless!Sam, mild violence, and language.
Word Count: 16,523
Author’s Note: This is my sncross_bigbang. First, I have to acknowledge that this story started as a conversation between me and coyotesuspect almost two years ago. She deserves full credit for a lot of the good ideas in this story, for example what animals Sam and Dean's daemons are. I also want to thank morganoconner and my Chat for helping me think of some daemon names, a task I would have been utterly useless at on my own pretending he's beside me. Thirdly to my freaking fantastic artist machidieles who not only claimed me with all of her tremendous talent but who was also extremely enthusiastic, engaging, and constructive throughout my writing process. GO LOOK AT HER AMAZING ART POST HERE or basically regret it forever. Finally, thank you to my poor betas, riyku and sagetan, because I sprang this on them with just hardly a week to read it and somehow they got it done. In addition, the former assured me that the story makes sense without any knowledge of HDM canon and the latter did me the honor of pointing out where I was doing wrong by that very same canon. Title is my Very Clever spin on a line from Genesis.
Summary: His Dark Materials Fusion: Ever since Sam was a little kid he's been different, whether it was his male daemon or the mysterious Dust only Sam could see. Now he's trapped in the underworld after saving the planet, separated from his brother, his daemon, and even his body. Dean and his wolf daemon Trixin try to take care of Xantherios, Sam's dying raven daemon, but they're both starting to give up hope. When Sam returns, cold and seemingly indifferent to both his brother and his own daemon, they think they've lost him forever. At least until Castiel arrives and tells Dean that the secret to saving Sam from Hell and reconnecting soul and body lies in the Dust Dean only ever half believed in. Desperate to save his brother, Dean faces an unimaginable horror to enter the underworld and bring Sam back.
ART
AO3 . PDF
ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
The first time Sam sees it he's eight years old.
He tugs on Dean's sleeve with his little hands and points up, just above Dean.
"Dust," he says. Dean kneels so he's on level with his kid brother, and Sam reaches out, swatting around Dean's head like he's trying to catch fireflies. Dean looks up, worried they've got some kind of sandstorm coming for them, but he doesn't see anything.
He thinks Sam is playing a game he doesn't recognize. "What're you talking about, Sammy?"
Sam giggles, like Dean is being ridiculous, and continues waving his arms around. "Dust!" he repeats. Sitting on Sam's shoulder, Xanthe has taken a squirrel's form, and he looks up at Dean, nodding very seriously.
Dean shakes his head, pretending to reach out for some. Sam frowns, his hands dropping, and Xanthe shifts into a very stern-looking pelican. "There isn't any there," Sam says. "Can't you see it? It's only around you."
Dean shrugs apologetically and looks down at Trixin. She's a golden retriever right now, sniffing at Dean's leg like she's looking for whatever Sam and his daemon are going on about.
After a few seconds of investigating she looks up at Dean and gives a subtle shake of her head, apparently as lost as he is. "No, Sammy. I don't see anything."
"It's pretty," Sam says. "I like it."
"What's it look like?"
"Bright gold," Xanthe tells him, hopping from Sam's shoulder to the ground and shifting to a black retriever. He headbutts Trixin in the side, and she lets him nose at her coat, using it to illustrate his point.
"It's glowing and floating and falling on you," Sam adds before he shoves Dean's shoulder, not unlike the way his daemon just did to Trixin. "It's right there! How can you not see it? Are you stupid or something?"
Dean doesn't like looking stupid in front of Sam. "Of course I can see it," he lies. "I was just kidding. I can't believe you fell for it."
Sam smiles, almost looking relieved. "Let's chase it," he says, jumping up excitedly. "I want to chase it."
If it's only around Dean, he's not sure how he's supposed to chase it, but he nods anyway and takes off running in a random direction. Trixin shifts into a swallow, knowing Sam's daemon usually favors bird shapes, and flies at his side. Sure enough Xanthe catches up with them in a few moments, flashing bright colors as the parrot flaps his wings. Only Sam, his legs still too short for running, is left trying to catch up.
Dean can hear Sam laughing the whole way as he trails after them. Every now and then when he's tired or when Sam's laughter sounds too winded he stops and lets Sam catch him, tackle him to the ground, and try to attack the Dust around him.
It's as good as any game, and it keeps Sam happy for hours. They're still at it by the time Dad comes to the playground to pick them up that night. Dean spots Soleria before he sees Dad, the panther slipping quiet and unseen from one shadow to the next, patrolling the grounds to make sure they're safe. Dad's daemon can walk almost 50 yards away from John without either of them feeling a thing, because Dad's daemon is the coolest ever.
Dean lets Sam have one last win when he spots Dad waiting at the park entrance, tumbles into the grass and pretends to try to escape as Sam and two pairs of beaks all rain down on him, pecking around for Dust, laughing and attempting to catch their breath.
"What're you boys doing?" Dad asks when they're done. He's smiling, so Dean thinks he must be in a good mood tonight. He won’t be mad they got dirty and kept playing after he arrived and maybe Dean can even talk him into getting pizza for dinner. There's a place just down the block from the motel they're staying at that has those menus Sam loves so much, the ones you can draw on with crayons.
He stands, trying to brush the grass stains off his jeans, and then helps Sam up.
"Chasing Dust!" Sam replies, grinning brightly and running to Dad for a hug.
Dad doesn't pick him up or keep smiling, and from the look on his face, Dean is pretty sure there won't be any pizza tonight. "What do you mean, Sam?"
"Dust," Sam tells him again, his voice a little huffy from having to explain this so many times in one day. He points up at Dean. "See?"
Dad's frown just deepens. He turns to Dean, and suddenly Dean feels like he's been caught doing something very bad. "Do you see any Dust, Dean?"
Dean peers down at Sam, feeling guilty for lying to his brother and hoping he's making the right choice now. "No, sir. We were just playing."
Sam gives Dean a betrayed look that makes Dean avert his eyes to Dad's face. Dad looks a little relieved, but he's still edgy. He turns to Sam, gets on one knee so he can look Sam right in the eye. "There's no Dust, Sam," he tells him sternly. "You hear me? You never mention it again."
"But there is," Sam insists, stomping his foot. "I saw it. Xanthe saw it, too."
Dad shakes him a little. "Stop it," he says. "Stop it right now. There's no such thing as Dust."
Sam's eyes widen and his bottom lip trembles. Dean can't tell why it means so much to him, but he knows from the way Dad's face is set in forced, uncompromising lines that Dust does exist, even if Dean can't see it. He's lying to Sam. Dad is giving Sam that look Dean hates, the one he can't help wearing sometimes when they're out in public and someone realizes Sam's daemon is a boy. He tries to hide that he's ashamed, maybe even scared of Sam, but Dean sees it in his eyes, and he thinks Sam probably can too. Sam, who knows everything at eight years old and sometimes has to pretend he doesn't because most people can't appreciate him. It isn't fair.
"Say it, Sam," Dad orders after a long silence.
Sam's cheeks are wet with tears when he replies. "There's no Dust. I made it up."
The daemons are a few feet away acting out their own version of this scene. Through Trixin's ears, Dean hears Soleria say, "You too, Xanthe," and Xanthe repeats Sam's words exactly, with just as little conviction but a lot more defiance in his tone.
"Good," Dad says, even though Sam is crying, and Dean doesn't understand how that could ever be good. He stands back up, giving Sam a little pat on the shoulder. "Hey, no need to cry, okay? I'm not mad as long as you promise not to do it again."
He walks on a little and passes Dean as Dean is trying to get to Sam's side. "Don't encourage him when he's like this," Dad tells him.
