Gravity Sings - Chapter Three

[parenthetical]

Chapter Three

The drive back to the motel was mostly a blur. Dean wasn't aware of much beyond the tightness of Sam's grip on the steering wheel; he was too busy trying to think back, figure out whether and when Blake might have been influencing him. And why.

He would’ve liked to shrug the whole thing off, the way he had up on the roof. He'd gone up there intending to save Elizabeth Hanton, not to kill himself. Except...

Except Sam was right: he'd been a second or two away from stepping off that wall. Even before that, now he thought about it, there'd been an edge of something not-him urging him up onto the roof. Something - Blake - had wanted him up there.

Sam stopped the car, waiting silently until Dean had undone his seat belt before stepping out himself.

Dean let his brother unlock the door to the motel room, but Sam stepped aside to allow him to enter first, and Dean did so absently, still trying to figure out what had really been going on.

"So, why do you think..." he started to ask, more to break the silence than anything else, but trailed off as Sam turned and looked at him with the intensity of his full attention.

Sam held his gaze for a long moment, then turned, slow and deliberate, and closed the door behind them.

"We should -" Dean began, and then Sam was kissing him, hard and urgent and hungry, one hand wrapped round his face like Sam was afraid he'd get away.

Dean kissed him back, bringing his hand up to tangle with Sam's fingers in silent reassurance, 'cause he wasn't going anywhere, hell no. Not now, not until -

Sam tightened his other arm around Dean's waist as if he'd heard the thought, a low sound escaping him as he pulled Dean's hips up against his, grinding them together.

Dean felt his dick swell hard and full in response, and oh yeah, they both needed this. Still got a case, he thought distantly, but it was drowned out by the rush of Sam as his brother bit down on the curve of his jaw, hot mouth sliding down to worry at the thin skin of his pulse.

"Sam," Dean muttered, sliding a hand up to tangle in his brother's hair, gripping tighter than he should. "Sam -"

Sam kissed him again, fiercely, stealing away the words and his breath with them, and Dean let it all go. The hunger in Sam's kiss, in the tight grip of his hands against Dean's hips, barely masked the frantic need underneath, and Dean knew that feeling, chapter and verse. He let Sam kiss him, let him take what he needed, and kissed back just as hard, letting his own need take over. His grip on Sam's hair had to be painful now, but Sam just gave a muffled sound of want and pressed closer.

Dean forced himself to loosen his grip, sliding his hand down to press against Sam's back instead, urging his brother against him. They kept kissing, messy and frantic, hands working blindly under clothing to find bare skin. Finally Dean pulled back long enough to shuck his shirt off, tugging Sam's layers of clothing up over his head.

The sight of the black ink of the tattoo on Sam's chest still caught Dean off-guard, not yet fully familiar even months later. He bent and pressed his lips to it, tracing the lines with his tongue, learning it again. He didn't miss Sam's sharp intake of breath, or the way his brother's hand trailed down to press against Dean's own tattoo.

Dean turned his head, letting his cheek rest briefly against the beat of Sam's heart before sucking more kisses into his brother's skin. Sam gasped again when Dean ran his tongue over the peak of his nipple, and Dean kept going, breathing in the scent of Sam, musky and familiar.

Then he was suddenly being slammed against the wall, Sam pressing in close, his eyes sharp with want. Before Dean had a chance to process what was happening, Sam had dropped to his knees and was tugging sharply at Dean's pants, ripping them down impatiently.

His mouth closed hot and sudden around Dean's cock, only the weight of his hand preventing the reflexive surge of Dean's hips. Dean gasped as Sam moaned in response, the sound vibrating through Dean's dick. Sam pulled back for a moment, tongue flickering over the head of Dean's cock before he started sucking in earnest.

Dean let his head fall back against the wall as he surrendered to the sensation, knees almost too weak to hold him. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead and gathering at the nape of his neck as he concentrated on breathing, aware that Sam's hands were almost all that was holding him upright, and way too far gone to give a damn.

He let out a sound of protest when Sam pulled away, hips bucking helplessly after his brother's mouth. Sam surged to his feet and covered Dean's body with his own, pressing up against him and kissing him, hard and forceful and all too brief. He pulled away again and stepped back, regarding Dean with dark, hungry eyes. "On the bed. Now."

Dean was more than happy to comply, ridding himself of what remained of his clothes with clumsy hands.

Sam stripped off his own clothes with quick, decisive movements, eyes never leaving Dean. "I'm gonna... Oh, fuck, Dean." He trailed one hand reverently down Dean's spine before bearing him down to the bed, palm warm and heavy in the centre of Dean's back.

Dean couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through him. That hand against his spine was the only place Sam was touching him, but he could feel his brother's heat radiating against him as Sam leaned closer, hovering just above his back. Close enough for Dean to feel the warmth of his brother's breath between his shoulder blades, and then Sam's mouth was pressed to the back of his neck, licking away the beads of sweat, tongue hot against Dean's skin. Dean gritted his teeth to keep from moaning, his hands clenching in the sheets.

He lay still and tense when Sam moved away, panting for breath, and then a sound was ripped from his throat as Sam's tongue dipped hot and wet into the crease of his ass. Sam's hands closed around his hips, jerking him up onto his knees so that Sam could press his face in closer, soft-hard slickness of his tongue fucking into Dean.

Jesus.

Dean couldn't think, couldn't do anything but hold on, couldn't care less about the broken, desperate noises he was making. Sam's tongue pressed deeper, and Dean let his head fall down against the covers, too hot all over, needing the sensation of the scratchy material against his forehead to cope with it.

