SPN Fic: And this Great Blue World of Ours | Part 2, Chapter 14

[vail_kagami]

Title: And this Great Blue World of Ours (2.14)
Fandom: Supernatural
Beta: minviendha
Characters (overall): Dean, Castiel, Sam, plus a number of angels and demons
Rating (overall): NC-17
Warnings (overall): violence, torture, drug use, insanity, mentions of rape
Spoilers: Going AU during episode 5.18: Point of No Return. No spoilers for after season five.
Words (this chapter): 8,251
Summary: A man wakes up in a ruined wasteland, without memories, without a name, without knowing the strange guy who claims he used to be an angel, or that he once had a little brother. All he knows is that the world is dying, everyone is lying to him and that somehow, somewhere, something went terribly wrong. Because someone said Yes when they should have said No, and someone else paid the price.

Masterpost

The light is different when Dean wakes up. Instead of the bright light from the lamps in the ceiling that sometimes reminds him so much of real, bright daylight it hurts it’s dimmer, more like what daylight is like now. To Dean, it feels like waking up at dusk after sleeping away the afternoon. It wouldn’t be an unpleasant feeling if not for the fact that he has no sense of time here and might have slept for a year.

And it’s so very quiet.

Dean’s joints are aching as he sits up. He never meant to go to sleep but it happened and now here he is, feeling like he just woke from a sleep so deep a bomb going off couldn’t have woken him. It’s unsettling. Anything might have happened.

But as it turns out, the only thing to happen was Sam waking up. He turns his head when Dean moves and smiles at him from underneath his oxygen mask, and Dean’s own breath stops and his eyes moisten. “Hey,” he says, leans down to run his hand through Sam’s hair. “How are you doing?”

Sam tries to answer, reaches for the mask to remove it, but Dean halts his hand. “Rhetorical question, buddy. I can see how you are doing. That stays on. If you got anything to say to me, you may nod or shake your head. Are you in pain?”

Sam doesn’t nod or shake anything. Instead he lifts his hands and shows Dean his middle finger.

(He’s going to die soon. Jena and Crowley will kill him with their stupid plan.)

Sam doesn’t look too tired, so Dean doesn’t attempt to make him sleep again, intending instead to enjoy the moment of his brother being awake and for all appearances not in too much pain. “You wouldn’t happen to have any idea where Cas is, would you?”

In response, Sam lifts his other hand and points downwards, to the floor beside his bed. With a sigh, Dean crawls off, walks over to take a look and returns to where he’s been. “I don’t know what it is with him and sleeping on the floor. Was he still awake when you woke up?” Because if he was, Dean owes him a kick in the ass for not waking him, and right now Cas’ ass is very defenceless.

The reply is a vague motion of Sam’s hand. So Cas was awake but not very much so, probably in the process of falling off the bed. Dean will have to decide if that counts as mitigating circumstances.

“Jena been here?”

This gets him a nod. Dean resists the urge to growl. Of course she was here. Probably appeared the moment Sam opened his eyes and didn’t think of waking Dean.

He’s losing precious time here. “Did she say anything?”

This time Sam rolls his eyes at him and manages to push the mask off his face before Dean can stop him. “Checked me over. Told me I was fine,” he whispers, the hoarse scratch in his throat part of the reason why speaking is bad.

“Right, you look like a spring day. What else did she say?”

“What else was she supposed to tell me?”

So no mention of Crowley? That’s fine by Dean. Sam doesn’t have to know the demon is here, and should the guy come into this room, well, then Dean will just have to kill him. “Nothing in particular. Where we are would be useful information.”

“Dean.” Sam manages a glare and starts coughing. The mask goes back on at once.

“See? This, right here, is the reason why you should shut up,” Dean scolds, pressing the mask down without mercy.

Sam glares at him, convinced that there’s something Dean is keeping from him. Well, there is. Dean isn’t going to change that right now, though. In fact, he’ll keep on keeping things from Sam until he no longer can.

His hands roam his brother’s face and neck, feeling his temperature, his pulse. Sam’s heart is beating a little fast, his temperature almost normal. His breath is rattling in his lungs ever so softly but that’s old news and not something that’s likely to change anytime soon. Altogether, Sam’s fine, if very weak. As fine as he can be, anyway, after having been beaten up, drained, and raped by a vampire in the snow.

“Jena found a way to defeat Lucifer,” Dean says without meaning to, and Sam’s face lights up, it fucking lights up like his brother just told him the best thing ever and Dean fucking hates everything.

-

Of course, after Dean told him, Sam wants to know everything. Dean has to press the mask down onto his face with more force than he would have liked and ignore his muffled voice and promise that he doesn’t actually know any details, except, “You don’t have to die to do this, Sammy. And I’m not even going to pretend I didn’t know that you were fully prepared for that, so sorry to disappoint you, but you’re going to live through it. Because if you don’t, if you die and if you dare to go to fucking Hell, I promise I’ll be right there with you, I’ll follow wherever you go so if you love me you’d damn well better survive this!”

