moragmacpherson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moragmacpherson) wrote2010-11-06 02:32 pm
moragmacpherson) wrote2010-11-06 02:32 pm
Fic: The Catch (3/3, Hard R, Supernatural, Reverse Big Bang)
Master Post
Part Three
He loses track of a lot of things after that night, including his self. He floats in and out of awareness, catches glimpses of his body back on the rack, shadows of hellfire, snatches of conversation with no context. He knows he's waiting for something, looking for something, but until then, he might as well float on.
He drifts through a haze of mixed up sensations. He remembers the smell of sunshine and the taste of green. Kirk Hammet's guitar solos feel like leather and tin and the wildflower petals he trailed through Cassie's hair. Blood sounds like a siren that chases him away. Back off. Don't need to be here. The secret ingredient isn't available, still on back-order, call back next Tuesday.
All these months in Hell he had ignored his memories and refused to contemplate the future. Banned from the present now, he takes leisurely tours of both. Just the stuff on Earth though, he's had enough of Hell. But his life is complicated; he remembers imaginary pasts and futures that never happened with such clarity - he knows he was never a logger in Washington, that his brother didn't disappear forever the Christmas before his deal came due, though killing a velociraptor with a laser beam one day could be kind of cool - but the false memories feel so real, he remembers them just as well as he remembers his brother's high school graduation. His brother hadn't told him about it, didn't think he would care about some stupid ceremony. But he had been so proud to see his little brother (always little, no matter how many more growth spurts he had) walk across that plywood stage, flip that stupid gold tassel (not red like most of those idiots, but honors gold) to the left side of his mortarboard. He didn't need a bunch of polyester thread to tell him Sam is a genius.
Sam.
That's what he was waiting for. He needs to find Sam. But his body isn't going anywhere on its own, so Dean has to wait for Sam to come to him and then...
His mind floats on.
He doesn't have any idea how many days have passed when he finally wakes up, but there is one thing he knows for sure: today he'll see Sam again. And there's something he forgot, something important he'd shoved back in the furthest reaches of his brain for safekeeping before he'd taken that little walkabout. But it's okay. He is serene. He'll remember when the time comes.
By the time that Dusty shows up at his door and orders him to "Shut up and follow me," he's settled back into himself a little better. He's a little troubled by the fact that his soul - mind - whatever that was - is also some kind of hippie space-cadet. He still can't remember what he decided to forget and he's starting to get really worried.
Or maybe he's just reaching for anything else to worry about other than that other question, the one he can't forget. He gets a little aftertaste of that serene feeling at the thought. He walks on, his posture improving with every step. Once he knows that answer, he knows that everything else will fall into place. Until then he just has to be Dean Winchester. He knows how to do that; just needs to add a little swagger to his step as he mounts these stairs and Dean's smooth, so smooth, to pull that off while wearing leg irons.
So it was that after many (nine? ten? how the fuck should he know?) months of captivity, Dean Winchester emerged from the depths of the Citadel with a smirk on his face. His eyes widened slightly as two minions grabbed his upper arms and dragged him forward to the parapets. It was a good view up here: he could see for miles but among the things he couldn't see was an end to the armed hordes of demons that circled the keep. The innermost ring faced outwards, defenders, but after a few hundred yards there was a thin break of no man's land between them and the sea of attacking forces beyond. Dean centered himself, checking for any sign of illusion, found none and couldn't help but whistle in quiet awe at the sheer number of demons assembled. Sam better have a damn good explanation...
Dean was so caught up in searching through the faces of the crowd that he didn't flinch at all when Meg called out from her position just to his right, "Boy King, is this the soul whose release you seek?" There weren't any microphones or anything but the laws of physics didn't apply in Hell and Dean suspected even the unseen edges of the crowd heard her every word as clear as he did. The field of troops shimmered with motion as millions of demons shifted in response, the attackers all craning their necks in order to - oh. Dean shifted a little under the weight of so many stares but managed to raise his hand in a sheepish wave. He still couldn't-
"That is the man whom you will now release to me, Queen of Spiders," and Dean could track that voice to its source, drink in every detail of the sight: a tall figure standing alone, a few paces ahead of the rest of the attackers in an idiotically exposed position and, as ever, in desperate need of a haircut.
"Hey, Sammy!" Dean called out and the figure flexed his shoulders - peeved and indignant, if Dean wasn't mistaken. It occurred to him that the Boy King might dislike that nickname even more than Sam did. Well, boo-fucking-hoo. His body wasn't the one on the rack that whole time, though he must have been pretty busy from the looks of things. The demonic hordes are still staring and Dean wishes he could scale this all down, wasn't expecting such a grand finale. What had he been expecting? Something. But he needs to focus, wouldn't mind a pair of binoculars. He needs to get a closer look and it's so hard to tell from up here.
Is he looking at Sam or the Boy King? That's the question. Dean squints, leans forward, and finds the answer. Takes him about three seconds. After twenty years of practice anyway.
Dean couldn't tell you how he did it. It was simply something he'd always done, checking for something wrong every time he lost track of Sam for even a moment or two. Separation meant Dean hadn't been there to look out for Sam. Take his eye off the kid for a second and he'd fall out of a tree or pet a rattlesnake or rally the legions of Hell: he was creative like that. Over the years, Dean's mind had streamlined the process so that it required little to no energy, conscious thought, or time. By the time Sam left for Stanford, it wasn't something Dean did so much as something Dean was: a function of being him. Dean looked, saw, and understood.
And oh, wow, did Sam look pissed. Dean followed the glare down and to the right and discovered the Meg had unsheathed a long, curved sword and was raising it in an arc over her head. Dean figured he should be scared, but he was snorting out a laugh. How many times had she carved him open? Bring it, bitch.
The blade swung down on Dean. Chains bound his legs to each other, chains bound his hands together, but Meg's blade descended once again and this time Dean wasn't on the rack. Wasn't tied to anything but himself. So Dean was able to raise his arms, spread them as far as he could, and instead of cutting into his flesh, Meg's sword caught the the links of his chain. For a moment their eyes met: human green bore down on demonic black. And oh, wow, did Meg look pissed. It was only a second before the minions grabbed him, slugged him, pulled him back, but that gave Dean just enough time to wink and say, "Not today."
His brother wasn't getting pummeled, so he could say a lot more and if this was any indication then Dean was going to have a really tough time following the rest of the conversation. "I told you his soul is not yours to torment and you react by attempting to strike him in my sight? Queen of Spiders, are you so flippant with the conditions of all your contracts, or only the ones beholden to your office and standing?" Dean grinned; he didn't have a clue what Sam was going on about, but it felt like the right thing to do.
Meg lowered the blade slowly, resting the flat of it along Dean's bicep, the tip of it touching just behind his ear. "I was merely going to test your contention that this is a piece of flesh rather than a soul. Meat feels so different when you cut."
Dean held still, didn't flinch. "Oh, I'm plenty real," he said.
Meg ignored him. "But I do wonder, to what contract are you referring? I've no recollection of brokering any deals with the Boy King. There was one letter, an infantile pastiche of demands with no regard for the protocols required in begging a favor of the Citadel's mistress." Dean still didn't flinch but really hoped his brother couldn't see her other hand running down the side of his back. "For it is my right to do as I will with all souls in my keeping. Surely that must have been a prank submitted by one of your more fanatical followers? I bore it no regard, I would never insult the Boy King by believing him capable of such a childish tantrum."
Sam's voice ran cold. "Remove your hands from my brother's flesh."
Meg laughed, her hand grasping the back of Dean's thigh. "Jealous, Boy King?"
"I will not say it again, Phthirus," hissed Sam. A few laughs echoed across the plains and the pendulum shifted. Dean shifted with it, didn't get the joke, stuck in the center of a universe where everyone else spoke a different language, but happier now that Meg did remove her hands to point her sword at Sam.
"That is not my name, boy!"
Sam smiled broadly. "It isn't? You have so many, I must have been confused. As you seem to be: your contract is not with the Boy King but with the entire realm. As mistress of the Citadel, you are bound by the terms of the Orpheus Clause to release any soul from Hell if a petitioner presents compelling evidence that it is here in error. As Hell is a domain of damned souls in the afterlife and my brother's soul remains safely invested in its living flesh, why, only an incompetent or a lunatic would contest that Dean Winchester's soul has been brought to Hell in error." Sam held his arms up, palms open and turned around to address the whole crowd. "Queen of Spiders, you have no choice but to grant my petition." A roar arose from the horde behind him.
Sam would have been a helluva lawyer with all of that jargon but Dean was ready for them to get a move on already. Meg, however, had other plans. "Very prettily said, Boy King, but I'm afraid you're presenting your case to the wrong venue. The terms of the Clause are very clear: petitions must be submitted at Court, which can only be held within the Citadel." She tilted her head and the minions at his sides yanked down on Dean's chains so that he crashed down hard on his knees. "So long as you remain out there, Boy King, Dean's soul, flesh and all, remains mine to do with as I wish," she said as she ran her fingers through his hair and down the side of his face, "and your behavior in Hell thus far makes me hesitant to open my doors. Appearing at the head of an army like that, one might get the impression you'd really come here to take my throne."
Dean couldn't see his brother from this angle but tried to keep his head high in case Sam could see him. "I am here to reclaim my brother and I will enter the Citadel whether you want to open the doors or not."
"How? Have you assembled your allies here to force your way in? Then I ask you, assembled peers, are you really willing to fight and die in the name of rescuing Dean Winchester?"
The pendulum had swung back hard to slam into Dean's gut but he had to feel a twinge of pride at the number of murmurs that rose from the crowd. Eventually a new voice announced, "The Boy King needs no army to open the Citadel's gates."
Meg continued to card her fingers through his hair. "Is that so, Grand Architect? If that's true, show your faith in him and lay down your arms. You all remember what I can do here, what I've done here. But you all came anyway. If his powers are truly so great as you say, then surely the Boy King can protect you." Dean yelped as her fingers twisted in his hair and Meg pulled him up to his feet. "Ah, but if that were true, why would he need such an army in the first place?" Meg wrenched his head back and held her sword against his neck. "But I could be wrong. Go ahead, Boy King, dazzle us with your powers. Make the gates of the Citadel open at your will."
Dean couldn't see anything but Hell's ruddy grey sky but after several long seconds of silence the snickers from the demons on the battlements told him all he needed to know. "Shall I arrange for entertainment while we all wait? Dust Devil, fetch me my knives, I'm certain the crowd would be most amused by a selection of Dean's screams." Her hand released Dean's hair to slide down his chest and curl over his groin. He suppressed the urge to vomit: with his neck at this angle he'd just choke. "He's so responsive, you just twist here and it changes pitch."
"Any time now, Sam," Dean gasped after she demonstrated her technique.
"Don't you fucking touch my brother again!" shouted Sam.
Meg laughed. "Or you'll do what? Wave your hand and look constipated again?" She did release her grip on Dean then, lowered her sword and stepped forward to lean over the parapets. "You keep forgetting your place, boy. You stand before the Citadel in the heart of Hell, where Lucifer's will alone shapes reality. Lucifer could have chosen to let you open the gates. But he didn't. He chose me. So if you want me to stop touching my property, you're going to have to beg me a lot prettier than that." Dean tilted his head down and saw that Meg's words had found some marks: behind his flushed and glowering brother, an army began to grow restless.
Sam jutted his chin out. "You say Lucifer's power stops me from pulling down the Citadel's walls with my will. Fine. I still have half of Hell's legions at my back, bound to my command by contracts signed with true names. If Lucifer's will and the Citadel's walls can protect you from them, then why bother assembling your own supporters outside?"