It was almost a relief when the maddening softness of Sam's tongue was replaced by the firm pressure of his fingers. Dean pushed back against his brother's hand, feeling himself open easily while Sam whispered, "Yeah, c'mon, like that," half-coherent encouragements and endearments spilling out hot against Dean's skin.

Dean couldn't stop his broken moan when Sam finally withdrew his fingers. He dropped his head to the sheets again, focusing on breathing for the seemingly endless time it took Sam to roll on a condom. Then at last Sam's hands were on his hips, on his ass, and fuck yes.

Sam eased into him agonizingly slowly, bowing his body over Dean's as he finally slid home. He bit softly at the nape of Dean's neck, his breath coming quick and urgent, then withdrew and thrust in again, harder. He set up a steady rhythm, thrusting into Dean until Dean groped desperately for his own cock, throbbing heavy and neglected between his legs.

Sam nipped again at Dean's shoulder and wrapped his own hand around Dean's, tangling their fingers around Dean's dick. Dean gave a strangled groan, feeling his body tense up, coiling tight. He could hear Sam breathing against his ear, their bodies locked together, could feel Sam everywhere, and oh, fuck, fuck -

"Dean," Sam said in his ear, his voice tight with arousal, "god, Dean, c'mon -" His fingers tightened their grip around Dean's cock, and Dean cried out, shaking all over as the orgasm hit him, Sam's hand on his hip all that was holding him up.

He felt Sam shudder a moment later, and his knees gave way, Sam's weight bearing him down to the bed.

They lay motionless, breathing hard, and then Dean shifted a little, pushing Sam off him. His brother pulled away carefully, returning after a minute to pull Dean close against his chest. Dean leaned his head back against his brother's solid warmth, aching and sated.

Neither of them spoke, but Dean felt Sam splay his hand out across his chest, covering the tattoo. He reached up and pressed his fingers against Sam's, silent reassurance. Still here.

~*~
Sam held onto his brother, feeling the beat of Dean's heart steady under his fingers. It was tempting just to stay that way, keep Dean there safe for as long as possible. But the case was still there, unsolved, and as long as it stayed that way, the feeling of safety was illusory at best.

Sam pressed a kiss to the nape of Dean's neck and forced himself to peel away from his brother. Maybe they still hadn't solved this thing, but he was damn sure going to make it as difficult as possible for Blake to get at either of them. The thought gave him new urgency, and he pulled on his clothes quickly, heading for his duffel to grab the things he needed.

He set out the candles on the same points they'd stood earlier, quickly rechalking the marks. "Dean, where's the ring?" Sam didn't wait for his brother's answer, already digging through the pockets of Dean's jacket.

Dean sat up, pulling on his own clothes. "Sam, what the hell?"

Sam checked another pocket. "The ring, Dean, the one you were carrying. Where is it?"

Dean tugged on his shirt, still keeping an eye on him. "Why?"

Sam stared at him unflinchingly until Dean finally sighed and reached into the pocket of his jeans, taking out the ring. Sam reached out for it, but Dean pulled it out of reach. "Why, Sam? And quit looking at me like that."

Sam watched his brother carefully. "Give me the ring, Dean."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Sam, this isn't some kind of sign that I'm possessed or something," Dean said. He sounded exasperated. "It's just never a good sign when you jump out of bed and start chalking symbols on the floor. Talk to me."

"The rings are affecting you," Sam said bluntly. "I need to do the cleansing ritual again, on all of them. I think maybe that bought us time before, that's why you didn't... But we've got Elizabeth Hanton's ring now too, and we need to deal with that."

Dean jammed the ring back into his pocket, shaking his head. "No. No way, Sam. We're not doing that again."

Sam grabbed hold of his brother's arm, not sure whether he wanted to plead with Dean or fight with him. "This is exactly what I'm talking about! Dean, that's how Blake's controlling people. If we cleanse all the rings again -"

"If we cleanse all of them, yeah." Dean stared stubbornly up at Sam, jaw set. "That's the point, Sam. We don't have all of them. Who knows how many rings are out there for Blake to skip into. The last time we did that ritual, it sent him rocketing straight after Elizabeth."

"We don't know that," Sam argued. He could hear the unconvincing note in his own voice. "Blake had already gone after Linda. Maybe he would've stepped up his attacks no matter what we did."

"Yeah, well. I'm not taking that chance." Dean sighed and leaned into Sam's touch on his arm. "I'm sorry, Sam. But we've gotta find another way."

Sam relaxed his hold on his brother a little and sat down on the bed. "OK. At least for now." Privately, he resolved that if it looked like Blake was coming after Dean again he'd perform that ritual, risk or no risk. "It would help if we really understood the pattern here. Why pick Dr. Hanton? Did she even have kids?"

"Yeah." Sam looked at his brother in surprise, and Dean shrugged. "She had a picture up on her wall. High school graduation. It wasn't her, so..."

"Huh," Sam said, and thought about it. "We should probably look into that, see if we can figure out exactly what made Blake go after her. And we're still going to need a way to deal with him, Dean - because you’re right, trying to track down all of those rings is really a last resort."

"Tell me about it," Dean agreed. "I think I'm going to call Bobby, see if he has any ideas." He moved away, picking up his cell, absent-mindedly fastening the buttons of his shirt with his free hand.

Sam tore his eyes away from the sight of the stark lines of Dean's tattoo disappearing behind the shirt, and cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, make a start on the research."

He wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of Dean stepping outside to call Bobby, particularly not when he still had one of those damn rings in his pocket, but Dean only crossed to sit on the other bed, and Sam relaxed somewhat and turned his attention to booting up his laptop.