That makes Sam look at him wide eyed and a little helpless and awed and what the hell is Dean supposed to do with that expression? Then Sam looks away, turns his face away from Dean, but Dean sees his eyes tear up anyway. So Sam doesn’t think he’s going to survive no matter what Dean tells him and he still looked happy at the prospect of facing off with Lucifer. Just great. Dean’s gonna kill him himself one of these days, before there’s nothing left of his heart to be broken.

Dean’s little speech did more than make Sam cry, though. It also woke Cas, who sits upright with a groan, turns his head and looks right into Sam’s teary face. His eyes snap up to Dean and he glares. “What did you do?”

“I told him he’s not going to die,” Dean snaps back, not in the mood to take any blame here. “Apparently that’s too depressing to handle.”

Cas’s eyes flicker back to Sam’s and while Dean can’t see his brother’s face from his angle, he can tell that they are sharing a meaningful look, communication about something Dean isn’t privy to. Well, fuck them both. Sam isn’t going to die (alone), and he’ll just have to deal with that.

After a few seconds Cas pushes himself to his knees, leans in to kiss Sam’s temple, and rises to his feet, stretching.

“Slept well?” Dean asks coolly. “You know, I think this place has at least five beds standing around.”

“That would be overkill,” Cas replies unimpressed. “We are only four people.”

So he agrees about not letting Sam know about Crowley. That’s something at least.

After that, Cas leaves to get them some food while Dean strokes Sam’s hair, wills him to feel content and go back to sleep and himself to not feel angry and desperate. Cas comes back, he and Dean eat, and then Dean leaves for the bathroom. When he comes back, Sam is asleep and Cas is gone, to take some time to be on his own or to avoid having to talk to Dean. Dean sighs, leans back against the head of the bed and wishes for something to read.

-

Jena continues to keep her presence to a bare minimum for whatever reason and Crowley continues to keep to himself – only when Dean is in the kitchen does he sometimes hear the demon sing, and that’s pretty disturbing, all things considered. At least his voice doesn’t carry to Sam’s room, allowing them to keep his presence secret a little longer.

Except they soon enough have to find out that their brilliant plan of just not mentioning the demon in their middle doesn’t actually work.

Unsurprisingly, Sam doesn’t stay in bed all the time. He gets stronger, his breathing gets better. Little trips of Dean or Cas carrying him to the bathroom turn into them supporting his weight as he stumbles around and tries to get his limbs to work again. It reminds Deon of the time in the first safe house, just days before they had to leave, but it also reminds him of all the times before when Sam had been hurt bad enough to need a long recovery period.

(The first time, he hadn’t even been hurt on a hunt. He was seven, had gotten into a fight with an older kid at their school of the week and the kid had pushed him through a window. Dad hadn’t been there, so it was Dean who was called out of his own class and sat by Sam’s side in the hospital and tried to comfort him when he was weeping with pain. Eventually John had returned, and Dean had never before seen him so upset. He’d stayed for weeks afterwards, longer than Dean was used to, and did all he could to help his little son regain his strength and mobility. Dean still remembers his large arms wrapped around Sammy’s small body as he told him that yes, he could walk, he just had to try, and dad wouldn’t let him fall if he stumbled. Later he had left that job to Dean when a hunt had come up that he absolutely couldn’t not take, and Sam had clung to his brother when they practiced walking, not trusting his own legs to carry him but trusting Dean.)

Eventually, Sam is strong enough to move on his own, for a short time, wandering in circles through his large bedroom and stretching his limbs with a pained grimace. Dean does his best to confine him to the one room, not wanting him to run into Crowley outside, but sometimes he can’t stop Sam from exploring the corridor or the nearby rooms, so when that happens, Cas stands around trying to look inconspicuous while giving Dean signs whether or not it’s currently okay to let Sammy have his way.

Fortunately his lack of strength limits his rage of movement and Dean never offers to help him wander any further than he can go on his own.

Until one day Cas is asleep in another room and Sam is on the bed reading and Dean is in the shower showering. It feels great and since Sam’s doing so much better, Dean allows himself to just enjoy the moment without worrying about what the future might or might not hold for his brother or the fact that Sam doing better means that their time is running out. He comes back with damp hair, clean clothes and a freshly shaven face to an empty room, and his first thought is, Shit, Sammy, don’t you dare!

Cas’s room is the first one he checks. Opening the door with just a little too much force makes Cas stir, but Sam’s not there. Sam’s not in the neighbouring room either, the one where Jena sometimes is, when she’s present but not with them. Now it’s empty and Dean turns towards the other side of the corridor.

There are voices coming from the kitchen. Two voices, one quiet, one louder, both familiar, and Dean’s heart stop right there to spring back to life a second later, fuelled by rage.