They ride home in silence, have dinner in silence, and then go straight to bed. Sam is still visibly upset; he spends the rest of the night alternating between staring at the empty space above Dean's head and trying not to let Dad catch him, turning his face away too quickly.
That night, Sam crawls into Dean's bed. Instead of telling Sam they're too old, Dean shuffles enough to make room for him. Trixin shifts into something big and warm and licks the remaining salt off Sam's face, and Dean feels Sam wrap his arms around the daemon's neck, laughing sad and quiet. Dean sleeps better than he should with someone between him and Trixin.
It's the same day Xantherios settles and becomes the pitch black raven Dean spends so much of the rest of his life clinging to. He changes in the back seat of the Impala on the way home, when Dean has an arm wrapped around Sam, who is still trying so hard not to cry, or at least not cry loud enough to be heard.
Sam is only eight, way too young for his daemon to take permanent shape, so the change goes unnoticed for a few days. Until the daemon keeps not changing. Dad grits his teeth and tells Dean not to worry about it when he points it out, and Dean tries not to feel like it's his fault that Sam is growing up so quickly.
_______________________________________________________________
"Just don't say anything this time," Sam snaps at his daemon on the way to their first day of school. "Everyone will hate us if you do."
Dean bites his bottom lip and does his best not to get involved. It's not right, coming between someone's interactions with their own daemon. Dean never used to respect that, because Sam never expected him to. Xanthe was his daemon just as much as Sam's, same as Trixin will always be more Sam's than Dean's. But ever since Dean told him about hunting, Sam's been obsessed with being normal, which means Dean has to observe at least some rules of proper social behavior or he'll never hear the end of it.
Dean keeps his thoughts to himself when Sam starts in on how important it is that they appear normal, just presses his lips together tighter and looks away. Sam could never be normal. Not because of his male daemon, or the fact that they've been to twenty different schools in the last four years and still no one in Sam's grade has ever had a settled daemon. Not even because, although he never mentions it again in public and rarely brings it up to Dean, sometimes Sam gazes out at thin air, and Dean knows that, whatever Dust is, his brother is tracking it as it floats from one place to the next. Sam can't be normal because he's Sam, Dean's Sam, and no one normal could ever hope to be like Sam.
Sam used to hate pretending as much as Dean hated having to be the one to remind him of all Dad's rules. Don't let Xanthe talk, someone will notice he's a boy and they'll have trouble. Pretend he changes sometimes or they'll have trouble. Don't talk about Dust goes unsaid, but when Sam breaks that rule and whispers to him about it, Dean is always too content being let in on the secret to remember to discourage him. He still doesn't get it. He will probably never get it. But Sam brings it up sometimes, giddy like he can't hold it in, which he hardly is about anything after the Christmas he steals Dad's journal.
Even if Dust is real, Dean can't imagine why it's so exciting to Sam. It's just some glowy shit as far as he can tell, but Sam swears it's not like that. It's too beautiful, and it feels special, and he just knows it means something big. He likes Dust. It's the one thing that isn't normal that Sam can't help loving about himself, so Dean can't bring himself to heap shame onto it. Sam could stay up all night rambling on about it, and Dean has lost count of the nights he's fallen asleep just listening to the rise and fall of Sam talking and talking or watching the way his brother's face lights up.
He hardly does that these days, though. Kid is a goddamn angst factory. It's been almost a year since Sam confided in him. He doesn't want to talk to Dean about Dust or anything most of the time, just shuts himself up in his room. It's not bullies; Dean would prefer it if it were. He's used to dealing with bullies, people have been picking on Sam his whole life, and Dean has been proud to kick their asses right back. It's this constant assertion that he doesn't have any friends and will never make any until he can pass for normal that rips Dean in half. He used to think he was Sam's friend.
"You're 12, Sam," he says, trying to sound reassuring. "Daemons should start settling pretty soon. A month or two tops and it'll be perfectly normal."
Dean can see his brother glaring at him in the rearview mirror. "Yeah, great," he says. "Then I'll just be the freaky new kid with the male daemon."
Xanthe pecks at Sam's cheek, affectionate even at a time like this, and Dean silently wonders where the hell that raven gets so much patience for this crap.
"Could be worse," Trixin says. Dean looks over as he pulls into a parking spot and turns off the car. She's a coyote right now, and she's watching Dean with a mischievous expression on her face. "You could be 16 and still not have the maturity to settle a daemon."
Dean reaches out, swatting at her ears, and even Sam has to laugh. Dean is probably the first person in history to still be unsettled years after losing his virginity, but he likes it just fine. Trixin can be whatever Sam needs at any given time, and Dean thinks it'll come in handy once Dad lets him come along on jobs, which should be any day. He just had his birthday; Dad promised Dean could hunt when he turned 16.
"Well, whose fault is that, Trixie?"
The coyote growls and jumps out of the car when Sam opens the door on the passenger's side for her. Dean rushes to grab his shit and get out, uncomfortable from the tug of her being outside while he's still in.
Halfway through the day, Dean gets called out of class. His father is there to get him for a doctor's appointment, the teacher says. He knows instinctively what it really means. His whole body is buzzing with excitement as he walks to the office, so much so that Trixin turns into a bee and flies by his ear, teasing him with her own buzzing sound.
Dean asks Dad if he can wait until lunch to leave so he can find Sam and give him instructions on how to get back to the motel, what food will be waiting for him in the fridge, and how to warm it up. Sam rolls his eyes and tells Dean to quit worrying and says good luck. Then at the last minute, as Sam is getting ready to turn away, he throws his arms around Dean's shoulders and holds him tight, and Dean knows he's not the only one worrying.
He doesn't think there's anything to worry about. Not until he sees what he's up against. Not until there's the broken body of a 14-year-old kid-much older and bigger than Sam-sitting at his feet, snapped in half by one strong claw. Trixin has shifted into a hound for the hunt, and when she puts her nose to the boy's body to sniff him, Dean can practically taste blood in the back of his throat.
"Stop it," he snaps at her, because the whole thing is too much for him. He can't stop his mind from picturing his brother up against this thing. In a few years, Sam will be coming on hunts with them. Dean will be bringing him into this. Trixin whimpers and scampers a few feet away from both Dean and the corpse.
Maybe it's that noise that alerts the monster of their presence. The water behind the house begins to bubble up just moments later, and Dad snaps out something about keeping that damn daemon under control.
When the chuul surfaces from the swamp, Dad tells Dean it's his kill. Trixin is useless-she's no hunting daemon like Soleria, not yet at least. She changes from the hound to a rat and climbs up Dean quickly. She's trembling violently by the time she reaches his shoulder, and she hides her face in the collar of his jacket.
Dean's hands are shaking something awful; he worries he'll panic just like his daemon did as it charges toward them. But he looks down at that kid again, someone else's Sam, and he lets his arrow fly. It hits home, silver piercing through the creature's shell and right into its heart. Dean thinks the kill will make him feel strong, but the crossbow in his hands drops heavily onto the floor just like the monster. One down, and who knows how many more are still out there to hurt his little brother?
Dad says he's proud of Dean. He's in a rare good mood on the drive home; he even offers to stop at a bar, grab a few victory beers. Dean has several fake IDs after all, and if he's old enough to kill he's damn well old enough to have a round with his old man. Marine logic. It’s the kind of life Dean has been dreaming about for ages, but he says no. All he wants right now is to get home and wash the blood off his hands and make sure his brother has not been broken in the hours since he left.
Sam is waiting up for him when they get home. He stays in their room with the light off, so Dad and Dean both think he's asleep until Dean gets in and shuts the door behind him. He hears rustling immediately, and a light flickers on. Sam is sitting up in bed, his hand still on the switch.
