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justinedelargeAuthor:
justinedelargeFandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest
Spoilers: Seasons 1-5
Word Count:3672
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own. But I do own what I do own, such as my original characters and my plot.
Summary: Dean wakes to find Sam gone. In the hospital, something unexpected happens to Rosier
Master post of all chapters here
A sound woke Dean. Not the sound of the door shutting several minutes earlier. That click, he slept right through. This was a faint, high-frequency ringing, almost beyond the range of his hearing. He rubbed his eyes, a dull ache in his chest, his senses telling him something was wrong. Very wrong. He reached for Sam.
Sam wasn't there.
Dean sat up in a quick motion without using his hands. "Sam?" The candle was still lit. Dean touched the dark spot on Sam's pillow. His fingers came away wet with Sam's tears. His gaze fell on the bedside table where they had put their knives.
Only one knife lay on the table.
"Sammy!" Dean jumped to his feet, snatching a pair of jeans from the dresser and yanking them on. That sound again, like a distant wail, the cry of an abandoned child. He picked up the knife and pulled it out of its sheath.
The sound (not a sound a feeling a vibration) was coming from the knife.
He ran down the hallway, glancing into the bathroom. It was empty. He flipped on the living room light. Sam wasn't there.
A sheet of paper lay on the kitchen counter.
Dean's skin erupted with sweat, his body jolting like a truck accidentally downshifted three gears too low. He put his hand over his mouth. For five seconds, he literally could not move.
He picked up the note.
Dean,
There's no way I can make you understand why I have to do this. But I'll try. I'm going to find out what the angel meant. I have to know.
Dean moaned, an animal in agony.
Azazel put his evil in me. I can't expose you to that. I love you too much. This is the only way. Dad's plan isn't going to work. I can't explain how I know. I just know. If my plan doesn't work and I don't come back, you'll be better off without me like this, the way he made me.
Dean swayed and steadied himself with one hand on the counter.
I have to face this, and I have to do it alone. I can't risk you. You're everything. I need to know you're safe. Please, Dean, if you love me at all, stay in the Sanctuary. You have to be safe. You have to stay pure.
And Dean, if I come back bad, I'd never ask you to do what needs to be done. But Dad can do it. He'll have to do it.
If I don't make it, I need you to know. I was so lucky to have you. Even for a little while. If I didn't love you so much, I wouldn't be doing this.
I think I love you more than anyone has ever loved another person.
Forgive me,
Your Sammy
Dean dropped the letter to the counter. He stood utterly still, breathing fast. Faster.
He erupted, seizing a plate from the sink and hurling it across the room. It hit the wall, shattering into shards and a puff of white dust. Its partner followed, exploding with a loud crash.
Dean grabbed anything within reach and threw it, howling with anguish. When there was nothing left to throw or smash, he gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, pulling with all his force as though trying to wrench it free, veins in his arms popping, a hoarse cry ripped from him. He bent over, gasping for breath, then threw his head back and screamed the name of his love. "Sam!"
Pounding at the door, heavy, frantic. "Dean?"
With the dexterity of a magician, Dean folded the note with one hand and stuck it in his pocket before opening the door. It was Reggie, still in his pajamas, knife in hand, gleaming and deadly sharp. Behind him, John emerged from his room, wearing only jeans and unlaced boots, holding his gun.
"Sam's gone." A tremor moved through him as he said the words, like he'd swallowed something foul. "He left."
Reggie was on him first, before John could get there, putting his hand on his shoulder to steady him. Dean's eyes filled with tears and he clapped his hand over Reggie's, squeezing it hard enough to bruise. "He left."
Reggie closed his eyes, unable to bear the agony in Dean's face.
"Where'd he go?" John entered the apartment. Behind him came the shuffle of crutches.
"I don't know. He said your plan wasn't going to work, and he had to do it alone."
"He said that? And you let him leave?" John's brows knitted together into a scowl.
Dean pulled away from Reggie and stepped into John's space. "I'd never let him leave." His breathing came hard and fast. "He took off while I was asleep. Left a note."
John held out his hand. "Let me see it."
"No." Dean shook his head, a small, defiant movement.
John's head jerked in surprise. "What did you say?"
"It's private." Dean's mouth was a hard line.
"What's so private I can't read it, Dean? Give it over."
"I said no." Dean clenched his right hand into a fist.
"Drop it, John." Bobby crutched his way into the room in his red flannel union suit.
John shot Bobby a look warning him to keep out of it.
"If Sam wrote a note to Dean, that note's for Dean. Let it go." He swung forward on the crutches, inserting himself between the two of them. "What else did he say, Dean?"