“…not going to work that way,” Crowley is saying when Dean approaches the room, answered by Sam’s hoarse, “I know what to do, I just don’t-”

He’s interrupted, quite efficiently, by the door slamming against the wall with a loud bang that makes him jump and Crowley look up in alarm.

“In my defence,” the demon says, “he came to me. And I’m not anywhere near him. See? There’s an entire table between us. Well, if there’d be a table. The space where a table would fit. So calm the fuck down.”

“Get out of here before I fucking kill you!” Dean just growls. Sam looks at him through those fucking large deer-in-the-headlights eyes and what the fuck was he thinking? “What the hell, Sam? Would it have killed you to stay in the room?”

“Would it kill you to treat me like I’m not three?” Sam snaps back. “I’m not, and I’m not your prisoner.”

The words hit Dean like a slap to the face. “If you wanted to leave the room you could just have told me.”

“So you and Cas could have made sure that Crowley’s not around? I wanted to talk to him, and you weren’t exactly supportive of that idea.”

“How did you even know he’s here? Did Cas tell you? No, he wouldn’t. It was Jena, right? Nice to know that she does something with her spare time.”

“Dean.” Sam sounds at the same time annoyed and patient. “I can sense demons.”

“What, here as well?” Somehow, Dean had thought this place was some kind of power-free twilight zone for all powers but Jena’s. Especially since Cas was as set on keeping Crowley’s present a secret as Dean has been, and for obvious reasons Dean thought Cas would know more about how dimensions like this work.

“Yes. I knew there was a demon nearby, and I knew who it was.”

Now Sam’s not the only one being annoyed. “Why didn’t you fucking say something?”

“You seemed to feel better with me not knowing. Also, I was sick and not very keen on meeting him.”

“That why you insisted on wandering around? Were you deliberately trying to give me a heart attack?”

Sam scowls. “I knew where he was at any time. If he’d been standing outside the door, I wouldn’t have gone out.”

“Well, I can see you’re busy here. If it’s all the same for you, I’m gonna go now,” Crowley says smoothly, rising from his chair. Dean thinks about stopping him simply because the demons wants to leave and Dean doesn’t want him to have anything he wants, but Dean also doesn’t want him around, so he lets him go. So does Sam. Either their conversation was over anyway or he thinks it wouldn’t go anywhere now big brother is here.

“What was it that you wanted to urgently to talk to him about that you couldn’t wait for me to return?” Dean asks tensely once they are alone.

“Judging by how you attempted to keep me in the dark here, I didn’t expect you to be all that excited about the idea. Or going to help with the conversation. I mean, you come in here and Crowley runs off. Really helpful.”

“What can there possibly be that’s so important and can only be discussed with him?”

“He’s kind of important to our plan, is he not? As am I. So who better to ask for details?”

“Jena.”

“Oh, please!”

“Seriously, Sam.” Dean runs a hand over his face, trying to calm his anger. “It’s fucking Crowley. How did you get this far without self-preservation instincts? Do you, by any chance, remember what he did to you?”

“I do, but what does it matter? What makes what Crowley did any different from what any given other person did to me? At least Crowley had a purpose I could get behind. He tried to get me out of the picture so Lucifer wouldn’t reach me and if he’d taken the time to explain things before doing them and I hadn’t been convinced that it wouldn’t work, I might even have supported his idea.”

“I really feel like punching you right now.”

“Why?” Sam sounds honestly confused, like he honestly doesn’t get it. After all these years, how can Dean possibly make him understand that he’s not worthless, that he has the same rights he defends for everyone else?

“You’re not a tool, Sam. You’re not a means to an end, and no one should treat you that way.”

Sam just sighs. He fucking sighs, like he’s tired of this discussion because he knows he won’t be able to convince Dean of his point of view no matter how long they argue.

So Dean has to calm down and try a different angle, one that will help him reach the idiot in front of him. In other words, he needs to mercilessly attack Sam’s weak spot. “What about me? Try for one moment to see this from my perspective. Imagine it was me trying to throw my life away for convenience even if there were about ten thousand other ways. Imagine me sneaking off to talk to Alastair because, hey, nothing personal, he was just out to break the first seal.”

Sam freezes up, as Dean expected him to. He doesn’t feel bad about it. “That something completely different.”

“Why? Because you don’t think you deserve it?”

“Because you had a future, Dean,” Sam snaps. “You still have. And I don’t. So what’s the point? Whether you’re aware or not, you’re only protecting me so I can live long enough to die for the cause.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“So what if I don’t? I could, and that would be okay if it served the purpose. I’m too much of a chess piece to be anything else. Have been all my life, only now I actually know it. No, don’t,” he says when Dean opens his mouth. “It’s okay. I’m not even bitter about it. I just need you to understand that you can’t keep treating me like a person. It’s not going anywhere.”