"Well," he says. "Did you get it? Was it awesome?"
Dean knows his brother well enough to know Sam is faking enthusiasm for his sake. And he wants to be able to fake it back, he really does, but instead his legs give out. He sits at the foot of Sam's bed and hides his face in his hands before he can do something embarrassing, like cry in front of his 12-year-old baby brother.
"Dean," Sam says, his voice growing worried. Xanthe perches on Dean's thigh next to Trixin, who is still a frightened little rat, and Dean is vaguely aware of Sam getting out of bed and coming around to kneel in front of him. "Hey. Dean, hey, it's okay."
Dean takes a deep breath and lets Sam guide his hands down to his lap. He's not crying, thank god, but it's a near thing. Sam reaches up, stroking his hand gently on Dean's cheek. It's not his job to comfort Dean, goddammit, but he's good at it.
"Did the thing get away?" Sam asks softly. "It was your first hunt, Dean, everybody makes-"
Dean shakes his head. "We were too late. We were too late, Sam. I killed it, but not until it had-I saw them. The mom and dad and their kid. All of them were so…"
Dean wipes his hand over his mouth and swallows the vivid descriptions. Sam doesn't need to know what it looked like. Not yet. Not for years.
"That wasn't your fault, Dean," Sam tells him, because he didn't see it and he doesn't know. "You did the best you could."
Dean looks up, finding his brother's eyes, and he doesn't know why the thought even comes into his head, but he suddenly feels like it's very important. "The Dust," Dean says. "Do you still see it?"
Sam's face clouds over, and Dean knows it's shame making him avert his eyes. "Yes, Dean. I still see it."
"Everywhere?"
Sam shakes his head. "Not everywhere. A lot of places."
Dean feels his voice getting shaky. "It's good, Sammy? It means something good?"
"Yeah." Sam nods. "It's definitely good."
Dean waits until Sam is looking up at him again before he says, "Does it still fall on me, Sam? Even now?"
Sam licks his lips and nods. "Always," he says quietly. "Always."
Dean gives Sam a feeble smile and stands up, heading to the bathroom to wash himself. He gets into bed that night and lies awake trying to think of something strong, something strong enough to always save his brother, even when he can't. Trixin shifts into a large wolf, her coat grey and white, and curls up under the covers with him. Dean buries his face in her shaggy neck and knows as soon as she settles that she will never take another form again.
This has never been something Dean questions. It's never been anything but logical as far as he's concerned. Sam loves to pet Trixin as much as Trixin loves Sam's hands on her. Dean loves it, too. And Xanthe-Xanthe is a fixture on Dean's shoulder as often as he's on Sam's. It's a better perch for him, Dean always jokes, what with Sam being so damn scrawny.
Dad gave up on policing it when they were still toddlers. 16 years later, there's no hope of breaking the habit. People remark on it every now and then or confuse whose daemon is whose, just like they sometimes call Xanthe a beautiful girl and then shut down when they realize Sam's daemon is beautiful, yes, but a girl, not so much.
John used to make excuses when strangers pointed it out or expressed shock, trying very hard to sound like he didn't think it was strange. Now he just tells people to mind their own damned business. They're close, they've always been close, and that's why they can touch each other's daemons. It made perfect sense to Dean.
Now, though, now it feels like a pretty big problem. Lately, Sam's fingers curled in Trixin's fur has made Dean's body feel flushed and needy and vulnerable, eager for more. Just like looking at Sam has Dean wishing he could see more, and it's that impulse to look at Sam, to look in ways he so obviously should not be looking, that finally forces the connection in Dean's mind. This is why people always looked at them aghast. This is what Dad has been trying to explain away. They aren’t supposed to be touching each other's daemons. They never should have felt okay doing it. It certainly isn't supposed to feel this good.
Something horrible has gone wrong between Sam and Dean, and it happened so long ago Dean can't even trace his mistake. He can't stop it. He won't know how to live without Sam's skin on his soul.
Trixin, little traitor that she is, rolls onto her back and lets her feet kick in the air, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Encouraging Sam because it feels good, and that's all she cares about. She doesn't care that she's lulling Sam into something terrible. Maybe daemons can't feel guilt, but Dean's got plenty for both of them. She wags her tail like an excited puppy, not looking all that different from Sam on the rare occasion Dean catches him in a good mood and tackles him down.
"Who's a good girl?" Sam asks, scratching her belly.
Trixin curls onto her side to glare at him. "I'm not a pet," she informs Sam.
Sam laughs, hands mussing the hair between her ears. Xanthe perches on her back and tries to peck Sam's hand away from her. Daemon solidarity or something. Dean just sits on his bed pretending to watch TV. Pretending every touch of Sam's hand on his wolf doesn't make his body ache.
"You're so full of shit," Sam says.
Dean looks over to find his brother staring at him, his hand still tangled in Trixin's fur. His eyebrows draw together. "Why am I full of shit?
"You're pretending to be really engrossed by the Discovery Channel, and it's not Shark Week, and they aren't showing animals doing it."
Dean sticks his tongue out, smirking a little. "It's less boring than you are."
"You don't really think so," Sam says, and Dean thinks he hears something very, very dangerous in his brother's tone.
He responds with silence, plays with the buttons on the remote and looks away from Sam. So Sam stands and walks to Dean's bed and both of their daemons follow him over.
He takes the remote, his fingers resting over Dean's, and forces Dean to look at him. "Dean, turn off the TV."
Dean doesn’t get the chance to disobey; Sam has already taken the remote from him and powered it off on his own. "Why?" he asks, though he doesn't think he'll like the answer very much.
Sam sits just next to Dean on his bed and reaches out, hand cupping one side of Dean's face gingerly. "I've got a better show for you to watch."
Dean laughs. "What's that?"
Sam's eyes flick up for just a second, and Dean can see him grow more confident. "The Dust. There's so much of it lately. So much of it, and it all goes to you."
Dean can't help sitting up, can't hide that Sam has his attention now.
"It wants me to do something," Sam says, distracted now as he watches it. "Something I want to do very much." He smiles, and Dean would swear there's a light shining on him. He's radiant and much too young to know what he's doing. Sam looks so innocent, but Dean knows whatever this Dust is telling him to do, it won't be innocent by a mile. "Dean, it's so gorgeous. I wish you could see it."
"Well I can't see it," he replies, trying to push Sam's hand away. But it's a trap of some kind, because as soon as Sam's fingers are wrapped in his own, Dean can't remember why he wanted them gone.
"I'm gonna make you see it." Sam's words are in that same faraway, almost absent tone as before, but he isn't watching the Dust sinking onto Dean anymore. He's looking down at Dean's mouth and then he's kissing Dean.
Then he's kissing Dean and kissing Dean, and Xanthe is cooing and Trixin brings the raven down with one huge paw and pulls him close to her chest. Sam is rough despite his age and the slightness of his frame and the gentleness in his eyes when he pulls away for air. It surprises Dean, but it excites him, too, and he gets hard and needy feeling all that raw energy.
Dean opens his mouth, lets Sam fill him with Dust or love or whatever it is he's offering. He should be disgusted at himself for letting this happen. He should be stopping it. But he doesn't care what he should be doing anymore. Sam is making it impossible, and there's no point in caring now anyway. Dean will never be strong enough to stop it.
So he wraps his arms around Sam's back, pulling his brother's bony frame down on top of him. Sam lands half on Dean and half on their daemons, and all four of them laugh for a moment before Sam gets back to sucking the laughter straight from Dean's lips.
Dean gets the fright of his life the summer Sam turns 17.
