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Tracking down his brother was easy. It would have been easier if he didn’t have that branding on his ribs, but it was still rather easy. All he really needed to do was look for a hunt, one that would attract a hunter, such as Dean.
He let his brother and his brother’s angel have their fun with the werewolf. He leaned against the Impala waiting as the bonfire died out and they ambled back through the woods after the job was done. The cool feel of the metal of the car was a reprieve from the scorching flames of Hellfire.
“Cas?” he hears Dean say. “What’s wrong?”
It wasn’t a surprise that the angel was perceptive to him and the power he carried. He briefly wondered how repulsed it made Castiel. Did it scare the angel? Make him apprehensive?
Cas’ voice lowered, it just barely drifted through the trees to be heard. “There’s a presence nearby; something dark, and powerful, and overwhelming. It’s—I think…”
“Cas?”
“Dean, I’ve only felt this a few times before. It—I think it’s… Sam,” the angel’s voice dropped lower at his name. Did Cas feel nauseous or unclean as it passed his holy lips? He wondered how Dean felt at the mention of him. Angry? Disappointed? Disgusted? Nothing?
The pair charged out of a break in the trees. Dean’s gun was in his hand, and he had a scowl on his face. Castiel, on the other hand, looked indifferent and he had no weapon at all.
“What the hell do you want?” Dean snapped.
Sam cocked his head as his eyes expressed how far from human he was now. “Been a while, Dean,” he smirked.
His brother continued to glare at him.
“Sam?” Cas murmured, glancing at Dean. “What are you doing here?”
“Informing you that there is currently only one demon left.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Left?”
“As in, alive at this point in time.”
Castiel frowned. “Even if that were true, humans die every day, at least half, if not more, go to Hell and will turn into demons.”
Sam shrugged. “It’ll be a slow process.” He couldn’t help but snicker. “Or maybe not, they’ll drive themselves crazy, there's nothing and no one left down there. But no matter, I’ve locked Hell up and threw away the key, so they won’t be a problem at all. Who knew it would take this long to kill them all, but there’s only one last demon left.” Sam’s smile widened. “Me.”
Dean and Cas looked at each other. “Why are you here, Sam? What exactly do you want?” Cas asks, visibly confused.
“I’m the last demon,” he repeated, slowly, as if talking to dead-from-the-neck-up children. “At one point that was the wishful fantasy rattling in your head, wasn’t it? Ending all black-eyed sons of bitches out there?” he reminded his brother. “Or, uh, was that dad?” He shrugged then gave a toothy smile. “I guess it doesn’t matter, I mean you copy everything Dad does. His jacket, his music, his job, his alcoholism, his car; you're just John Jr. Have you thought about styling your hair like him too? You gotta dye it dar—”
Dean lifted his gun and shot him.
Despite collapsing into the dirt, Sam laughed. “I know it’s been a while, but have you really forgotten that you can’t kill demons with silver?” He didn’t bother applying pressure to the bullet that tore through his leg. Blood immediately coated his pants and the pain was liberating.
“Dean,” Cas murmured as if giving him a warning.
“What?” Dean snipped, shoving his gun into his pants and starting for the trunk. Instead of the demon knife, an angel blade, or the colt, Dean produced handcuffs. Sam frowned until Dean roughly positioned his arm behind his back and snapped on the demon-proof shackles. “Oh, are we going on a fieldtrip? You gonna take me somewhere to torture me, Dean? That’ll be fun,” he snickers.
“Shut up,” his brother demanded, manhandling him to his feet and shoving him up against the Impala to open the back door.
Sam chuckled. “Don’t you want to frisk me, officer? Do I get a phone call? How ‘bout a last meal? Gonna buy me dinner?”
“Shut. Up.” Dean hissed, grabbing him.
“Or what? You gonna shoot me?” Sam grinned.
“Don’t test me.”
“Why not? It can match the other. Who needs legs? Or a brain!” Sam laughed as Dean shoved him into the backseat.
Dean slammed the door and motioned for Cas to get into the car.
It felt almost as if they were on their way to a hunt, as if he was just Sam, and not Sam, the demon, or Sam, the king of Hell. Just little brother Sam; just pathetic, weak, unreliable Sam.
“What are you laughing about?” Dean muttered, eyeing him warily in the rearview.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he sing songed.
“Are… you on something?”