If he wants to really, really piss Dean off, he’s doing a great job. “You are a freaking person, Sam. You’re my favourite freaking person – don’t you think I can tell the difference between loving you and loving the Impala? Because that thing was my favourite anything, anytime, and I’d still have traded it for you in a heartbeat.”

“That’s not –”

“Do you think the Impala loved me back?”

“You sure acted like she did often enough.” There’s the faintest hint of a smile playing around Sam’s lips.

“Fuck you, Sam. Am I just deluding myself that you love me or do you actually do so?”

“Of course I love you, Dean. More than anything. But what’s the point of that if I let that get in the way of protecting you?”

“The point is that you can’t go on denying yourself any rights and needs you have as a human being.” Dean clamps his hands around the arm rests of the chair Sam is sitting in, all the better to yell into his face. “The point is that knowing what it’d do to you, I wouldn’t leave you just to save the fucking world!”

“Oh Dean.” Now Sam is showing a full smile, but it’s pained, his eyes damp. His long, scarred hands reach up to grasp his brother’s head, pulling it even closer, until their foreheads are almost touching. “You fucking hypocrite. Of course you would.”

Dean has nothing to say in return. He just pulls his brother closer, clutches him against his body so Sam’s head is resting against his shoulder, and tries to accept the way things have to be.

-

Since there’s no way to keep Sam, or anyone, from sacrificing his little brother for the cause and Dean actually gets why it has to be done, he quits the denial game and focuses his energy on finding a way to make sure Sam has the best chances he can have to survive the whole thing. Afterwards, he’ll have enough time to teach his brother something about self-worth and feeling like a fucking hero when they live out their days in the demon- and angel-free world Sam will have saved.

Step one is the actual confrontation with Lucifer. Satan will do anything in his power to kill Sam, so Sam needs to be damn awfully powerful for it. So, a lot of demon blood is needed, no matter if Dean likes it or not. And there’s no point in worrying about the withdrawal so much that Sam doesn’t have a chance to make it that far in the first place.

So while Dean still isn’t comfortable with Sam and Crowley being in the same room, the same doesn’t go for Crowley’s blood. It’s Jena who brings the first dose, telling them they have to start slowly and get Sam’s body used to the powerful stuff. It’s still more than he ever took at once in Dean’s presence.

Jena is also the one to prepare Sam on how to fight her brother. Sam knows how to face angels, has done so often enough, and Cas has taught him a lot about their weaknesses and strengths in the decades they shared, but Jena knows Lucifer better than Cas ever could. Lucifer was the one who taught her all her tricks and now she’s teaching Sam the tricks to defeat him.

The two of them spend a lot of time together, discussing things, Sam listening with that damn intent expression on his face that must have made him every teacher’s favourite. (Dean knows for a fact that in the first years, until he was fourteen or fifteen, Sam hadn’t even tried to get good grades, since the way he grew up taught him that school was something he had to endure because everyone did while it didn’t actually have any meaning for his future life and the work of his family. In those years Sam got good grades simply because he loved to learn new things.) Dean and Castiel mostly watch from the sidelines, rarely getting involved while Jena is present.

She still disappears a lot. Sam still needs a lot of rest. Dean has no way of telling how long they will remain here, how much longer he has before he might lose his brother for good. He asked Jena about it once but her reply was a somewhat vague “We’ll leave when we can.”

Sometimes Dean catches himself hoping Sam’s recovery would go slower.

But with Crowley’s blood, it goes faster than it naturally should. Not much so, because Sam’s body has been through too much to really appreciate the boost, but then, by all rights Sam should be dead by now, or at the very least bound to the bed for another couple of weeks.

The dose of demon blood gets bigger every day. At first Sam was reluctant about it, though Dean didn’t miss the relieved slump of his shoulders when, for the first time in forever, he could drink enough to sate the craving instead of sufficing with a sip or two that probably made the craving worse rather than stilling it.

Now it is normal to see Sam drink three or four glasses worth of blood every day, which is possible only because Crowley’s stolen body recovers from the loss quicker than a human would. He complains about it, the one time Dean accompanies Jena when she goes to refill, but gives his blood willingly. Either he really wants Lucifer gone, or he’s scared of them.

Dean secretly likes the second possibility better.

But the blood does things to Sam beyond helping him heal. It’s subtle at first, but eventually, Dean can no longer ignore the way his brother gets quieter, more intensely focused on something that none of the people around him can see. There’s a gleam to his eyes that looks almost fanatical, and he paces a lot, restless but with nowhere to go. Sleep escapes him no matter how tired he gets, and when he does sleep after all, the nightmares are always screaming.

It’s also kind of hard to ignore the way his formerly hazel eyes have turned into a deep black that never disappears anymore. It’s not all the white disappearing as it does with demons, but the black iris is enough to make Dean reluctant to look into his eyes anymore. But that’s easy, anyway, since Sam doesn’t look into his eyes either.