They're trying to drive the entire Mojave Desert, from Flagstaff to California, in seven hours. It's Sam's stupid idea, but he makes the challenge sound fun when he's selling it to Dean. He says he wants to go because they've never seen it before, and Dean agrees because he wants to make Sam happy and he never, not in a million years, suspects what Sam is up to. That he-or anyone-would ever voluntarily do what Sam is doing doesn't occur to Dean until long after his brother has tricked him into complicity.
Dean notices that Sam is out of it early on. Of course he does, Sam is his brother and Dean notices everything about him, or at least that's what he thinks. Sam's face gets pale and drawn and he starts looking sad right away. Dean asks over and over if Sam wants him to go somewhere else, if there's something he can do, but Sam just pretends he's fine.
He doesn't even want to sit shotgun. He claims he's just tired and curls up in the backseat of the Impala to nap. His sleep is fitful, but it's not until Death Valley that he starts crying, hands trying to tear at his hair. He begs Dean to turn around, turn around please, and then when Dean says he will, he changes his mind and swears he'll never forgive Dean if he does it.
That's when it hits Dean. He stops the car right in the middle of the road and glances back again just to confirm that what he saw in the rearview mirror was not some horrible illusion.
"Sam, where's Xanthe?"
Sam looks up at Dean, his cheeks wet all over from crying. "I love you," he says instead of answering the question.
Dean gets out of the car and rushes to its side, opening the door and sliding in next to Sam. Sam grabs onto Dean’s collar with both hands and tries to pull him in for a kiss. His arms are weak, pathetic even, and he keeps touching Dean's face like he's hoping he'll feel Xanthe on Dean's skin somehow.
"Your daemon," he repeats. "Sam, where is your daemon?"
"Please don't ever think I don't love you," he continues, rambling now. "Don't ever think that-no matter what I do."
"Where is he?" Dean asks again, his voice rising. He grabs Sam's shoulder and shakes him. "Tell me right now where he is."
Dean's skin is crawling touching Sam, looking at him and not seeing what should be there. He wants to throw up, and it's not even his goddamn daemon missing. He can't imagine what Sam feels like.
"I sent him away," Sam admits, turning his face and starting to cry. "He's waiting for me in Arizona."
"Sam, we left Arizona hours ago. There's miles and miles of-"
"Dead, dead land between us," Sam says, his voice thin and grainy. "I can feel how dead it is. I think I'm going to die, too."
"Why, Sam?" Dean wipes sweat off his brother's forehead. It's summer in the middle of Death Valley, the heat is oppressive already, but Sam looks like he's lost more water than he has left in him. "Christ, why would you ever do something like this?"
"Because I love you," he says again. Dean would punch him for pinning this on him if he could bring himself to make Sam suffer more than he already is.
"That doesn't answer it."
"I'll explain when we get to California. When I get him back, I'll explain. If I get him back. I'm too tired now, Dean, please. It hurts so much. I just want to get there."
"We're not going to California," Dean replies. "We're going back to Arizona and getting Xanthe."
Sam sits up, somehow finding enough energy to get a firm grasp on Dean. "Don't. Don't. We have to make it across. It'll all be for nothing if we turn back now."
Dean doesn't ask any more questions, because the longer he sits here, the longer Sam is stuck like this. He gets back in the driver's seat and makes the poor Impala drive as fast as she can over miles and miles of desert. The gas goes quickly at the speed he's driving, and the rest of it evaporates. Dean has to stop to fill her up every time they pass a gas station, because they're few and far between and there literally could not be a worse time or place to get stranded. He feels like he's slicing away another layer of his brother every time he pulls over and parks the car. Sam looks worse at each stop, looks dead almost. Dean knows people have died from this. But not Sam, Sam can't die.
Trixin jumps into the backseat, curling up by Sam's side, licking away his tears since Sam doesn't have a daemon of his own to comfort him. Dean winces. Just that space between the front and back seats makes him yearn for his daemon, and it's not even much more than a foot.
By the time they get to California, Sam is wailing.
They reach the end of the desert-the goddamn ocean practically-and only stay long enough to refuel. Then they're back on the road again. Sam tells Dean that Xanthe is flying toward them and that he'll know when his daemon is close. He passes out after that. Dean drives for hours and hours, not entirely sure if the brother in the back of his car is a corpse or if the daemon they're searching for still exists at all.
It's two and a half days in a motel once they finally get Xanthe back and neither Sam nor his daemon are in suitable condition to explain. Sam holds Xanthe, his fingers digging into the feathers on his side so hard it must hurt, but the bird is sighing in relief through its labored breathing.
Finally he's okay, and Dean can push the sweat-drenched hair away from Sam's forehead and demand answers.
"Witches do it," Sam tells him quietly. "Their daemons are always birds, remember? I wanted to know why that was, so I looked it up. It's a rite of passage for them. They all have to do it."
"Yeah, but you're not a witch just because your daemon is a fucking bird, Sam."
Witches are monsters. They hunt witches. Sam is not like them, though Dean can understand why they're so cruel now, why so many of them get trigger-happy. Anyone would go mad enduring what Sam just willingly put himself through.
"You could have killed yourself."
"It was a risk," Sam admits, stroking the black feathers on Xanthe's back. "I was pretty sure it would work though, and that I'd survive. And look," he holds his raven up, "I was right."
Dean stands, his hand curling into a fist. He punches the wall because his brother is not fair game right now, but as soon as he's back on his feet, Dean is going to beat him to the fucking ground. "You were pretty sure?"
"I had to try," Sam whispers. "I had to. Because I-"
Trixin interrupts Sam with a growl, and Dean jumps in, "You didn't do this for me," he says. "Don't you dare try blaming me again."
Sam shakes his head. "No, I did it for me. Because I can't stand the thought of never seeing you."
"That doesn't make any sense," Trixin says sharply.
"The witches," Sam says, looking at her defiantly. "They can travel anywhere, as far as they want from their daemon and not feel pain. After they do this. You have to cross over something dead. Something that hates life."
"Like a desert," Dean murmurs.
"Like Death Valley," Sam confirms. "You have to do it without your daemon. And after that, you can always separate. According to my research, it gets annoying after a while and then painful, but it's perfectly endurable for weeks."
"But you didn't have to do it. No one made you."
"I made me." Sam licks his lips. "If I ever…if for some reason we ever get separated, Xanthe can come visit you and it'll almost be like I'm with you, too."
"Why would we ever be separated?" Dean asks. Then he turns to the raven. "How did you let him talk you into this?"
"It was Xantherios's idea," Sam says, quiet but firm. He's got conviction. How someone as smart as Sam can be so convinced such a stupid idea was worth it is beyond Dean, but the little bastard isn't sorry. Not even for the worry he caused Dean. Not even for making Dean torture him without telling him first.
Dean looks at the raven, bewildered. How could he have done that to Sam or to himself? How could he? "Why would we be separated, Sam?" Dean repeats, his voice rising and growing colder.
Sam smiles sadly and reaches out. "C'mere, Dean."
He doesn't get another word out of his brother that night, but it doesn't matter. Dean gets his answer a year later when Sam tells him he got into Stanford. He should have known, even before the Death Valley incident, Dean should have known. After the first time Sam mentioned Dust or the day Sam woke up half an inch taller than Dean or all the millions of times Sam was too smart for his own good. This is just one more thing about Sam that was too big for Dean to be a part of. Sam was always bound to leave him.
Six months later, Sam gives him a brief kiss goodbye, climbs onto a bus heading west, and leaves Dean behind in his Dust.
