There Should Be Light, Part 2, Supernatural, NC-17

[phantisma]

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: There Should Be Light, Part 2 (of 3)
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Bobby, John, Ellen, Pastor Jim
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 15,000+ (All three parts total)
Written for: spn_apocasmut Prompt :The End, by the Doors

Summary: When Sam is stolen by demons and taken from this earth, Dean finds a way to win him back...but when they return, the world is a changed place, and Sam is a changed man...and every day brings them closer to the end...unless they can find a way to undo whatever it is they did to bring hell to earth.

A/Ns & Warnings: I thought I knew what I was going to write when I took the prompt. But then I sat down to write and something totally different came out. Over a year ago, I wrote There Should Be Light for poisontaster's birthday. I always knew there was more to the story. This is that more. This is bleak and dismal, even when it tries not to be. I do recommend reading the first part first. The rest will make more sense that way. Also, I took liberties with the lyrics, and they're concentrated largely in this middle section.

Beta'd by the incomparable shotofjack



This is the end, beautiful friend

He had never really believed…not really…not ever.

The end. Like there was anything as simple as that.

This is the end, my only friend, the end

This was it, however. Whether he believed it or not.

And it was fitting that it was just him and Sam here at the end.

Alone. Together.

Brothers. Warriors.

Hunters. Lovers.

Wind howled through the gutted building, cold and gritty. It pulled over his skin, over scars and wounds still healing…wounds that would never be scars. He leaned on the concrete wall and watched the dark settling deeper into the crevices of broken buildings and huddled mounds of debris, his arms folded around him, holding him in place. He didn’t want to think. He wanted to watch the dark. He wanted to fuck and be fucked. He wanted to eat and drink, and face what was coming, sated and happy.

He wanted to throw himself willingly into battle and kill as many of the sons of bitches as he could before he went down.

He didn’t want to let himself remember the other things he had wanted once. He’d wanted to save Sam. He’d wanted to give Sam the normal he craved so much.

But he hadn’t done either.

He’d watched Sam get pulled into hell. He’d fought for him - and won - but not before Sam had paid a heavy price. He’d brought him back…though the world they came back to was empty. Cold. Dark.

Three months and they had yet to see the sun. Now, there was snow on the ground.

“Dean?” He turned, reached for Sam in the dark. Sam’s hand closed on his, filling the space between them, pressing their bodies together.

“It’s okay Sam.” It wasn’t, but he said it. Nothing was okay. But Sam let him say it, let him slide an arm around his waist and rest his head against Sam’s chest. “Let’s get some rest.”

He guided Sam away from the open fall to the ground, where once plate glass windows had held the elements at bay, ten stories up overlooking a city sinking into the inky black. He moved them slowly, over to the makeshift bed. Sam sank onto it, still holding onto Dean’s hand. It reminded Dean that his brother was changed, vulnerable. Here, in the dark, alone.

In the heat of battle Sam could pretend, could stand strong and use his new skills to defend himself…but here, in the dark, he was so small, so frail.

Sam pulled the sunglasses away from his face, rubbing one hand over empty sockets before turning his face up to Dean. He was never more grateful for the lack of light than when Sam did that, when his face was open and trusting, those two black sockets staring back at him blankly.

“You should sleep,” Sam said as Dean sat slowly beside him.

“I will.” Dean lied. Sleep was elusive. “We’ll head out in the morning.”

“It’ll be over soon.” Sam said, but it wasn’t comforting for either of them.

Over. The End.

Lights Out. Game Over.

Dean nodded, laid back on the mattress of of blankets and old clothes. Sam’s lips moved over his chest, up to his neck. “Thought you wanted to sleep.” Dean said softly. He didn’t stop Sam, didn’t move to help him either, just let him take what he needed.

“Want you more.” Sam murmured, his lips slipping over a long scab, down to Dean’s navel.

It hadn’t been like this. Not before the dark. As the days and weeks stumbled by them, they’d fallen closer and closer, pressed in by the emptiness around them, by guilt and fear, by the need to know they were still alive.

The first time had been desperate, Sam pulling at Dean, kissing and touching and whimpering until Dean had claimed him, taking him hard and hot in the front seat of their stolen Mustang.

“Sam…” Dean tried to stop it, then tried to pretend it never happened, but the need and desperation grew the longer they searched for someone…anyone …and found only empty streets, dead bodies and demons roaming the darkness.

Dean moaned as Sam’s fingers found his zipper and eased it down. His mouth was warm and wet, and he’d learned fast the way to get Dean hard. He hummed as he took Dean into him, his hands working Dean’s jeans down.

“Sam.” Dean reached for him, drawing him up to kiss, claiming Sam’s mouth with his own.

“Dean.” Sam’s breath stole into him, creating the illusion of life. Dean latched onto it, onto him, rolled them. It was better when he didn’t think, when he gave Sam what he needed, when he gave in to the touch and burn, salty sweat and the slick of skin wet with need. He sank into Sam, both of them moaning as their bodies writhed together.