"It appears to me your allies are starting to wriggle under their bonds." She raised her hand and the minions pushed Dean forward so that she could hold his chin in her hand. "Lords and Ladies of Hell, you arrived here so certain of the Boy King's powers: now you see him impotent. My assembled legions are equal to your own. There's a chance your side might win, but not without heavy casualties." She twisted Dean's neck from left to right and back again, displaying him for the crowd. "I ask you once again: are you truly willing to die on the behalf of Dean Winchester?"
Dean didn't have to ask the answer to that one. Behind Sam the sea of troops no longer moved as one force, sections pushing up against each other, murmurs of dissent became raised voices. Before Sam could respond, Meg raised her hand. "But unlike the Boy King, I do not wish you to die in the name of his insignificant human attachments. So, boy, I have an offer for you. If your allies will lay down their arms, then I will grant you and your sponsor alone entrance to the Citadel so you can submit your petition properly." She cocked her head. "Where is your little bitch anyway? Not by your side? Had a lover's spat, did you?" Dean watched his brother's face turn red and there was no way, no chance Sam would sleep with a demon again. Right?
Meg made a show of scanning the crowd. "I can't see him anywhere!" More and more demons were snickering on both sides. "Oh, did you leave him locked away in your bedchamber? If so, I'm afraid you'll have to go retrieve him before you can come inside."
And then Dean did have a little bit of vomit rise up in his throat because of all the demons in Hell it was Crowley that had emerged from the crowd, pushed forward by a large demon who actually had both horns and a tail. "I'm here, right here," Crowley announced and, dear God, please don't let it be true. "And he's not my lover!" he snapped as the hoots and howls arose, but the horned demon continued to push him towards Sam. Dean's brother almost looked like he was in pain, his eyes shut and jaw locked tight, silent. But Sam wasn't embarrassed; this was something else.
Meg tensed. "King Modo, you honor us with your presence," she said and Dean could tell she hadn't expected this guy; this cartoon demon made her nervous.
Modo smiled, his hand clamped firmly on Crowley's shoulder and his tail swishing back and forth. "You must know how I've longed to see the Citadel again, Spider Queen," and that was a threat if Dean ever heard one. "But I will not allow the Boy King to enter your web with Crowley alone for company."
"The protections of the Orph-"
"Apply only until the petition is granted," Modo growled. "You have no intention of letting the Vessel leave."
Meg raised her arms. "Modo, every demon in Hell knows the Boy King's hands can kill a greater demon with a single touch." Dean blinked; he wasn't a demon and he didn't know that. "How could I keep him?"
Sam just stood there while they argued about him, his eyes screwed shut, not saying a word even when Crowley grabbed his right arm. "The Boy King's hands can barely wipe his own arse!" shouted Crowley, ripping the glove off Sam's hand before pressing his face into Sam's palm. "See!" He dropped Sam's arm, stepped away and took a bow. "I'm still not dead!"
Then things started to explode.
Dean, like everyone else, had been watching Sam and Crowley, so he only saw a flash of light; the explosion had been so far back that he didn't hear the blast until almost a second later. Dean looked up and saw the crater nearly a mile back. A few moments later, demon bits began to shower down.
Meg looked stunned. Sam looked stunned. Everyone looked stunned. Meg pointed at Sam and shrieked, "What did you just do?"
"What did I do?" screamed Sam, holding his hand to his chest. "What did you do? My powers don't work here! She's doing it again!" Sam shouted, turning back towards his troops.
"That's not-" Meg was cut off when Modo, and the ground beneath him, exploded. Dean saw the force of the blast send his brother and Crowley flying off in opposite directions. He lunged forward as he tracked Sam's body, watched it crash to the ground miraculously whole and unharmed.
"Get him back to his cell, now!" shouted Meg.
Dean caught just a glimpse of Sam getting up on shaky legs before the demons grabbed him. "No!" Dean dug in his heels, pushed and fought back for the first time since he'd arrived in Hell, and despite his chains it took six demons to subdue him.
Face slammed to the floor, Dean heard his brother's voice rise over the battlefield. "It's Lucifer! Lucifer's attacking us!" Sam was alive and rallying the troops. Dean stopped struggling then, let the demons drag him back inside. Sam's first rescue attempt had been kind of a disaster and now his little brother was stuck in the middle of an enormous demon war but that was okay because apparently Sam was invincible here.
Sam was invincible and he was stubborn. Sam wouldn't quit. Sam would find another way.
Dean knew it wouldn't take long.
Six hours later, Sam stumbled through the door of Dean's cell.
Meg had the Winchesters right where she wanted them all along.
After she pushed Sam into the cell she raised her hands, used her powers to hold Sam up against one wall and pin Dean against the other. She'd been waiting for this reunion for a long time, she would savor it. With a tilt of her head the door slammed shut and her victory was sealed.
Meg didn't care about the battle still raging outside of Dean's cell, didn't care how many demons continued to die with every passing second. Nothing outside of this room mattered; though the Boy King's forces had broken through the gates, the Citadel was enormous: a maze of passages, rooms and corridors. It was easy to get lost even if you knew where you were going. And while Meg had never really expected Sam to get so far on his own, her plan had anticipated it. When her minions captured Sam, hours after she'd lost track of him during the breach, he'd been almost a quarter mile away from his brother, wandering aimlessly on the fourth floor in a completely different wing. Really, Sam had almost looked relieved when they caught him, and rightfully so: it might have taken him weeks to get here on his own. Here, in an obscure corner of the second basement, far from any of the fighting, Meg's moment of triumph would not be interrupted.
Meg stood in front of her prize. All of those beautiful lean muscles strained futilely against her powers. Meg pressed herself against them, rubbed her face against his chest like a cat and he stopped struggling, held himself deathly still. She'd possessed him before but even then she'd known that she didn't belong inside this body. No, her destiny was to stand alongside this body while Lucifer used it to conquer Heaven and Earth. Sam was so careless with his flesh; she'd been terrified he'd figured it out: if he'd died, the Vessel would have been lost forever. It would have been centuries on Earth - untold millenia in Hell - before another Vessel would be born. Meg had needed to act quickly, had to get the Vessel here where she could keep it safe for its true owner. And now, despite her limited time and resources, she'd succeeded.
She pulled away, not because of Dean's shouted protests and insults, but because she had one last task to attend to before she could get the true embrace she longed for. A formality, really, but still regrettably necessary. The events of the last day had shown that Sam wasn't quite as stupid as she'd always thought, though, so maybe it wouldn't take too long to make him understand that Meg had already won.
She decided to appeal to Sam's vanity. "You've turned out to be quite the devious little planner, Sam. That was very clever of you, using your powers against your own troops at the end and claiming it was me."
Sam's jaw worked for a moment before he broke the silence he'd held since his capture with a snort. "You had a point. None of them were going to die for Dean." He smiled down at her. "But all of them knew better than to trust you after that convocation of yours."
"I walked right into it," Meg admitted. "I really ought to be ashamed, but then again, you even managed to kill old Modo, and he'd been plotting to take over Hell ever since Dad exiled him to the Wastes half a million years ago. You lured out all of my greatest rivals, Sam, and then you got them all killed. Well done, really."
Sam huffed out a breath. "Wasn't just your rivals dying out there last I saw, Meg. You don't have many allies left either."
Meg smirked. "You think I care about other demons? Good riddance. Any one of them would have betrayed me in an instant if they thought they could get away with it. They were never more than tools to me, the means to get what I really want. And everything I really want is right here." She rubbed a lock of his hair between her fingers.
Behind them, Dean laughed. "I'm touched, but you're gonna have to forgive me for not sharing the sentiment. We're ready to go."
Meg spared a moment to glare at Dean. When she looked back, Sam had that stubborn set to his jaw. "Dean's right. We're leaving."
"No, you're not."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "The Orpheus Clause says I can leave Hell at any time. Now that I have my brother, I'm leaving."
Meg tutted her tongue. "You don't have your brother. He's all the way over there and, whoops, you didn't bring your sponsor, so you don't have a petition either. Sorry."
"Fine," spat Sam. "I'm fucking sick of dancing around. What do you want, Meg?"
"Lucifer."
"I left him in the Cage."
Meg sighed, ran her finger along that stubborn jaw. "Oh, Sam. Do you know what Hell is?"
He rolled his eyes. "I don't know. Other people?" he snarked, but the reply filled Meg with glee.
"Ooh, so close. Sartre was so very close. Hell isn't other people, Sam: it's another person. A particular person, one you've been pretty close to before, and you're oh so close to him now." Meg stepped back, chuckling. "It's so funny how you talk about the Cage like it's separate from Hell. Such literal little brains. Did you really think that God just put Lucifer in a big box? The Cage is Hell. And Hell is Lucifer. Everything you see? That's him too." Sam blinked and she grinned, could tell she was finally starting to make headway. "If he was in true isolation, how did you think he tempted Lilith? Lucifer's so powerful, the other angels had to use him as the power source for his own bindings. Have you figured it out yet? Do I have to draw in the last dot? Or have you figured out why in the heart of Hell, Lucifer's powers are infinite? No, got that on your own? Good, you have been paying attention." She was so close, she could taste it. "Lucifer might as well be standing right next to you, Sam. Doesn't matter how many seals the angels put up when I've got your body in the heart of Hell. All you have to do is say yes to him, let him in, and he'll walk right out of Hell in your meatsuit." With her, and Meg could hear the words in her mind, heard Lucifer renewing his promise in Sam's voice.
"No," said the same voice as Sam shook his head. "The answer will always be no."
And there was that Winchester stubbornness. But it didn't matter, Meg still held all the cards. She walked over to the other wall, held Dean's chin in her hand and faced Sam. "Willing to bet Dean's soul on that? Because, and I'm not going to lie and say I'm not thrilled to say this, but the boy's been dead for a long time now. Killed him myself a week in, but he passed out in a puddle of his own piss a full half hour before his heart gave out, so it seems to have escaped his notice."
Dean's shocked expression was better than any of the other times Meg had shoved her knives into him. Sam couldn't ignore the truth of what she said when it was written all over his brother's face. Meg ruffled Dean's hair, reward for a well-trained pet who performed on demand. "Now, Lucifer's been kind enough to keep putting him together for us to play with, but he doesn't have to keep it up. Even if you had managed to present your petition it wouldn't matter. If Dean takes one step outside of the Citadel, Lucifer will cut off life support, and, oh, whoops, those angelic get-out-of-jail-free cards the angels gave you don't work if your soul's already in Hell."
This was it. "Now, Sam, Lucifer doesn't want you to suffer." And he didn't. Meg didn't much approve of this part, but she had to concede that Lucifer had a point. "You've done a fine job of clearing a path to power here in Hell. If you say yes, your soul will stay here, and you'll keep all the powers you had before, Boy King. Hell's yours, free and clear. You know how to mold the reality of Hell as well as anyone: no demon would ever be able to threaten you or your brother again."
Meg stepped away, stood back to let her words do their work. For several long moments the Winchesters stared at each other, mirroring each other's trembling jaws and dewy eyes. Dean broke first, his eyes darting down right before he inclined his head a fraction of a degree. That was enough to set Sam off into a full body shudder. When it was done he looked her in the eye and said, "Fine. It's over."
She let her eyes glint black. "Say it, then."
Sam swallowed, staring at his brother who had shut his eyes and was shaking his head. "I- uh- I just - I just want to hug my brother, in the flesh, one last time."
Meg laughed. "You would." She flicked her wrist, dropped the force binding them to the walls. His powers wouldn't work here, her guards had taken all of his weapons, and he looked so hopeless, so broken that Meg couldn't resist. Let them have their hug. Meg had won.