PART TWO
Fandom: Supernatural X His Dark Materials
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, some Dean/Lisa
Rating: R for Mild sexuality (non-explicit underage in which Sam is 16), Non-explicit Dean/soulless!Sam, mild violence, and language.
Word Count: 16,523
Author’s Note: This is my sncross_bigbang. First, I have to acknowledge that this story started as a conversation between me and coyotesuspect almost two years ago. She deserves full credit for a lot of the good ideas in this story, for example what animals Sam and Dean's daemons are. I also want to thank morganoconner and my Chat for helping me think of some daemon names, a task I would have been utterly useless at on my own pretending he's beside me. Thirdly to my freaking fantastic artist machidieles who not only claimed me with all of her tremendous talent but who was also extremely enthusiastic, engaging, and constructive throughout my writing process. GO LOOK AT HER AMAZING ART POST HERE or basically regret it forever. Finally, thank you to my poor betas, riyku and sagetan, because I sprang this on them with just hardly a week to read it and somehow they got it done. In addition, the former assured me that the story makes sense without any knowledge of HDM canon and the latter did me the honor of pointing out where I was doing wrong by that very same canon. Title is my Very Clever spin on a line from Genesis.
Summary: His Dark Materials Fusion: Ever since Sam was a little kid he's been different, whether it was his male daemon or the mysterious Dust only Sam could see. Now he's trapped in the underworld after saving the planet, separated from his brother, his daemon, and even his body. Dean and his wolf daemon Trixin try to take care of Xantherios, Sam's dying raven daemon, but they're both starting to give up hope. When Sam returns, cold and seemingly indifferent to both his brother and his own daemon, they think they've lost him forever. At least until Castiel arrives and tells Dean that the secret to saving Sam from Hell and reconnecting soul and body lies in the Dust Dean only ever half believed in. Desperate to save his brother, Dean faces an unimaginable horror to enter the underworld and bring Sam back.
ART
AO3 . PDF
ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
The first time Sam sees it he's eight years old.
He tugs on Dean's sleeve with his little hands and points up, just above Dean.
"Dust," he says. Dean kneels so he's on level with his kid brother, and Sam reaches out, swatting around Dean's head like he's trying to catch fireflies. Dean looks up, worried they've got some kind of sandstorm coming for them, but he doesn't see anything.
He thinks Sam is playing a game he doesn't recognize. "What're you talking about, Sammy?"
Sam giggles, like Dean is being ridiculous, and continues waving his arms around. "Dust!" he repeats. Sitting on Sam's shoulder, Xanthe has taken a squirrel's form, and he looks up at Dean, nodding very seriously.
Dean shakes his head, pretending to reach out for some. Sam frowns, his hands dropping, and Xanthe shifts into a very stern-looking pelican. "There isn't any there," Sam says. "Can't you see it? It's only around you."
Dean shrugs apologetically and looks down at Trixin. She's a golden retriever right now, sniffing at Dean's leg like she's looking for whatever Sam and his daemon are going on about.
After a few seconds of investigating she looks up at Dean and gives a subtle shake of her head, apparently as lost as he is. "No, Sammy. I don't see anything."
"It's pretty," Sam says. "I like it."
"What's it look like?"
"Bright gold," Xanthe tells him, hopping from Sam's shoulder to the ground and shifting to a black retriever. He headbutts Trixin in the side, and she lets him nose at her coat, using it to illustrate his point.
"It's glowing and floating and falling on you," Sam adds before he shoves Dean's shoulder, not unlike the way his daemon just did to Trixin. "It's right there! How can you not see it? Are you stupid or something?"
Dean doesn't like looking stupid in front of Sam. "Of course I can see it," he lies. "I was just kidding. I can't believe you fell for it."
Sam smiles, almost looking relieved. "Let's chase it," he says, jumping up excitedly. "I want to chase it."
If it's only around Dean, he's not sure how he's supposed to chase it, but he nods anyway and takes off running in a random direction. Trixin shifts into a swallow, knowing Sam's daemon usually favors bird shapes, and flies at his side. Sure enough Xanthe catches up with them in a few moments, flashing bright colors as the parrot flaps his wings. Only Sam, his legs still too short for running, is left trying to catch up.
Dean can hear Sam laughing the whole way as he trails after them. Every now and then when he's tired or when Sam's laughter sounds too winded he stops and lets Sam catch him, tackle him to the ground, and try to attack the Dust around him.
It's as good as any game, and it keeps Sam happy for hours. They're still at it by the time Dad comes to the playground to pick them up that night. Dean spots Soleria before he sees Dad, the panther slipping quiet and unseen from one shadow to the next, patrolling the grounds to make sure they're safe. Dad's daemon can walk almost 50 yards away from John without either of them feeling a thing, because Dad's daemon is the coolest ever.
Dean lets Sam have one last win when he spots Dad waiting at the park entrance, tumbles into the grass and pretends to try to escape as Sam and two pairs of beaks all rain down on him, pecking around for Dust, laughing and attempting to catch their breath.
"What're you boys doing?" Dad asks when they're done. He's smiling, so Dean thinks he must be in a good mood tonight. He won’t be mad they got dirty and kept playing after he arrived and maybe Dean can even talk him into getting pizza for dinner. There's a place just down the block from the motel they're staying at that has those menus Sam loves so much, the ones you can draw on with crayons.
He stands, trying to brush the grass stains off his jeans, and then helps Sam up.
"Chasing Dust!" Sam replies, grinning brightly and running to Dad for a hug.
Dad doesn't pick him up or keep smiling, and from the look on his face, Dean is pretty sure there won't be any pizza tonight. "What do you mean, Sam?"
"Dust," Sam tells him again, his voice a little huffy from having to explain this so many times in one day. He points up at Dean. "See?"
Dad's frown just deepens. He turns to Dean, and suddenly Dean feels like he's been caught doing something very bad. "Do you see any Dust, Dean?"
Dean peers down at Sam, feeling guilty for lying to his brother and hoping he's making the right choice now. "No, sir. We were just playing."
Sam gives Dean a betrayed look that makes Dean avert his eyes to Dad's face. Dad looks a little relieved, but he's still edgy. He turns to Sam, gets on one knee so he can look Sam right in the eye. "There's no Dust, Sam," he tells him sternly. "You hear me? You never mention it again."
"But there is," Sam insists, stomping his foot. "I saw it. Xanthe saw it, too."
Dad shakes him a little. "Stop it," he says. "Stop it right now. There's no such thing as Dust."
Sam's eyes widen and his bottom lip trembles. Dean can't tell why it means so much to him, but he knows from the way Dad's face is set in forced, uncompromising lines that Dust does exist, even if Dean can't see it. He's lying to Sam. Dad is giving Sam that look Dean hates, the one he can't help wearing sometimes when they're out in public and someone realizes Sam's daemon is a boy. He tries to hide that he's ashamed, maybe even scared of Sam, but Dean sees it in his eyes, and he thinks Sam probably can too. Sam, who knows everything at eight years old and sometimes has to pretend he doesn't because most people can't appreciate him. It isn't fair.
"Say it, Sam," Dad orders after a long silence.
Sam's cheeks are wet with tears when he replies. "There's no Dust. I made it up."
The daemons are a few feet away acting out their own version of this scene. Through Trixin's ears, Dean hears Soleria say, "You too, Xanthe," and Xanthe repeats Sam's words exactly, with just as little conviction but a lot more defiance in his tone.
"Good," Dad says, even though Sam is crying, and Dean doesn't understand how that could ever be good. He stands back up, giving Sam a little pat on the shoulder. "Hey, no need to cry, okay? I'm not mad as long as you promise not to do it again."
He walks on a little and passes Dean as Dean is trying to get to Sam's side. "Don't encourage him when he's like this," Dad tells him.