Sam’s hands grabbed at him, wanting him closer, deeper. Dean closed his eyes, let go of the fear that this would only damn them further…let it melt in the friction of their bodies moving as one.

In the heat he could pretend.

It was in the cold that followed that he knew they were doomed.

“East.” Sam said, his fingers feeling over his face, shaving dry while Dean packed them up.

“East.” Dean echoed. They’d fought their way out of California and into Nevada, across the dry landscape into Idaho and Wyoming. All of that space and they were alone in it.

They kept moving. Unconsciously back to where it started. Back to where he’d left their father sleeping off a tequila coma to go find Sam. Dean shouldered their bag, waited for Sam to take his elbow, led him down the stairs to the car. He’d spent part of the day before siphoning gas out of abandoned vehicles, and he’d managed a full tank.

Sam was more confident with moving around than he’d been in the beginning, his senses starting to fill in for his missing eyes, his trust in Dean unwavering.

Dean watched the shadows as they moved down the staircases, “Just a few more.”

Sam froze, cocked his head like he was listening to something. “Dean.” His hand tightened on Dean’s arm. “Someone’s out there.” He pointed to the door that led out to the ruined lobby of the building they’d spent the night in, his hand shaking.

“Someone?”

Sam nodded slowly. “A person, Dean.”

Dean pressed a gun into his hand. “Stay here.”

Sam moved until his back was against the wall. Dean opened the door and eased out into the dark cavern, his eyes sweeping around him. A person. He had no reason to mistrust Sam, he hadn’t been wrong yet. He crouched behind the couch and listened.

There. He lifted his gun and inched toward the sound, breathing softly and moving slowly, leading with his gun. He let his hand move around the corner, flinching as the muzzle of the gun pushed against something soft, and looking down to find the muzzle of another gun against his chest.

His eyes flicked up and he blinked. He stared into the face that stepped closer with disbelief, holding his breath and expecting him to melt back into the shadows.

“Bobby?” Dean stepped back, dropped his gun. “Fuck, Bobby.” Before the older man could react Dean grabbed him into a hug. “Fuck, we thought…everyone was gone…we’ve been going for months and you’re the first person…”

Bobby finally thumped his back and stepped back, his eyes sweeping over Dean, and coming back to the scars covering the left side of his face. Dean turned away, hiding them.

“Dean? What the hell are you doing here?”

Dean shook his head. “We…just trying to figure out what happened.”

Bobby scratched at the back of his head. “We?”

“Sam. Hang on.” He picked his way back to the door. “Sammy, it’s me.” He reached for Sam, pulling him close. “It’s Bobby.”

Sam nodded, let Dean lead him out into the lobby. “Watch your step, there’s stuff everywhere.”

“Sam?”

Dean watched Sam push the sunglasses up, smile softly. “Hey Bobby.”

Bobby hugged Sam, Sam’s hand anchored on Dean’s arm. “We figured you boys were gone. Never thought we’d see you again.”

“Well, it wasn’t easy.” Dean said, uncomfortable. “How’d you know?”

Bobby’s face scrunched up. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got a camp set up not far from here. Ground’s been consecrated. Been gathering survivors there.” He hefted a bag he’d dropped at his feet. It rattled, like cans banging together. “Food. Getting tired of beans.”

Dean nodded and gestured for Bobby to lead the way, tightening a hand over Sam’s on his arm. He murmured directions softly as he needed to, picking their way over fallen light panels and trash, out through the back of the building to the huge SUV that was obviously Bobby’s ride.

It was rigged up with lights and water canons, a machine gun on the roof. “Holy water?” Dean asked as he ran a hand over the canon on the driver’s side.

“Fortunately for us, a few priests survived. Not that it does a lot of good, but it buys us time.”

“Okay, Sammy. In you get.” Dean opened the back door and set Sam’s hand on the seat, let him maneuver his way in, then tossed their duffle in beside him. As he passed the back end, Bobby opened it to toss the bag in, alongside a couple of gas cans and other bags of canned goods.

He climbed in the passenger side as Bobby brought the engine roaring to life. He waited while Bobby navigated his way out onto open road, trying to figure out how to ask the question.

“We spent a month clearing this stretch of road.” Bobby said, rubbing a hand over his face. The whole thing’s been blessed. It keeps the lesser demons from harassing us, but every couple of weeks some of the big boys give us a run.” He sighed, glanced at Dean, then over his shoulder at Sam. “Last I heard you boys were…gone. Pitched into hell.”

“Sam was pitched. I went in after him.” Dean said quietly. “And it wasn’t…hell… or rather, it wasn’t THE hell. It was…someplace else.”

“So?”

Yeah, that was probably fair. Whatever happened had started there. Dean sighed. “I went in after him. I fought until I won and then I dragged him back. And everything was…like this.” He waved his hand at the emptiness around them.

Bobby nodded. “You boys got up into shit like nothing I ever saw.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Dean said quietly. “Dad was convinced he’d found a way to beat the yellow-eyed demon.”

