Title: The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep
Author: Wysawyg
Summary: Sam Winchester was beginning to wonder whether the demon had forgotten his plans for him. Sam Winchester had forgotten that the demon played a long game. Dark!fic. Multi-chapter. Not WIP.
Disclaimer: Everything the light touches belongs to someone else. The darkside too. It's all Kripke and the guys and gals at the CW.
Warnings and notes:Multiple character death. Dark fic.
Timeline: Diverges AU from season 2. Approximately after Born under a Bad Sign but before Heart.
Beta: Beta'd by the wonderful TraSan who is a wonderful writer and beta but does torture flame-retardant ducks hence proving that no-one is perfect.
Feedback: Makes the hamsters in my head dance, especially concrit.
Author's Notes: The final chapter. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with the fic this far. I hope the chapter lives up to expectations. Another huge, huge thanks to TraSan who beta'd this monstrosity!
I'm currently way behind on replying to feedback thanks to busy work and I'm heading off for a fortnight to Corfu come Monday so it's unlikely I'll be catching up anytime soon but I promise I will catch up and I am grateful for every single comment!
Chapter 14
When Dean woke up in the morning to find a gun pointed at his head, he realised that his day wasn't going to go quite as planned. The reason he wasn't particularly worried was that it was Jo pointing it at his head. At his startled expression, she just cocked her head to one side and asked, "Did you really think I wouldn't figure out what you were planning to do?"
"Who says I'm planning to do anything?" Dean asked, his voice sleep muzzy. The only thing Dean planned to do at that moment was get it through people's heads that he liked to be woken up with coffee, not guns. You'd think that'd be an uncommon mistake to make.
"Your eyes did," Jo said. "You gave in far too easily and I saw your eyes shift up to the right. You've gotten a lot worse at hiding the fact you are lying recently."
"Out of practice," Dean said with a shrug, pulling himself up to lean against the headboard. "You do realise this is probably being broadcast on SammyVision? Is this your grand plan to make him come after you?" Jo didn't even flinch, "Except, of course, Sam only sees when people might kill me and I don't think you'd actually kill me. Might shoot me a little."
"If that's what it takes to stop you marching out and getting yourself killed," Jo said, utterly blasé, moving the gun's aim from Dean's head to his stomach.
"Why not go for a kneecap? That'd permanently fuck me up. Especially if you went for the left, seeing as I can't rest my weight properly on the right. I could sit in the Roadhouse, your very own pet Winchester." Dean pushed the blanket off to expose the full length of his body, his only sleepwear a raggedy pair of boxers.
He watched Jo's eyes involuntarily drift down his body and saw the tip of the gun quiver slightly, "You can be a real fucking ass sometimes, you know? Did it occur to you that most of us have to do stuff we don't particularly want to do? You've managed to cruise around being just Dean Winchester for a while now. It's about time you got a dose of reality."
Dean almost choked on his own disbelief, "Dose of reality? I had a fucking stroke which means I have to concentrate to speak, the right side of my body doesn't work properly and every now and then I turn into Dean the twitchy squirrel. My baby brother is the First Lieutenant for the demonic killing force. I've had reality up to here," Dean held his hand up to his forehead, "I just want to finish this."
"I get that, honest to damn I do," Jo said, gesturing with her hand like she'd forgotten the gun was there, "But there's right and wrong ways to finish this. You dying is a wrong way."
"Even if it accomplishes the job?"
"Especially!" Jo said, stomping her foot on the ground, "I imagine what the demon wants most at the moment is the last Winchester in its way out of the way. His First Lieutenant is replaceable, you aren't. For all we know if he dies, the demon will just pop one of his buddies into the shell and we're in exactly the same shit as before."
"That's my brother you are talking about," Dean glared.
"No, it ain't," Jo argued, "Your brother died when you did, maybe a bit after. It's just the First Lieutenant left and don't pretend you know how he'll react 'cos you don't. Proof number one should be the fact he's willing to kill you."
"Obviously you never saw Sam in what we like to call 'The Teenage years.'" The joke felt flat on Dean's tongue.
Jo slipped the gun into the back of her jeans and then slunk over to sit on the edge of Dean's bed, "Do you want to die?"
"What kind of question is that?" Dean asked, edging back away from Jo.