“I’m on multiple somethings; Earth, a road, leather seats.” He wiggled. He missed the Impala, among other things.
“Drugs,” Dean growled. “Are you on drugs?”
“Nope. I’m clean, or, uh, as clean as a demon can be anyway!” he bellowed.
“Alcohol?”
“As clean as can be,” Sam chirped. “But hell, I could go for a drink. Got a bottle or five in here? Who am I kidding, your Dean, of course, you got alcohol in here.” It has been a long time since he had a drink, he was parched.
Dean switched on the music instead. It was nearly through his Fire of Unknown Origin cassette.
It’s been a long time he heard music. Sam hummed as he watched the world pass him by.
* * *
“Are we there yet?” he asked again, it was the sixty-eighth time he asked, and although Dean hadn’t told him exactly where they were going, he knew the roads enough to know exactly where they were heading.
“I swear to God, Sam,” Dean hissed, he was scowling out the windshield and white-knuckling the wheel as his temple pulsed.
“I mean you can swear to Him all you want, Dean, he’s not listening, so I don’t think he’ll mind, right, Cas?”
“Sam, I suggest you be quiet,” the angel grumbles.
“Hush, hush, quiet, quiet. Dead. Silence. That’s boring! Are we there yet?” Sixty-nine.
“Ask that. One. More. Time,” Dean growled, leather creaking under his hands.
“Dare me! Double dog dare me! Do I get a cherry? Can I have a cherry vodka? Do you really have no alcohol? I mean, it’s you, who are we kidding here?”
Dean slammed on the break and yanked the wheel. Sam laughed as he’s thrown around the backseat.
“Dean?” Cas says, startled, holding onto the dash.
His brother shoved out of the car and went to the trunk before yanking open the back door. “Let me see your fucking hands.”
Dean roughly undid one handcuff, then cuffed his wrists in front of him. He tossed an unopened bottle of whisky onto his lap and slammed the door. “Now shut the ever living Hell up!” he barks, getting back into the driver's seat.
Sam snickered but popped the bottle open and drank. It burned nicely, much more nicer than the flames of damnation that was for sure.
He let the drink keep him occupied for an hour.
“Dean~” he cooed, dropping the empty whiskey bottle between his brother and the angel. “Just one? I’m gonna need a whole lot more than just one. I can outdrink you now.”
“I only had the one bottle, Sam.”
The demon sighed. “Are we there yet then?”
“Yes! We’re almost fucking there!”
“How fun. Bobby’s sure to have more alcohol.” Sam hummed a tune for a few minutes. “And I know you’re lying about having one whiskey.”
“I wasn’t lying.”
“Needed to restock, huh?” Sam smiled as he watched familiar scenery drift by. They were very nearly there. Give or take another hour or two with Dean pushing the limit as he was. “Good thing you have an angel to keep your liver kicking, right? How often do you have to do that, Cas?”
Castiel sighed and switched the cassette again, this time it’s: Pronounced 'Lĕh-'nérd 'Skin-'nérd.
He hummed along and wondered what they were planning for him. Perhaps the colt was at Bobby’s? He wasn’t sure the demon knife was capable of killing him, maybe Dean wasn’t sure about that either. But an angel blade might work. Was Cas not carrying anymore, or was the angel using guns and regular ol’ knives? Did he go full hunter? Yet Cas was still wearing his usual angel get-up, trench coat and all.
He pictured the angel in flannel. He snickered to himself at the image. Blue was Cas’ color, it’d make his eyes POP! Just like Dean’s is green.
He felt eyes on him and he grinned at his brother in the rear view. This was nice.
* * *
He should have known. He should have fucking known!
Dean’s hands gripped his shoulders and shoved him forward, at least tried to. Sam digs in his heels. The cuffs make him weak, oh so weak. If he was out of them he wouldn’t budge an inch. Now it’s taking all of his strength, all of his concentration to keep from going into that damned room.
“Get the fuck in there!” Dean growled.
“No.”
“Cas, for Christ’s sake, help me!”
“No,” Sam says again.
The angel helps. Dean, of course, Cas never helps Sam. Why would he?
“Don’t you leave me here,” he warned his brother. “Don’t leave me here.”
Dean shuts the door with a loud slam, a thunk. He’s locked down, locked away.
Hell awaits.
Dean and Cas leave. They leave him. They’ve left him. He’s all alone.