It wasn't too difficult to find information about Dr. Hanton online - the first hit brought up her departmental homepage - but most of it was about her work, detailing books she'd written and conferences she'd attended. Sam recognized one or two articles from the bulletin board outside her office. He dug a little deeper, searching for details about her personal life, and was rewarded with an in-depth interview which had appeared in a campus magazine.

How difficult is it balancing motherhood and academia? the interviewer had asked.

Dr. Hanton's answer had been long and involved, but one line stood out. I'm lucky in that my ex-partner was enthusiastic about being the primary care-giver. Huh. If Blake had been looking for 'bad parents', Sam was willing to bet that a mom who'd put her career before her kids fit his criteria, no matter what the kids might have thought about the idea. Especially if Dean was right and it was guilt that let Blake get his claws into people.

So. If they were looking for potential victims, then people with kids were the most likely. Which didn't narrow it down much, Sam had to admit. Especially as Blake didn't seem to have any scruples about going after Dean, either, and his brother didn't have any kids. At least, probably not.

Sam shook that thought aside. They could figure out Blake's motive later - stopping him was the most important thing. He looked down the list of names that Sarah had given them, wondering where to start.

One name jumped out at him: Lisa Marchant. He searched his memory for how he knew her, and remembered what Dr. Hanton had said. Lisa Marchant was already pregnant...

It was as good a place to start as any.

Sam's attention was caught by Dean lowering his voice. "And, uh, what exactly would that involve?" his brother was saying. Sam looked up, but Dean had turned away, and he couldn't read much from the line of his back.

"OK," Dean said, and Sam forced himself to turn back to his own research. He'd make Dean tell him about it when he hung up, no matter what his brother was thinking of trying to keep from him.

Lisa Marchant wasn't too hard to track down. He checked the high school reunion website he'd found earlier, hoping to find out if she'd married or changed her name, and found her on the list of participants. Her name hadn't changed, which simplified things. Apparently she was still living in the area, working at GFN Bank.

The name of the bank rang a bell, and Sam frowned, trying to place it. He clicked into the reunion reports while he thought about it, scrolling slowly past messages and old photos, keeping an eye out for her name, pausing at a picture of her at the reunion, laughing next to Linda and someone he didn't recognize. And then the photo below it, of Lisa at what seemed to be a school party, one hand pressed to her bump, smiling shyly at the camera.

"OK, thanks, Bobby," Dean said. "Yeah, you too." He hung up and turned round. "Find anything?"

"Dr. Hanton did have children, but it looks like they live with her ex," Sam said. "I've been trying to figure out who else might be at risk. What about you? Did Bobby have any suggestions?"

"Yeah, there's another ritual we can do." Dean started rummaging through their duffel. "Bobby says we can call Blake back to his own ring, kind of like we did with Bloody Mary, remember? Once we've got him tied to one ring, we can deal with him properly."

"OK," Sam said slowly. He stared at the picture of Lisa Marchant, thinking it out. "That makes sense. I guess when Dad banished him from that ring, he got kind of spread out... Oh, no. No way, Dean."

"What now?" Dean was doing his best to look confused, but Sam could tell he already knew what he was talking about.

"We drag Blake back into the ring that you've got, and he's gonna be twice as strong and twice as pissed off." Sam swung round to meet his brother's eyes. "He's already tried to get at you - this is like issuing him a fucking invitation."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well. At least I'll know he's coming. None of the other poor suckers stand a chance."

"No. No way," Sam said flatly. "Not an option, Dean. Look, we'll find something else, OK? Maybe we can find a way to adapt the cleansing ritual to -" He broke off as something he'd been trying to remember suddenly occurred to him. "The bank."

Dean stared at him. "...What?"

"The bank," Sam repeated, the words tripping over each other in his rush of realization. "It's the same - OK, Alice told us that Blake worked at GFN Bank, right? One of the people Elizabeth mentioned, Lisa Marchant, she works there now."

"And... you think that makes her the next target?" Dean said slowly.

"That, and the fact that she was pregnant when they graduated," Sam reminded him, clicking back to the reunion page and turning the laptop around to let Dean see the photo. "If we're right that the pledge they made to protect each other has something to do with what's going on... I think it's worth checking out, man."

Dean studied the photos, then leaned back and met Sam's eyes. "Better check it out fast, too - it doesn't seem like Blake's wasting any time. You got an address?"

Sam took the laptop back, his hands flying over the keys. "Yeah, home address - and the address of the bank, too, that may be our best bet."

"Fine," Dean said grimly, pulling on his boots. "Let's go."

~*~
The bank was the kind of grey, modern building that always gave Dean the creeps. He refused to let it show, though: he and Sam walked in confidently, like they belonged there, and the security guard frowned but didn't challenge them.

"Third floor," Dean murmured under his breath, scanning the list of office numbers on the wall. "Stairs." There was less chance of the guard having second thoughts and asking them what they were doing there if they kept on moving rather than standing waiting for an elevator.

Lisa Marchant's office wasn't hard to find, but when they tapped on the door, the woman there didn't look anything like the photo they'd seen on the website.

"Can I help you?" she asked politely, though she looked somewhat distracted.

"Ms. Marchant?" Sam asked.

The woman looked distressed. "No, I'm sorry. She's - there was an accident."

"Something happened to Lisa?" Dean asked sharply. Crap, if they were already too late, if they'd wasted time back at the motel...

"No, no. Not Lisa," the woman said, and Dean relaxed a little. Only to snap to attention again when she clarified, "It was her son."

"What happened?" he asked urgently. "Where's Lisa now?"

"She's gone to the hospital. They called and said she needed to come quickly." She gulped back tears. "It sounded bad. Lisa was - she'll be devastated if she loses Will."