"A good one," Jo said pointedly, "You aren't showing a huge effort to stay alive."
"There's a difference between staying alive and living," Dean pointed out.
"And you are only doing the former?"
"How can I do the latter when my brother isn't?"
"Easily," Jo said and leaned forward, pressing her lips against Dean's.
Dean leaned in for a moment and enjoyed the sensation of just being a man kissing a woman but reality filtered into his mind and he drew back, "Jo…"
"Let me guess," Jo said, "This isn't the right time? It's not you, it's me? One day when this is all over.." Jo leaned in determinedly, cupping her hands around the back of Dean's hand to pull him into her, "Maybe I got tired of waiting."
Jo tasted like desperation with a sweet aftertaste of hope. Dean knew he should draw back but he'd been drawing back for almost a year now and the tension in the rope was too tight, his anchor gave and he rebounded into Jo, mashing her lips with his, fingers drifted to the hem of her t-shirt and was just about to lift when the image of Esme flashed into mind and it's like someone just dumped a bucket of cold water on him.
Jo may be determined but she wasn't stupid. When Dean stopped dead, she lifted her hand up to his chin, gentler than her earlier frantic efforts would dictate, "It's not your fault," She said softly and followed up her words with a kiss on his jaw, "It's not your fault," she repeated, peppering her way towards his mouth when she captured his lips once more. Dean didn't believe her but he'd let her believe for the both of them.
No more words were needed as clothes were strewn away, no awareness of who undressed who, just a universal constant, a singular entity of need. It wasn't perfect, far from it. It'd been a long time for both of them and there was clumsiness, heads colliding, feet tangling in the sheets and tumbles off the bed. There's laughter and blushes then hitched breathes and low exultant murmurs of each other names as prayers to a deity neither believed in. Finally, in the spaces between heartbeats, there was peace.
As Jo nuzzled into him, sleep descending and making her languid, he caught her last muzzy words, "I really hope Sam didn't see that."
Dean chuckled despite himself.
Dean looked down at Jo's sleeping form, sprawled half over him, limbs tangled with his as if that could stop him from leaving. Obviously she'd forgotten Dean had grown up sharing a bed with Sam the spider monkey. Sam had been prone to nightmares long before his visions had started and Dean had often woken up in the middle of the night and found a Sam wound around him, small fists anchored in Dean's t-shirt. Dean had, as a necessity, become an expert as unwinding little brothers from himself without waking them up. There had been one time when Sam had been gripping him so tight that Dean had ended up getting up, going to the bathroom and returning to bed, all the while with a dozing brother dangling off him.
He quickly assessed the situation and decided he'd need to give Jo a lesson in spatial awareness when he got back as long as she didn't kill him. She had the sides fairly literally covered but she'd ignored up and down apart from one leg hooked into his which would be easy to shift. Many people thought that slow, gradual movements were the best idea when you were trying to sneak out of bed. Many people were wrong. Slow and gradual speaks of deliberation and suspicion. The way to do it was with movements that could be disguised as the normal motions of sleep, it was jerks and twists and wriggles.
One twist dislodged Jo's hand from his shoulder making it less likely she'd catch his shifts downwards and then a backward arch freed him up more room from the caged circle of her arms. He had to be careful as he wriggled downwards, too fast and she might mistake it for a seizure which would likely lurch her awake. Too slow and the sleep driven arms might try to grip again. It only took about ten minutes for Dean to extract himself from Jo and off the bed.
He padded over to the clothes he'd 'accidentally' thrown clear of the bed earlier and pulled on his jeans. He tugged on a clean t-shirt and then grabbed his boots and the duffel he'd had prepped the night before and slunk out of the door. The room next door was empty so Dean slipped in there to continue his departure preparations, sliding off the jeans again to get on a clean pair of boxers, pulling on his least hole speckled socks and boots.
He made sure to greet each person he passed as normal. There was no better way to draw attention to yourself than to try not to draw attention to yourself, especially when you were someone with as large a reputation as Dean. He stopped in the roadhouse for a leisurely cup of coffee, betting on Jo sleeping for an hour or so at the least. He caught up on gossip, idly dropping into conversation that he was going to head out on patrol for a bit then headed out to the Impala.