Dean slumped against the wall while Sam crossed the room. Sam offered his left hand to his brother and Dean took it, used it to pull himself to his feet. Their hands stayed linked as Sam said, "Meg?" with an odd note in his voice.
"Yes?"
"Thanks." With his right hand, Sam had pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Dean was pulling the remaining glove off of his brother's hand. "For everything." Meg didn't have time to react to the sight of the Horsemen's Rings on Sam's left hand because Sam had pressed the 'call' button on the cell phone.
"And fuck you," added Dean in the split second between Castiel's appearance and when the angel touched his fingers to their foreheads.
All three of them disappeared, leaving Meg alone in the heart of Hell with nothing but her own screams for company.
Dean arrived at the steps outside of Bobby's house and knew Meg had been telling the truth. "Shit," he gasped before collapsing, his heart still in his chest, the memory of a million injuries ripping into his nerves.
"Dean!" his brother shouted, and then there were strong arms beneath him, Castiel's soft touch on his forehead, and then the blissful sensation of nothing. When Dean opened his eyes, he saw Sam and Castiel looking down on him. They weren't alone.
"I really hope you're not here to collect me," said Dean.
"Not this time, Dean, your friend Castiel has seen to that," said Death, bowing his head. "I am here, however, to collect my ring. Samuel, if you would please?"
Sam nodded and with Castiel's help got Dean to his feet before pulling Death's ring off of his own index finger and dropping it into the Horseman's waiting palm. "She had them all locked in a cabinet in what looked like her office. The phone led me straight to them," Sam said.
"Yeah, locating rings and angel homing beacons - who knew that Death had an app for that?" Death fitted the ring back onto his finger with a small smile and Dean grunted. "I hope it was all worth it."
Death arched his brows. "Worth keeping Lucifer in his Cage? You tell me, Dean."
Sam grimaced. "I still don't understand why she didn't use them right away."
"Opening the Cage with the rings would have also released Michael," said Castiel.
"And Lucifer would have still lacked a proper Vessel," added Death.
Castiel inclined his head. "Still, she would have done it, if she hadn't stumbled across what appeared to be, in every respect, a superior plan."
"Yes, I really must be more careful about where I leave my old books from now on," finished Death.
Dean snorted at the look that Death and Castiel exchanged. "Yeah, go ahead and pat yourselves on the back. Just as long as this is the last one of your superior plans that involves me, I don't give a shit."
Castiel looked pained and Death sighed. "You need not be so short with me, Dean," said Death. "With the rings out of Hell, the angels will be able to rebuild the seals on the Cage properly. Combined with the chaos of the war your brother started in Hell, Lucifer will not have another chance to escape his prison for thousands of years - and that's if any demon in Hell cares to have dealings with him ever again." Death glanced at Sam and Dean saw his brother straighten his shoulders out of the corner of his eyes. "You have done well, and sacrificed much. I understand that. You have my word, both of you: you've seen the last of Hell and the next time you see me, it will be when I deliver your souls to Heaven myself." Death nodded and Dean had no choice but to believe him. "With that said, gentlemen, I take my leave. Until we meet again."
And then there were three. Sam coughed. "What should we do with the other rings?" he asked, stripping them off of his fingers.
Castiel extended his hand. "I'll take them to Heaven for safe-keeping, at least until we finish rebuilding the seals-" and Dean didn't care. He was too fucking tired to deal with this shit. Let them deal with the aftermath: Dean had suffered enough.
He turned around and walked into Bobby's house, headed down the stairs. "Bobby! Lisa? It's me! Don't shoot," he said, turning the handle on the panic room door. He opened it and found Bobby still had a shotgun leveled at him, shut his eyes before the spray of holy water hit him in the face, and grinned. He stepped over the salt line and gave Bobby a quick hug. "Hold off on the silver knife until Ben's out of the room, okay?"
Bobby pulled Dean in tight. "Sure thing, kid."
Bobby stepped away so that Lisa could take his place and this was good, Lisa felt so damn good in his arms and he couldn't wait to kiss her, but he'd have to wait for her to stop talking first. "... all they'd tell me was that you'd been taken and that we had to stay here until it was safe and are you okay?"
"Sorry," he murmured, kissing the crown of her head and holding her tighter. "Never wanted to scare you like that." He looked up and caught Ben's gaze. "You too, Ben." Dean pulled away just a bit so that he could tell them both, "I won't let anything like this happen again." And then he pulled Lisa back against him because he wanted to and because he could.
Bobby snorted. "Come on, Ben, I'm sure you're ready to eat something other than MREs and beef jerky." Ben took the cue; like any eleven year old he had a limited tolerance for watching his mom cuddle with her boyfriend. Bobby gave Dean a wink before following Ben out.
"You're not going to tell me what happened either, are you?" said Lisa a few minutes later, after he'd given her the kiss he hadn't let himself dream about for months.
"No," Dean admitted. "It's over now, that's all that matters. How long were you stuck here waiting?"
"About three days," said Lisa and that was about right. "Why?"
He nuzzled her neck. "Oh, no reason. Just seemed longer to me, that's all."
She shifted a little in his arms. "Yeah, I can tell."
Dean knew Lisa was trying to pull away, knew that he should let her go, but he didn't want to. "Love you," he whispered and she stopped pulling away, her eyes wide. Dean cleared his throat. "I, uh - where I was, I had a lot of time to think. And I couldn't say - I spent the whole time not being able to say what I really wanted to. It was Hell," and that was all the closest to a confession he could ever give her, so he'd make it count, "and I knew, I knew that when I got back that I had to tell you. Had to say what was on my mind."
Lisa was still watching him and Dean swallowed. "So yeah, I said it. And uh-"
"Dean, shut up." Lisa held her finger up to his lips. "I love you too. Just don't think that's a free pass out of anything, okay?"
Dean smiled. "Yes, ma'am." And then there was more kissing and other things and all of it was good, all of it was right, all of it what just what Dean wanted.
By the next morning, Dean had developed some perspective. He was a lucky man: he'd found a beautiful, understanding woman who loved him. Not everybody had that. And Dean had to be there for them, too.
He still dreaded the conversations to come enough to lean heavily on Lisa the whole way up the stairs. Lisa left his side to go check on Ben and Dean headed to the kitchen. Bobby took one look at him and grunted. "Good to be home, huh?"
"You'd better believe it."
"I'll take your word for it." Bobby shoveled something fried out of a skillet and onto a plate. "Sit down." Dean obediently sat and dug into a mess of eggs, potatoes, onions and peppers that satisfied the soul. "Castiel and Sam filled me in on your little adventure. Next time you pull something like that, I'd appreciate a heads up," said Bobby, tossing the empty skillet into the sink with a homey but firm 'clang' before joining Dean at the table and setting down two mugs of coffee.
"Won't be a next time," Dean replied around a mouthful of food.
"Mmm-hmm."
Dean looked around. "Where is Sam, anyway?" he asked.
"Out back. Got off to an early start, said he had to take care of some things." Bobby waited until after Dean had finished eating to cock an eyebrow at him. "Pretty sure you left a change of clothes and your old boots in my spare room. Those jammies you're wearing now ain't fit for nothing but grease rags."
Dean looked down at himself. "Think you're right, Bobby. Thanks." And Dean did feel a lot better putting on his own clothes after a quick shower in water that smelled of rusty pipes rather than sulfur, getting the last traces of Hell off his skin. He tossed the rags in the trash with the intention of burning them first chance he got.
But first things first. Dean headed out to go find his brother, but Castiel was waiting for him, standing on the stairs in the late morning sunshine. "You walked away," he said.
"Yeah," Dean replied. "Needed to check on Lisa and Ben."
Castiel's expression didn't change. "Sam told me not to interrupt you, so I have been waiting out here."
Dean laughed once. "Hope you didn't wait around all night. Don't you have a civil war going on?"
"I'm monitoring the situation and have learned to... multi-task while I awaited Sam's signal by the Gates of Bone and Flesh." Castiel glanced heavenwards. "Raphael had been colluding with Lucifer and Meg in order to restart the apocalypse; it will take his cause some time to recover from the setbacks he suffered this week." Castiel looked back at Dean. "But I wanted to make sure that you were okay."
Dean shrugged. "I've been through Hell, Cas, what do you think?" Castiel was still looking at him. "Thanks for pulling me out again," he said.
"It was the least I could do," said Castiel and Dean had to give him a break.
"No hard feelings, Cas. It was a good plan, it worked, and it's over now. The less said about it, the better."
Castiel inclined his head. "If that's what you want."
"It is." Dean looked around. "So, do you know where my brother is?" Castiel nodded and pointed. Dean turned his head to look and the angel had disappeared before Dean had the chance to thank him. Dean grinned; he had to envy Castiel's talent for quick exits from awkward conversations.
Some awkward conversations, however, needed to be had. Dean headed off through the wrecks, towards the barn that served as Bobby's tool shed. He stopped short, however, when he heard a voice other than his brother's coming from that direction. Dean shook his head: he shouldn't be surprised that Crowley had somehow survived the battle Sam had started.
Dean still couldn't see them yet but he could hear Sam now, his voice comparatively muffled. "... I'm telling you, Crowley, we didn't kill her."
"Well then, where is she?" Dean caught sight of Crowley bent over a few feet away from the Impala. The hood of the Impala was open and Dean could hear a socket wrench turning. "She's nowhere to be found in Hell, and believe me, we've been looking," said Crowley.
"You're trying to tell me there's not a demon in Hell who knows her true name?" muttered Sam, his long legs poking out from underneath the front of the car.
"Yes, Sam, that's exactly what I'm telling you. Of the few thousand demons left in Hell after the mess you started, not a one of them knows the Queen of Spiders' real name. It's like she never even existed." Dean smirked at this news. It seemed a fitting destiny.
His brother apparently found it just as amusing. "That's a damn shame, Crowley. Better make sure you keep a tight grip on things down there, in case she ever tries to come back."
"I dare the bitch to try," huffed Crowley. "In fact, neither of you should show your faces in Hell ever again. I don't need you meddling about down there - I've got things under control."
Sam was apparently holding something between his teeth but Dean could still understand his reply. "Wasn't planning on it."
"But you should keep your eyes open, in case she's up here. Can't imagine she's going to let something like this go. She'll be looking for revenge," and was Dean hallucinating or was that concern he heard in Crowley's voice?
Sam stood up, his hair matted down with sweat and smears of grease covering his undershirt. "I appreciate the warning," he said, wiping his hands off on his jeans. "Especially given that the last time I saw you, you'd just betrayed me and declared to an entire dimension that I couldn't wipe my own ass." He had a smile on his face that couldn't get past the dark circles under his eyes.
Crowley shrugged. "When I woke up after the explosion in one piece three miles from the battle, I figured you'd decided to be the bigger man about the whole thing. No harm, no foul, right?"
"Yeah, Crowley, that's right." Sam looked just as tired as Dean felt and his smile fell when he caught sight of Dean. "We'll be on the lookout for her," he said, nodding at Dean.
Crowley spun around and scowled, so Dean made sure to grin extra wide. "We beat her in Hell, we're not about to let her get the drop on us here," he said, going to lean against the door of his car.
"Yes, well, I don't give a damn either way," announced Crowley, his eyes darting between them. "Hell is well rid of all three of you." The demon held up his hands. "Speaking of which, I have to be off. Busy time to be a demon these days. Can't hardly keep an eye on all the damned, much less keep the floggers on them."
Sam crossed his arms. "I'm sure you'll manage."
