Chapter Text
The creature in front of him hissed as he pressed the plunger on the syringe down, and then it cackled at him when he jerked the needle away from its neck. He frowned at it and then turned away. It wasn’t working. Sam looked at his watch and swallowed against the thick feeling in his throat. That had been the eighteenth dose of his blood. Eighteen hours of watching the thing that had been his brother taunt and rage and manipulate, but it wasn’t working. Maybe his blood just wasn’t pure enough, even with a confession and blessing. Last time, he’d had a priest bless bags of donated blood, but there just hadn’t been time. The taint of the Mark had overwhelmed his brother in a sudden, unanticipated surge of bloodlust, and Sam had only just been able to restrain him before he’d massacred an entire subdivision.
Still, he’d been too late.
The thing was still chuckling behind him. “Something the matter, Sammy?” It almost purred. “Why don’t you tell your big brother all that’s bothering you?” It cackled again.
Sam clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth until he thought they might break. God, he was tired. He didn’t know what to do. The purification ceremony wasn’t working, it only seemed less effective as each hour passed, and if it didn’t work… That would mean he’d have to kill this thing his brother was now, if he could bring himself to, and if it was even possible.
It was a problem with no solution. The Mark of Cain had warped Dean into a Knight of Hell, a thing that could only be destroyed by someone who wielded both the First Blade and the Mark, but anybody that carried the Mark would inevitably turn into a Knight, and that took them right back to square one.
He sucked in a deep breath and counted the syringes again, trying to focus on the flow of air within him. He exhaled slowly. It wasn’t working. Inhale. His brother was dying, maybe dead already. Exhale. He couldn’t kill the thing that wore Dean’s face. Inhale. His hands were shaking. Exhale. He turned to face it.
“Dean.” He’d meant to sound firm, but the word shattered as it fell from his lips. He shook his head and crouched so he was at eye level with the bound demon. Its eyes were planes of black, and it smirked at him. Sam tried to look past it. “Come on, man. You have to fight this. I need you to fight this. I can’t…” He didn’t bother finishing the sentence. The words wouldn’t come, and they wouldn’t have made a difference if they had.
The eyes flicked from flat black to a familiar vivid green, and the thing’s whole demeanor changed. Sam knew— knew —that it was false, just another ploy to wind him up, but he could not beat back the hope that flickered in him. “Sam?” It asked, blinking.
Sam tsked as he backed away and flicked droplets of holy water at it from a flask. The demon spit and hissed and smoked, just as he’d suspected, but still he felt the hope in him die, could taste its corpse in the bile that rose in the back of his throat. It tasted like disappointment; it tasted like failure.
“Couldn’t fool you for a minute, could I Sammy?” The demon strained forward against the ropes that bound him to the chair and green gave way to black once more. “It’s true, you know. That thing you keep thinking.” Teeth gleamed white behind smirking lips. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me. You’re hopeless, Sammy. In every sense of the word. It’s too late .” It relaxed back against the chair once more, openly gloating.
Sam didn’t bother with a reply, there was nothing else to say. He turned and left the room, barring the door behind him. He leaned against the door, relieved to have it between him and the monster in the other room. He looked at his watch and set the alarm for the next dose, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he bothered. He walked numbly down the hall and towards the kitchen, completely on auto pilot.
He was exhausted, drained. He hadn’t slept in over 24 hours and all he wanted was to crawl into his bed and cease existing for a while. He realized he was staring blankly into the fridge, and didn’t remember opening it. Shaking his head, he closed the door and pulled a glass down from the cupboard. He filled it at the sink, but didn’t bring it to his lips.
Not for the first time, Sam’s mind wandered to the angel, Castiel, and he reflexively sent a prayer for help. He’d spent an unprecedented amount of time praying today, at first just to Cas but then, as the desperation in him grew, he addressed other angels too. He prayed to Hannah and Joshua, who were the only angels Sam knew of that had seemed to sympathize with humanity. Eventually, he even prayed to Anna and Balthazar and Gabriel, though he knew that they were dead. The lack of response was at the same time infuriating and worrisome; especially from Castiel. Sam hadn’t ever had the same kind of response time with Cas that Dean had, but he’d never been flat out ignored for this long, not when it was about Dean.
It was complicated, the thing with Dean and Castiel. They were friends—all three of them—but there was something else between his brother and the angel. Some undefined potential that—by some unspoken rule—they never mentioned, and, because of the perpetual shit storm that was their life, never got a chance to be realized.
Sam was trying very hard not to resent Castiel for not answering. He knew that if the angel could hear him and had the power to do so, he would have appeared at the first mention of Dean’s name. The fact that he hadn’t… That did not spell good news. It was even harder not to resent him for leaving in the first place, only days after Dean had killed Cain, the Father of the Mark. He tried to be understanding, to remind himself that Cas had his own worries and his own needs, that he would only stay away if it was important , but they’d known Dean was only barely holding on. How could he just leave? Damn it, Dean needed him.