The nightmares steadily get worse Maybe the blood reaches out to Lucifer, maybe it just does shit to Sam’s mind, but he’s jerking and crying and screaming in his sleep all the time, so Dean can’t really blame him for trying to avoid it. Once, Dean tries to wake him from a nightmare and is blown back, off the bed and halfway through the room by something he can’t see, while Sam arches off the bed in a seizure. Another time Sam wakes up with a start the second the water bottle beside his bed explodes.

Jena is worried about that – really worried, in the this-should-not-happen kind of way that tells Dean things aren’t going as they are supposed to and she’s out of her depth here. This place doesn’t allow for any supernatural powers but her own, she explains at some point. Crowley’s demonic abilities are suppressed, as are Sam’s powers. They are there but he can’t reach them, and that is one of the reasons why he is so restless: the power in him is growing while bottled up with no release. Perhaps it breaking out of him like this was inevitable, she admits – but she did not think it would happen, because Sam’s powers, even with the blood of a high-class demon, shouldn’t be this strong.

If Sam worries about it or even knows that there’s something wrong, Dean can’t tell. Well, it is pretty obvious that something is wrong, everything is wrong, but no one pointed out to Sam yet that he shouldn’t actually be able to use his powers like that, or at all.

“It’s good, though, right?” Dean asks one day, when he’s alone with Jena while Cas is with Sam. “Him being this strong. That means better chances at beating Lucifer.”

“It means mostly that we should really, really hope our plan works.” As usual when Dean is grasping for straws, Jena slaps his hand away. “Sam is Lucifer’s vessel, his true vessel. He was created for no other purpose and all that power was never meant for him.”

Dean never liked having that spelled out but it’s not exactly new information “What exactly does that mean for us now?”

“It means we can’t wait too long. We can’t go too early because Sam won’t be ready, and we can’t wait too long because all that power inside him is meant for Lucifer to handle and only he can. Sam has all these powers that are there even without the demon blood to help him access them, but he can’t use them the way they are meant to be used. It’s getting stronger every day and eventually it’ll tear him apart from the inside or worse.”

“Or worse?”

“He could actually start using them.”

“You just said he couldn’t.”

“No, Sam couldn’t. The moment he does, he’ll turn into something else, much like all the other special children of the demon Azazel. The moment they accepted their powers and used them for their own gain, there was no way back. The fact that Sam never accepted those powers is probably the only reason he didn’t go down the same path.”

“Sam’s been using his powers quite a lot, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, but he always uses the demon blood as a crutch. It enables but also limits his abilities and denies him direct access. Pretty clever, actually.” Jena purses her lips. “Well, apart from the thing where it’s addictive and killing him.”

None of this helps Dean over his bad mood. In fact, he wants to call a stop to all of this more than ever before, but just like before, he can’t do it. He has no right, wouldn’t have it even if it was his call to make.

He wonders, though, if Sam would turn his back to their plan if Dean honestly begged him to.

“So are you still convinced you can get him through the withdrawal?” he asks bitterly, remembering the warning from long, long ago that if Sam continued as he was doing, with the powers and the blood, that there would be no turning back for him. He’d lose all humanity, Dean had been told (by none other than Castiel, who is now for all intents and purposes in full support of this plan).

Is that what’s waiting for Sam now? Is he turning into something else, something not-Sam that might survive the battle and the withdrawal but won’t be Dean’s brother anymore?

But didn’t Dean have doubts like this before? And if he remembered correctly, that didn’t work out so well for either of them.

Still, it’s hard to push them away, now, when Sam acts so erratic and pulls the bedroom apart in his sleep.

“Don’t worry about the withdrawal,” Jena tells him as she turns to leave, but whether she means that the prospect is no worse than before or that the withdrawal is the least of their worries, she doesn’t say.

-

Almost a day passes before Dean gets to talk to Sam again, and when he does, he isn’t even sure if his brother is listening. They are alone for the first time in what feels like ages, Jena having withdrawn to recharge her powers after a day of training and Castiel being nowhere in sight, and Dean is tired and stressed and just wants Sammy to look at him and tell him it’s all going to be okay.

That won’t do. He’s the big brother in this set up and Sam the one who needs support.

“Sam.” He’s been trying to get a proper reaction out of his brother for a while now, but Sam just sits there on the edge of the bed, staring blindly ahead, his hair unruly and moving slightly with the back and forth rocking of Sam’s shoulders. He makes a movement that might be a nod, might be an acknowledgement of having been addressed, but Dean can’t be sure of even that. “Sam,” he repeats, his voice stronger. He grabs his brother’s bony shoulder and feels the heat through his shirt. “Are you in there, little brother?”

Finally, Sam’s bloodshot eyes focus on him, if only for a second. He looks sick. He’s pale and feverish and Dean feels him tremble. It must be the exhaustion, or the power tearing him apart, or both.