Crowley's eyes darted between Dean and Sam. "It's just I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I'm not going soft or anything, but I just won't have the demons to spare up here for a couple of years. Have to get my house in order, understand, after the mess you two made."
Sam's lips quirked to the side. "Better get to it, then."
Crowley sniffed. "Right. So I'm going to go." And then he was gone.
Dean rubbed his freshly-shaved chin. "What the hell was that all about?"
Sam shook his head, rubbing his hand down the side of his face and leaving a trail of grease behind. "I honestly don't know. Wanted to warn us about Meg, because he thinks I'm an idiot and couldn't think of that on my own. And I think he might actually miss me."
Dean looked down. "Well, it sounded like you spent a lot of time together."
"We did," agreed Sam before he blanched. "I mean - there were a lot of rumors in Hell, but Crowley and I never-" and Sam shuddered, "It was never like that," he finished lamely, slapping the socket wrench against his hand.
"Relax, Sammy, I believe you. He ain't your type: I know you're a leg man." Dean pushed off of the door and walked around Sam to lean under the hood. "But I do have to ask: what the hell are you doing to my baby?"
Sam flinched. "Oh. Um, I think there's a belt loose. Last couple of times I started her, she made a whining noise."
Dean looked up at Sam, who was chewing on his lower lip. Kid had a point - Dean had heard the squeal the last time he drove her, but that had been many months ago. "And so you decided to add tension to the belts?" Sam bobbed his head, holding his hands both down by his sides, unsure and looking for answers and it's six months before Dean's deal comes due, the day Dean teaches Sam which belt is which in the first place and it's the summer of 1998 and Sam wants Dean to figure out why his sawed-off isn't cocking right since he cleaned it last time and Sam is twelve years old and it's the last time Dean will ever be able to help him with his math homework- sorry, Sammy, I quit paying attention after algebra-
Dean grabbed the hot black metal of the side panel and he was back in himself in the present. His eyes flickered up at Sam, who hadn't noticed the whole bungee jump down memory lane: must not have taken too long. Dean turned his palm over and motioned for Sam to hand him the socket wrench. "If we're lucky, you might be right. Chances are you're wrong, but give her a start." Sam jogged over. "Only leave her on for a second - need to keep her cold if this ain't it."
"Yeah, I know," said Sam and he didn't sound half as annoyed as he should have. But it was easier to tell the kid what he was doing wrong with the Impala. Dean knew what Sam was doing wrong with the Impala.
The engine turned over and sure enough, there was an acrid smell and a loud shriek, damn thing sounded just like Dean did at the start of a session with Dusty and godfuckingdammit, no it didn't. "That's enough!" Dean shouted so that Sam would kill the engine before it got too hot.
When Sam got back out Dean had sat back against the bumper. "Power steering fluid," was all he said. Sam bent over to check the level, no hesitation at all; Dean had managed to teach him something over the years. "And you'd damn well better hope it's that, otherwise I'm sending you hunting through the yard for a new water pump."
"Right," said Sam, gingerly lifting the up the cap. Dean tossed him a rag to wipe off the dipstick. "Whoa, way too much in there."
Dean headed off into the barn. "Lemme guess, you put some in while we were stopped in Aberdeen?" Safer to use geographic coordinates when Dean still didn't know how long it had been.
"How'd you know?" asked Sam while Dean picked up a drip pan, a turkey baster, and a pair of beers out of the mini-fridge. It was past noon by now, probably.
"Because that's when I topped it off too. Next time, ask first. Ass." Dean smiled and handed Sam the drip pan and turkey baster. "These are for you." He raised the beers in his other fist. "And when you're done, you can have one of these. So start sucking, Sammy, and don't be shy about it," he finished with a quick arch of his eyebrows and there was that bitchy little face he'd been waiting for. He sat down on the sunbleached hood of a GTO. "I must be a special guy, I've got the Boy King doing light maintenance on my car."
Sam's shoulders went all brooding and pensive. "Don't listen to Crowley. There never was a Boy King. It was just an act. Had to keep him on edge, had to get the demons in line, lure Modo out of hiding - it was just an act."
"Wasn't here for that part of the conversation, but I saw enough yesterday to know that's at least a little bit bullshit." Dean took a sip of beer while his brother siphoned. "You had power down there, dude. Scary, scary fucking power."
Sam turned around. "Were you scared of me?"
"No." Dean looked up at the sky. "No. Was I confused as all hell? Sure, especially after three months or so when I figured out that you'd changed plans and weren't going to show up anytime soon. Didn't figure out the new one until about five minutes before we busted out, but it sounds like your plan worked out all right. Not enough demons left in Hell to run the place? That's more than Castiel and Death had ever hoped to get us."
Sam shook his head. "I shouldn't have left you there so long-"
"Why not? I knew what I was getting into when I said yes to the plan. And who knows how many lives you saved because the demons aren't gonna be able to mess around up here for a couple decades? Nah, you made the smart choice. There's nothing that happened to me down there that hadn't happened before." Sam was about to barge in and Dean raised up his hand to stop him. "Nothing I hadn't survived before, you understand?" Dean could tell that Sam didn't really agree but Dean wasn't above using Sam's guilt to get him to concede this one thing so he kept staring until Sam ducked his head. Dean softened his expression. "Maybe I was scared for you, down there, Sam. But never scared of you." Sam had set the drip pan aside and sat down next to Dean, their shoulders brushing together and Sam snagged the other beer while pushing his hair out of his face. "Couldn't bring myself to tremble in terror of Cousin It," Dean added.
Sam groaned. "Dean..."
Dean gave him a sober look. "Yeah, all right, but this is it, man. You don't get to ask again after this. Some shit's private, okay?"
Sam nodded, taking a pull from his beer. "Yeah, sure. Won't ask again, but you can- I'm always here, y'know."
Dean looked at his brother in the eye. "You are, right? Because that's what I was scared of. Scared you were gone. Scared Hell had gotten to you, your powers had gotten to you, that you'd changed so much that the Boy King was all that was left. You and I both know there's not a lot of lines that we won't cross to protect each other. The stories I heard - what little I saw - you were like a god or something down there - a pissy-ass, wrathful god." Dean looked back at the Impala and took another drink. "And then there's your life up here, which is, well, it ain't exactly glamorous." Dean shrugged. "I was just - there's not a lot of folks who'd be able to say no to that kind of power."
Sam's throat worked for a second before he found his words. "Yeah, I had a lot of power. But Meg at least had one point: all of that power? It didn't mean anything, because at the end of the day, I still would have been in Hell. And sure, I'll put up with Crowley, but I could never trust him - would never have been able to trust anyone again. Not to mention..."
"What?" Dean asked after Sam left him hanging for a few seconds too long.
"Not to mention that you would have never forgiven me," Sam said, wiping his face with the back of his hand, smearing the grease around and he didn't look like the Boy King, though he did look like an overgrown boy. "And I couldn't have lived with that. I didn't - I don't want to be the Boy King. That whole idea of it being better to reign in Hell? Fuck that," and Sam laughed, really laughed, and his shoulders finally loosened up and Dean knew his little brother had figured it out, almost all on his own. "I never want to see the Pit again. Where I want to be is on Earth, having a beer, with my brother," Sam finished, raising his bottle, the question left unsaid.
Never had to be asked to be answered. Not with them. Not with the Winchester brothers.
Dean smiled, lifted his bottle, and knocked it against Sam's. "Yeah. Me too."
THE END
Author's Notes: Thank you so much for reading to the end - I hope it was worth it. I'll try to keep these short. Once again - I have to say that this project was a collaboration in the truest sense of the word and simply would not exist without the contributions of both![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dollarformyname and ![[personal profile]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jjhunter. Both of them put untold hours worth of work into this and were both the greatest cheerleaders and the finest critics that an author could wish for - they're both extremely talented, insightful authors in their own rights. It was truly a privilege working with them and JJ even learned an entire new canon just to beta this fic for me, so hopefully one day our fandom will get her take on the Brothers Winchester. Dollar - well, her art just takes my breath away every time I look at it. Not to mention how wonderful they were about holding my hand while I dealt with subject matter that didn't come easily to me - but all in the name of doing Dollar's art justice, of telling the story I set out to tell without cheating, no matter how long or brutal it got. They are the courage of my convictions: ladies, this story is for you.
An additional note about the pairings/genre listing on this story. I put a lot of thought into how to label this story - I haven't written a story with an R-rating in over ten years, and the decision to include sexual torture in this story wasn't one I came to lightly. After all was said and done, I came to the conclusion, with the help of my contributors and advice from trusty comm-modbauble (thanks again!) that the story remained a gen-fic. Though there is sex between Meg and Dean there is no romance; the act is entirely based on power and it's presented as yet another, particularly cruel form of torture: there's not even much lust in the act. Furthermore, even contemplating the question of whether 'sex between a self-identified-female-demon-temporarily-wearing-a-male-body and a man' would count as slash or het was enough to give me a headache. Anyway, I hope the current labeling suffices - if you have any strong opinions on how to improve the labeling without spoiling the story, please feel free to contact me.
Part Three
He loses track of a lot of things after that night, including his self. He floats in and out of awareness, catches glimpses of his body back on the rack, shadows of hellfire, snatches of conversation with no context. He knows he's waiting for something, looking for something, but until then, he might as well float on.
He drifts through a haze of mixed up sensations. He remembers the smell of sunshine and the taste of green. Kirk Hammet's guitar solos feel like leather and tin and the wildflower petals he trailed through Cassie's hair. Blood sounds like a siren that chases him away. Back off. Don't need to be here. The secret ingredient isn't available, still on back-order, call back next Tuesday.
All these months in Hell he had ignored his memories and refused to contemplate the future. Banned from the present now, he takes leisurely tours of both. Just the stuff on Earth though, he's had enough of Hell. But his life is complicated; he remembers imaginary pasts and futures that never happened with such clarity - he knows he was never a logger in Washington, that his brother didn't disappear forever the Christmas before his deal came due, though killing a velociraptor with a laser beam one day could be kind of cool - but the false memories feel so real, he remembers them just as well as he remembers his brother's high school graduation. His brother hadn't told him about it, didn't think he would care about some stupid ceremony. But he had been so proud to see his little brother (always little, no matter how many more growth spurts he had) walk across that plywood stage, flip that stupid gold tassel (not red like most of those idiots, but honors gold) to the left side of his mortarboard. He didn't need a bunch of polyester thread to tell him Sam is a genius.
Sam.
That's what he was waiting for. He needs to find Sam. But his body isn't going anywhere on its own, so Dean has to wait for Sam to come to him and then...
His mind floats on.
He doesn't have any idea how many days have passed when he finally wakes up, but there is one thing he knows for sure: today he'll see Sam again. And there's something he forgot, something important he'd shoved back in the furthest reaches of his brain for safekeeping before he'd taken that little walkabout. But it's okay. He is serene. He'll remember when the time comes.
By the time that Dusty shows up at his door and orders him to "Shut up and follow me," he's settled back into himself a little better. He's a little troubled by the fact that his soul - mind - whatever that was - is also some kind of hippie space-cadet. He still can't remember what he decided to forget and he's starting to get really worried.
Or maybe he's just reaching for anything else to worry about other than that other question, the one he can't forget. He gets a little aftertaste of that serene feeling at the thought. He walks on, his posture improving with every step. Once he knows that answer, he knows that everything else will fall into place. Until then he just has to be Dean Winchester. He knows how to do that; just needs to add a little swagger to his step as he mounts these stairs and Dean's smooth, so smooth, to pull that off while wearing leg irons.