“Where are you?!” He demanded to the empty room, and hurled the glass in his hand at the wall. It shattered against the concrete, strangely beautiful; water splashed and ran in rivulets that darkened the stone wherever it made contact, and tiny shards of glass glinted on the wet tile. Sam was breathing in great huffs and wrenched open the cupboard to grab another glass which joined the first quick enough. He snatched up a third glass and turned to add it to the pile, but he didn’t. As quickly as the rage had boiled up, it left him, evaporating into the air and leaving him empty. His whole body loosened, and his shoulders sagged under the weight of his hopelessness and sorrow. He let the glass slip from his fingers and into the sink where it shattered anyway.
Sam gripped the edge of the sink with both hands, staring at the broken bits that littered the basin, and the muscle in his jaw jumped. It was over, they had lost the fight. His breath was nothing but choked gasps and wracking sobs and his shoulders shook with the force of them. After everything they had survived, after every victory that had had to be carved from the pain of their sacrifices, only for it to mean nothing, now. The Winchesters were beaten. Finally defeated. Tears slid down the line of his nose, and gathered together at the end of it before splashing down among the broken glass.
Cas was missing, Dean was all but gone, and Sam was lost without them.
He stayed that way for a long time, hunched over the sink and despairing, until the tick tick tick of the clock on the wall became unbearable. He stood, ignoring the pain that lanced through the stiff muscles of his back, and dried his face on the hem of his shirt. His eyes fell on the glinting pile of broken glass, and he went about cleaning it up with a resigned numbness; too raw to feel anything at all.
His apathy was not enough to deaden his senses or his lifelong training, however, and some sudden change in the air and soft rustle of cloth alerted him to another’s presence. His body tensed, and he turned slowly, expecting to face the monster his brother had become—expecting to die.
It was only Castiel, standing stiffly in the doorway. He looked well, all things considered. “Sam.” He said by way of greeting, nodding his head the smallest fraction. Some myriad of emotions must have flited across Sam’s face, because he said it again; a question this time, full of worry and fear. “Sam?”
A cold rage flared in Sam. That he would show up—that he would bother to worry now , when it was too late… it was too much to let go. “Where have you been?” He bit out coldly, turning back to his task without waiting for a reply.
“I was… preoccupied.” The angel answered carefully; though whether in an attempt to conceal the truth or because of Sam’s mood, the hunter wasn’t sure.
“Preoccupied.” Sam repeated, scoffing. Tossing pieces of glass into the garbage with a little too much force.
“I had other—“
“It doesn’t matter.” He snapped, striding across the room to get the broom.
Castiel watched him sweep up the glass, dread settling into his chest. “Sam? Where’s Dean?” He did not miss the way the man’s shoulders slumped slightly at the mention of his brother.
Sam made himself finish sweeping the bits of glass off the floor before muttering an answer, and with a sigh, all the fight in him died. “It’s too late, Cas.”
The angel strode towards him and grabbed his shoulder roughly, turning him and craning up to search Sam’s face. “What do you—“
The shrill beep of Sam’s wristwatch interrupted him, and Sam sighed tiredly. “Dean’s gone.” Despite his best efforts, his voice cracked. Castiel’s fingers dug into his arms, and his head shook in dissent, rejecting the very notion. Sam clarified, “He-he’s not Dean anymore. He’s a demon.”
“The purification ceremony—“
“It’s not working. I thought it was, at first, but he barely even registers a dose now.” Castiel abruptly let him go, and Sam ran a hand through his hair, watching the angel turn the situation over in his mind.
“Where is he? Take me to him.” He demanded. Sam opened his mouth to object, but Castiel held up a hand, his tone softening. “I need to see him.”
Sam hesitated, and the muscle in his jaw ticked as he grit his teeth, but something about the determined look on Cas’ face made him acquiesce. He sighed, then nodded, and beckoned for Castiel to follow.
Sam opened the door slowly and entered the room first, moving cautiously and double checking the binds that held the demon. It smirked at him and laughed cruelly. “Time for my next dose already, Doc?” Sam ignored him, picking up a syringe to fill with his blood. “Bring on the healin’ then.”
Castiel couldn’t stop the short, sharp intake of breath when he entered the room and laid eyes on Dean. The sound caught the demon’s attention, and its grin grew predatory. “Well, helllloooo nurse.”
“Ignore him.” Sam deadpanned. He hesitated, regarding the syringe full of his blood uncertainly. What was the point anymore?