He couldn’t breath, wished he couldn’t think.
Quiet, quiet. So, so quiet. Too quiet. It was so, so loud! All alone. Nobody home. No home. Nobody.
The fan spun—woosh, woosh! Background noise, white music. Static.
Crackle of eternal fire—snap, pop, roar, crackle. It comes down to nothing. It’s only him, just him, and the voices in his head.
Oh, the voices! Who are they? They’re everyone and no one at all. His brain hurts, his ears are ringing.
No one but him. No one but him. Years and years, and years, and years of just him. Nobody else but him.
God help him, but He doesn’t. God doesn’t help anyone, let alone him.
Years and years, and years.
It’s just him.
He’s the king of Hell, and the king of nothing.
If anyone shows up in Hell, he turns them into soot. No demons.
No more demons.
It’s a dying breed. An extinct species. He’s the last one. The only one.
Years and years, and years, and years.
His head hurts!
He hears voices and feels hands.
“Stop! Stop! Sam, stop!”
“Dean?”
“Stop, Sam.”
“My head hurts,” he tells him. There’s blood on the metal wall in front of him. That’s not all, there’s brain matter and hair and bone too.
He looks over at Dean, he’s pale and… and… terrified? Appalled? Disgusted? Cas’ features matched his.
The fan spun—woosh, woosh!
“I told you not to leave me here.” All alone. Always alone. Just him. No one but him. Bad company.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Dean says.
Dean gives him bourbon and he drinks. This is nice. The alcohol, the couch, the room. The company. Anybody but him, just him.
This is nice. Father, brother, angel; and the bad son, the bad brother, the bad company.
This is nice.
“What was that down there?” Dean questioned.
“What was what, down where?” Sam giggled.
“You, in the panic room!”
“With the rope? Or was it the revolver? I haven’t a clue! Maybe the lead pipe!”
Dean gives Bobby a look, then goes into the kitchen. He hears the fridge. Cas watchs him. He drinks his bourbon. This is nice.
“Hey, kiddo,” Bobby says.
It takes a moment for Sam to realize the older hunter was talking to him. “Kiddo?!” Sam laughed. “I’m older than you! You got more, Bobby?” He wiggled the empty bottle. “Sure you do, of course you do!”
“I’ll get you another in a moment. We’re a little, uh, worried about you, Sam.”
“Worried? About me? I’m fine. My head hardly hurts now.” He healed freakishly fast.
“That’s good, but… why were you… banging ‘yer head against the wall?”
“Oh, that? That’s fine. That happens.”
“It… does?”
“Yeah. Among other things, it happens. I told Dean not to put me in there. It’s a panic room. Who makes a room specifically for panicking? Talk about crazy. Oh! That was you!” Sam laughed.
It was nice, it really was, but Sam was ready to move on. Move to where? Who knew! Hell, he could just wake up back in Hell!
But it couldn’t work like that because the demons they ganked didn’t resurrect back to Hell. They had to go somewhere, anywhere else, right?
After years and years, and years, and years of bad company, he was ready to move on. He’s done his part, done his job, done his death. He is done. Overcooked. Burned up. Ashes, soot, black dust.
Scorched, seared, charred and blackened.
Done.
“Are you ready now?” he asked his brother.
Dean lowers his beer. “Ready? Ready for… what?”
Sam snickered. “Ready for what? Ready to make demons extinct! Make them history, a bad dream! Ready for what, he says.” He rolled his eyes. “Are you drunk already?”
Dean frowned at him. “Sam… I’m not killing you.”
“This isn’t a time for jokes!” he snarled, launching to his feet and spitting in his brother’s face. “You don’t get to haul me all the way here and say you’re not going to go through with your plan!”
“That was never my plan, Sam! It was impossible to just kill every single demon!”
“It’s not impossible! I did it! It's done! There’s one last left! One more! So you get the goddamned demon blade, the damn colt, the angel blade, the fucking angel, and you get it done! You finish it!”
“I. Am not. Killing you.”
“Fine. Bobby will be the hunter to vanquish all demon-kind.”
“Slow your horses, boy—” Bobby starts.
“I don’t have horses! Why do you think I have horses?!”
“Sam, calm down.”
“I’m calm! I’m composed! I’m not being violent at all! What makes you think I am?!”
“Your… your eyes.”
“My eyes? What about them?”