So it was that after many (nine? ten? how the fuck should he know?) months of captivity, Dean Winchester emerged from the depths of the Citadel with a smirk on his face. His eyes widened slightly as two minions grabbed his upper arms and dragged him forward to the parapets. It was a good view up here: he could see for miles but among the things he couldn't see was an end to the armed hordes of demons that circled the keep. The innermost ring faced outwards, defenders, but after a few hundred yards there was a thin break of no man's land between them and the sea of attacking forces beyond. Dean centered himself, checking for any sign of illusion, found none and couldn't help but whistle in quiet awe at the sheer number of demons assembled. Sam better have a damn good explanation...
Dean was so caught up in searching through the faces of the crowd that he didn't flinch at all when Meg called out from her position just to his right, "Boy King, is this the soul whose release you seek?" There weren't any microphones or anything but the laws of physics didn't apply in Hell and Dean suspected even the unseen edges of the crowd heard her every word as clear as he did. The field of troops shimmered with motion as millions of demons shifted in response, the attackers all craning their necks in order to - oh. Dean shifted a little under the weight of so many stares but managed to raise his hand in a sheepish wave. He still couldn't-
"That is the man whom you will now release to me, Queen of Spiders," and Dean could track that voice to its source, drink in every detail of the sight: a tall figure standing alone, a few paces ahead of the rest of the attackers in an idiotically exposed position and, as ever, in desperate need of a haircut.
"Hey, Sammy!" Dean called out and the figure flexed his shoulders - peeved and indignant, if Dean wasn't mistaken. It occurred to him that the Boy King might dislike that nickname even more than Sam did. Well, boo-fucking-hoo. His body wasn't the one on the rack that whole time, though he must have been pretty busy from the looks of things. The demonic hordes are still staring and Dean wishes he could scale this all down, wasn't expecting such a grand finale. What had he been expecting? Something. But he needs to focus, wouldn't mind a pair of binoculars. He needs to get a closer look and it's so hard to tell from up here.
Is he looking at Sam or the Boy King? That's the question. Dean squints, leans forward, and finds the answer. Takes him about three seconds. After twenty years of practice anyway.
Dean couldn't tell you how he did it. It was simply something he'd always done, checking for something wrong every time he lost track of Sam for even a moment or two. Separation meant Dean hadn't been there to look out for Sam. Take his eye off the kid for a second and he'd fall out of a tree or pet a rattlesnake or rally the legions of Hell: he was creative like that. Over the years, Dean's mind had streamlined the process so that it required little to no energy, conscious thought, or time. By the time Sam left for Stanford, it wasn't something Dean did so much as something Dean was: a function of being him. Dean looked, saw, and understood.
And oh, wow, did Sam look pissed. Dean followed the glare down and to the right and discovered the Meg had unsheathed a long, curved sword and was raising it in an arc over her head. Dean figured he should be scared, but he was snorting out a laugh. How many times had she carved him open? Bring it, bitch.
The blade swung down on Dean. Chains bound his legs to each other, chains bound his hands together, but Meg's blade descended once again and this time Dean wasn't on the rack. Wasn't tied to anything but himself. So Dean was able to raise his arms, spread them as far as he could, and instead of cutting into his flesh, Meg's sword caught the the links of his chain. For a moment their eyes met: human green bore down on demonic black. And oh, wow, did Meg look pissed. It was only a second before the minions grabbed him, slugged him, pulled him back, but that gave Dean just enough time to wink and say, "Not today."
His brother wasn't getting pummeled, so he could say a lot more and if this was any indication then Dean was going to have a really tough time following the rest of the conversation. "I told you his soul is not yours to torment and you react by attempting to strike him in my sight? Queen of Spiders, are you so flippant with the conditions of all your contracts, or only the ones beholden to your office and standing?" Dean grinned; he didn't have a clue what Sam was going on about, but it felt like the right thing to do.
Meg lowered the blade slowly, resting the flat of it along Dean's bicep, the tip of it touching just behind his ear. "I was merely going to test your contention that this is a piece of flesh rather than a soul. Meat feels so different when you cut."
Dean held still, didn't flinch. "Oh, I'm plenty real," he said.
Meg ignored him. "But I do wonder, to what contract are you referring? I've no recollection of brokering any deals with the Boy King. There was one letter, an infantile pastiche of demands with no regard for the protocols required in begging a favor of the Citadel's mistress." Dean still didn't flinch but really hoped his brother couldn't see her other hand running down the side of his back. "For it is my right to do as I will with all souls in my keeping. Surely that must have been a prank submitted by one of your more fanatical followers? I bore it no regard, I would never insult the Boy King by believing him capable of such a childish tantrum."
Sam's voice ran cold. "Remove your hands from my brother's flesh."
Meg laughed, her hand grasping the back of Dean's thigh. "Jealous, Boy King?"
"I will not say it again, Phthirus," hissed Sam. A few laughs echoed across the plains and the pendulum shifted. Dean shifted with it, didn't get the joke, stuck in the center of a universe where everyone else spoke a different language, but happier now that Meg did remove her hands to point her sword at Sam.
"That is not my name, boy!"
Sam smiled broadly. "It isn't? You have so many, I must have been confused. As you seem to be: your contract is not with the Boy King but with the entire realm. As mistress of the Citadel, you are bound by the terms of the Orpheus Clause to release any soul from Hell if a petitioner presents compelling evidence that it is here in error. As Hell is a domain of damned souls in the afterlife and my brother's soul remains safely invested in its living flesh, why, only an incompetent or a lunatic would contest that Dean Winchester's soul has been brought to Hell in error." Sam held his arms up, palms open and turned around to address the whole crowd. "Queen of Spiders, you have no choice but to grant my petition." A roar arose from the horde behind him.
Sam would have been a helluva lawyer with all of that jargon but Dean was ready for them to get a move on already. Meg, however, had other plans. "Very prettily said, Boy King, but I'm afraid you're presenting your case to the wrong venue. The terms of the Clause are very clear: petitions must be submitted at Court, which can only be held within the Citadel." She tilted her head and the minions at his sides yanked down on Dean's chains so that he crashed down hard on his knees. "So long as you remain out there, Boy King, Dean's soul, flesh and all, remains mine to do with as I wish," she said as she ran her fingers through his hair and down the side of his face, "and your behavior in Hell thus far makes me hesitant to open my doors. Appearing at the head of an army like that, one might get the impression you'd really come here to take my throne."
Dean couldn't see his brother from this angle but tried to keep his head high in case Sam could see him. "I am here to reclaim my brother and I will enter the Citadel whether you want to open the doors or not."
"How? Have you assembled your allies here to force your way in? Then I ask you, assembled peers, are you really willing to fight and die in the name of rescuing Dean Winchester?"
The pendulum had swung back hard to slam into Dean's gut but he had to feel a twinge of pride at the number of murmurs that rose from the crowd. Eventually a new voice announced, "The Boy King needs no army to open the Citadel's gates."
Meg continued to card her fingers through his hair. "Is that so, Grand Architect? If that's true, show your faith in him and lay down your arms. You all remember what I can do here, what I've done here. But you all came anyway. If his powers are truly so great as you say, then surely the Boy King can protect you." Dean yelped as her fingers twisted in his hair and Meg pulled him up to his feet. "Ah, but if that were true, why would he need such an army in the first place?" Meg wrenched his head back and held her sword against his neck. "But I could be wrong. Go ahead, Boy King, dazzle us with your powers. Make the gates of the Citadel open at your will."
Dean couldn't see anything but Hell's ruddy grey sky but after several long seconds of silence the snickers from the demons on the battlements told him all he needed to know. "Shall I arrange for entertainment while we all wait? Dust Devil, fetch me my knives, I'm certain the crowd would be most amused by a selection of Dean's screams." Her hand released Dean's hair to slide down his chest and curl over his groin. He suppressed the urge to vomit: with his neck at this angle he'd just choke. "He's so responsive, you just twist here and it changes pitch."
"Any time now, Sam," Dean gasped after she demonstrated her technique.
"Don't you fucking touch my brother again!" shouted Sam.
Meg laughed. "Or you'll do what? Wave your hand and look constipated again?" She did release her grip on Dean then, lowered her sword and stepped forward to lean over the parapets. "You keep forgetting your place, boy. You stand before the Citadel in the heart of Hell, where Lucifer's will alone shapes reality. Lucifer could have chosen to let you open the gates. But he didn't. He chose me. So if you want me to stop touching my property, you're going to have to beg me a lot prettier than that." Dean tilted his head down and saw that Meg's words had found some marks: behind his flushed and glowering brother, an army began to grow restless.
Sam jutted his chin out. "You say Lucifer's power stops me from pulling down the Citadel's walls with my will. Fine. I still have half of Hell's legions at my back, bound to my command by contracts signed with true names. If Lucifer's will and the Citadel's walls can protect you from them, then why bother assembling your own supporters outside?"
"It appears to me your allies are starting to wriggle under their bonds." She raised her hand and the minions pushed Dean forward so that she could hold his chin in her hand. "Lords and Ladies of Hell, you arrived here so certain of the Boy King's powers: now you see him impotent. My assembled legions are equal to your own. There's a chance your side might win, but not without heavy casualties." She twisted Dean's neck from left to right and back again, displaying him for the crowd. "I ask you once again: are you truly willing to die on the behalf of Dean Winchester?"
Dean didn't have to ask the answer to that one. Behind Sam the sea of troops no longer moved as one force, sections pushing up against each other, murmurs of dissent became raised voices. Before Sam could respond, Meg raised her hand. "But unlike the Boy King, I do not wish you to die in the name of his insignificant human attachments. So, boy, I have an offer for you. If your allies will lay down their arms, then I will grant you and your sponsor alone entrance to the Citadel so you can submit your petition properly." She cocked her head. "Where is your little bitch anyway? Not by your side? Had a lover's spat, did you?" Dean watched his brother's face turn red and there was no way, no chance Sam would sleep with a demon again. Right?
Meg made a show of scanning the crowd. "I can't see him anywhere!" More and more demons were snickering on both sides. "Oh, did you leave him locked away in your bedchamber? If so, I'm afraid you'll have to go retrieve him before you can come inside."
And then Dean did have a little bit of vomit rise up in his throat because of all the demons in Hell it was Crowley that had emerged from the crowd, pushed forward by a large demon who actually had both horns and a tail. "I'm here, right here," Crowley announced and, dear God, please don't let it be true. "And he's not my lover!" he snapped as the hoots and howls arose, but the horned demon continued to push him towards Sam. Dean's brother almost looked like he was in pain, his eyes shut and jaw locked tight, silent. But Sam wasn't embarrassed; this was something else.
Meg tensed. "King Modo, you honor us with your presence," she said and Dean could tell she hadn't expected this guy; this cartoon demon made her nervous.
Modo smiled, his hand clamped firmly on Crowley's shoulder and his tail swishing back and forth. "You must know how I've longed to see the Citadel again, Spider Queen," and that was a threat if Dean ever heard one. "But I will not allow the Boy King to enter your web with Crowley alone for company."
"The protections of the Orph-"
"Apply only until the petition is granted," Modo growled. "You have no intention of letting the Vessel leave."
Meg raised her arms. "Modo, every demon in Hell knows the Boy King's hands can kill a greater demon with a single touch." Dean blinked; he wasn't a demon and he didn't know that. "How could I keep him?"
Sam just stood there while they argued about him, his eyes screwed shut, not saying a word even when Crowley grabbed his right arm. "The Boy King's hands can barely wipe his own arse!" shouted Crowley, ripping the glove off Sam's hand before pressing his face into Sam's palm. "See!" He dropped Sam's arm, stepped away and took a bow. "I'm still not dead!"