“Do it.” Castiel urged, his gaze never leaving the figure tied to the chair in the center of the room.
Sam watched Castiel study the demon, and was half tempted to refuse to continue out of the sheer hopelessness of it all. He knew, however, that the angel needed to see the lack of progress for himself, so Sam turned to the demon and pressed the needle into its neck. When he pulled away, the monster sneered at him. “Jeez Sam, careful now, that stuff stings.”
Sam threw the syringe back onto the tray in frustration. “You see? I don’t know if it’s my blood or the Mark or… the whole thing is just pointless.”
“No.” Castiel said, still watching the figure in front of them.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Sam demanded tiredly. “Look! It barely even flinched!” The demon laughed at his frustration, and Sam fought the urge to backhand it.
“The ritual has not been pointless, Sam. It’s true that it’s not reversing the effects of the Mark as it did before, but it’s slowing them. Hope is… not completely lost.” He said the last bit carefully, as if he wasn’t entirely sure that there was any truth to the words. “Dean’s soul is tarnished, and weary, but even now he fights the darkness that consumes him. The doses of purified blood have made a difference, they stem the tide for a time, giving him a reprieve. If you hadn’t been so diligent, he would have lost himself completely.” Castiel paused, then said quietly, “I had forgotten how brightly …” The angel shook his head. “Your brother’s soul is a wonder, Sam.”
The demon chuckled darkly, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Naughty, naughty, angel. Taking a peek at me without my say so. I wondered why you hadn’t made an appearance… Had to top off your tank before running on empty, hmm? Whose batteries did you steal? Hannah’s? Did you give her those sad eyes before you sliced her open? Did you do it for me? Oh, now that would be sweet. Tell me you ganked that bitch for me. ”
Sam grabbed Castiel’s shoulder and spun him roughly until they were face to face. “Is that where you’ve been?! Stealing more Grace? Is that why you couldn’t be bothered to answer me?”
Castiel let Sam manhandle him, waiting until he had calmed a fraction before answering. “I haven’t stolen any Grace.”
“But you can suddenly see souls again?” Sam challenged.
“The Grace I have now is my own. Recovering it was… very difficult, but that is why I couldn’t come to you right away. It was the only hope I had of being able to help Dean anyway, so there was little point in answering you without it.”
Sam crossed his arms and searched the angel’s face for a long time, looking for a lie before he let any hope take hold. “So you can help him? Now that you have your juice back, you can bring him back? Will it get rid of the Mark?”
“I-I believe so, yes.” Castiel looked again to the soul that had always been a beacon for him in the darkness; the one that had drawn him through the labyrinth of choking ash and burning Hellfire—even as his brothers and sisters fought and fell beside him. The one that had accepted him as he had been—broken and riddled with doubt. The one that had cushioned his fall… He closed his eyes against the shimmering light, against the pain of regret, but his returned Grace meant that he did not need them to see it. “I had hoped for more time, before this was required, but it will have to be done now.” He took off his coat and slung it on the back of an empty chair, and then meticulously rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. The Demon had gone quiet, and was watching him tensely. “You’ll need to step outside.” Castiel said over his shoulder to Sam.
Sam didn’t move, a sickening feeling settling in his stomach. “What are you going to do?” He did not get an answer. “Cas.” He said forcefully. “What are you going to do?”
Castiel set his shoulders before turning to face his friend. “I’m going to do what is necessary.”
Sam didn’t like the way Castiel had dodged the question, something in his resigned manner had alarms ringing in Sam’s head. “What exactly does that mean?” His jaw was ticking again, he could feel the muscle jumping, but couldn’t make it stop.
A huff of annoyance escaped the angel, he didn’t want to argue with Sam about this, not now. He’d made his decision the moment Dean had handed him the first blade and then collapsed into his brother’s arms, but he knew if Sam knew the finer details of what he was about to do, the man would never allow it. Castiel briefly entertained the thought of waiting him out, but Sam was bull headed, and there was not enough time with which to gamble. He glanced at the demon. It was watching him with a hint of wariness now, which Castiel took to mean that it had a good idea about what he was going to attempt. He turned back to Sam. “I am going to use my Grace to purify him. It will banish the darkness, and, hopefully, rid him of the Mark.”
Sam chewed on that for a moment, eyeing him distrustfully. He knew that there was no limit to the sacrifices Cas would make for Dean, he’d seen it before. He crossed his arms. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”
“No.” Castiel couldn’t quite meet Sam’s stare. “I can’t promise that it will be comfortable for him, it’s more likely that it will hurt like Hell, but I will try to be as gentle as possible, and he shouldn’t suffer any lasting damage.”
“I meant for you , Cas.”