They ride home in silence, have dinner in silence, and then go straight to bed. Sam is still visibly upset; he spends the rest of the night alternating between staring at the empty space above Dean's head and trying not to let Dad catch him, turning his face away too quickly.
That night, Sam crawls into Dean's bed. Instead of telling Sam they're too old, Dean shuffles enough to make room for him. Trixin shifts into something big and warm and licks the remaining salt off Sam's face, and Dean feels Sam wrap his arms around the daemon's neck, laughing sad and quiet. Dean sleeps better than he should with someone between him and Trixin.
It's the same day Xantherios settles and becomes the pitch black raven Dean spends so much of the rest of his life clinging to. He changes in the back seat of the Impala on the way home, when Dean has an arm wrapped around Sam, who is still trying so hard not to cry, or at least not cry loud enough to be heard.
Sam is only eight, way too young for his daemon to take permanent shape, so the change goes unnoticed for a few days. Until the daemon keeps not changing. Dad grits his teeth and tells Dean not to worry about it when he points it out, and Dean tries not to feel like it's his fault that Sam is growing up so quickly.
_______________________________________________________________
"Just don't say anything this time," Sam snaps at his daemon on the way to their first day of school. "Everyone will hate us if you do."
Dean bites his bottom lip and does his best not to get involved. It's not right, coming between someone's interactions with their own daemon. Dean never used to respect that, because Sam never expected him to. Xanthe was his daemon just as much as Sam's, same as Trixin will always be more Sam's than Dean's. But ever since Dean told him about hunting, Sam's been obsessed with being normal, which means Dean has to observe at least some rules of proper social behavior or he'll never hear the end of it.
Dean keeps his thoughts to himself when Sam starts in on how important it is that they appear normal, just presses his lips together tighter and looks away. Sam could never be normal. Not because of his male daemon, or the fact that they've been to twenty different schools in the last four years and still no one in Sam's grade has ever had a settled daemon. Not even because, although he never mentions it again in public and rarely brings it up to Dean, sometimes Sam gazes out at thin air, and Dean knows that, whatever Dust is, his brother is tracking it as it floats from one place to the next. Sam can't be normal because he's Sam, Dean's Sam, and no one normal could ever hope to be like Sam.
Sam used to hate pretending as much as Dean hated having to be the one to remind him of all Dad's rules. Don't let Xanthe talk, someone will notice he's a boy and they'll have trouble. Pretend he changes sometimes or they'll have trouble. Don't talk about Dust goes unsaid, but when Sam breaks that rule and whispers to him about it, Dean is always too content being let in on the secret to remember to discourage him. He still doesn't get it. He will probably never get it. But Sam brings it up sometimes, giddy like he can't hold it in, which he hardly is about anything after the Christmas he steals Dad's journal.
Even if Dust is real, Dean can't imagine why it's so exciting to Sam. It's just some glowy shit as far as he can tell, but Sam swears it's not like that. It's too beautiful, and it feels special, and he just knows it means something big. He likes Dust. It's the one thing that isn't normal that Sam can't help loving about himself, so Dean can't bring himself to heap shame onto it. Sam could stay up all night rambling on about it, and Dean has lost count of the nights he's fallen asleep just listening to the rise and fall of Sam talking and talking or watching the way his brother's face lights up.
He hardly does that these days, though. Kid is a goddamn angst factory. It's been almost a year since Sam confided in him. He doesn't want to talk to Dean about Dust or anything most of the time, just shuts himself up in his room. It's not bullies; Dean would prefer it if it were. He's used to dealing with bullies, people have been picking on Sam his whole life, and Dean has been proud to kick their asses right back. It's this constant assertion that he doesn't have any friends and will never make any until he can pass for normal that rips Dean in half. He used to think he was Sam's friend.
"You're 12, Sam," he says, trying to sound reassuring. "Daemons should start settling pretty soon. A month or two tops and it'll be perfectly normal."
Dean can see his brother glaring at him in the rearview mirror. "Yeah, great," he says. "Then I'll just be the freaky new kid with the male daemon."
Xanthe pecks at Sam's cheek, affectionate even at a time like this, and Dean silently wonders where the hell that raven gets so much patience for this crap.
"Could be worse," Trixin says. Dean looks over as he pulls into a parking spot and turns off the car. She's a coyote right now, and she's watching Dean with a mischievous expression on her face. "You could be 16 and still not have the maturity to settle a daemon."
Dean reaches out, swatting at her ears, and even Sam has to laugh. Dean is probably the first person in history to still be unsettled years after losing his virginity, but he likes it just fine. Trixin can be whatever Sam needs at any given time, and Dean thinks it'll come in handy once Dad lets him come along on jobs, which should be any day. He just had his birthday; Dad promised Dean could hunt when he turned 16.
"Well, whose fault is that, Trixie?"
The coyote growls and jumps out of the car when Sam opens the door on the passenger's side for her. Dean rushes to grab his shit and get out, uncomfortable from the tug of her being outside while he's still in.
Halfway through the day, Dean gets called out of class. His father is there to get him for a doctor's appointment, the teacher says. He knows instinctively what it really means. His whole body is buzzing with excitement as he walks to the office, so much so that Trixin turns into a bee and flies by his ear, teasing him with her own buzzing sound.
Dean asks Dad if he can wait until lunch to leave so he can find Sam and give him instructions on how to get back to the motel, what food will be waiting for him in the fridge, and how to warm it up. Sam rolls his eyes and tells Dean to quit worrying and says good luck. Then at the last minute, as Sam is getting ready to turn away, he throws his arms around Dean's shoulders and holds him tight, and Dean knows he's not the only one worrying.
He doesn't think there's anything to worry about. Not until he sees what he's up against. Not until there's the broken body of a 14-year-old kid-much older and bigger than Sam-sitting at his feet, snapped in half by one strong claw. Trixin has shifted into a hound for the hunt, and when she puts her nose to the boy's body to sniff him, Dean can practically taste blood in the back of his throat.
"Stop it," he snaps at her, because the whole thing is too much for him. He can't stop his mind from picturing his brother up against this thing. In a few years, Sam will be coming on hunts with them. Dean will be bringing him into this. Trixin whimpers and scampers a few feet away from both Dean and the corpse.
Maybe it's that noise that alerts the monster of their presence. The water behind the house begins to bubble up just moments later, and Dad snaps out something about keeping that damn daemon under control.
When the chuul surfaces from the swamp, Dad tells Dean it's his kill. Trixin is useless-she's no hunting daemon like Soleria, not yet at least. She changes from the hound to a rat and climbs up Dean quickly. She's trembling violently by the time she reaches his shoulder, and she hides her face in the collar of his jacket.
Dean's hands are shaking something awful; he worries he'll panic just like his daemon did as it charges toward them. But he looks down at that kid again, someone else's Sam, and he lets his arrow fly. It hits home, silver piercing through the creature's shell and right into its heart. Dean thinks the kill will make him feel strong, but the crossbow in his hands drops heavily onto the floor just like the monster. One down, and who knows how many more are still out there to hurt his little brother?
Dad says he's proud of Dean. He's in a rare good mood on the drive home; he even offers to stop at a bar, grab a few victory beers. Dean has several fake IDs after all, and if he's old enough to kill he's damn well old enough to have a round with his old man. Marine logic. It’s the kind of life Dean has been dreaming about for ages, but he says no. All he wants right now is to get home and wash the blood off his hands and make sure his brother has not been broken in the hours since he left.