He closed his eyes. He hadn’t been able to hear what was going on over the howling of the wind, only that his father was arguing with the thing he had summoned, then the world split in half and Sam was gone, his voice still echoing around in the space, screaming Dean’s name.

“Your daddy’s an ass.” Bobby said, wiping his face again. “He shoulda known better.”

“We did this.” Sam said from behind them. “Didn’t we?”

Bobby shook his head. “No Sam, not your fault.”

Dean heard what Bobby didn’t say, loud and clear. “But it’s Dad’s,” Dean mumbled, reality dawning.

“He came to me after you left, Dean. Told me about it. He was devastated. He tried to get me to help him get Sam back.”

Dean turned to look at him. “He did?”

Bobby nodded. “But what he was messing with…what you boys raised…that’s evil like nothing this world could handle. Makes all the demons you ever fought look like kittens.”

“It wanted me.” Sam said. Dean looked at him. Sam never spoke about it, not in all the time they’d been back. Sam licked his lips. “That’s what it wanted, for what Dad wanted. Me, for the yellow-eyed Demon.”

“And Dad gave you to him.” Dean said, acid dripping from his tongue. The urge to kill his old man burned in his chest.

“No, Dean. He refused. It figured if it hid me, sent me someplace where Dad knew I’d be tortured, Dad would give in.”

“But he didn’t.” Dean said.

“No, he didn’t.” Bobby agreed.

For some reason that just pissed Dean off more.

“So you going to tell me what happened here?” Dean asked.

“The world wasn’t going to hell fast enough. So hell came to earth.”


Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end


They pulled off the main road and followed a gravel one to a dirt one and kept driving. As they passed markers, sigils and talismans, Dean started to wonder just how bad it was for Bobby to live behind so many layers of protection.

“About twenty of us here, and another thirty in a camp up north. We try to keep the roads between us clear and protected…and the demons try to break through, to separate us. There’s other camps south of here, but we haven’t heard from them in almost two weeks.” Bobby slowed the truck. “Most of who survived were hunters, they saw it coming and tried to fight, tried to stop it.”

“It wasn’t enough.” Sam said softly. His hand fumbled over the seat to find Dean’s shoulder, needing reassurance, comfort. Dean took it in his own, rubbing a thumb over the scars that dotted Sam’s hand.

“No. That thing you and your daddy woke…” Bobby shook his head. He sighed explosively. Ahead of them a wall of beat up tractor trailers formed a barricade gated with massive wrought iron gates that looked like they’d come from a cemetery. Beyond that gate a hodge podge of motor homes and tents and campers filled the plain. Giant lights lit the whole place up like daylight. People stopped, staring. Two boys, maybe nine or ten, came running, stopping short when they realized that Bobby wasn’t alone. “That’s Eli and Phillip. The first ones I found. Their mother died to keep them from getting taken by some demons.”

“They’re like me.” Sam squeezed Dean’s hand.

“Come on, let’s find you boys a place to put your stuff.”

Dean helped Sam out of the vehicle, watching Bobby ruffle the hair of the younger of the two boys. “Bobby should have been a father.” Sam said as they followed. “He was always good with us too.”

As they entered the compound, others came out to see the newcomers. Other than the two boys, it was a pretty rough and tumble crowd. There were half familiar faces, or maybe it was just the familiar stories those faces told. Scars and haunted, gaunt faces, watching as they moved through the camp.

“This here was Agnes and Bill’s tent. They ain’t coming back.” Bobby pointed at a dirty blue tent. “That’s me over there.” He pointed at a beat up trailer. A woman was coming toward them, her dark blond hair pulled back away from her face. “Ellen, this here is Sam and Dean Winchester.”

“John’s boys?” Her eyes flicked over them, then to Bobby, the question in them clear.

“Yes, John’s boys.” Dean responded. He was more than a little annoyed, but why shouldn’t these people hold him responsible for what his father did? They didn’t know any better.

“I meant no offense.”

“Look, lady, I’m sure you’re a good person, okay? I’m sure that look didn’t mean what it looked like. But yeah, I’m offended. I’m not him. Sam sure as hell isn’t him. We’ve been through hell, literally. We’ve gotten the shit kicked out of us, and I’m not expecting we’ll be alive for very much longer. So, spare me the pity and the sermons and let me make my brother comfortable.”

He turned them into the tent, helping Sam duck low enough to get in and settling him onto the low mattress on the floor.

“Dean.”

“Not now Sam.” He could see the look on Sam’s face, and wasn’t ready for the lecture about lashing out at the only people that could help them.

“Then when, Dean? You said it yourself, we don’t have long.”

“I want to kill him.” Dean said through clenched teeth. His stomach churned with it, the desire to see the old man just one more time.

“You don’t mean that.” Sam took the sunglasses off and rubbed his face. “You can’t.”

“I do.” Dean laid back on the mattress beside Sam, covering his face with one arm. He didn’t want to have to look at Sam, at the black empty holes. The light from outside hurt his eyes. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to the dark. “Lay with me Sammy. Just…for now.”