“Oh. Then, yes. Unbelievably dangerous.” His answer was so matter of fact that Sam couldn’t think of anything to say, but Castiel could sense his objection. “This is the only way, Sam. We have to either save Dean, or kill him, but the Mark must be destroyed. Not just for Dean, or for us, but for the good of all. ”
Sam shook his head. “Not when it sounds like… like you don’t expect to walk away from this. No. I can’t—Dean wouldn’t—“
“It’s true that it is… unlikely that I will survive this procedure, but it is possible.” Castiel waited for Sam to meet his gaze before he continued. “The same could be said of a life without him.”
Sam closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. There it was. That thing none of them ever mentioned. The unfairness of it all was suffocating. He knew then that there would be no changing Castiel’s mind, still, he couldn’t just stand back and let him do this. “How sure are you that this would even work?”
He lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “My Grace should be adequate.”
“”Should be?!” “Adequate?!” No. No. What you are asking—“ He ran a hand over his face. “Damn it, Cas. I will not choose between my best friend and my brother!”
Castiel took the few steps towards him and set a hand up on his shoulder, in an attempt at comfort. Sam looked at him imploringly, but Castiel only shook his head. “I am not asking for your permission, Sam.”
“Cas, please. You aren’t even sure that this will work, and then what? I-I can’t lose you both. I can’t. ”
“You won’t.” He answered, determination plain in his voice.
“Look,” Sam bargained, “at least… rest first. You just got your juice back, what, an hour ago? Give it some time to reacquaint and replenish—“
The angel shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Sam bristled at that. “How the hell would you know?! Did you brush up on your Grace lore while you were putzing around Heaven? Exactly how many angels have had their Grace ripped away and then gotten it back?”
Castiel glared at him, annoyed. “There isn’t time for me to rest, Sam. He’s fighting, yes, but it’s…” He looked back at the demon and softened his tone. “It’s a losing battle.”
“I—“ Sam closed his eyes against the pain etched on Castiel’s face, sure that it mirrored his own, and took a slow, shaky breath. When he opened them, Cas was looking at him sadly. “I don’t care. ” Sam finished. They both saw the lie for what it was, but he forced it out anyway. “I won’t let you do this. I want my brother back, but the cost , Cas. If you don’t— if something happens to you… Dean will never stop hating himself, and he’ll never forgive me for allowing it.”
“You forgave Dean for using Gadreel to save your life,” he reasoned, “even when you did not want to be saved, Dean will forgive you this.”
Sam could feel the disbelief on his face. “That’s completely different, Cas!”
Castiel shook his head. “How? How is this any different than—“
“Because healing me wasn’t going to kill Gadreel!”
“You think that would have mattered? You think Dean would have done any differently if it meant Gadreel’s life?! Dean would have sacrificed a thousand angels to save you!” They were both shouting now, the creature behind them momentarily forgotten.
“But you wouldn’t have been one of them!” All at once, the fight left Sam, and he lowered his voice. “That’s the difference, Cas. Yes, Dean would have slaughtered a thousand Gadreels to save me, but Gadreel was not a part of our family. Gadreel did not sacrifice everything for me. I- I wasn’t in love with Gadreel.” The words cut sharper than Sam had intended, he regretted them as soon as they left his mouth.
They both fell silent, looking away from each other, and the room was so filled with longing and regret that the air felt close and thick. The demon began to laugh, reminding them of its presence. “It’s true, I admit it. You’re my favorite tool, Angel. So easily manipulated, you’d kill your own brother if I asked you pretty please, wouldn’t you? Oh, wait. That’s right, you already have. Multiple times, even. But come on, let’s face it, you’re just—“
Sam punched it.
The monster spat a mouthful of blood at the floor, the spaces between its teeth colored red when it grinned at Castiel. “Convenient.” It finished, chuckling as Castiel stalled Sam from hitting it again.
“Sam.” It was both a caution and a request. “Go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He folded his arms across his chest stubbornly.
“It’s not safe for you to be in here while—“
“I said, no.”
“Don’t make me incapacitate you.” His tone was almost teasing, but they both knew that he would not hesitate to render Sam unconscious or transport him to Bermuda if he absolutely had to. He watched as Sam weighed his options and slowly accepted defeat.
The hunter shook his head again. “Damn it, Cas…” He strode forward suddenly and pulled Castiel into a hug.
The action surprised the angel and he tensed at first, interpreting it as a foolish attempt to overpower him. When he realized that this was Sam yielding, he hugged him back. They pulled apart, and Sam left the room without another word. The door screeched heavily on its hinges as it swung shut. Castiel stared at it for a moment, listening to Sam’s heartbeat on the other side as the hunter put his back to the wall and sank to the floor. To rest. To cry. To wait.
Too late Castiel realized Sam had also been saying goodbye.