Then things started to explode.
Dean, like everyone else, had been watching Sam and Crowley, so he only saw a flash of light; the explosion had been so far back that he didn't hear the blast until almost a second later. Dean looked up and saw the crater nearly a mile back. A few moments later, demon bits began to shower down.
Meg looked stunned. Sam looked stunned. Everyone looked stunned. Meg pointed at Sam and shrieked, "What did you just do?"
"What did I do?" screamed Sam, holding his hand to his chest. "What did you do? My powers don't work here! She's doing it again!" Sam shouted, turning back towards his troops.
"That's not-" Meg was cut off when Modo, and the ground beneath him, exploded. Dean saw the force of the blast send his brother and Crowley flying off in opposite directions. He lunged forward as he tracked Sam's body, watched it crash to the ground miraculously whole and unharmed.
"Get him back to his cell, now!" shouted Meg.
Dean caught just a glimpse of Sam getting up on shaky legs before the demons grabbed him. "No!" Dean dug in his heels, pushed and fought back for the first time since he'd arrived in Hell, and despite his chains it took six demons to subdue him.
Face slammed to the floor, Dean heard his brother's voice rise over the battlefield. "It's Lucifer! Lucifer's attacking us!" Sam was alive and rallying the troops. Dean stopped struggling then, let the demons drag him back inside. Sam's first rescue attempt had been kind of a disaster and now his little brother was stuck in the middle of an enormous demon war but that was okay because apparently Sam was invincible here.
Sam was invincible and he was stubborn. Sam wouldn't quit. Sam would find another way.
Dean knew it wouldn't take long.
Six hours later, Sam stumbled through the door of Dean's cell.
Meg had the Winchesters right where she wanted them all along.
After she pushed Sam into the cell she raised her hands, used her powers to hold Sam up against one wall and pin Dean against the other. She'd been waiting for this reunion for a long time, she would savor it. With a tilt of her head the door slammed shut and her victory was sealed.
Meg didn't care about the battle still raging outside of Dean's cell, didn't care how many demons continued to die with every passing second. Nothing outside of this room mattered; though the Boy King's forces had broken through the gates, the Citadel was enormous: a maze of passages, rooms and corridors. It was easy to get lost even if you knew where you were going. And while Meg had never really expected Sam to get so far on his own, her plan had anticipated it. When her minions captured Sam, hours after she'd lost track of him during the breach, he'd been almost a quarter mile away from his brother, wandering aimlessly on the fourth floor in a completely different wing. Really, Sam had almost looked relieved when they caught him, and rightfully so: it might have taken him weeks to get here on his own. Here, in an obscure corner of the second basement, far from any of the fighting, Meg's moment of triumph would not be interrupted.
Meg stood in front of her prize. All of those beautiful lean muscles strained futilely against her powers. Meg pressed herself against them, rubbed her face against his chest like a cat and he stopped struggling, held himself deathly still. She'd possessed him before but even then she'd known that she didn't belong inside this body. No, her destiny was to stand alongside this body while Lucifer used it to conquer Heaven and Earth. Sam was so careless with his flesh; she'd been terrified he'd figured it out: if he'd died, the Vessel would have been lost forever. It would have been centuries on Earth - untold millenia in Hell - before another Vessel would be born. Meg had needed to act quickly, had to get the Vessel here where she could keep it safe for its true owner. And now, despite her limited time and resources, she'd succeeded.
She pulled away, not because of Dean's shouted protests and insults, but because she had one last task to attend to before she could get the true embrace she longed for. A formality, really, but still regrettably necessary. The events of the last day had shown that Sam wasn't quite as stupid as she'd always thought, though, so maybe it wouldn't take too long to make him understand that Meg had already won.
She decided to appeal to Sam's vanity. "You've turned out to be quite the devious little planner, Sam. That was very clever of you, using your powers against your own troops at the end and claiming it was me."
Sam's jaw worked for a moment before he broke the silence he'd held since his capture with a snort. "You had a point. None of them were going to die for Dean." He smiled down at her. "But all of them knew better than to trust you after that convocation of yours."
"I walked right into it," Meg admitted. "I really ought to be ashamed, but then again, you even managed to kill old Modo, and he'd been plotting to take over Hell ever since Dad exiled him to the Wastes half a million years ago. You lured out all of my greatest rivals, Sam, and then you got them all killed. Well done, really."
Sam huffed out a breath. "Wasn't just your rivals dying out there last I saw, Meg. You don't have many allies left either."
Meg smirked. "You think I care about other demons? Good riddance. Any one of them would have betrayed me in an instant if they thought they could get away with it. They were never more than tools to me, the means to get what I really want. And everything I really want is right here." She rubbed a lock of his hair between her fingers.
Behind them, Dean laughed. "I'm touched, but you're gonna have to forgive me for not sharing the sentiment. We're ready to go."
Meg spared a moment to glare at Dean. When she looked back, Sam had that stubborn set to his jaw. "Dean's right. We're leaving."
"No, you're not."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "The Orpheus Clause says I can leave Hell at any time. Now that I have my brother, I'm leaving."
Meg tutted her tongue. "You don't have your brother. He's all the way over there and, whoops, you didn't bring your sponsor, so you don't have a petition either. Sorry."
"Fine," spat Sam. "I'm fucking sick of dancing around. What do you want, Meg?"
"Lucifer."
"I left him in the Cage."
Meg sighed, ran her finger along that stubborn jaw. "Oh, Sam. Do you know what Hell is?"
He rolled his eyes. "I don't know. Other people?" he snarked, but the reply filled Meg with glee.
"Ooh, so close. Sartre was so very close. Hell isn't other people, Sam: it's another person. A particular person, one you've been pretty close to before, and you're oh so close to him now." Meg stepped back, chuckling. "It's so funny how you talk about the Cage like it's separate from Hell. Such literal little brains. Did you really think that God just put Lucifer in a big box? The Cage is Hell. And Hell is Lucifer. Everything you see? That's him too." Sam blinked and she grinned, could tell she was finally starting to make headway. "If he was in true isolation, how did you think he tempted Lilith? Lucifer's so powerful, the other angels had to use him as the power source for his own bindings. Have you figured it out yet? Do I have to draw in the last dot? Or have you figured out why in the heart of Hell, Lucifer's powers are infinite? No, got that on your own? Good, you have been paying attention." She was so close, she could taste it. "Lucifer might as well be standing right next to you, Sam. Doesn't matter how many seals the angels put up when I've got your body in the heart of Hell. All you have to do is say yes to him, let him in, and he'll walk right out of Hell in your meatsuit." With her, and Meg could hear the words in her mind, heard Lucifer renewing his promise in Sam's voice.
"No," said the same voice as Sam shook his head. "The answer will always be no."
And there was that Winchester stubbornness. But it didn't matter, Meg still held all the cards. She walked over to the other wall, held Dean's chin in her hand and faced Sam. "Willing to bet Dean's soul on that? Because, and I'm not going to lie and say I'm not thrilled to say this, but the boy's been dead for a long time now. Killed him myself a week in, but he passed out in a puddle of his own piss a full half hour before his heart gave out, so it seems to have escaped his notice."
Dean's shocked expression was better than any of the other times Meg had shoved her knives into him. Sam couldn't ignore the truth of what she said when it was written all over his brother's face. Meg ruffled Dean's hair, reward for a well-trained pet who performed on demand. "Now, Lucifer's been kind enough to keep putting him together for us to play with, but he doesn't have to keep it up. Even if you had managed to present your petition it wouldn't matter. If Dean takes one step outside of the Citadel, Lucifer will cut off life support, and, oh, whoops, those angelic get-out-of-jail-free cards the angels gave you don't work if your soul's already in Hell."
This was it. "Now, Sam, Lucifer doesn't want you to suffer." And he didn't. Meg didn't much approve of this part, but she had to concede that Lucifer had a point. "You've done a fine job of clearing a path to power here in Hell. If you say yes, your soul will stay here, and you'll keep all the powers you had before, Boy King. Hell's yours, free and clear. You know how to mold the reality of Hell as well as anyone: no demon would ever be able to threaten you or your brother again."
Meg stepped away, stood back to let her words do their work. For several long moments the Winchesters stared at each other, mirroring each other's trembling jaws and dewy eyes. Dean broke first, his eyes darting down right before he inclined his head a fraction of a degree. That was enough to set Sam off into a full body shudder. When it was done he looked her in the eye and said, "Fine. It's over."
She let her eyes glint black. "Say it, then."
Sam swallowed, staring at his brother who had shut his eyes and was shaking his head. "I- uh- I just - I just want to hug my brother, in the flesh, one last time."
Meg laughed. "You would." She flicked her wrist, dropped the force binding them to the walls. His powers wouldn't work here, her guards had taken all of his weapons, and he looked so hopeless, so broken that Meg couldn't resist. Let them have their hug. Meg had won.
Dean slumped against the wall while Sam crossed the room. Sam offered his left hand to his brother and Dean took it, used it to pull himself to his feet. Their hands stayed linked as Sam said, "Meg?" with an odd note in his voice.
"Yes?"
"Thanks." With his right hand, Sam had pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Dean was pulling the remaining glove off of his brother's hand. "For everything." Meg didn't have time to react to the sight of the Horsemen's Rings on Sam's left hand because Sam had pressed the 'call' button on the cell phone.
"And fuck you," added Dean in the split second between Castiel's appearance and when the angel touched his fingers to their foreheads.
All three of them disappeared, leaving Meg alone in the heart of Hell with nothing but her own screams for company.
Dean arrived at the steps outside of Bobby's house and knew Meg had been telling the truth. "Shit," he gasped before collapsing, his heart still in his chest, the memory of a million injuries ripping into his nerves.
"Dean!" his brother shouted, and then there were strong arms beneath him, Castiel's soft touch on his forehead, and then the blissful sensation of nothing. When Dean opened his eyes, he saw Sam and Castiel looking down on him. They weren't alone.
"I really hope you're not here to collect me," said Dean.
"Not this time, Dean, your friend Castiel has seen to that," said Death, bowing his head. "I am here, however, to collect my ring. Samuel, if you would please?"
Sam nodded and with Castiel's help got Dean to his feet before pulling Death's ring off of his own index finger and dropping it into the Horseman's waiting palm. "She had them all locked in a cabinet in what looked like her office. The phone led me straight to them," Sam said.
"Yeah, locating rings and angel homing beacons - who knew that Death had an app for that?" Death fitted the ring back onto his finger with a small smile and Dean grunted. "I hope it was all worth it."
Death arched his brows. "Worth keeping Lucifer in his Cage? You tell me, Dean."
Sam grimaced. "I still don't understand why she didn't use them right away."
"Opening the Cage with the rings would have also released Michael," said Castiel.
"And Lucifer would have still lacked a proper Vessel," added Death.
Castiel inclined his head. "Still, she would have done it, if she hadn't stumbled across what appeared to be, in every respect, a superior plan."
"Yes, I really must be more careful about where I leave my old books from now on," finished Death.
Dean snorted at the look that Death and Castiel exchanged. "Yeah, go ahead and pat yourselves on the back. Just as long as this is the last one of your superior plans that involves me, I don't give a shit."