"Which hospital?" Sam demanded.

"I - I'm not sure," the woman said helplessly, looking from Dean to Sam. "She didn't say, she was in such a rush -"

"Thanks," Dean said, heading for the door, Sam close beside him.

Out in the hallway, they looked at each other. "You think..." Sam started.

"Yeah," Dean said grimly, picking up his pace. "C'mon."

Sam caught his arm, jerking him to a halt. "Dean, wait."

Dean stared at him. "Sam, we don't have time for -"

"You can't go up there," Sam said.

"What?" Dean asked, hearing the edge in his voice.

Sam's jaw was set in a way that he was far too familiar with. "We don't have time to argue about this, Dean - you've got to stay here, it's too dangerous for you to go up to the roof -"

"This woman's life is at risk," Dean said dangerously.

"So is yours!" Sam's voice veered into a shout, drawing a curious look from someone in a nearby office. "Look at what happened at the university," he said more quietly. "As soon as Blake was... finished with Elizabeth he turned on you. I'm not letting you take that risk, Dean."

Dean took a deep breath to continue arguing, then blew it out instead. "Fine. If that's what you want."

Sam seemed surprised by his sudden capitulation. "OK, good." He looked as if he would have liked to press Dean further, but they both knew there was no time. "Listen, start calling round the hospitals, see where they took Lisa's son. If she's not still here, we might need to know."

Dean nodded in agreement. He cast a cautious glance around, then pulled Sam in for a quick kiss. "Be careful, dumbass."

Sam gave him one last searching look, then turned and headed for the stairs, breaking into a run.

Dean watched him go, then headed for the exit himself, Blake's ring weighing cold and heavy in his pocket.

~*~
Sam ran up the stairs, mind working furiously. The truth was, he was far from sure that he would be able to help Lisa, even if his hunch that she was up on the roof was right. They hadn't been able to do anything for Elizabeth, after all, and they'd had her ring to work with. This time they didn't even have that.

He redoubled his pace. If he got there before she'd made it to the edge of the roof, maybe brute force would be enough.

He thought fleetingly of the way Dean had looked, scrambling onto the edge of the university roof, and felt grateful that he'd managed to persuade his brother to stay on solid ground. Maybe he wouldn't be able to do anything for Lisa. But at least Dean was safe.

It was cold up on the rooftop when he finally burst out of the stairwell, the sun edging towards the horizon. He saw Lisa immediately, walking calmly towards the edge of the building, and he picked up speed.

He had to run flat-out to cover the ground between them, finally managing to put himself between her and the edge. Lisa didn't hesitate, and for a moment he thought she'd just keep walking, the blank look in her eyes making him suspect she didn't even see him. He caught her arms, holding on tightly as she tried to veer away. She'd have bruises in the morning, but he couldn't take the risk Blake would lose patience and make her run right off the edge. If she was alive to complain about the bruises in the morning, he'd be counting it as a win.

"Lisa," he said urgently. "Lisa, stop. You don't want to do this."

She didn't respond, just writhed against his grasp with surprising strength, trying to get to the edge.

Sam held on grimly. "Come on, Lisa. Wake up. This isn't you, you don't want to die. Your son needs you."

She stilled for a second, and he saw her focus on him, a look of shock and fear in her eyes. It was only a moment, and then the blank look came back down and she struggled again, almost succeeding in dragging her arm away.

"Lisa," Sam said again, desperately searching for something else to try. "Lisa, you can beat this, come on. You don't need to do this." She was being controlled, but she wasn't possessed; he didn't think an exorcism or cleansing ritual would work, not on her. On her ring, maybe, but he'd no idea where it was - and performing that ritual would put Dean in even more danger.

What did that leave?

Lisa fought against him, nearly breaking free of his grasp -

- And then suddenly went limp, slumping against his chest.

Sam didn't loosen his grip, just pushed her away far enough to see her face. Lisa looked slightly dazed, but no longer in a blank way. Now she looked confused and terrified, and her eyes were very wide when they met his.

"What... Who are you?" She struggled again, but this time without the uncanny strength she'd had before. "What are you doing to me?"

Sam released her, but didn't step away. "You don't remember?"

"I was at work... there was a phone call." A look of horror came over her. "Oh god, Will. There was an accident. Why aren't I with him?"

"You came up here; you were about to jump." Sam looked at her closely. "You don't remember any of this?"

"No," she said faintly. "I must have been in shock. And you saved me. God, thank you." Sam tensed as she stepped back, out of his reach, but she was heading for the stairs. "I have to go, I'm sorry. My son -"

Sam let her go, biting at his lip. She was OK, that much was clear, but he wasn't so sure he'd saved her. If she hadn't given up fighting when she had -

Crap. Sam hurried towards the stairs himself. Blake wasn't targeting Lisa any more - so where was he?

He overtook Lisa on the stairs pretty quickly, mumbling an apology as he rushed past her. It took a few minutes for him to make it back to the third floor, frowning when he saw that Dean wasn't waiting for him in the stairwell.

He checked the hallway, even stuck his head into Lisa's office. No sign of his brother.

Sam pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed-dial for Dean, taking the steps three at a time back down to the ground floor as he listened to the sound of Dean's phone ringing. Maybe his brother had felt he was attracting attention, hanging around inside, and gone to wait outside the bank instead.

That didn't explain why he wasn't answering his damn phone, though.

Sam finally emerged from the bank just as Dean's phone switched over to voicemail. He swore under his breath and stared around, backtracking to where they'd left the car. It was still there.

Dean wasn't.

Oh, fuck.