He chatted to the guard on duty. He'd timed it well so that the guard was just coming to the end of his shift. It was likely his departure would be lost amongst the shuffle, noted on paper but not noted in either of the guards' minds. He kept the Impala's engine muffled, knowing its distinctive purr could give him away. Common sense dictated he shouldn't take the Impala but then common sense had told him to leave the Impala behind several times, he hadn't listened to it back then and he wasn't about to start now.
He didn't pick up speed until he was well clear of the White Spot. The car felt empty without a passenger. He usually had Jo or Marco with him, sometimes even Bobby. This was something he had to do on his own but he still found himself addressing the person that wasn't there, unsure if he was trying to talk to Jo or Marco or Sam.
He had to pull over twice on the way just to get a brief shut-eye to keep his focus. He was sure Jo would have figured out he'd gone by now and he wouldn't put it past her to send squads out in every direction to pull him back. His one advantage was that he was fairly sure she had no idea exactly where he was headed. He felt momentary sympathy for those that'd be facing Jo's wrath right about now for letting him out.
The sign showing ten miles to Lawrence, Kansas and Dean gunned the engine, speeding towards destiny.
Before Dean had even switched off the Impala's engine, he knew his brother was already there. It was like a long ache that he'd forgotten about had just vanished, leaving him relieved but unsure why. He stepped warily out of the car and looked up at the old house. It stood abandoned like the rest of Lawrence. People had fled from places known for Supernatural weirdness early on.
He didn't have to wait long. Sam stepped out of the shadow of the old tree, looking for all the world like the boy Dean had grown up with. He smiled boyishly at the sight of his brother, "Dean, I knew you'd come."
"Sam," Dean nodded his head in acknowledgment, "You know why I'm here."
Sam frowned, "It doesn't have to be like that, Dean. You don't understand yet but I can explain it all to you like he explained it to me. It all makes sense, I swear it does. Mom and Dad and Jess, they had to die."
"Nobody had to die, Sam." Dean kept his voice cold and level, trying to pretend it was just any other monster in front of him instead of his baby brother, the brother he'd sworn to look out for, "No-one else has to die."
"Dean," Sam said in the tone he used to use when Dean had said something particularly stupid, "Everybody dies sooner or later. Isn't it better for their death to mean something?"
"I think your judgment of 'meaning something' isn't particularly sound at the moment." Dean felt cracks appearing in his façade already, the honest hope in his brother's tone tearing into his heart.
Sam pouted, "Won't you let me explain it?"
Dean shook his head, "There's no way to explain all this, Sam. Just come with me, I'll make it alright somehow. I'll find a way to get you back to yourself."
"I am back," Sam stated and Dean felt the earth tremor beneath his feet, forcing him to take a back step away from his brother. A hurt look flashed across Sam's face, "Dean, I'd never hurt you, you know that."
"You shot me and tried to shoot me again!" Dean exclaimed.
"I was trying to help," Sam replied, "I thought you were bitten and I knew you wouldn't want to live like that. I was trying to help you." Sam stepped forward, holding out his hands to show the lack of weapons in contrast to the loaded gun clenched in Dean's hands, "You came back wrong, Dean. You know that as well as I do. I just want to put things right again."
Despite the fact he had a weapon and his brother didn't, Dean still found himself wanting to back away. Three images clashed in front of him: The little brother he had sworn to protect, the dangerous man he had become and the monster that Dean couldn't allow to continue. The fucked up trilogy of a Winchester. "Stay back, Sam."
Sam stopped, lowering his hands to his side and tucked them into the pockets of his baggy jeans, "You believe what they say over me? You won't even let me explain?"
"Sam, you can't explain this." Dean could feel the tears brimming in his eyes as he faced his brother's earnest expression, "Just let me help you. Please. We can find a place, one of the unoccupied White Spots and we can work on this."
Sam smiled a sad little smile at his brother, "I don't need help, Dean. I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I'm great. God, Dean, I was so worried for so long about what I'd become and now I know and it's just a relief. I am who I'm meant to be."
"You are meant to be my little brother," Dean's voice cracked and a treacherous tear escaped to roll down his cheek. Dean didn't dare shift his grip from the gun levelled at Sam to wipe it away.
"And I still am. Always. Always be your little brother." Sam's soothing tone seemed so wrong, "Sam and Dean Winchester. We can be together again, the demon told me what to do. It's so easy, Dean."
