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This is Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency, leave a message.
This is Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency, leave a message.
This is Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency, leave a message.
This is Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency, leave a message.
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is the devil real, too? is he real where we're from?
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i just need to know if he's real, it's a big deal isn't it?
that's bigger than the monsters we hunt
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was it someone shaped like cas?
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It was fine. They knew how to handle it.
Only now he's not so sure it's that at all. His fingers are tingly and shaking, and he feels a little breathless, a little cold. He let himself be possessed by Lucifer, and Lucifer, in Sam's body, destroyed the world. It's not real. It's not true. It's insane. He had floated numbly where he sat on his bed for an hour after that conversation. But now, the room's see-sawing uncomfortably.
It's been days since that talk.
He hasn't said a word in days; teenaged angst, they probably thought.
But now, he feels like the words want to burst him at the seams.
Nightmares he'd had that he thought were only that — nightmares of some nun in a hallway with mirrors lining the walls... mirrors with red eyes looking back."Listen to her. Can't you remember? You're just like her. You will be just like her... A killer, a failure — an abomination to everything you believed in."]
you didn't answer
its true, isn't it
he's real
1/2
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Okay. Time to go knock on little Sammy's door, screw texting from inside the same damn house. ]
Sam. Open up.
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Words like apocalypse and possession roll around in his head, behind his eyes. He breathes in, and it comes in shallow. The part of him that wants to run and hide under Dean's leather jacket is the same part of him that wants to crawl under his bed and ignore everything; that little piece of him barely exists anymore, whittled down the moment he opened Dad's journal.
He feels like he's breathing through a straw.
He pulls his knees up close and hides his face, frozen where he sits.
that's not me i'm not evil i don't want this]
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[ Dean will knock one more time, but he's already reaching into his jacket to pull out the lockpick he carries, because this is Dean Winchester, bad end Dean, and of course he has that shit stashed on him at all times.
It's easy to let himself in - it's his house, he knows these locks by now, and it's not like a simple little lock is enough to keep him out anyway. The door swings open and Dean steps in, but he shuts it behind him before coming to sit on the end of the bed, watching his little, impressionable brother. ]
Talk to me. What happened? What did he say to you?
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He says, tightly, his face still buried in his knees:]
I'm just one person. How can one person ruin so much? I wanted to be a good person.
[He feels sick. It's not real.]
This is just a nightmare. I'll wake up later.
It's just some crazy dream. I always have the craziest dreams.
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So. Start with what you know. ]
You are a good person, Sam. One of the best I know. [ Because that - despite Sam's massive fuckups and bad decision, will always remain true. He is a good man (kid), kinda (lotta) destructive but well intentioned. ]
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[A short, wretched sob shakes him where he's curled.]
I'm not good; I ruined your life!
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[ Fuck it, he is gonna shrug out of his jacket, take it off and come closer, drape it over Sammy's hunched form, grip his shoulder tight. ]
You didn't. Okay? There's a lot that happened to us back home, but it wasn't you, Sam. You hear me? It was all on me.
[ He pushed Sam away, sent him right into Lucifer's arms. All he'd had to do was talk to Sam, let him back in, and he couldn't do it. ]
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Sam's distanced himself from this kind of thing, some parts because Dad had told him that he needed to stop being childish and stand on his own... but part because he had been feeling more and more complicated and convoluted on the inside, growing up. But now... now he can't help but feel something inside him snap, and the floodgates open, and he's just as quickly crawling to burrow against Dean's chest and wrap his arms around his middle, a sort of desperate gesture that had grown less and less frequent the older they'd gotten.
help, it says, i'm scared and i don't know what to do and i need my brother
He shakes his head against Dean's collarbone, practically vanished under the jacket draped over his shoulders, wetting his older brother's shirt with tears. He rambles anxiously, his shoulders shaking hard under Dean's hand.]
It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter why, if I really did that. But I just wanted to be normal — I just wanted to get away. I just wanted to go be something better, Dean. I didn't want this; I don't want this. I can't let it happen. What can I do to fix it? I have to make it okay.
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He's gonna murder Cas. ]
Look, Sam-- I'm not gonna lie to you, it did get kinda complicated. But listen to me, we're here now, okay? We're here, things are different, and I'm not so sure Deerington is the end for us. I think...I think you're gonna have a chance, here. [ Hopefully, Dean won't fuck him up again. ]
I'm gonna be right here with you, too - I won't let you down. [ Not again. Not this time. ]
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But I can — I'll go back. I can go back and fix things. It doesn't have to be the end anywhere.
[And he leans back, eyes wide and teary and scared to death.]
Right? He said I could change things. He said I could fix it, make everything better. I know now, so I'll fix things for you and Cas, right? I'll make sure none of it ever happens. Because it hasn't happened for me yet.
[Surely that's how this works, right?
It's not like this was the result of a spell and it's all already happened.
That'd be fucking preposterous and hopeless.]
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[ ....nnngggh. He closes his eyes, squeezes Sam's shoulder a little.
Dammit. Since Cas had to go and ignore all the rules of spoilers, sweetie on little Sam, he figures there's no sense in continuing to hide the rest of it. Fourteen or not, Sam is made of tough stuff, demon blood aside. He'll tell him, and they'll work through it. ]
Sam, [ he starts again, hesitant, completely at a loss because this is uncharted territory, ] you can't go back. It's all already happened for us. You've actually, uh -- been in Deerington for a while, now, and we sort of deaged you back to fourteen with a spell.
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Lucifer had seen this very same expression, when Sam had told him he'd kill himself before ever letting him in. Now, Dean gets to see the same thing on a younger, tear-splotched face. He's trying to wrap his mind around it — but it makes more sense than not. The weird light... the waking up in that sigil, and then...
His voice is small and horse. Thready.]
... I already did all of it?
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Fuck, he needs a drink. ]
But listen - he's gone. Okay? He's gone, and that's the most important thing. He's gone, and he can't hurt us anymore.
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[He says it numbly, slumping back with his legs folded beneath him. The jacket smells like liquor and car oil and gunpowder. It smells like Dean. Like Dad. Like a Winchester - a hunter. It's a comfort because it's been in his life since he was a baby. Hard to say how much it's comforting him now, as he unconsciously pulls it close.]
I... I... [He trails off, despondent.
He's not sure what to say, but something tumbles from his lips anyway:]
Dad must hate me.
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[ He's not gonna go into Dad tonight, because Dean probably has some choice words about that subject these days, but he shakes his head and scoffs, wrapping his baby brother in tight. ]
Screw Dad.
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But it's hard to feel anything but a pit in his stomach. Dean says it'll be okay, that it isn't the end, that he's not what it sounds like. He couldn't help but imagine some older version of him with those red eyes, heartless and cold and snapping limbs like twigs.
... He tries to calm himself, a headache pulsing hard in his temples. He sniffs.]
What... what about the other Sam?
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Something to discuss with the other Sam. There’s enough trauma. Leave Dad out of it. ]
What about him?
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[He stops, swallows hard.]
He's from... a different — timeline? Right? But he's still him?
[He has to assume that the one that hangs around isn't possessed by the devil. Honestly, he still can't quite process that right. But he does know that Dean treats him like a brother and not like a villain or some monster, and that must matter. It must mean something.
Sam's imagining this 'spell' Dean had mentioned being done on a bound and gagged Sam Winchester with red, glowing eyes, fully overtaken by the devil. He can't possibly conceive of the idea that he used to live here as his older self. No way.]
What... did he do right that I didn't?
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[ Dean closes his eyes, heart squeezing, the familiar dull pain of old aches sharpening into laser focus. ]
He had me. Other me.
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