Sam is waiting up for him when they get home. He stays in their room with the light off, so Dad and Dean both think he's asleep until Dean gets in and shuts the door behind him. He hears rustling immediately, and a light flickers on. Sam is sitting up in bed, his hand still on the switch.
"Well," he says. "Did you get it? Was it awesome?"
Dean knows his brother well enough to know Sam is faking enthusiasm for his sake. And he wants to be able to fake it back, he really does, but instead his legs give out. He sits at the foot of Sam's bed and hides his face in his hands before he can do something embarrassing, like cry in front of his 12-year-old baby brother.
"Dean," Sam says, his voice growing worried. Xanthe perches on Dean's thigh next to Trixin, who is still a frightened little rat, and Dean is vaguely aware of Sam getting out of bed and coming around to kneel in front of him. "Hey. Dean, hey, it's okay."
Dean takes a deep breath and lets Sam guide his hands down to his lap. He's not crying, thank god, but it's a near thing. Sam reaches up, stroking his hand gently on Dean's cheek. It's not his job to comfort Dean, goddammit, but he's good at it.
"Did the thing get away?" Sam asks softly. "It was your first hunt, Dean, everybody makes-"
Dean shakes his head. "We were too late. We were too late, Sam. I killed it, but not until it had-I saw them. The mom and dad and their kid. All of them were so…"
Dean wipes his hand over his mouth and swallows the vivid descriptions. Sam doesn't need to know what it looked like. Not yet. Not for years.
"That wasn't your fault, Dean," Sam tells him, because he didn't see it and he doesn't know. "You did the best you could."
Dean looks up, finding his brother's eyes, and he doesn't know why the thought even comes into his head, but he suddenly feels like it's very important. "The Dust," Dean says. "Do you still see it?"
Sam's face clouds over, and Dean knows it's shame making him avert his eyes. "Yes, Dean. I still see it."
"Everywhere?"
Sam shakes his head. "Not everywhere. A lot of places."
Dean feels his voice getting shaky. "It's good, Sammy? It means something good?"
"Yeah." Sam nods. "It's definitely good."
Dean waits until Sam is looking up at him again before he says, "Does it still fall on me, Sam? Even now?"
Sam licks his lips and nods. "Always," he says quietly. "Always."
Dean gives Sam a feeble smile and stands up, heading to the bathroom to wash himself. He gets into bed that night and lies awake trying to think of something strong, something strong enough to always save his brother, even when he can't. Trixin shifts into a large wolf, her coat grey and white, and curls up under the covers with him. Dean buries his face in her shaggy neck and knows as soon as she settles that she will never take another form again.
This has never been something Dean questions. It's never been anything but logical as far as he's concerned. Sam loves to pet Trixin as much as Trixin loves Sam's hands on her. Dean loves it, too. And Xanthe-Xanthe is a fixture on Dean's shoulder as often as he's on Sam's. It's a better perch for him, Dean always jokes, what with Sam being so damn scrawny.
Dad gave up on policing it when they were still toddlers. 16 years later, there's no hope of breaking the habit. People remark on it every now and then or confuse whose daemon is whose, just like they sometimes call Xanthe a beautiful girl and then shut down when they realize Sam's daemon is beautiful, yes, but a girl, not so much.
John used to make excuses when strangers pointed it out or expressed shock, trying very hard to sound like he didn't think it was strange. Now he just tells people to mind their own damned business. They're close, they've always been close, and that's why they can touch each other's daemons. It made perfect sense to Dean.
Now, though, now it feels like a pretty big problem. Lately, Sam's fingers curled in Trixin's fur has made Dean's body feel flushed and needy and vulnerable, eager for more. Just like looking at Sam has Dean wishing he could see more, and it's that impulse to look at Sam, to look in ways he so obviously should not be looking, that finally forces the connection in Dean's mind. This is why people always looked at them aghast. This is what Dad has been trying to explain away. They aren’t supposed to be touching each other's daemons. They never should have felt okay doing it. It certainly isn't supposed to feel this good.
Something horrible has gone wrong between Sam and Dean, and it happened so long ago Dean can't even trace his mistake. He can't stop it. He won't know how to live without Sam's skin on his soul.
Trixin, little traitor that she is, rolls onto her back and lets her feet kick in the air, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Encouraging Sam because it feels good, and that's all she cares about. She doesn't care that she's lulling Sam into something terrible. Maybe daemons can't feel guilt, but Dean's got plenty for both of them. She wags her tail like an excited puppy, not looking all that different from Sam on the rare occasion Dean catches him in a good mood and tackles him down.
"Who's a good girl?" Sam asks, scratching her belly.
Trixin curls onto her side to glare at him. "I'm not a pet," she informs Sam.
Sam laughs, hands mussing the hair between her ears. Xanthe perches on her back and tries to peck Sam's hand away from her. Daemon solidarity or something. Dean just sits on his bed pretending to watch TV. Pretending every touch of Sam's hand on his wolf doesn't make his body ache.
"You're so full of shit," Sam says.
Dean looks over to find his brother staring at him, his hand still tangled in Trixin's fur. His eyebrows draw together. "Why am I full of shit?
"You're pretending to be really engrossed by the Discovery Channel, and it's not Shark Week, and they aren't showing animals doing it."
Dean sticks his tongue out, smirking a little. "It's less boring than you are."
"You don't really think so," Sam says, and Dean thinks he hears something very, very dangerous in his brother's tone.
He responds with silence, plays with the buttons on the remote and looks away from Sam. So Sam stands and walks to Dean's bed and both of their daemons follow him over.
He takes the remote, his fingers resting over Dean's, and forces Dean to look at him. "Dean, turn off the TV."
Dean doesn’t get the chance to disobey; Sam has already taken the remote from him and powered it off on his own. "Why?" he asks, though he doesn't think he'll like the answer very much.
Sam sits just next to Dean on his bed and reaches out, hand cupping one side of Dean's face gingerly. "I've got a better show for you to watch."
Dean laughs. "What's that?"
Sam's eyes flick up for just a second, and Dean can see him grow more confident. "The Dust. There's so much of it lately. So much of it, and it all goes to you."
Dean can't help sitting up, can't hide that Sam has his attention now.
"It wants me to do something," Sam says, distracted now as he watches it. "Something I want to do very much." He smiles, and Dean would swear there's a light shining on him. He's radiant and much too young to know what he's doing. Sam looks so innocent, but Dean knows whatever this Dust is telling him to do, it won't be innocent by a mile. "Dean, it's so gorgeous. I wish you could see it."
"Well I can't see it," he replies, trying to push Sam's hand away. But it's a trap of some kind, because as soon as Sam's fingers are wrapped in his own, Dean can't remember why he wanted them gone.
"I'm gonna make you see it." Sam's words are in that same faraway, almost absent tone as before, but he isn't watching the Dust sinking onto Dean anymore. He's looking down at Dean's mouth and then he's kissing Dean.
Then he's kissing Dean and kissing Dean, and Xanthe is cooing and Trixin brings the raven down with one huge paw and pulls him close to her chest. Sam is rough despite his age and the slightness of his frame and the gentleness in his eyes when he pulls away for air. It surprises Dean, but it excites him, too, and he gets hard and needy feeling all that raw energy.
Dean opens his mouth, lets Sam fill him with Dust or love or whatever it is he's offering. He should be disgusted at himself for letting this happen. He should be stopping it. But he doesn't care what he should be doing anymore. Sam is making it impossible, and there's no point in caring now anyway. Dean will never be strong enough to stop it.
So he wraps his arms around Sam's back, pulling his brother's bony frame down on top of him. Sam lands half on Dean and half on their daemons, and all four of them laugh for a moment before Sam gets back to sucking the laughter straight from Dean's lips.