Castiel looked pained and Death sighed. "You need not be so short with me, Dean," said Death. "With the rings out of Hell, the angels will be able to rebuild the seals on the Cage properly. Combined with the chaos of the war your brother started in Hell, Lucifer will not have another chance to escape his prison for thousands of years - and that's if any demon in Hell cares to have dealings with him ever again." Death glanced at Sam and Dean saw his brother straighten his shoulders out of the corner of his eyes. "You have done well, and sacrificed much. I understand that. You have my word, both of you: you've seen the last of Hell and the next time you see me, it will be when I deliver your souls to Heaven myself." Death nodded and Dean had no choice but to believe him. "With that said, gentlemen, I take my leave. Until we meet again."
And then there were three. Sam coughed. "What should we do with the other rings?" he asked, stripping them off of his fingers.
Castiel extended his hand. "I'll take them to Heaven for safe-keeping, at least until we finish rebuilding the seals-" and Dean didn't care. He was too fucking tired to deal with this shit. Let them deal with the aftermath: Dean had suffered enough.
He turned around and walked into Bobby's house, headed down the stairs. "Bobby! Lisa? It's me! Don't shoot," he said, turning the handle on the panic room door. He opened it and found Bobby still had a shotgun leveled at him, shut his eyes before the spray of holy water hit him in the face, and grinned. He stepped over the salt line and gave Bobby a quick hug. "Hold off on the silver knife until Ben's out of the room, okay?"
Bobby pulled Dean in tight. "Sure thing, kid."
Bobby stepped away so that Lisa could take his place and this was good, Lisa felt so damn good in his arms and he couldn't wait to kiss her, but he'd have to wait for her to stop talking first. "... all they'd tell me was that you'd been taken and that we had to stay here until it was safe and are you okay?"
"Sorry," he murmured, kissing the crown of her head and holding her tighter. "Never wanted to scare you like that." He looked up and caught Ben's gaze. "You too, Ben." Dean pulled away just a bit so that he could tell them both, "I won't let anything like this happen again." And then he pulled Lisa back against him because he wanted to and because he could.
Bobby snorted. "Come on, Ben, I'm sure you're ready to eat something other than MREs and beef jerky." Ben took the cue; like any eleven year old he had a limited tolerance for watching his mom cuddle with her boyfriend. Bobby gave Dean a wink before following Ben out.
"You're not going to tell me what happened either, are you?" said Lisa a few minutes later, after he'd given her the kiss he hadn't let himself dream about for months.
"No," Dean admitted. "It's over now, that's all that matters. How long were you stuck here waiting?"
"About three days," said Lisa and that was about right. "Why?"
He nuzzled her neck. "Oh, no reason. Just seemed longer to me, that's all."
She shifted a little in his arms. "Yeah, I can tell."
Dean knew Lisa was trying to pull away, knew that he should let her go, but he didn't want to. "Love you," he whispered and she stopped pulling away, her eyes wide. Dean cleared his throat. "I, uh - where I was, I had a lot of time to think. And I couldn't say - I spent the whole time not being able to say what I really wanted to. It was Hell," and that was all the closest to a confession he could ever give her, so he'd make it count, "and I knew, I knew that when I got back that I had to tell you. Had to say what was on my mind."
Lisa was still watching him and Dean swallowed. "So yeah, I said it. And uh-"
"Dean, shut up." Lisa held her finger up to his lips. "I love you too. Just don't think that's a free pass out of anything, okay?"
Dean smiled. "Yes, ma'am." And then there was more kissing and other things and all of it was good, all of it was right, all of it what just what Dean wanted.
By the next morning, Dean had developed some perspective. He was a lucky man: he'd found a beautiful, understanding woman who loved him. Not everybody had that. And Dean had to be there for them, too.
He still dreaded the conversations to come enough to lean heavily on Lisa the whole way up the stairs. Lisa left his side to go check on Ben and Dean headed to the kitchen. Bobby took one look at him and grunted. "Good to be home, huh?"
"You'd better believe it."
"I'll take your word for it." Bobby shoveled something fried out of a skillet and onto a plate. "Sit down." Dean obediently sat and dug into a mess of eggs, potatoes, onions and peppers that satisfied the soul. "Castiel and Sam filled me in on your little adventure. Next time you pull something like that, I'd appreciate a heads up," said Bobby, tossing the empty skillet into the sink with a homey but firm 'clang' before joining Dean at the table and setting down two mugs of coffee.
"Won't be a next time," Dean replied around a mouthful of food.
"Mmm-hmm."
Dean looked around. "Where is Sam, anyway?" he asked.
"Out back. Got off to an early start, said he had to take care of some things." Bobby waited until after Dean had finished eating to cock an eyebrow at him. "Pretty sure you left a change of clothes and your old boots in my spare room. Those jammies you're wearing now ain't fit for nothing but grease rags."
Dean looked down at himself. "Think you're right, Bobby. Thanks." And Dean did feel a lot better putting on his own clothes after a quick shower in water that smelled of rusty pipes rather than sulfur, getting the last traces of Hell off his skin. He tossed the rags in the trash with the intention of burning them first chance he got.
But first things first. Dean headed out to go find his brother, but Castiel was waiting for him, standing on the stairs in the late morning sunshine. "You walked away," he said.
"Yeah," Dean replied. "Needed to check on Lisa and Ben."
Castiel's expression didn't change. "Sam told me not to interrupt you, so I have been waiting out here."
Dean laughed once. "Hope you didn't wait around all night. Don't you have a civil war going on?"
"I'm monitoring the situation and have learned to... multi-task while I awaited Sam's signal by the Gates of Bone and Flesh." Castiel glanced heavenwards. "Raphael had been colluding with Lucifer and Meg in order to restart the apocalypse; it will take his cause some time to recover from the setbacks he suffered this week." Castiel looked back at Dean. "But I wanted to make sure that you were okay."
Dean shrugged. "I've been through Hell, Cas, what do you think?" Castiel was still looking at him. "Thanks for pulling me out again," he said.
"It was the least I could do," said Castiel and Dean had to give him a break.
"No hard feelings, Cas. It was a good plan, it worked, and it's over now. The less said about it, the better."
Castiel inclined his head. "If that's what you want."
"It is." Dean looked around. "So, do you know where my brother is?" Castiel nodded and pointed. Dean turned his head to look and the angel had disappeared before Dean had the chance to thank him. Dean grinned; he had to envy Castiel's talent for quick exits from awkward conversations.
Some awkward conversations, however, needed to be had. Dean headed off through the wrecks, towards the barn that served as Bobby's tool shed. He stopped short, however, when he heard a voice other than his brother's coming from that direction. Dean shook his head: he shouldn't be surprised that Crowley had somehow survived the battle Sam had started.
Dean still couldn't see them yet but he could hear Sam now, his voice comparatively muffled. "... I'm telling you, Crowley, we didn't kill her."
"Well then, where is she?" Dean caught sight of Crowley bent over a few feet away from the Impala. The hood of the Impala was open and Dean could hear a socket wrench turning. "She's nowhere to be found in Hell, and believe me, we've been looking," said Crowley.
"You're trying to tell me there's not a demon in Hell who knows her true name?" muttered Sam, his long legs poking out from underneath the front of the car.
"Yes, Sam, that's exactly what I'm telling you. Of the few thousand demons left in Hell after the mess you started, not a one of them knows the Queen of Spiders' real name. It's like she never even existed." Dean smirked at this news. It seemed a fitting destiny.
His brother apparently found it just as amusing. "That's a damn shame, Crowley. Better make sure you keep a tight grip on things down there, in case she ever tries to come back."
"I dare the bitch to try," huffed Crowley. "In fact, neither of you should show your faces in Hell ever again. I don't need you meddling about down there - I've got things under control."
Sam was apparently holding something between his teeth but Dean could still understand his reply. "Wasn't planning on it."
"But you should keep your eyes open, in case she's up here. Can't imagine she's going to let something like this go. She'll be looking for revenge," and was Dean hallucinating or was that concern he heard in Crowley's voice?
Sam stood up, his hair matted down with sweat and smears of grease covering his undershirt. "I appreciate the warning," he said, wiping his hands off on his jeans. "Especially given that the last time I saw you, you'd just betrayed me and declared to an entire dimension that I couldn't wipe my own ass." He had a smile on his face that couldn't get past the dark circles under his eyes.
Crowley shrugged. "When I woke up after the explosion in one piece three miles from the battle, I figured you'd decided to be the bigger man about the whole thing. No harm, no foul, right?"
"Yeah, Crowley, that's right." Sam looked just as tired as Dean felt and his smile fell when he caught sight of Dean. "We'll be on the lookout for her," he said, nodding at Dean.
Crowley spun around and scowled, so Dean made sure to grin extra wide. "We beat her in Hell, we're not about to let her get the drop on us here," he said, going to lean against the door of his car.
"Yes, well, I don't give a damn either way," announced Crowley, his eyes darting between them. "Hell is well rid of all three of you." The demon held up his hands. "Speaking of which, I have to be off. Busy time to be a demon these days. Can't hardly keep an eye on all the damned, much less keep the floggers on them."
Sam crossed his arms. "I'm sure you'll manage."
Crowley's eyes darted between Dean and Sam. "It's just I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I'm not going soft or anything, but I just won't have the demons to spare up here for a couple of years. Have to get my house in order, understand, after the mess you two made."
Sam's lips quirked to the side. "Better get to it, then."
Crowley sniffed. "Right. So I'm going to go." And then he was gone.
Dean rubbed his freshly-shaved chin. "What the hell was that all about?"
Sam shook his head, rubbing his hand down the side of his face and leaving a trail of grease behind. "I honestly don't know. Wanted to warn us about Meg, because he thinks I'm an idiot and couldn't think of that on my own. And I think he might actually miss me."
Dean looked down. "Well, it sounded like you spent a lot of time together."
"We did," agreed Sam before he blanched. "I mean - there were a lot of rumors in Hell, but Crowley and I never-" and Sam shuddered, "It was never like that," he finished lamely, slapping the socket wrench against his hand.
"Relax, Sammy, I believe you. He ain't your type: I know you're a leg man." Dean pushed off of the door and walked around Sam to lean under the hood. "But I do have to ask: what the hell are you doing to my baby?"
Sam flinched. "Oh. Um, I think there's a belt loose. Last couple of times I started her, she made a whining noise."
Dean looked up at Sam, who was chewing on his lower lip. Kid had a point - Dean had heard the squeal the last time he drove her, but that had been many months ago. "And so you decided to add tension to the belts?" Sam bobbed his head, holding his hands both down by his sides, unsure and looking for answers and it's six months before Dean's deal comes due, the day Dean teaches Sam which belt is which in the first place and it's the summer of 1998 and Sam wants Dean to figure out why his sawed-off isn't cocking right since he cleaned it last time and Sam is twelve years old and it's the last time Dean will ever be able to help him with his math homework- sorry, Sammy, I quit paying attention after algebra-
Dean grabbed the hot black metal of the side panel and he was back in himself in the present. His eyes flickered up at Sam, who hadn't noticed the whole bungee jump down memory lane: must not have taken too long. Dean turned his palm over and motioned for Sam to hand him the socket wrench. "If we're lucky, you might be right. Chances are you're wrong, but give her a start." Sam jogged over. "Only leave her on for a second - need to keep her cold if this ain't it."
"Yeah, I know," said Sam and he didn't sound half as annoyed as he should have. But it was easier to tell the kid what he was doing wrong with the Impala. Dean knew what Sam was doing wrong with the Impala.
The engine turned over and sure enough, there was an acrid smell and a loud shriek, damn thing sounded just like Dean did at the start of a session with Dusty and godfuckingdammit, no it didn't. "That's enough!" Dean shouted so that Sam would kill the engine before it got too hot.