No safety or surprise, the end
I’ll never look into your eyes...again

Sam waited until Dean was snoring lightly. He hadn’t ever tried moving around without him, not since he’d convinced Dean to take off the bandages, not since he’d realized he’d never see again. He inched his way to the opening in the tent, crawled out. He stood slowly, listening, trying to piece together the way they’d come.

Bobby’s trailer was on his left, he could sense Bobby there inside it. He wasn’t alone, but before Sam could get a feeling for who was with him, the woman’s voice startled him.

“Sam, right?”

He nodded. “You’re Ellen?”

“Yep. Ellen Harvelle. I’m a friend of your father’s.”

“I was kind of under the impression that he didn’t have many of those left.”

He got the sense she shrugged. “Desperate men do desperate things. He’s got plenty of enemies, I figure he doesn’t need me to be one of them.”

Sam froze. “He’s…here. Isn’t he?”

He turned toward Bobby’s trailer. “He’s in there.”

“That’s some gift you’ve got.” Ellen said, setting her hand on his elbow and keeping him from going to the trailer.

“I guess it’s supposed to make up for what I lost.” Sam could hear the bitterness in his voice and made a face. It wasn’t her fault. He shouldn’t take it out on her.

“We’ve all lost things, Sam.” Ellen said softly.

“Yeah, I guess we have.” He took a deep breath. “You going to hold my arm all day, or are you going to take me to my father?”

“You sure you’re up to seeing him?”

“No more than he’s up to seeing me.”

He did his best not to shuffle his feet. It was like broadcasting that he couldn’t see. “We’ll have to see about getting you a cane for feeling things out.” Ellen said softly.

Sam didn’t tell her that there wasn’t any point, that none of them would live long enough for it to matter. He just concentrated on not falling, on making his feet keep moving. She stopped him and he heard her knock. The door opened and Sam tilted his head up.

“Sam?”

He nodded. “I want to talk to him.”

“He’s in no shape—“

“I don’t give a shit, Bobby.” Sam felt for the door and lifted his foot to the step. He felt Bobby move out of his way, heard him murmuring ahead of him. The trailer rocked as he moved, and he flailed a little finding the boundaries around him, then he felt Bobby’s hand on his arm.

“Easy, Son. Watch your head.” Sam ducked, then Bobby was guiding his hand forward.

There was a shoulder under his hand. Sam gasped involuntarily. The shoulder was gaunt, tight. If this was his father, he’d dropped a lot of weight. “Dad?”

He felt the shift, heard a whimper. “Give us a minute?” He asked over his shoulder.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be outside.”

Sam nodded, listening to his retreating steps. He slid his hand up the shoulder to a neck, then up that to a beard covered jaw line. “Dad, it’s Sam.”

Even the jawline was smaller than he remembered, thinner…like his father was just wasting away. Slowly Sam sank to one knee in front of him. “Dad?”

There was another whimper, then hands were moving on his face, fumbling for the sunglasses. “No, Dad, leave them.”

“What happened to you Sammy?” The voice was wrecked, cracked and broken and filled with the shattered remains of a once strong man. “You…you went away and I couldn’t find you.”

“Dean found me, Dad. Dean found me and brought me back.”

“Filthy bastard wanted me to give you to him, Sammy…wanted to have you…took you away, said I couldn’t have you either…”

“It’s okay Dad.” Sam moved to hug him, shocked at how little there was of him to hold. It wasn’t okay, but his anger kind of evaporated in the face of how damaged his father was.

“Let me see, Sam.” His hands lifted to the glasses again and Sam pulled back.

“No.” He held them to his face. “You don’t need to.”

“Sam!” Dean’s voice rocked the trailer.

“Shit.” Sam had expected him to sleep. He heard Bobby trying to stop Dean, but there wouldn’t be any stopping him, not when he didn’t have Sam beside him. The door opened and the trailer lurched.

“Son of a bitch!”

Sam stood, blocking Dean. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you goddamn son of a bitch!”

“Dean. Stop.”

Dean pushed all the harder and Sam had to put a hand on his chest. “Stop.”

“No. Let me at him.”

“Dean, look at him. Really look at him.” He felt Dean back off, breathing heavy. Behind him he felt his father stand.

“Go ahead. End it. Do it.”

“Both of you, cut it out.”

“This is your fault.” Dean said over Sam’s shoulder. “You and your goddamn obsession.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Do you Dad? Do you see your sons? Do you see my face? Sam’s?” Hands snatched the sunglasses off Sam’s face. “Do you see? Because Sam sure as fuck can’t!”

Sam felt Dean jerk away from him.

“That is enough of that. Get your ass out of my trailer.”

Dean sputtered as Bobby yanked him away, leaving Sam without the protection of his glasses, and his father staring into his empty face.

“My god, Sam—“ His touch burned like hellfire and Sam pulled away, covering his face.

“No, don’t…I don’t want you to see.”