"He said if he didn't make it back, he'd be better off dead than having to live with that shit in his veins. And he said if he came back bad, you'd have to kill him." Dean glared at his father, jaw tight, his anger spilling over onto John now. "Guess you wouldn't have any trouble with that, huh, Dad?"
John took a step back. "Dean, that's not fair. I'd never hurt Sam—"
"No? Right. Like you never hurt him before. Standing him up at Christmas. Over and over. Missing his birthday. Always, always giving him shit for the smallest mistake. Never telling him you loved him or were proud of him. Not until he got hurt because of you and you felt guilty." He took a step closer, practically in John's face. "You were never there for him!" Spit flew from Dean's mouth. "Never! It was me. It's always been me." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "I saved him before. I'll save him now. Just stay out of my way."
Dean turned his back on his father and stalked into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
The three men stared at each other, at the shards of broken dishes littering the kitchen and living room. No one dared say anything.
A few moments later, Dean emerged, fully dressed, eyes steely and cold. "I'm going to get Sam. You can come if you want. But you might not make it back." The look on Dean's face made it crystal clear that he didn't care if he himself didn't come back, so long as he was with Sam. He yanked his coat on. "Oh, and anyone who tries to hurt Sam? I'll put you down." He stared down each one in turn, with John last. "Any of you."
John blinked, stunned at the dark promise in his son's eyes.
Dean's mouth twitched. "I don't care if Sam goes full demon. No one fucking touches him."
"No one's going to hurt Sam." Reggie's voice was calm and even. "I'll back you on that myself."
"What's the plan, Dean?" Bobby shifted his weight on his crutches.
Dean cocked his head at Bobby, opening his mouth to speak.
Bobby cut him off. "Don't even think about telling me to stay behind.."
Dean gestured to Bobby's injured knee, an incredulous look on his face.
"There's more to hunting than just what your body can do, Dean. Thought you learned that by now."
Dean dropped his head forward, then nodded. "Ok. Get dressed. I'm leaving in ten, whether you're ready or not."
"Where you got in mind?" Bobby inquired.
"Hospital."
Reggie looked at him quizzically.
"I think Sam's going after Azazel by himself."
John ran his hand over his beard, despair in his eyes. Reggie went pale. Bobby shook his head.
"That demon knows where Azazel is holed up, and he's gonna tell us," Dean continued.
"What if he won't?" John asked.
Dean's hand moved to his knife, his face hard and cold. "Then I'll make him." He frowned, fingers twitching faintly on the handle of the knife. His eyelashes fluttered, a curious expression on his face.
"What?" Reggie asked.
"It doesn't like it." Dean stared at Reggie. "Being apart from the other one." He gripped the handle tighter. "It's like…it's hurting." Dean shivered. "Pulling."
Reggie put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean. Can you…can you tell which direction?"
Dean pulled the knife out of its sheath and brought the flat of the blade to his lips. His eyelids fluttered shut, an expression of pain on his face. He opened his eyes, deep green and lit with a desperate hope. "Yeah. I can." He put the knife back in its sheath. "Get ready. We gotta go. Now." He eyed Reggie. "I'll go ahead. Make sure the coast is clear for us." Reggie nodded, knowing that Dean meant making sure Danny and Juliane didn't see John coming through and ask questions.
As Dean walked down the hall, he felt Sam's absence like the throbbing of a wounded limb, pain surging with every heartbeat. Sam Sam Sam…
Dean went ahead into the common room. Danny was already up, fully dressed. Dean's eyebrows shot up.
"Heard a commotion. Figured there was trouble. What can I do?" He looked behind Dean. "Where's Sam?"
"Took off after the bad guy."
"Alone?"
Dean nodded, mouth a hard line.
"I'm coming."
"No, you're not."
"Not alone, you aren't." Behind him, Juliane came out from her room. She wore heavy black boots, black jeans, a plain black t-shirt and a fleece-lined leather jacket. On her waist was a tool belt, but the tools inside it weren't screwdrivers and hammers. Instead, the belt bristled with vials, iron spikes, a wooden stakes, a leather pouch, a long coil of wire, a silver flask, a gun with a strange metal reservoir on top, and several artichoke-shaped metal objects. "I'm coming too." She tossed Danny a dark green leather bandolier bearing salt rounds and silver throwing knives engraved with sigils.
"No." Dean turned even paler than he already was. "Just—no."
"Let us help."