Dean gets the fright of his life the summer Sam turns 17.
They're trying to drive the entire Mojave Desert, from Flagstaff to California, in seven hours. It's Sam's stupid idea, but he makes the challenge sound fun when he's selling it to Dean. He says he wants to go because they've never seen it before, and Dean agrees because he wants to make Sam happy and he never, not in a million years, suspects what Sam is up to. That he-or anyone-would ever voluntarily do what Sam is doing doesn't occur to Dean until long after his brother has tricked him into complicity.
Dean notices that Sam is out of it early on. Of course he does, Sam is his brother and Dean notices everything about him, or at least that's what he thinks. Sam's face gets pale and drawn and he starts looking sad right away. Dean asks over and over if Sam wants him to go somewhere else, if there's something he can do, but Sam just pretends he's fine.
He doesn't even want to sit shotgun. He claims he's just tired and curls up in the backseat of the Impala to nap. His sleep is fitful, but it's not until Death Valley that he starts crying, hands trying to tear at his hair. He begs Dean to turn around, turn around please, and then when Dean says he will, he changes his mind and swears he'll never forgive Dean if he does it.
That's when it hits Dean. He stops the car right in the middle of the road and glances back again just to confirm that what he saw in the rearview mirror was not some horrible illusion.
"Sam, where's Xanthe?"
Sam looks up at Dean, his cheeks wet all over from crying. "I love you," he says instead of answering the question.
Dean gets out of the car and rushes to its side, opening the door and sliding in next to Sam. Sam grabs onto Dean’s collar with both hands and tries to pull him in for a kiss. His arms are weak, pathetic even, and he keeps touching Dean's face like he's hoping he'll feel Xanthe on Dean's skin somehow.
"Your daemon," he repeats. "Sam, where is your daemon?"
"Please don't ever think I don't love you," he continues, rambling now. "Don't ever think that-no matter what I do."
"Where is he?" Dean asks again, his voice rising. He grabs Sam's shoulder and shakes him. "Tell me right now where he is."
Dean's skin is crawling touching Sam, looking at him and not seeing what should be there. He wants to throw up, and it's not even his goddamn daemon missing. He can't imagine what Sam feels like.
"I sent him away," Sam admits, turning his face and starting to cry. "He's waiting for me in Arizona."
"Sam, we left Arizona hours ago. There's miles and miles of-"
"Dead, dead land between us," Sam says, his voice thin and grainy. "I can feel how dead it is. I think I'm going to die, too."
"Why, Sam?" Dean wipes sweat off his brother's forehead. It's summer in the middle of Death Valley, the heat is oppressive already, but Sam looks like he's lost more water than he has left in him. "Christ, why would you ever do something like this?"
"Because I love you," he says again. Dean would punch him for pinning this on him if he could bring himself to make Sam suffer more than he already is.
"That doesn't answer it."
"I'll explain when we get to California. When I get him back, I'll explain. If I get him back. I'm too tired now, Dean, please. It hurts so much. I just want to get there."
"We're not going to California," Dean replies. "We're going back to Arizona and getting Xanthe."
Sam sits up, somehow finding enough energy to get a firm grasp on Dean. "Don't. Don't. We have to make it across. It'll all be for nothing if we turn back now."
Dean doesn't ask any more questions, because the longer he sits here, the longer Sam is stuck like this. He gets back in the driver's seat and makes the poor Impala drive as fast as she can over miles and miles of desert. The gas goes quickly at the speed he's driving, and the rest of it evaporates. Dean has to stop to fill her up every time they pass a gas station, because they're few and far between and there literally could not be a worse time or place to get stranded. He feels like he's slicing away another layer of his brother every time he pulls over and parks the car. Sam looks worse at each stop, looks dead almost. Dean knows people have died from this. But not Sam, Sam can't die.
Trixin jumps into the backseat, curling up by Sam's side, licking away his tears since Sam doesn't have a daemon of his own to comfort him. Dean winces. Just that space between the front and back seats makes him yearn for his daemon, and it's not even much more than a foot.
By the time they get to California, Sam is wailing.
They reach the end of the desert-the goddamn ocean practically-and only stay long enough to refuel. Then they're back on the road again. Sam tells Dean that Xanthe is flying toward them and that he'll know when his daemon is close. He passes out after that. Dean drives for hours and hours, not entirely sure if the brother in the back of his car is a corpse or if the daemon they're searching for still exists at all.
It's two and a half days in a motel once they finally get Xanthe back and neither Sam nor his daemon are in suitable condition to explain. Sam holds Xanthe, his fingers digging into the feathers on his side so hard it must hurt, but the bird is sighing in relief through its labored breathing.
Finally he's okay, and Dean can push the sweat-drenched hair away from Sam's forehead and demand answers.
"Witches do it," Sam tells him quietly. "Their daemons are always birds, remember? I wanted to know why that was, so I looked it up. It's a rite of passage for them. They all have to do it."
"Yeah, but you're not a witch just because your daemon is a fucking bird, Sam."
Witches are monsters. They hunt witches. Sam is not like them, though Dean can understand why they're so cruel now, why so many of them get trigger-happy. Anyone would go mad enduring what Sam just willingly put himself through.
"You could have killed yourself."
"It was a risk," Sam admits, stroking the black feathers on Xanthe's back. "I was pretty sure it would work though, and that I'd survive. And look," he holds his raven up, "I was right."
Dean stands, his hand curling into a fist. He punches the wall because his brother is not fair game right now, but as soon as he's back on his feet, Dean is going to beat him to the fucking ground. "You were pretty sure?"
"I had to try," Sam whispers. "I had to. Because I-"
Trixin interrupts Sam with a growl, and Dean jumps in, "You didn't do this for me," he says. "Don't you dare try blaming me again."
Sam shakes his head. "No, I did it for me. Because I can't stand the thought of never seeing you."
"That doesn't make any sense," Trixin says sharply.
"The witches," Sam says, looking at her defiantly. "They can travel anywhere, as far as they want from their daemon and not feel pain. After they do this. You have to cross over something dead. Something that hates life."
"Like a desert," Dean murmurs.
"Like Death Valley," Sam confirms. "You have to do it without your daemon. And after that, you can always separate. According to my research, it gets annoying after a while and then painful, but it's perfectly endurable for weeks."
"But you didn't have to do it. No one made you."
"I made me." Sam licks his lips. "If I ever…if for some reason we ever get separated, Xanthe can come visit you and it'll almost be like I'm with you, too."
"Why would we ever be separated?" Dean asks. Then he turns to the raven. "How did you let him talk you into this?"
"It was Xantherios's idea," Sam says, quiet but firm. He's got conviction. How someone as smart as Sam can be so convinced such a stupid idea was worth it is beyond Dean, but the little bastard isn't sorry. Not even for the worry he caused Dean. Not even for making Dean torture him without telling him first.
Dean looks at the raven, bewildered. How could he have done that to Sam or to himself? How could he? "Why would we be separated, Sam?" Dean repeats, his voice rising and growing colder.
Sam smiles sadly and reaches out. "C'mere, Dean."
He doesn't get another word out of his brother that night, but it doesn't matter. Dean gets his answer a year later when Sam tells him he got into Stanford. He should have known, even before the Death Valley incident, Dean should have known. After the first time Sam mentioned Dust or the day Sam woke up half an inch taller than Dean or all the millions of times Sam was too smart for his own good. This is just one more thing about Sam that was too big for Dean to be a part of. Sam was always bound to leave him.
Six months later, Sam gives him a brief kiss goodbye, climbs onto a bus heading west, and leaves Dean behind in his Dust.
PART TWO