Sam tried to make himself calm down and think. Something had obviously happened; there was no way Dean would ignore his phone in a situation like this. But it probably wasn't to do with Blake, because he'd been controlling Lisa -

- Oh, Jesus, Dean, what did you do?

His mind replayed Dean's sudden agreement when Sam had insisted that he wait downstairs. The unexpected kiss. The way Lisa had suddenly gone limp, whatever had been controlling her just... gone.

Dean had performed the ritual Bobby had told him about, pulled Blake into his own ring and sealed him there. And left himself wide open in the process.

Sam looked around wildly. He hadn't passed Dean on the stairs, which meant Blake had to have taken him somewhere else. Where?

He forced himself to breathe deeply, looking for places tall enough to - god - to jump from. His gaze lit upon a building a couple of blocks away. It was half boarded up, obviously scheduled for demolition. But that wasn't what had caught his eye.

Sam looked from the faded logo on the side of the building, back to the brightly-lit sign on the one he'd just come out of, and his heart sank. That was the bank's old premises. The same building Blake had jumped from.

Sam broke into a run.

~*~
Dean rounded the corner onto the fifth set of stairs, climbing steadily. Soon be on the roof.

He rubbed his thumb against the ring on his finger, reassured by the solid edges of the stone. Soon be on the roof, he told himself again, and felt the thought snag against something in his mind.

He forced himself to a standstill, trying to pin the feeling down. The ring. He'd taken it out of his pocket, that was it. To perform the ritual, because the rings were letting Blake control people...

Aw, hell no.

"Screw you, buddy," he said out loud. "I'm not in the mood for diving lessons today."

There was no answer that he could hear, but Dean felt himself start walking again, heading up towards the top of the building.

He wondered whether Sam had found Lisa. Judging by what was happening now, the ritual had been pretty successful at drawing Blake away from her - he just hoped that he'd done it in time. Dean thought back again to the photos Sam had found of her - the recent one, with her laughing and happy, and the older one, one hand pressed to her bump, self-conscious but smiling at the camera.

What fucking right did Blake have to judge her?

Every right.

Dean managed to grab hold of a wall, but couldn't stop himself from walking. Jesus. He was pretty damn certain that hadn't come from him.

"So why, then?" he demanded out loud, forcing out the words. "Tell me, if you're so sure of yourself. Why attack Lisa? What the hell did she ever do?"

For a moment there was nothing, and then he heard it again, more clearly a voice this time, growing stronger with each word. She failed. She failed to protect her son.

"Failed, failed, blah blah blah," Dean said in disgust. "It was an accident, it's not like it was her fault. Who the hell are you to judge?"

She swore. We all did. She was the reason we swore what we did. And she didn't keep her promise.

"What the hell kind of promise gives you the right to end people?" Dean demanded. How many damn stories did this building have, anyway? Though he supposed the more the better. Well, at least for now.

We promised to look after her baby. To look after all the children. Blake's voice took on a note of rage. But it was a lie. They all failed.

"Failed?" Dean said disgustedly. "Only by your twisted definition. For fuck's sake, Lisa's 'baby' must be over by thirty by now. She did a helluva lot better than you at protecting her kid."

Blake didn't respond, and for a moment Dean thought he was gone, but the compulsion to keep heading towards the roof was still as strong as ever.

A draft of cold wind hit him, and he looked up to see he'd finally come out onto the last flight of stairs, the door to the roof banging open and shut ahead of him. Dean felt himself speed up involuntarily, and found himself emerging out on the roof, despite his best efforts to hold back. Blake might have quit yapping at him for a moment, but he sure as hell hadn't gone away.

"Look, I get that you've got your little punishment mission and all." Dean reached out, trying unsuccessfully to brace himself against a wall. "But I don't have any kids, so why go after me?"

He caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye, a half-formed shadow darker than the gathering dusk would justify, and managed to force himself to turn around.

"You know why," Blake said, his eyes boring into him.

Dean stared at him. Blake looked almost substantial, only the fact that he seemed more in shadow than the surrounding gloom betraying what he really was. His eyes were hard and angry.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded.

"You feel it," Blake said more quietly. "You feel it when he's in pain. You feel it when you fail him." There was a pause before he continued, "You felt it when he died, didn't you? That guilt? That knowledge that you'd failed to protect him?"

Dean opened his mouth and closed it again, before he finally said, "Bullshit." His voice didn't sound entirely convincing, even to himself.

"You let him die," Blake said coldly. "You didn't stop it. You failed him. I felt it, you know. It woke me up, helped to give me the strength to start punishing people again. You let him die, Dean."

"I didn't," Dean said, trying not to let himself react. God, he hated hearing those words. "I didn't. And I brought him back. I did what I had to."

"It wasn't enough," Blake hissed.

Dean clenched his hands into fists, feeling the ring press against his fingers, trying to get control of himself. It felt like he was slipping; the edge of the roof was coming ever closer, but he couldn't seem to stop walking.

"Better than what you did," he forced out. "What did you do? Just went out and killed and hurt other people. All because of some poor kid you didn't even give a damn about until she was gone."

There was a moment of silence. "I failed Kelly," Blake finally admitted. "But do you really think you've done any better, Dean? Oh, you've been there for your brother, haven't you? In every sense."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean mumbled. He was almost at the edge of the building, now, crumbling wall looming closer and closer.

"Oh, I think you do." Blake's voice had taken on a nasty insinuating quality. "Such a devoted brother, there isn't anything you wouldn't do for Sam, is there? Do you really think you've protected him, Dean? Do you really think he won't be better off when you're gone?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Shut the fuck up." He hated the tone of Blake's voice, hated him turning him and Sam into something... something ugly. Even if what he was saying was the truth.

