Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether the twins get along or not, in fact it’s usually both simultaneously. In which they’re babies, Yasha’s already a fledgling asshole, but Shura still wants to be with him…
didn’t need the feather to fly, you had it in you the whole time,
Sam’s existence has
been a study of pain these last one hundred and eighty five years. He
is no longer afraid of it. He tries to tell them this is a mistake.
He tells Toni that she is wasting her time, but she seems determined
to do it. Taunting his captors, it turns out, is a poor choice. It’s a
very Dean thing to do, after all, but Sam will keep Dean alive and
before him in whatever way he can. Dean may have gone to the empty
but as long as Sam exists then so will some part of Dean.
They hurt him. They
burn and cut and name him monster. Through it all Sam gives voice
only to screams, never to answers. Their frustration is some measure
of amusing even in his current state. Sam has never been able to quit
On the second day,
they cast a spell over him. It smells of burning bone and amaranth
and Sam knows it is meant to control him, to compel him to answer to
their interrogation. He expects to feel it like a drug making sludge
of his system but instead it feels like pressure, as if all the
secrets of his life, all the nightmarish years in the cage, the
thousand, thousand ugly truths Lucifer whispered build and build
until, with a crack, the pressure burst outwards. His head is wide
open and emptied out.
The door in Sam’s
mind – the one he slammed closed as the cage slammed open and
Lucifer rose, the one that he spent a year of penance locking,
sealing, and covering over – shakes free of it’s plaster and
rattles on its hinges. Behind it a shade moves. Sam tried to tell
them this was a mistake.
Dean keeps his
promise. He does not leave Sam. He comes for him with Mary beside him and
lays his hand on Sam’s cheek like absolution. Sam returns home with
them, though he knows he is changed.
Three weeks later,
Crowley’s bid to reclaim Hell has taken a desperate turn. They hunt
him as they should have done years ago, with the intent to destroy.
The spell is
powerful. Ten humans kneel around an alter, chained and gagged. Ten
lambs to be slaughtered.
Crowley was waiting
for them. A few chanted words in Latin and they find themselves
pulled to their knees. Apparently the spell requires thirteen
sacrifices. Sam cannot move or speak or hardly breathe. So here he will die, on his knees between his brother and his mother. There are
worse ways to go and it has been so long since Sam has rested.
Crowley can’t make it quick of course. His penchant for the
melodramatic overriding his rule about monologing. He rails and he
whines and he finds a way to blame this on them, with special
attention to the bond he feels he shares with Dean. Dean, for his
part, manages not to vomit.
Around them the
spell swirls in gusts of gray and red, sulfur and brimstone hanging
heavy in the air. Deans eyes are wide and wild when they find Sam’s.
Dean doesn’t know how to save them, though he struggles against the
Sam cannot look at
Dean and think of rest, cannot stomach the idea of never seeing his
brother again, cannot give up while Dean is still fighting. So he closes his eyes
and reaches for the door, for the part of himself he locked away when
he broke the final seal.
Sam has never
forgotten a word that was said that day. He has forgiven himself for
his words, forgiven Dean, too, but never Ruby. Never her. He
remembers her in the rapture of her joy, dark and beautiful and
terrible. Her name a name to curse the damned with, but one that will
never make the history books. Even in the accounts he writes for the
Men of Letter’s library, he does not write her name. She can have
Carver’s books, but she can’t have Sam’s. Let her be a fiction to the
world, never a truth. A petty revenge, and the only one Sam can
Still her words live
on in his head.
didn’t need the feather to fly,
had it in you the whole time, Dumbo”
He had thought his
choices and the black rage that fed them, were Ruby’s feather. Maybe
they were, but maybe the demon blood was, too. Both leash and lure,
but only leading him to himself. Sam had said there was no going
Now Sam is standing
in front of that door again, the deep grain of the wood smeared with
dirt. Here is a part of himself he bricked away, hoping it would
starve and die. But it’s very much alive, he can hear it pacing back
and forth see the passing of its shadow through the crack under the
door. It hisses once, whispers, “Sam,” and falls still. It does
not speak again, but still Sam knows that voice. It is not Ruby’s,
nor Azazel’s, nor Lucifer’s, nor is it one voice only. It is his and
Dean’s layered together.
Sam flings the door
wide open, and the shade behind it – neither shadow or light alone
– passes into him.
When Sam breathes in, the ribs of the universe expand around him as if it breathes in, too.
Sam opens his eyes to Dean staring back at him. There is no fear in
his face, no disgust, so Sam knows that despite the strength
thrumming through him, his eyes are not black.
“It’s ok, Dean”
Sam says into the wild raging of the spell. Across from him Crowley
//inhale… collapses on the floor heckie ye i did it. pff i’ve changed their races by now and the season in the background to match the time of year. (it’s from mal au, which i’ve had on deviantart for a while. basically it’s an au where lapis n jasper have an edgy band)
old is from 3october16 new is 5may17
☀️ please don’t interact if n/s/fw/k*nk or tag kin/me, thank you ☀️