Dean's eyes darted to the left, toward the door leading to the line of apartments, nervous tension bunching up his shoulders. "I can't. Please. Just…do this for me. For us." The sound of a door closing, down the hall. "You want to help me and Sam? Go back in your room. Right now. I'm begging you." Dean couldn't keep the panicked tremor out of his voice.
"Dean." Juliane took his hands in hers. "We guard your secrets. All of them."
Dean pulled his hands away, frantic. "You don't get it. I can't—"
"Do you trust me?"
The sound of footsteps moving down the hallway toward them.
Dean shook his head. "Not with this."
"You and Sam. You gave me my life back. I owe you."
Danny stepped closer and placed his hand on the small of her back. "We both do."
The footsteps grew louder. Dean dropped his head, and then looked up at them through his eyelashes. He exhaled, and closed his hand over his amulet, like he was drawing strength from it—or asking permission. "Alright." He had the look of a man kneeling in front of the executioner, with the axe about to fall. "Don't hate us," he whispered.
John walked through the door. Behind him came Reggie and Bobby. They stopped dead at the sight of Danny and Juliane standing with Dean. Bobby muttered something only Reggie could hear. Reggie moved forward and stood next to Dean, in a seemingly casual way.
"We're ready," John said to Dean.
Juliane blinked, looking at each of them in turn. She cocked her head. "You all know this man?"
John looked rueful. "I'm sorry. I lied to you. I had to get inside to see them. It was a matter of life and death. And I knew you wouldn't let me if I just asked."
"Them?" Juliane asked.
Dean closed his eyes and turned his head away, unable to watch what was about to happen.
"Sam and Dean. My sons."
Silence.
"You're their father," Danny said carefully, a flicker of emotion moving over his face to rapidly to identify.
"Yes. I'm John Winchester."
Reggie opened his mouth to speak, but Juliane spoke first. "Of course you are. I should have seen the resemblance sooner." She moved closer to Dean and put her arm around his shoulder. Dean opened his eyes and raised his head, jaw thrust forward, putting on a nearly perfect poker face. Only the faint trembling of his body gave away his true feelings, and only Juliane could feel it.
Reggie met Juliane's gaze and nodded in a gesture of gratitude. Bobby closed his eyes and muttered to himself.
"The John Winchester?" Danny asked.
John nodded.
"Huh."
Juliane was not smiling. "You lied to us. You came to us under false pretenses. You broke the trust."
John looked down. "I know. I'm sorry for that."
Juliane shot him a look that said he had no idea how bad his transgression really was. "We'll talk about that later. When we have time." She turned her attention to Dean, and gave him her sweetest smile. "Now come on. Let's go get your brother." She rubbed his back, a soothing gesture.
Dean wiped his hand across his mouth and shot her a look of infinite gratitude.
Danny wouldn't make eye contact with Dean. The muscles in Dean's jaw fluttered, and he gave a subtle, resigned nod. Time to worry about that later. Sam Sam Sam…
Everyone was dressed and loaded for bear. The six of them stepped outside into the parking lot, Dean in the lead. Reggie, Bobby, John and Dean all wore anti-possession amulets. The night was cold and black, lit by a scattering of stars and the bright red NO VACANCY sign. All the demons watching the entrance were gone.
"Hospital, then?" Reggie asked.
"No. We don't need him. I can find Sam myself." Dean pulled the knife out of its sheath.
John rubbed the back of his head. "We could use a pet demon fighting on our side."
Dean shook his head. "They said they'd help, but on the sly. Not face to face, in a fight. They're traitors but they haven't officially defected. This is just us." He turned to face everyone. "Anyone who wants to stay behind, I get it. But do it now. We gotta go." From the second he read the note, Dean had been barely able to keep himself from screaming down the hallway to the stolen car and driving hell-bent for leather to find Sam or die trying. Keep him from Azazel (those yellow eyes boring into him those yellow teeth and cracked lips spewing lies Jesus Sammy what the hell were you thinking if he puts one fucking claw on you I'm going to tear him into screaming strips of blood rag)
No one budged.
Dean gripped the handle of his knife, the promise of sure death in his eyes to anyone who got between him and his Sam. (oh god Sammy why'd you leave me) He brought the knife to his mouth and kissed it, feeling the thrum and cry of the blade on his lips. "Let's go get Sam."
As the demon drove him to Azazel, Sam closed his eyes, bringing up a clear vision of Gus in the hospital, clasping Rosier's hand, head bowed as if in prayer. He concentrated hard, trying to conjure up that essence of Gus, as if he were a scent or flavor, he'd felt when Gus had called to him to come outside.
He inhaled sharply. It was there. He was plugged in. He sent a thought, strong and clear: If they come, don't tell them where Azazel is.