"Sammy, you know I can't let you do this." Dean stared into his brother's eyes, blinking before any more tears could form and blur.
"I know," Sam said sadly and faster than Dean's eyes could track, he pulled a gun from tucked into his back and brought it around to point at his brother's forehead, "I don't want to do this, Dean."
Dean kept his own gun steady at his brother's head and desperately wracked his brain for any strategy he hadn't tried, anything that could bring his brother back from the abyss. The scent of wet dog hair drifted to his nose and panic flooded his brain, not least because there were no wet dogs around. All his plans turned to dust and smoke when the first tremor ran through his extended arm. Dean internally cursed, surely he hadn't been stupid enough to forget his meds but as his mind replayed the tangled mess of this morning, the memory of the unopened bottle of pills at his bedside mocked him.
Dean tried to still his hand and steel his mind, tried to force himself to pull the trigger on his baby brother while he could.
He ran out of time.
The gun tumbled from shaking fingers, hitting the ground only moments before Dean himself. Dean felt his body helplessly convulse, his back arcing upwards and then thumping painfully into the damn ground. He wasn't alone for long, trapping in the husk that refused to obey him. He could feel Sam's large hands brushing away as the tears that had dribbled out of his eyes, wide eyes that could see his brother's face above him, long strands of dark hair falling over dark eyes.
"It's alright, Dean. It's alright," His brother's voice tried to soothe away the nightmare he'd become, hands smoothing his hair back and gently wiping a smear of dirt off his face until they trailed down to gently cup his chin and then close around his throat.
The absence of air took a while to hit Dean. He had no control over his body so it seemed just about par for the course that he'd have no control of his lungs either. It didn't really hurt, just felt awkward until his lungs continued heaving to try and pull the denied oxygen into themselves then it began to hurt, a bizarre lassitude of pain that settled over every part of him.
The pressure on his throat increased, long fingers squeezing tighter, making sure nothing got through. Dean's body began to shake faster, the seizure fighting against the body's natural instinct to survive, his brain screaming at his arms to do something, to restore oxygen rather than just flailing uselessly on the packed dirt.
The pressure silenced his brain, silenced his vision until black spots danced across, obscuring the last sight of his brother's face above him. The darkness closed in on sight, body, mind and Dean was just so tired that he succumbed with no last grand thoughts, no choked out epithet, just a quiet, relieved mental 'Oh' and then everything that constituted Dean Winchester was gone.
Sam sunk down beside his brother's body, pulling Dean's head into his lap and stroking back his soft hair, ignoring the chill that was already paling and pebbling his brother's skin, "It's alright now, Dean. Shush. I'm going to make everything alright and when I do, I'll bring you back." He carefully removed Dean's silver ring from his finger and then the amulet from around his neck, tucking the two trophies into his pocket to keep them safe.
Sam had dug a hole underneath the old tree before Dean had even arrived, knowing there'd only be one resolution to the Winchester brothers meeting once more. He frowned at the mar of bruises that rung his brother's throat and pressed his lips gently against the purpled skin, a parting kiss. He could contact Emma who'd make his brother look good as new once more but this was a moment for him and Dean alone.
The hole was good and deep, nestled beneath the gnarled roots of the tree where it could protect him. Sam lifted his brother as easily as if he weighed nothing and stepped down into the hole. The dirt was rich and warm as he set his brother gently down, closing the eyes which still seemed too big and too startled, "It's alright, Dean." Sam whispered soothing words, "Let me take care of you for a while. Next time you'll be perfect again."
Sam hauled himself out with some reluctance, missing the warming presence of Dean already. "I'll take good care of the Impala for you, keep her running smooth as anything." He promised as he tossed in the first handful of dirt, "I'll take care of everything. Just you sleep for now." It didn't take Sam that long to fill in the hole but he took his time smoothing and levelling the ground, shifting the grass so that the patch of ground that hid his brother's bed was indistinguishable from anything else.
Finally when Sam was satisfied with a job well done, he turned away from his childhood home and walked down to the waiting car. He eased himself into the driver's seat and smiled, patting the steering wheel, the rebellion's symbol of hope now in demonic hands, "Don't you worry, girl, just a while to wait and I'll bring Dean home."
The End