But that didn't mean Sam would be better off when he was gone. He needed Dean, and Dean needed to protect him.

"And you've done a real good job of that," Blake said, as if Dean had spoken aloud. "You let him die, Dean. Even all the other ways you've failed him... they're nothing compared to that. He died."

Dean gulped in a deep breath, finding his feet still carrying him forward, picking up speed again. He could see the lights in the buildings over the edge of the roof now, winking into life as the sun disappeared. "But I brought him back. I saved him."

"But you fucked that up too, didn't you?" Blake reminded him. "Because the only way you could do it was to abandon him. He's going to be all alone when you're gone, Dean - no one left to even try to protect him. He wasn't happy when you told him what you did, was he? It doesn't matter what you do. You always fail him."

"That's not true," Dean said weakly. He was dimly aware that he'd reached the edge of the roof and started to climb, fitting his feet into gaps where the wall had crumbled away, but he couldn't focus on what it meant.

"You failed him," Blake said implacably. "And you have to pay for that."

~*~
Sam ran up the steps, trying to ignore the ache in his legs. He'd run up too damn many flights of stairs for one day. When this was all over, he was going to insist that he and Dean didn't walk any further than from the bathroom to the bed for a day or so.

God, Dean. Sam kept looking around as he ran, searching for any indication that his brother had been there, but saw nothing. He couldn't afford to be wrong about this. If Blake had drawn Dean to another building, then Dean might already...

Even if this was the right place, there was still a chance he would be too late. Sam gritted his teeth and forced himself to run faster.

When he finally hit the top floor, the door leading outside was standing open. Sam fought down his urge to slam through it, slowing down instead and slipping silently out onto the roof.

He blinked, the night sky seeming almost bright after the darkness inside the building, and the scene before him came into focus. Two figures, one dark in the shadowy gloom of the roof, the other balanced on the wall, silhouetted against the city skyline.

Dean.

Sam's heart caught in his throat. The perimeter wall was wide, but all the same, his brother was only inches away from the drop. If he took one good step, or if he was startled...

The other figure shifted, not moving so much as flickering into a new position, and Sam understood that it was Blake, looking a hell of a lot more corporeal than he had up until now. He guessed that the ritual his brother had performed - goddamnit, Dean - had something to do with that. It should have been good news - it was a damn sight easier to fight something you could see -

- Except the shotgun and rock salt rounds were in the car, ten stories down and two blocks away.

Dean's fists were clenched, and Sam could hear him muttering, although the words were too faint for him to make out. It was clear, though, that Dean wasn't in the same state Lisa had been in - he was definitely aware of what was going on. In which case maybe it would be worth calling out to him, encouraging him to fight. On the other hand, that could be just the incentive Blake needed to send him plummeting over the edge.

Sam hovered, in an agony of indecision. Before he could make up his mind, Blake spoke, his voice ringing out clearly across the roof.

"Why don't you turn around, Dean? Turn around and face the person you failed."

So much for going unnoticed. Sam caught his breath as Dean turned, balanced precariously on top of the wall, the move taking him far too close to the edge. Dean didn't seem fully aware of that, though; his eyes were focused on Blake, flickering to meet Sam's own for a brief moment.

"Dean," Sam said, taking one instinctive step forward before Blake shifted and he thought better of it. "Jesus, Dean - c'mon, man, step down from there. Don't listen to whatever he's telling you -"

"Oh, I'm not telling him anything he doesn't already know," Blake said coldly. "After all, it's all true, isn't it, Sam? Dean failed you. He didn't come for you in time."

Blake turned back to Dean, an unpleasant smile on his face. "You let him die, let him bleed out into the mud, didn't you, Dean?"

"That wasn't Dean's fault," Sam shouted, fists clenching. He ached to run forward, to pull his brother down to safety, but he didn't dare. "He didn't just abandon me, he came as soon as he could. He came to find me!"

"Yes, you always go looking for your little brother, don't you?" Blake said meditatively. "Do you think he'll miss you, Dean, when you can't do that any more? When you abandon him for good?"

"Not - abandoning him," Dean said with an effort, eyes on Sam. "Just... did what I had to. Promised to keep him safe." He swayed a little on the wall, shifting his stance.

"It wasn't enough," Blake hissed. "Remember his blood on your hands, Dean? Remember knowing how badly you'd failed him? You say you did what you had to, but it wasn't enough."

Sam swallowed, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean's. He'd been horrified and furious when he'd found out what Dean had done, and he'd let his brother know it, too. And he hadn't changed his mind about that. Not now, not ever. Dean going to hell wasn't something he could just accept.

But the fact that he hated the implications didn't change what Dean had done. What he'd done for him. And Sam would never be able to put into words how much it meant, the knowledge that Dean would do anything for him.

He wondered now if it had been a mistake, not to even try.

"He sold his soul for me," Sam said. His words were addressed to Blake, but it was Dean he was watching. "How can you say it wasn't enough? It was everything."

~*~




It was hard to keep fighting against the accusations Blake was making, particularly when a part of his mind had been telling him the same things.

Dean gritted his teeth and refused to give in, trying to focus on something else - the faint voice inside him that said no, he'd been there for Sam, he'd always done everything he could -

A voice that was suddenly being echoed by what sounded like Sam's voice.

He swayed a little at the realization, and felt something shift under his feet. The wall. He was standing on the wall, balanced ten stories above the street.

Another small shift by his left foot, part of the crumbling brick coming away. Dean fought desperately to keep his balance, trying to forget the dizzying drop behind him. He kept his attention on the rooftop instead, pushing away the weird sense of disconnection that made everything seem unreal. He blinked hard, and his brother came into focus.