Sam pulled back, stumbled toward the door, feeling for it and stumbling out, grateful for the arms that caught him and steadied him. It wasn’t Dean though and Bobby’s gasp when he got a good look at Sam’s face made him cringe and pull away again.

“Sam, stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Leave me alone!” He yanked free of Bobby, only to find himself tangled up with someone else, Ellen he presumed. “Fuck. Dean!”

“Right here.” Dean’s voice was cold and hard in his ear and Sam turned to him, burying his face in his brother’s shoulder, panting heavily.

“Just…Dean…”

“I know, I’ve got you. Come on.”

The tent wasn’t exactly privacy, but at least he couldn’t feel their eyes on him. Dean pressed the sunglasses into his hand and Sam slipped them on. Dean’s hands were gentle on his face, his lips soft as he kissed him.

“I’m sorry.” Sam said, hanging his head.

“No, Sam. No. You don’t need to be sorry.”

“But I am.”

They were quiet then. Dean rummaged around in their bag and Sam heard the pill bottle. He shook his head. “Don’t want them.”

Dean sighed. Sam wished he could see his face, read his expression. “I’m trying Sam.”

“I know.” Sam reached for him, pulled him in close, their lips all but touching. “I know Dean. It’s okay.”

“No.” Sam felt the wetness and ran his thumb through the tears. “It’s not okay, Sam. None of this is okay.”

Sam kissed over wet cheeks, up to his eyes, soft, tender. “Shh…Dean.” By the time his lips came back to Dean’s, they were open, inviting. Sam’s tongue slipped between them, tasted Dean and tears and the quiet despair of knowing the end was near. He pressed until Dean was under him, slipped a hand into his jeans and slowly stroked him, sucking every whimper and groan into his mouth and swallowing it down with the pain.



Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need...of some...strangers hand
In a...desperate land


Dean felt the lights come on the next morning, groaned a little as he remembered the where and why of the tent and Sam’s hand still on his cock. He rolled onto his back, got himself tucked in and zipped up and emerged from the tent.

The sky was black, just like it always was. The air was cold. Bobby was standing outside the trailer, holding out a cup of coffee.

“I was coming to talk to you.”

“Not much in a mood for talking.” Dean said, taking the coffee.

Bobby nodded, his eyes sweeping over the slowly rousing camp. “Can expect an attack sometime today.”

“What kind?”

Bobby shrugged. “Probably a frontal assault, most of these bastards the big guy sends aren’t all that bright.” He sipped on his coffee. “Pastor Jim showed up through the night. He’s out reinforcing the perimeter with blessings.”

It surprised Dean somehow that Jim Murphy had made it. He pictured him dying on the front lines or something. “He’s okay?”

Bobby snorted. “Aint a one of us okay, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes followed a few of the woman who were rousing kids and handing out weapons. “I need to protect Sam.”

Bobby nodded again. “He can stay here with your father. If we let them inside the perimeter, none of us will live. Pastor Jim came from down south. The camp down there is gone.”

“So it’s just us?”

“Yep, us and the camp up north.”

“Morning Bobby.” Ellen said as she approached, shot gun in hand. “Dean.”

“Ma’am.” Dean sipped on his coffee. “I got a couple guns, a little bit of ammo…but nothing that’s gonna do much against demons.”

“We’ll find you some blessed rounds.” Ellen offered. “If Jim gets done before the fun starts, he can take care of whatever ammo you’ve got.”

Dean sipped at the coffee. It wasn’t going to make much difference, not in the end, but it beat sitting around waiting to die. He drained the coffee. “I’ll get my guns.”

Sam sat up as he was pulling the two guns he’d kept on the road and the box of ammo that was left from what he’d stolen in the last gun shop they’d found. “Is it…are they coming?”

Dean nodded and blew out slow. “Looks like it.”

“Give me a gun.” Sam’s hand was out.

“Not this time. We need them all on the line.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Dean hung his head. “No Sam. Not this time. I need you…I need you to stay here, stay safe.”

Sam snorted and shook his head. “This doesn’t feel safe, Dean. This feels like sitting and waiting for them to eat us for breakfast.”

Dean moved close, caught his hands and lifted them to his lips. “I know.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I can’t lose you Sam.” Dean said softly. “I can handle lots of shit out there, but watching you die on me…I’d die too.”

Sam shook his head. “Not yet, Dean…not yet.”

“Come on, Bobby’s making breakfast.”

Sam let Dean lead him out of the tent and over to the picnic table by Bobby’s trailer. He put a fork in Sam’s hand and watched him fumble with it. They hadn’t had real food since they’d been back. Eventually Sam abandoned the fork and felt over his plate with his fingers, lifting potatoes to his mouth as he hunkered down over the plate.

Dean didn’t look up when the trailer door opened and his father came out, not until he sat beside Sam and stared at the table. When he did look, he ended up staring. This wasn’t his father. This wasn’t the John Winchester Dean knew. This was a shell of the man, wasted down to skin and bones, his face shadowed and lost behind a dark beard shot with gray. He felt Dean’s eyes and looked up.