The feeling that flew back across the connection was pure shock and panic, Gus sensing far more about Sam's purpose than he had intended. Do not face him alone we're not ready what are you doing—
Sam shook his head and broke the connection. He glared at the demon. "How much longer?"
"What, you gotta take a piss? We'll get there when we get there."
Sam's mouth twitched, dark promise in his eyes.
The demon rolled his eyes. "We're nearly there, hotshot."
Sam swallowed hard, summoning up the courage he needed, and let his features contort, an arrogant sneer marring his mouth. He slapped the demon hard across the cheek, making him jerk the wheel, sending the car careening into the oncoming, empty lane and correcting it back into their lane.
"Show me some fucking respect." Sam leaned back in his seat, deliberately not looking at the demon as if he had no fear of reprisal. "I'm going to be your new boss real soon."
The demon wiped the blood from his mouth. "Yes sir."
The corners of Sam's mouth curled up. "Good boy."
He held his hands in his lap, twirling his silver ring in circles. It felt like his blood hurt, like he was wailing without cease in a long, unbroken cry. He could almost hear it. Dean.
Gus stumbled to the hospital room sink and splashed cold water over his face. Behind him, Rosier twisted and writhed despite the sedatives and pain killers flowing through his system. He hadn't reacted like this to the pain of his burns, severe as they had been. No, this was because of whatever Sam's knife put into him, and he was helpless to escape it.
Rosier dreamed. He was a mole, scurrying through his burrow, running from the river of light pursuing him, splashing up around him. He could not run fast enough, dragged down by six cords dangling from his body, and the light overtook him, blinding him with its silvery luminescence, moving in him like a living thing. He shifted, became a woman draped in black fabric, mourning clothes, a heavy veil over her face. He (she) screamed, pinned to the ground by six silver spikes through her body, as the light burst in, burning the veil away.
He screamed, and became a snake, a bird, an ancient sea creature whose name has long since passed from all knowledge. Each time, the light pursued him, overtook him, until he was pinned, helpless.
No escape.
He threw his head back, and surrendered to what the light wanted. Do what you will take me burn me do it
The light swallowed him whole. (hand slipping inside his hand eyes gone emerald green gasping taking him in like a sacrament oh god please only you only ever going to be you head thrown back in laughter hand on his neck thumb caressing his jaw breathing out his name like a prayer Sammy Sam Sam call and response Dean Dean Dean curled up sleeping breathing in tandem naked nothing between them nothing separating them one heart one flesh one soul love like the breath of god love like the reward at the end of a life of suffering love like rain like warmth like light burning away impurity love burning away corruption love burning away evil)
Pain. Pain like he had never known. In the centuries he had spent in torment before he got down off the rack and started putting bodies up on it, all the pain he had known was nothing like this.
He felt the pain of all the souls he had tortured. Felt the pain he had inflicted, the abject loneliness and fear he had instilled, stripped away from all light and love and hope. Felt it not as a demon, reveling in suffering, but as the man he once was. The veil burned away, unable to escape, the man he was opened his eyes, had to look upon what he had done.
He hovered in the moment forever, as himself, the man that had once lived and breathed and loved and been loved. Rosier Philippe Delacroix was lifted to the surface of the dark waters, looked upon his works and despaired. Please let me atone destroy me blot me out of existence I beg of you let me atone let me give up my right to exist burn my soul to dust oh please take me take me forgive me for what I have done
The pain stopped.
The light shone just as brightly, but now it was a liquid current of warmth and love. Love, pouring through him, so pure, so selfless. The light roiled, crested and shot out of him: a beam of light from his forehead, throat, chest, solar plexus, small of his back, between his legs. The crown of his head.
His mouth fell open, and issued a low rumbling tone, like a Tuvan throat singer.
Gus turned his head slowly to the side and stared.
Rosier's body rattled like an old roller coaster clattering down a wooden track. Black smoke seethed from his mouth, and was enveloped by glinting silver fog, surrounding it, dissolving it, pattering to the floor in inky droplets, where it sizzled, cooled, and vanished.
Rosier opened his eyes. Gus reached out and took his left hand. "Rosy?" He searched Rosier's face, an unthinkable possibility dawning on him. He chanted a long phrase in Latin.
Rosier's eyes remained green. They did not flash black.
Gus dropped Rosier's hand and staggered backward until he bumped into a chair. He slowly walked forward and touched Rosier's left cheek, gazing into his green eyes, a look of absolute astonishment illuminating his features. "Human," he whispered. "You're human."