They can’t stall this much longer, Jena was right.

“We’re leaving tomorrow.”

Sam’s words are rough, hoarse and completely unexpected. Dean almost reels back as if hit by a physical blow. Instead he tightens his grip on Sam’s shoulder, takes hold of the other one and crouches before him. “Look at me, Sammy,” he demands, staying that way until Sam does. “Hey,” he says when he finally has his brother’s attention. “You look like crap.”

Sam smiles at him. It’s thin and brittle, but he tries. “I’m scared, Dean.” And no, that’s not okay, that’s so very far from okay. For a second Dean resents his brother for being unable to put on a brave face and making him feel like this, but that’s just his own panic showing its ugly head. Sam is scared and there’s nothing Dean can do to help him.

“It’s gonna be okay, Sam,” Dean whispers, makes it a promise because there is no other acceptable option. “You’re gonna kick his ass and then it’ll all be over. Jena’ll help you get over the blood and then we’ll just sit around and watch the world recover. It’s just two more days and everything will be fine.”

In response, Sam lets out at chocked sob and starts clinging to his brother as if Dean’s presence alone can save him from damnation.

-

Long ago, years and centuries in the past, Dean made a deal for his brother’s life that left him with one year to live. They had worked out a plan to save him but deep inside Dean knew that his time had come. The last night before the year ran out he couldn’t sleep. Even knowing that he would need his senses sharp the next day if there was to be any hope at all, he only tossed on the sheets for an hour or so before giving up and finding something to do. There was no point in wasting time like that; sleep wouldn’t come, and all he could do was lie awake and think about how he was wasting the last night in all of eternity in which he would know something like peace.

This night it’s no different. The only exception is that Dean isn’t even sure it is night, or if the word has any meaning in this place. And, of course, there’s the fact that tomorrow is going to be the end, but not for either of them. Just for the apocalypse. Just for Lucifer.

He just wants it to be over.

And of course this night is nothing, nothing at all like his own last one, because now he’s the one who might get left behind, the one desperately trying to save something and fearing it’s already lost. For the first time, Dean gets a taste of what Sam was going through when his deal came due. (When Sam died for the first time, it happened suddenly, without warning. In many ways, it was kinder.)

When it was Dean’s turn, Sam didn’t even attempt to sleep, though he made Dean try. This, at least, is the same. Sam is beat, looking ready to drop, his eyes red and his hands trembling with exhaustion, and Dean tries to make him lie down and close his eyes, but it’s hopeless. Sam is too agitated and nervous, too much brimming with power he can’t let out and can’t contain and if he were to sleep, in all honesty, Dean doesn’t think his dreams would be any kinder than what he himself had to endure in his final days, when Hell was already bleeding through.

So Sam never even lies down and Dean lets him pace, lets him scribble in the notebook he somehow managed to save through all that happened and tries to distract him with conversation, which doesn’t work because he might just as well be talking to a frantic, utterly heartbreaking wall. At least, he thinks, this won’t be Sam’s last chance at peaceful sleep. He’s not going to Hell – at least not forever. Even if it fails and Lucifer kills him, Sam will give in eventually and then he won’t suffer anymore.

Perhaps Lucifer will even be kind enough to make him forget.

It’s the only consolation he can hold on to as he finally gives up talking and lets the rest of the night pass in tense silence.

-

The next day comes far too quickly. Dean thought he would get time to prepare, that they would all gather in the kitchen to talk through their plan, have a last snack, all go to the bathroom one last time, the usual leaving procedure. Instead he blinks awake from the minutes of sleep that fell over him while he was sitting on a chair to bright light – much brighter than the dimmed lights he hoped would lure Sam to sleep some. Jena comes into the room, followed by Cas and carrying a bottle filled with dark red blood. Sam takes it with shaking hands, has troubled unscrewing the lid. He doesn’t hold back, doesn’t set it down until it’s empty. No more feeding him with drops on someone else’s palm. These days Sam can drink as much as he can take.

Dean knows, without anyone telling him, that this is the last dose he’ll ever get.

Crowley lingers in the doorway, for the first time since Dean caught him and Sam in the kitchen coming within sight of Dean’s brother. Sam ignores him so completely it seems deliberate. He never looks at the demon and maybe that’s the reason: with his powers flaring the way they do, just looking at a demon might be painful. Dean imagines him being able to see the ugly truth under the human façade, the way Dean was able to see demons within their possessed hosts on his last day before Hell.

“You don’t give much warning, do you?” he hisses at Jena, who looks back entirely unaffected.

“You knew we were going to leave today.”

“Just like that? Won’t you at least tell us the details of your brilliant plan before we meet Lucifer, or are we going to run around for a few more weeks before we actually get around to ending this?”

“It will end today,” she confirms his original assumption, much to his relief. “Either way.”