When Sam got back out Dean had sat back against the bumper. "Power steering fluid," was all he said. Sam bent over to check the level, no hesitation at all; Dean had managed to teach him something over the years. "And you'd damn well better hope it's that, otherwise I'm sending you hunting through the yard for a new water pump."
"Right," said Sam, gingerly lifting the up the cap. Dean tossed him a rag to wipe off the dipstick. "Whoa, way too much in there."
Dean headed off into the barn. "Lemme guess, you put some in while we were stopped in Aberdeen?" Safer to use geographic coordinates when Dean still didn't know how long it had been.
"How'd you know?" asked Sam while Dean picked up a drip pan, a turkey baster, and a pair of beers out of the mini-fridge. It was past noon by now, probably.
"Because that's when I topped it off too. Next time, ask first. Ass." Dean smiled and handed Sam the drip pan and turkey baster. "These are for you." He raised the beers in his other fist. "And when you're done, you can have one of these. So start sucking, Sammy, and don't be shy about it," he finished with a quick arch of his eyebrows and there was that bitchy little face he'd been waiting for. He sat down on the sunbleached hood of a GTO. "I must be a special guy, I've got the Boy King doing light maintenance on my car."
Sam's shoulders went all brooding and pensive. "Don't listen to Crowley. There never was a Boy King. It was just an act. Had to keep him on edge, had to get the demons in line, lure Modo out of hiding - it was just an act."
"Wasn't here for that part of the conversation, but I saw enough yesterday to know that's at least a little bit bullshit." Dean took a sip of beer while his brother siphoned. "You had power down there, dude. Scary, scary fucking power."
Sam turned around. "Were you scared of me?"
"No." Dean looked up at the sky. "No. Was I confused as all hell? Sure, especially after three months or so when I figured out that you'd changed plans and weren't going to show up anytime soon. Didn't figure out the new one until about five minutes before we busted out, but it sounds like your plan worked out all right. Not enough demons left in Hell to run the place? That's more than Castiel and Death had ever hoped to get us."
Sam shook his head. "I shouldn't have left you there so long-"
"Why not? I knew what I was getting into when I said yes to the plan. And who knows how many lives you saved because the demons aren't gonna be able to mess around up here for a couple decades? Nah, you made the smart choice. There's nothing that happened to me down there that hadn't happened before." Sam was about to barge in and Dean raised up his hand to stop him. "Nothing I hadn't survived before, you understand?" Dean could tell that Sam didn't really agree but Dean wasn't above using Sam's guilt to get him to concede this one thing so he kept staring until Sam ducked his head. Dean softened his expression. "Maybe I was scared for you, down there, Sam. But never scared of you." Sam had set the drip pan aside and sat down next to Dean, their shoulders brushing together and Sam snagged the other beer while pushing his hair out of his face. "Couldn't bring myself to tremble in terror of Cousin It," Dean added.
Sam groaned. "Dean..."
Dean gave him a sober look. "Yeah, all right, but this is it, man. You don't get to ask again after this. Some shit's private, okay?"
Sam nodded, taking a pull from his beer. "Yeah, sure. Won't ask again, but you can- I'm always here, y'know."
Dean looked at his brother in the eye. "You are, right? Because that's what I was scared of. Scared you were gone. Scared Hell had gotten to you, your powers had gotten to you, that you'd changed so much that the Boy King was all that was left. You and I both know there's not a lot of lines that we won't cross to protect each other. The stories I heard - what little I saw - you were like a god or something down there - a pissy-ass, wrathful god." Dean looked back at the Impala and took another drink. "And then there's your life up here, which is, well, it ain't exactly glamorous." Dean shrugged. "I was just - there's not a lot of folks who'd be able to say no to that kind of power."
Sam's throat worked for a second before he found his words. "Yeah, I had a lot of power. But Meg at least had one point: all of that power? It didn't mean anything, because at the end of the day, I still would have been in Hell. And sure, I'll put up with Crowley, but I could never trust him - would never have been able to trust anyone again. Not to mention..."
"What?" Dean asked after Sam left him hanging for a few seconds too long.
"Not to mention that you would have never forgiven me," Sam said, wiping his face with the back of his hand, smearing the grease around and he didn't look like the Boy King, though he did look like an overgrown boy. "And I couldn't have lived with that. I didn't - I don't want to be the Boy King. That whole idea of it being better to reign in Hell? Fuck that," and Sam laughed, really laughed, and his shoulders finally loosened up and Dean knew his little brother had figured it out, almost all on his own. "I never want to see the Pit again. Where I want to be is on Earth, having a beer, with my brother," Sam finished, raising his bottle, the question left unsaid.
Never had to be asked to be answered. Not with them. Not with the Winchester brothers.
Dean smiled, lifted his bottle, and knocked it against Sam's. "Yeah. Me too."
THE ENDAuthor's Notes: Thank you so much for reading to the end - I hope it was worth it. I'll try to keep these short. Once again - I have to say that this project was a collaboration in the truest sense of the word and simply would not exist without the contributions of both
dollarformyname and jjhunter. Both of them put untold hours worth of work into this and were both the greatest cheerleaders and the finest critics that an author could wish for - they're both extremely talented, insightful authors in their own rights. It was truly a privilege working with them and JJ even learned an entire new canon just to beta this fic for me, so hopefully one day our fandom will get her take on the Brothers Winchester. Dollar - well, her art just takes my breath away every time I look at it. Not to mention how wonderful they were about holding my hand while I dealt with subject matter that didn't come easily to me - but all in the name of doing Dollar's art justice, of telling the story I set out to tell without cheating, no matter how long or brutal it got. They are the courage of my convictions: ladies, this story is for you.An additional note about the pairings/genre listing on this story. I put a lot of thought into how to label this story - I haven't written a story with an R-rating in over ten years, and the decision to include sexual torture in this story wasn't one I came to lightly. After all was said and done, I came to the conclusion, with the help of my contributors and advice from trusty comm-mod
bauble (thanks again!) that the story remained a gen-fic. Though there is sex between Meg and Dean there is no romance; the act is entirely based on power and it's presented as yet another, particularly cruel form of torture: there's not even much lust in the act. Furthermore, even contemplating the question of whether 'sex between a self-identified-female-demon-temporarily-wearing-a-male-body and a man' would count as slash or het was enough to give me a headache. Anyway, I hope the current labeling suffices - if you have any strong opinions on how to improve the labeling without spoiling the story, please feel free to contact me.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif){kind=small}
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Your Sam was great - I thought it was strange that Show talked about the Boy King concept and never went anywhere with it - especially when we found out that they only groomed Sam in order to get him to raise Lucifer. But he was BAMF and caring and the little brother all at the same time, which was great.
I'd classify this as gen - although you know how much we've all talked about the definition of gen :) But there is that lack of romance, and sex doesn't mean something isn't gen.
I truly enjoyed reading this and I hope you had just as much fun writing it. Congratulations for finishing; it's truly quite an accomplishment!
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Especially considering how good you are at writing Hell/torture! horror, it really means a lot to me that you enjoyed this story so much. Thanks for letting me know!
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I *really* liked the opening to this final part.
Meg laughed. "Or you'll do what? Wave your hand and look constipated again?"
Well, we all have to do what we do best. :)
"It's so funny how you talk about the Cage like it's separate from Hell. Such literal little brains. Did you really think that God just put Lucifer in a big box? The Cage is Hell. And Hell is Lucifer. Everything you see? That's him too."
I like this part so much. Again, so many interesting ideas and things to think about.
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This is by far the most complicated plot I've ever put together - normally I do pretty straight-forward things. While writing the Crowley POV scene, my beta asked for a summary of all the cons Sam was running at the time - and it took me 1,500 words to explain all three. Writing smart characters is hard.
The whole idea of the ruler of the realm also *is* the realm is an idea that I cribbed from Neil Gaiman's The Sandman, where the Endless share the same trait. JJ pointed out that this sort of situation has been described mathematically as a "Klein bottle", and then Dollar took that idea and made the dividers - that flaming object in a middle is a Klein bottle. Like I said: collaboration is AWESOME!
Okay, I've nattered on enough - you're right, there are a lot of background ideas and thought that never made it into the actual story, and I get excited talking about them. But thanks again for all this detailed feedback and for reading - makes my day.
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I love Meg. I love her so much and I love what you did with her here, making a very important player and not just some random lackey. She's Lucifer's right hand demon and a powerful enemy in her own right. I'll stop now, but I loved this story. It was interesting and fun to read.
(And I'd label it as gen, I should think.)
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So I love knowing that you were genuinely worried about Sam from part one - yay! The Meg!Sam revelation really worked! And oh my god, you weren't bored to tears with all of my labyrinthine political stuff - you found it interesting?! YES! I <3 you.
My initial proposal to the author said: in this story there will be no idiots, no woobies, only smart BAMFs. And Meg is so BAMF that she's brutal to write. She really did drive a lot of where the story went - especially the noncon bit.
Anyway - I'll shut up now. Thank you so much for the feedback.
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...And then I read the whole thing in one go. >.>
I love the mythology you've introduced, here--the names, the demons that go with the names, the hierarchies and political games of Hell. That being said, I don't read an overabundance of political fantasy, but your set-up here is intriguing. There are so many factions and motivations and deceptions; it's glorious. And in the background, there's the ongoing wars in Heaven and Hell, between Heaven and Hell, etc.
There are so many great one-liners and lovely parallelisms in this; I should have kept track of them so I could comment more specifically, but they're quite numerous! And the ending, with all its twists, was really well done. I loved that the dynamic appeared to volley between just about everyone (except Dean, mostly, ahaha) in that final bit. And then the denouement at Bobby's? Gorgeous. Definitely left breathing room for your audience, but not without also giving us niggling, unsettled fragments at the back of our minds--especially with regard to the rape, and the level of detail to which Sam was aware of his brother's various experiences (unbeknownst to Dean).
You're left feeling open-ended and ready for more, but not unfulfilled.
I'd love to read more about Meg, Queen of Spiders (and her true name). ^^
Great job, bb~!
And, to second Ali, MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEG! Also, TOOOOOOOOOOONGUE. Or Dean's lack thereof, for a scene. IT'S A FIXATION I CAN'T HELP IT AAAH.
Also, the Winchesters actually calling Castiel will never be rid of this entirely new level of meaning for me. XDDDno subject
I'm wary of political fantasy myself - it requires readers to slog through lots of exposition about OCs (always of questionable interest) and can get really boring very quickly. Part of the reason Sam zones in and out of the conversations is because I sympathized with readers who might do the same while I was busy dropping enough clues and passing references to make sure that the ending, while a twist, was still honest. I'm glad that you found it intriguing instead of a complete mess. To give due credit: much of the mythology is a pastiche of the depictions of Hell found in The Sandman and Hellblazer, as well as Gaiman's version of Faerie found in The Books of Magic. Seeing as Kripke already pulled so much from those sources, it wound up feeling right at home alongside the little SPN canon available regarding what Hell is really like.
Dean serves as the pinion point for the story - everything else twists and turns around him. He appears to have the least agency character in the story: for twenty thousand words he never even enters a room of his own volition; but he's also the strongest. Without his strength, the whole wheel comes flying off. So yeah, the dynamics volley around, but Dean remains constant. Hurt, but still himself.
I might be wrong but I think there are sufficient clues in the story to figure out Meg's true name with a little bit of googling and some familiarity with the source materials I drew from. She does have one. In early outlines, Sam was going to reveal it at the Citadel walls, but as the issue of identity grew into the story's chief theme, I decided to leave it a mystery; emphasizing that the power of names has two poles.
Anyway - I could natter on about this story forever, so I'll stop now - but, again: thanks so much for reading and the feedback.