Maybe Bobby was right and no one who survived was okay. Maybe surviving was too much to ask of any of them.

There was a yell from the front of camp, and Eli came running, shouting, “They’re coming!”

All around them people were moving toward the perimeters, the sounds of guns loading and shouts for people to cover positions.

Dean looked at the guns in his hands, then at Sam. He emptied one of them and put two bullets in it, then pressed it into Sam’s hand. “In case they…get through….”

Sam nodded once, tight. “Let’s get you inside.”

Dean helped Sam up into the trailer and turned to find his father following them. “Bobby won’t let me…says I’ve done enough.”

“I’ll say.” Dean didn’t want to leave Sam there with him, but didn’t see much in the way of choice. He knelt in front of Sam, pressed their foreheads together. “Love you,” he whispered so only Sam would hear him.

“Be careful. Watch the east. Something’s coming from the east.”

Dean kissed his forehead and left the trailer.



Lost in a roman...wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain, yeah


Sam listened as Dean’s boot steps faded away, until it was quiet.

It wouldn’t be quiet for long.

“We were wrong,” he said into the silence. “We couldn’t control it.”

“Some things should never be let loose.” John agreed. “He was too much Sam. All those years in hibernation he only got stronger, not weaker.”

Sam nodded. He remembered his father bringing him the old manuscript, the gleam in his father’s eye. ”This thing could kill him, Sam…the damn thing that killed your mother, that killed Jess.” They hadn’t told Dean the whole truth.

They thought that they could control it, release it to kill the Yellow-Eyed Demon and then shove it back down into its hole. Vengeance. An end to the hunting and killing and freedom for Sam from whatever plans it had.

“It wanted me, because of what I am.”

“It wanted you because it knew it would break me.” John countered. He had moved closer. It made Sam uncomfortable. “He’s insane Sam. Insane and insatiable. But he can’t have you, not without me. He takes the children, gives their parents something in return. I wanted the demon, it wanted you.”

“And so neither of you got what you wanted…and the whole world paid the price?” Sam asked. His father was sitting beside him, his hand on Sam’s hand, covering the gun.

“I didn’t know.”

Sam wanted to move, to pull away. He was too close, too real…his thoughts too loud and fevered.

“Tell me what happened to you Sam. He—it said you were in the hands of demons, that you were—“

“Well, it wasn’t roses and puppies, just the thorns and teeth.” Sam said, standing and taking a tentative step away. He could hear gunfire and shouting. He turned his face to the east. “Watch the east,” he whispered as if Dean would hear him and remember.

More gunfire. The sounds of demons screaming. Sam covered his ears. He could almost feel them crawling over him, clawing at him, laughing, scratching at him until he should have been bleeding to death, but he never bled.

“Sam?”

He shook his head. No. They taunted him. Dean’s voice, his father’s…making him think he was free, that they had come for him. He turned away, crouched down. They were all around him, swarming over him. “No!” He swatted at them, then felt the weight of the gun. He stared at it as if he could see it. He could end it.

“Sam, give me the gun.”

He shook his head, barely breathing. “They can’t hurt me anymore if I’m dead.”

“It won’t end anything Sammy…only make it worse.” His father was beside him, kneeling, his hand on the gun. “Come on, Son, give me the gun.”

Almost as suddenly as it started, the fighting stopped. Sam turned his face toward his father. “It still wants me. It knows I’m here now. It’s coming.”

He could feel it. The reason the demons left. No more skirmishes. Only one final battle. The end. Of everything.

He put the gun in his father’s hand and stood. “We can end it. Make it right.”

“No, Son. I don’t think we can.”

Sam swallowed the nervous bile rising inside him. “You always were a selfish son of a bitch Dad.” He pushed past his father and out into the cold air, into Dean’s arms.


There’s danger on the edge of town
Ride the kings highway, baby
Weird scenes inside the gold mine
Ride the highway west, baby

Sam was quiet, withdrawn in the aftermath of the battle. He’d huddled into himself like he had when they’d first found their way back, not eating until Dean had cajoled him and led him away from the others.

In the dark, when the lights were put out for the night and the camp settled around them, Sam pulled Dean into him, kissing over his face while their hands fumbled with zippers, trying to get close enough…but even skin on skin wasn’t close enough anymore.

In the close comfort of the tent, Sam had whispered, frantic, desperate…words that made no sense, but ate at Dean’s resolve, words that begged for touch, for the fire of lips and tongue and fingers…for feeling, for an end to the endless cold.

Too many clothes and blankets and too much work to keep it all inside…the sounds of desperate need coupled with the the push and pull of his own ache for Sam…and even as Dean’s cock sank into Sam, his mouth closing over his shoulder, Sam’s hands pulled, drawing Dean’s hands to his own cock. Chest to back they lay on the old mattress, joined by the only heat left in the world.