"Sam." His voice came out croaky, like he hadn't spoken for days. "I'm sorry, Sam. There wasn't enough time."

Sam took a step closer, then another, moving cautiously. His face was drawn into strained lines. "Dean. Dean, I know. It's OK, just - Dean, please."

Dean felt himself sway again, and clenched his fists, trying to keep his focus and his balance. He blinked, and saw that Sam had stopped moving, paused a few feet away, eyes wide and fixed on him.

A slight breeze had started up, and Dean could feel it against his back. He forced his mind away from it. "You find Lisa?"

"Yeah," Sam said, eyes never leaving him. "She's fine, Dean."

Blake hissed in disgust. "I'll deal with her later."

"She doesn't deserve to die, Blake," Dean said, his voice coming stronger now. "She doesn't deserve it, any more than Linda did, or Felicia. Any more than you did, you poor sick fuck."

Dean felt the wave of malevolence coming up from Blake like it was a physical force. "And what about you, Dean?"

Dean felt his body tensing in response, muscles bunching to jump. "Think I've made a lot of mistakes."

He heard Sam inhale sharply in shock, a split-second before Dean thumped down on the concrete next to him. "But that's none of your goddamn business."

Taking the ring off was much easier than he'd thought it would be. He closed his hand around the cold metal, watching his brother's panicked expression give way to a fierce grin that sent warmth right through him.

"You can't," Blake said, his voice surprised and furious. "You failed! You admitted it!"

Dean shrugged awkwardly, muscles still slow to respond to his commands. "I failed. Who doesn't? And yeah, not saying I don't feel bad about it. But throwing my life away now... you said it yourself, abandoning my brother like that would be the real failure. So I guess you got something right."

"Then there'll be others. Don't think there won't!" Blake surged up close, trying to force Dean back towards the edge of the roof, but it was surprisingly easy now to stand his ground.

"Sorry, Blake." Dean tightened his fist around the ring in his hand. "But you're bound to this one now. No more skipping from place to place."

He briefly met Sam's eyes as he started to chant the words of the cleansing ritual, hoping like hell this would work without lighting candles and drawing circles.

Blake flickered in and out of existence, little wisps of him peeling away as he battered against Dean, screaming threats. Dean did his best to hold firm, though he couldn't stop himself from swaying slightly, stumbling over the words of the ritual.

Sam surged forward to stand right in front of him, closing his hand over the fist in which Dean was holding the ring. He picked up the chant in a steady murmur, and Dean took a breath and joined in again, their voices overlapping and then strengthening into unison.

Blake flickered out of existence again, then reappeared on the edge of the building. He looked different, now - his features clearly visible - and Dean realized with a start how young he was. Had been.

Dean took a deep breath and launched into the last part of the ritual. He kept his eyes on Blake as the spirit drifted up onto the wall and wavered for a moment before stepping slowly out into nothingness.

"Domine, oremus. Oremus." Blake hung in the air for a moment as they chanted the final words, one arm flung out as if he was afraid of falling, then dissipated into nothing.

Dean exhaled shakily, staring at the place where Blake had been until he was finally convinced he wasn't about to re-materialize. It was the warmth of Sam's hand, still closed around his, that brought him back to himself.

He met his brother's eyes for a long moment. Sam was smiling, a quieter version of the grin he'd given him before.

"Sam," Dean said, and stopped.

His brother raised an eyebrow, but didn't interrupt.

"Sam," Dean repeated, and sighed. "You really need a shower, dude."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, well, do you know how many flights of stairs I've had to run up today?"

Dean winced. "To be honest? Yeah. I can tell by the smell. Dude, seriously."

Sam laughed, his touch on Dean's hand lingering before he released it. "You're not exactly lily fresh yourself, you know."

"Then let's get out of here and find a goddamn shower," Dean said, heading towards the door.

The ring was warm in his hand, nothing but dull metal now. Dean tightened his grasp around it, then slipped it into his pocket.

~*~
Sam sighed. The hot water was working its magic, but it was much less enjoyable without Dean under it with him. As soon as they'd reached the motel, though, his brother had shoved him in the direction of the bathroom with another crack about how badly he stank. Sam hadn't pushed, but it was difficult to feel comfortable with leaving his brother alone so soon after seeing him balanced on the edge of that building. He shivered at the memory, and finished washing as quickly as he could.

Dean grabbed his own towel as soon as Sam emerged from the bathroom, barely even waiting for Sam's words of acknowledgement. He closed the door behind him, and Sam regarded it regretfully. He'd had half-formed thoughts of joining his brother in there for a more satisfying shower, or maybe just for a shave if Dean was still intent on taking his shower alone.

Still, after what had happened up on that rooftop, maybe it was understandable for Dean to want a few minutes alone.

He seemed to take longer than usual in the shower, long enough that Sam suspected it was the water running cold that finally drove him out. Sam frowned. Dean taking epic showers wasn't unusual in itself, but still...

When his brother finally emerged amid a cloud of steam, though, Sam couldn't help but smile. Dean had wrapped a towel around his waist, but otherwise he was naked, the stark lines of the tattoo vivid against his chest.

Dean padded over to his duffel, stirring through his jumble of clothes with one foot. Sam followed him over there, pressing up against Dean's back as he wrapped an arm around him, pressing the flat of his hand against the tattoo.

He nuzzled his face against the warm, damp skin of Dean's neck, breathing in the fresh soap scent. "You don't stink anymore."

Dean gave a short laugh. "Can still smell the reek of your shirt. Jesus, Sam, I think you should just burn that thing."