“So. We go out and run right into Lucifer’s arms? Give me something to work with here! What do I have to expect when we leave?”

“I won’t bother with the protections that usually shield us from detection. With Sam powerful like this, he will shine like a beacon. That is all. Lucifer will come to us quickly.”

“Oh, so we just get out and wait for him? And what if someone else is faster? Or he sends some lackey to come instead?”

“Won’t happen,” Jena assures him with a casual wave of her hand. “Sam is so powerful now that no being, demon, angel, or otherwise, is going to risk coming near him, and even if they did, he could toast them without effort. And Lucy won’t let anyone have this, even if he found someone stupid enough to try.”

“You really think he won’t recognize the trap?”

“Oh, he’ll know it’s a trap. He’ll come anyway, because he thinks Sam’s still no danger to him.” She grins briefly. “Hubris: always something to count on.”

“Awesome,” Dean mutters, biting his lip. “What do we do? Take the rings and wait for our chance?” He’d hoped Jena had gotten the information how to use them from Crowley yet, because he would rather not have to depend on the demon in such a crucial moment. But no – of course Crowley wouldn’t have revealed it yet. Not before he’s sure he can get away in time.

“No, we – most of all you – are going to see that we get out of there,” Jena corrects him. “You and Castiel are just walking targets. Lucifer is going to go after you first, to bring Sam off balance, so you will not be anywhere near them.”

“The hell I won’t! I won’t let Sam fight him on his own.”

“Dean, she’s right.”

The hoarse voice comes as a surprise. Quiet and unfocused as Sam is, it was easy to assume he wasn’t really aware of anything spoken around him, but apparently he heard every word. “You’d only die. I can’t protect you. Please, just go.”

“That’s not an option. Who’s gonna watch over you, huh?”

“Sam will watch over himself,” Castiel joins the conversation. It’s the first time Dean heard him speak in days. “But he can only do that if he doesn’t have to watch over us as well.”

“What about Jena?” Dean asks, desperate not to let his little brother face the Devil without him.

“I’m gonna run right with you and keep your asses from randomly getting fried,” Jena informs him.

“What?” No, that doesn’t make sense. Dean really should have addressed this all sooner instead on relying on getting enough notice of their leaving to have a discussion, because obviously, nobody really thought this through. “I thought you’d fight with Sam. You’re an archangel! The two of you would have much better chances than just Sam on his own.”

“True, but it would also make sure that Lucy called for his own support team, and believe me, they outnumber us. When it’s just him and Sam he will make sure it stays just him and Sam. Pride and all that. Sam is his, he won’t let anyone else take this victory from him. Other players would get in the way and might keep the cage from being opened.”

“Who will even open the cage in your plan? We’re all going to be gone!”

“Sam will do it.”

“Oh, right, he’ll just get the upper hand and then take out the rings and sing the incantation or whatever while sitting on Satan.”

“Give him some credit,” Castiel comments and turns away to take the now empty bottle out of Sam’s hands. Dean glares at him, feeling betrayed. Cas should be with him on this. He shouldn’t want to leave Sam alone any more than Dean does.

Then he catches sight of Cas’ face, just for a heartbeat, and understands that Cas does share his feeling, but has resigned himself to his own helplessness.

And Dean still hates him just as he hates himself as he accepts it as well; as he plays over the possible scenarios in his mind and finds none that has him present and ends well. But the thought of knowing Sam is fighting the hardest and most important battle of his life and not being there to support him, not knowing how he is doing – that is almost worse.

“What about using the rings?” he hears his own voice ask, coming from far away. “When is he going to learn that?”

“As soon as we’re out of here and I can get my ass to safety the moment you have no further use for me,” Crowley answers in Jena’s stead, and of course that makes sense. He has little reason to trust any of them.

Dean doesn’t like any of this, not at all. Every fibre of his being screams at him to put a stop to the plan, but he couldn’t do that even if he tried. The decision was made long ago. Maybe Sam’s journey was always meant to end with him facing Lucifer, on his own.

Hell, no. Sam’s journey isn’t meant to end with anything that included the words ‘on his own’. Dean is meant to be with him, no matter what fate has to say about it. And that is exactly the reason why he can’t move now, can’t bring himself to speak any more, because everything is wrong and he has no choice, no choice but to let it get worse.

So here they are all ready to leave. Jena and Cas carried in the backpacks they had with them when coming here and now Cas wordlessly hands Dean his coat. It’s going to be cold again. They are leaving here to be cold and hungry and Sam-less.

How long is this going to take? How long before they can return and pick Sam up, prepare to get him off the blood or – Dean swallows dryly as he forces himself to face the possibility – bury him?

He takes the coat with numb hands, slips into it. Crowley isn’t wearing anything but his suit and Jena is in her usual sleeveless dress, but Cas is wrapped up. He and Dean, they are dressing for survival. Sam isn’t.