Dean held himself there, held himself deep inside until Sam’s mouth stopped moving, until the desperate whispers stopped. When he moved, it was a light rocking motion. “Shh…Sammy…stay with me.”

Sam sniffed through whatever emotion had brought him to this and nodded. “Right here Dean,” his voice reverent, soft…like a prayer offered up on an altar of flesh.

Their bodies molded together, writhing, pressing and shifting. The tent was close and sticky and Dean was sure the whole camp could hear them breathing, would know what they were doing, but he couldn’t have stopped, not when Sam needed him so fiercely. “I’ve got you.” Dean whispered, his free arm circling under Sam and pulling him tight against him.

“Dean…Dean…need you…” Sam’s voice hitched, up and Dean wanted to hush him, remind him that others could hear now. A sob wracked Sam’s body as they rocked forward again. Dean swallowed his own sob, swallowed it and pushed it down inside him.

Dean pressed kisses into Sam’s skin, moving enough to reach his face, “Shh…you have me Sam, I’m here.”

Sam dragged their hands over his cock. Dean swiped his thumb over the tip and Sam shuddered. He flexed his hips, pressing his cock deeper into Sam and pressing against his prostate until he shuddered, his breath stuttering as he came. Dean’s lips slid over Sam’s neck, tasting the sweat as he pulled his hips back and pressed them in again. His own come flooded deep inside Sam, hot and sticky and wrong. Just like every time before, Dean whispered soothing words to Sam, but they did nothing for himself. He buried his face in Sam’s hair, glad his brother couldn’t see the tears.

He hated himself more everytime he let it happen. Hated his weakness, his willingness to give Sam anything…everything…

“I have to take a turn at watch.” Dean whispered, though he wasn’t sure Sam heard him. “I’ll be out on the perimeter.” He got himself back into his clothes and climbed out of the tent.

“He thinks it’s coming for him,” a voice said out of the dark.

Dean turned, spotting the glowing end of a cigarette. “Maybe it is.”

“I thought I could handle it.”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, that’s the problem right there, isn’t it? You always think you can handle it…whatever the fuck it is…because you’re goddamn John fucking Winchester.”

His father didn’t answer, just stood there, smoking and looking at the ground. When his eyes finally lifted, Dean was nearly frightened by what he saw in them.

“I know what it wants.”

“You mean, other than Sam?” Dean turned to face him full on, his eyes narrowing.

“The thing that took your mother is gone.”

Dean wasn’t sure where his father was going…or if he was even rational enough to be having a conversation. “I have to get out to the wall. I’m on watch.”

“Sam said east, but it’s west of us.”

Dean shook his head. “We came from the west, Dad. There’s nothing out there.”

His father stared off into the west. “I can stop it. I know now.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “No Dad. You can’t. You never could stop anything, especially not yourself.”



Sam woke, cold and shivering. He was alone. Alone, and it was coming. He breathed through the panic, shoved his feet into his shoes. He had to find Dean, raise the alarm. He managed to get out of the tent, but it was too late. He could feel them.

“Dean!” He screamed it with every ounce of his being, stumbling away from the tent and hoping he was headed toward the front of camp.

“Dean!”

He was starting to hear people grumbling about being wakened. He didn’t care. They were all going to die.

“Dean!”

There was a hand at his elbow. “Sam, settle down.”

“No, Bobby. It’s coming…it’s here.” Sam grabbed at him. “You have to save Dean. He’s out there…he’s…”

“Sam!” Dean’s voice rose over the rush of evil in the air, carried to Sam. “Get down!”

Bobby was pulling on him but he was slow, reaching out for Dean. He screamed as the talon sliced into him, the claw closing over his wrist. Not again. Bobby grabbed his other hand, held him, pulled against the demon.

“Don’t you let go.” Dean yelled, his arms wrapping around Sam.

A shot rang out and the demon screamed. A second shot and he abandoned Sam, screeching away into the night. Sam fell into Dean’s arms, both of them falling to the ground, cradling his bleeding hand to his chest.

“Let me see.” Dean was pulling at his shirt sleeve, and Sam could feel the blood pouring out of him, hot and wet. The smell of it filled the air. It reminded him too much of then…of that day when Dean found him. The stench of it was overwhelming, coupled with the pain and Dean’s hoarse voice. “Sam, damn it, let me see.”

Sam moved his other hand off the wound and more blood pumped free.

“Fuck. I need a med kit.”

“Heat up an iron.” Bobby said. “Stitching ain’t gonna fix that.”

Sam felt Dean cradle him closer. “Hold on Sammy. Just hold on.” His hand clamped down over the bleeding wound and they waited in silence. The heat reached him first, then Bobby’s gruff voice.

“Hold him.”

Dean’s grip tightened around him and the heat kissed into Sam, burning at the dark and he could almost imagine he could see the red glow of the iron as the stench of burning flesh combined with the smell of blood. He was going to be sick.

When he started, Dean turned him forward, holding his head up out of it. When it was over, Dean rocked him slowly. There was a needle and Dean whispering softly and then nothing.