Sam laughed ruefully. "Yeah, I guess it's pretty bad." He released Dean and grabbed the shirt from the floor, slinging it into the bathroom. "Better?"

"Better," Dean said grudgingly, grabbing a pair of boxer shorts from his duffel. "Burn it later."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, crossing back over to him. "I don't think you need those quite yet, you know." He trailed a hand down Dean's arm, and frowned when Dean took a step back.

"Knock it off, Sam, I'm trying to get dressed."

Sam stared at him for a moment while Dean grabbed a clean shirt from his bag, pulling it on. It wasn't like Dean to shy away from him after a close call like this. It wasn't like Dean to shy away from him, period.

"This is about what happened," Sam said, only realizing the truth of it as he said it. "Isn't it? Blake said something to you about this. About us."

Dean didn't answer, just dug in his bag again, avoiding Sam's eyes.

Sam waited silently until Dean was forced to straighten up. "Dean, whatever he said... Blake was full of crap."

"Yeah, the guy was a psycho." Dean met Sam's eyes. "But he wasn't exactly making stuff up, was he, Sam?"

Sam held his brother's gaze and took a step closer. "Yeah, well. I'm glad you fought him, Dean. I want you here with me. And I'm going to find a way to keep you here, you know. I'm not letting you go that easy."

He put one hand on Dean's shoulder, feeling his brother tense up at the touch. "I want you with me, Dean. And I don't give a shit what Blake or anyone else thinks about that."

Dean gave a sigh as Sam pulled him closer. "OK." He leaned his head wearily forward on Sam's shoulder. "OK, then."

Sam rested his hand on the back of Dean's neck, holding him there for a moment before tipping his head up.

It was barely a brush of lips at first, Dean's mouth almost defeated against his, but Sam had never been willing to accept that from his brother, and he wasn't about to start now. He kissed Dean leisurely, because they had time, and he wasn't letting go.

He seemed to get through eventually, because Dean's hands tightened against his skin, and then they were kissing properly, pressing closer against each other.

Sam slid an arm around Dean's back, pulling him nearer, smoothing it beneath the shirt and along warm skin. He reached up with his free hand and shoved the shirt back from Dean's shoulders, and Dean shrugged it off ungracefully, the movement pushing him even closer.

His arms came up to hold onto Sam, hands stroking down the curve of Sam's back as they kissed again, deep and urgent.

Sam felt the towel round his waist lose its knot, slipping to the floor, and groaned at the feel of his naked dick against Dean's belly. He slid his hand under the elastic of Dean's shorts, moaning again as his brother's cock caught against his own.

Dean bucked up against him, breath coming in quick hot pants. "Sam," he murmured. "Sam."

"Yeah." Sam stumbled backwards towards the bed, unwilling to lose hold of his brother. "Yeah, come on."

He pulled Dean down with him and rolled them over so that he was lying on top of his brother, pressing him down into the mattress. It was probably hard for him to breathe, but Dean didn't seem inclined to protest, instead pulling him down into another kiss, keeping him right where he was.

Dean was warm beneath him, soap-scented skin sliding against his, and Sam wanted to stay like this, just like this. Then Dean arched up against him, and he forgot everything but the urgent heat of their cocks pressing against each other.

He shifted enough to slide one hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Dean's cock and his own. Dean moaned and arched again, pushing up into his touch as Sam set up an awkward rhythm.

Dean muffled a groan against Sam's skin, sucking kisses into his neck, his hands stroking restlessly over his body. Sam fought for breath and moved his hand faster.

Dean bit down against his neck, moaning more loudly, his hands suddenly tightening their grip on Sam as his body went rigid. Sam gasped as wet heat splashed across his hand, the suddenness of Dean's orgasm catching him off-guard. Holy fuck.

Dean shuddered against him, gasping for breath, and oh god, Sam couldn't take it, slickness coating his hand and sliding against his cock, and Dean murmuring his name, Sam, Sammy, Jesus -

He collapsed against Dean as he came, and Dean went with it, letting Sam's weight carry them both back against the bed. Sam concentrated on breathing, feeling one of Dean's hands settle against his back, the other creeping into his hair.

After a moment Dean shifted under him. "Dude, you're fucking heavy. Need to breathe now."

Sam rolled reluctantly onto the bed, half-afraid that Dean would take the opportunity to move away from him. But his brother just scrubbed half-heartedly at the sticky mess on his stomach with the corner of the sheet, then curled in next to him.

Sam shifted to make room, pulling Dean in closer. He thought hazily that they probably ought to move - get cleaned up properly, maybe go out and find some food.

Dean sighed, breath gusting against Sam's chest, and closed his eyes.

Maybe they didn't need to move just yet.

~*~

Epilogue
The curse box was made of dark, pitted wood, with a strong padlock to keep people out and fine, flowing symbols to keep things in. Dean was pretty certain that Blake was gone, but their dad had thought that before, and there were things Dean didn't believe in taking chances on.

"Bobby did a nice job." Sam ran his fingers over the symbols painted across the lid. "It's pretty solid."

"Yeah." Dean held on to the box for a moment longer, checking it over, then reached up to set it on the highest shelf, pushed back almost out of sight.

He felt Sam's hand close on his shoulder, then slide down to press against his back for a moment, before his brother turned and headed back towards the door of the lock-up.

Dean looked at the box a moment longer, then ran his eyes over the rest of the room, taking in the still-untouched defenses and the dusty childhood mementos. He nodded to himself.

"Ready?" Sam asked. Dean looked over to see him leaning in the doorway, his eyes warm and knowing.

"Yeah," Dean said, and headed towards his brother. He snagged the keys out of Sam's hand. "Let's go."

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