His coat is still hanging over the back of a chair, as it has been every since they came here. Dean grabs it, hands it to his brother without a word. Sam stares. He doesn’t take it.

“I won’t need that,” he whispers.

“You wear it. It’s cold outside.”

“I won’t feel it. I don’t feel much of anything right now. The power… It’s overlaying everything else.”

“You wear it. If you want me to leave, you’re going to dress properly so I’ll know you’ll be warm enough until we come back and get you.”

It’s his big brother voice, and Sam lets out a sound that sounds a lot like a sob when he takes the coat with trembling hands and slips into it with jerky movements. His arms wrap around himself. He’s afraid, Dean realizes. He’s going to save the world or damn it and Dean gave him a coat because that is all he can do.

He would love to give him the amulet, Sam’s most important present to Dean, the one possession he treasured above anything else, perhaps even his car, but his hand goes to his chest and his finger only close around empty air.

“Are we ready, then?” There is only impatience in Jena’s voice. (She doesn’t care for the brother she might be about to lose.) “Let’s go.”

-

As predicted, it’s cold when they emerge, although there is no snow. Once again Dean has no idea where they are. Stone greets them all around; they are in a small canyon, or earth gab, that would have no room for the house they just left. The light is already getting dimmer; not a good time of day to start running.

An icy wind hits them the moment they step out of the protection of the rocks, making Sam’s coat and Jena’s hair fly. Above them, the clouds and the dust race across the sky. Dean’s hand goes to his brother’s shoulder; he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to let go.

A barren landscape lies before them. Earthy hills rise and fall until the gloom of the oncoming night swallows them, the ground slowly dropping to one side until it ends in a cliff. Dean can make out the glitter of the ocean in the distance, quickly getting lost in the haze. There are rocks strewn all over the hills, pillars of molten stone rising toward the sky. If there ever was a place fitting for a last stand, this is it.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Jena says. “Crowley’s gonna give Sam the magic words now, and we’re gonna wait long enough to make sure he does so before we’re out of here. Any questions? No? Awesome. Say your goodbyes, you have five seconds.”

Dean wants to pull his brother close, pull him into a hug and hold on tight. But he is only able to place a hand on his shoulder and with effort he manages to meet Sam’s eyes. “Kick him in the ass,” he hears himself say, Ellen Harvelle’s long lost voice echoing in his mind.

Sam smiles at him; he’s stronger than Dean, after all. Afterwards, he turns to Cas and tells him to look after Dean for him, and Dean wants to scream at him because they are only going to be apart for a few hours and there’s no need to make this overly dramatic. No need to make plans for a future in which Sam won’t be present.

Jena, predictably, doesn’t say anything. She only places two rings in Sam’s hand and then Crowley fishes in his pockets for the other two. Without doubt Jena was aware that he had them with him all the time, but without knowing how to use them they are not worth much.

That even Jena doesn’t know what to do with them would be interesting if Dean actually had it in him to care.

The rings, once close to each other, snap together as if attracted by magnets, forming a structure with three rings placed around one in the centre. Sam holds them loosely, inspecting them through bloodshot eyes.

He looks so tired.

“We’re going to be over there,” Crowley declares. “You guys can watch but I don’t want you in hearing distance when I tell him what to do. And when I’m done, you’d better make sure to get out of here. I certainly will.”

“I bet,” Jena says. “Well, then, don’t waste time. I would think you have about five minutes before Lucifer homes in on us.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be here a second longer than I have to.” Crowley takes Sam by the arm and Dean wants to stab him. Sam follows the demon willingly and without another look at Dean; he just walks away and Dean wants to stop him. But he doesn’t move. It is as if he were frozen.

“Brace yourselves.” Jena nearly sing-songs, sounding completely unconcerned, just eager to get things moving. “As soon as Crowley is done, we’re gone.”

“Lucifer will pick up on your flight,” Castiel mutters, somewhere far away.

“Lucifer won’t give a damn about us.”

Dean hears them but doesn’t listen. His eyes are fixed on Sam and Crowley, walking down the slope until they reach even ground. The wind is even stronger there, though not quite yet a storm. It billows Sam’s coat and hair as Crowley pulls him close and down, speaking directly into his ear. Clever. If Jena could see his lips move, she’d read the words, but they are obscured by Sam’s head now.

Then the demon pulls back, says something else and Sam nods, stands straight and tense and ready as Crowley pulls a knife from underneath his coat and plunges it into Sam’s chest.

Dean’s scream is ripped from his throat like an echo from the past.

Strong hands grab him from behind, hold him back as he watches Sam crumble to the ground, making no move at all the stop his fall. Crowley stands there for a second longer, looking down at him, then up and at Dean and Cas and Jena and he fucking nods, nods as if to assure them of a job well done and then he’s gone, and a heartbeat later so is everything else.

The last thing Dean sees is the wind playing with Sam’s coat.

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