Ride the snake, ride the snake
To the lake, the ancient lake, baby
The snake is long, seven miles
Ride the snake...he’s old, and his skin is cold


Sometimes in his dreams, he could still see. He could watch the sun rise and set. He could trace the lines on Dean’s face. Sometimes it was like none of it ever happened.

Then he would wake and the darkness, the blank empty would settle over him, chilling him down to the core of himself. He pulled Dean to him, over him, like a blanket. His right arm felt like fire and ice, and he could feel the stitches holding his skin together. They’d cauterized the slashed artery, stitched the rest after he’d passed out.

He wasn’t ready to face it, he wanted to sleep, to sleep without the dreams.

The dreams.

Sam sat up, pushed Dean off of him. He whimpered as he tried to use his right hand to push himself upright. Dean moaned and reached for him. “Dad.”

“What?” Dean rolled over, rubbing at sleep heavy eyes.

“He’s gone.” Sam shook his head. It wasn’t clear. Something to do with a lake…and if he wasn’t just losing what was left of his mind, a dragon.

“Sam, Dad is asleep. You should be too. Let the drugs help.”

Sam shook his head. “No, Dean. He thinks…he thinks he can fix it. It’s all blurry, but I know. I know.”

“Okay, settle down.”

“We have to stop him, before he makes it worse.”

“What could possibly be worse—No, on second thought, don’t answer that.”

Dean’s arms folded around him and he brought Sam back to the bed. “You need to rest, Sam. Heal.”

Sam shivered and turned his face into Dean’s neck. He wasn’t going to heal. None of them were. Still, he let Dean ease him back down, wrap his arms around him and whisper until his voice faded away.

Somewhere in the dark, their father was alone, on his way to throw himself at the mess he’d created, thinking that somehow he knew something that would buy him salvation.

But all he would buy was more of this.

Because John Winchester wasn’t what it wanted.



He woke shivering, cold. Dean rubbed a hand over his face, aware that Sam wasn’t laying beside him. “Sam?”

There was no immediate answer. He rolled toward the front flap, poking his head out. Sam was sitting at the table by Bobby’s trailer, his wounded hand being bandaged by Ellen.

He climbed out of the tent, rubbing sleep from his eyes and stretching. It was colder, the wind foul and icy as it blew through camp. Sam didn’t speak, didn’t move. Ellen finished taping down the bandages and looked up at Dean.

“Bobby’s gone after him.”

“After who?” Dean looked at the trailer, then at Sam. “Shit. Shit.” He kicked at the ground. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Ellen’s jaw tightened and she dusted her hands on her jeans. “I imagine he thinks he’s the reason you two look like you do.”

“He won’t survive out there.” Dean cursed under his breath. “I should go find him.” Although why Dean owed the son of a bitch anything was beyond him.

“We.” Sam said, standing.

“No, Sam. I won’t be long. You stay here.”

Sam shook his head. “Not alone. You go, I go.”

Dean sighed, already giving in. “There a car we can take?”



The west is the best
The west is the best
Get here, and we’ll do the rest


They roared out of camp, leaving a trail of dust behind them, chasing Sam’s feeling and Bobby’s tail lights back toward the city. West. Then north.

Sam sat beside him, knees curled to his chest, feet on the dash, his head on his knees, his empty eyes staring out at nothing as they flew through the dark.

They caught Bobby outside of Boise, cursing the blown engine on his SUV. The city looked as though it had been bombed. Burned out cars lined the roads, burned out building hulked in shadows.

Bobby rubbed at the back of his neck and as he got close enough, Dean could see the knot there. “What did he do, knock you out?”

Bobby grunted, nodding. “Fucking bastard. He’s apeshit, you know that don’t you?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You just figuring that out?”

“Knocked me out and dumped something in my gas line. He was rambling about some lake in Oregon.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, Sam too. Since…since we left the camp.”

The sky above them darkened, movement drawing their eyes upward. “We should get cover. They’re moving.”

“They’re just randomly hunting.” Sam said. “Don’t know were here.” He was suddenly beside Dean, his hand sliding under his arm. “It doesn’t know I know.”

Bobby looked at Dean, the question clear on his face. Dean shrugged. “He gets like that sometimes. Ever since…”

“Dragon Lake.” Sam said softly. “Dad’s almost there.” He turned his face to Bobby. “You should go back. Let us find him.”

“No offense Sam, but neither of you is in any shape—“

“You can’t go where we’re going.”

Dean sighed. “Get back in the car Sam.” When Sam had shuffled away Dean sighed again. “He’s not usually wrong. Go on back to those boys. They need you more than we do.” He held out his hand to shake, pulling Bobby into a hug. “I get the feeling this is it. Probably won’t see you again. You take care, old friend.”

Bobby snorted. “Watch who yer calling old.” He clapped Dean on the back and stepped away.

Dean climbed back behind the wheel and pulled them back onto the road.

“We’re too late.” Sam whispered several hours later. “Don’t stop.”