“They’re yellow.”
“They're demonic. I know it’s been a while, but have you and Dean seriously forgotten what demons are? How to kill them? How to spot them? I know they’re going to be completely extinct in a few minutes but it’s only been what? One-hundred and—and fifteen? Twenty? Fifty—years? What is that here?” Sam squeezed his eyes closed. “A year? You guys forgot in a year?”
“We didn’t forget,” Dean muttered.
“Sam… what have you been doing for a year?” Cas asks.
“What have I been doing? I tracked down all the demons, I killed them all. Hell and Earth are demon free.”
“Okay, but what about after?”
“After?”
“After all the demons were dead.”
“They’re not all dead, I’m the last one.”
“Sam,” Dean hissed. “After you killed the demons, you stayed in Hell, right? You’ve been in Hell this whole time.”
“Yeah, of course, I’ve been. I’m the king. I rule over Hell. Where else would I be? Where else should I go? What else should I be doing? I’m the king of Hell, king of demons.”
“But the demons are dead,” Cas prompted.
“Except one,” Sam reminded him.
“Except one, so what… who do you rule over?”
“I’m obviously the king of nothing. No demons, no more demons. There’s one left, only one. Just a single one. Nearly extinct, a dying species. But that doesn’t matter, who needs demons? Are you ready?”
“Sam, we’re not going to kill you,” Dean insisted.
“Don’t you want to end all demons? No more demons! It’s an amazing feat, a victory for hunters! One less monster!”
“It won't be a victory if you're dead!” Dean cried out.
Sam frowned, puzzled over his brother’s words. “It won't be a victory if I’m dead? It won't be a victory… if I’m dead? It won't… be a victory… if I’m… dead?”
“Sam, you’re the one that disappeared. I didn’t want you gone. I don’t want you gone. You’re my little brother.”
“I’m a… demon,” Sam says, feeling like a dead-from-the-neck-up child.
Cas gripped his shoulder. “You’re more than that, Sam.”
He looked at the angel’s hand. “I am more,” he mutters. “I’m a demon. I’m the king of Hell. I’m the king of a nearly wiped-out monstrous being.”
“No, Sam.”
“I… I’m bad company?”
“No.”
“How would you know? I know that I’m bad company. Because all I had was bad company for years and years, and years, and years.”
“You’ve been alone for a long time,” Cas says. He looks… upset? Sad? Why would the angel be sad?
“Just me. No one but me,” he agreed. “Bad company. For years and years, and years, and years. Just me. God help me, but He doesn’t help me, He doesn’t help anyone. So it’s just me, myself, and I. Ruler of nothing, king of nothing. And if someone arrives in Hell, I turn them into ash. For years and years, and years, and years, I turn them to ash. No more demons. None. They’re an exterminated species. A nearly wiped-out breed. I’m the last one. The only one. For years and years, and… my head hurts.” He gripped his head, and squeezed his brain.
“Sammy, look at me, look at me.”
He lifted his eyes up to his brother. “Dean?”
“I’m here, okay? You—you’re not alone, little brother. I’m right here.”
“You are here. Why are you? Why am I?”
“Stay here with me, Sammy, okay? I want you here.”
“You do? Why? I’m a demon, I’m bad company, I’m a bad son, a bad brother.”
“No, no, Sammy, you’re not.”
“I’m not?”
“No, God no! You’re not a bad son, not a bad brother! You’re not bad company!”
“How would you know? You haven’t spent a hundred, fifteen-twenty-fifty years with me. You don’t know.”
“If I had to be stuck somewhere for a hundred and something years, I’d wanna be stuck with you, Sam.”
“With… me?”
“Of course! Who else?”
Sam looked at Cas. “Your angel of course.”
Dean scowled. “He’s not my angel, moron.” His face softened. “You're my brother, Sammy, you’ll always be my brother. Whether you like it or not, your ass is stuck with me.”
Sam laughed. “I like it!” He cheered and laughed. He laughed until he wasn’t laughing. He was sobbing. He hasn’t done that in a long time.
“I like it! I’m not alone? It’s not just me and bad company?”
“No, Sammy, not anymore. You never had to be. I’m right here, Sam, so’s Cas and Bobby. You got us, you’ve always had.”
He’s the last demon, the King of nothing, but he’s not alone. His brother held him tight, the angel gripped his shoulder, and his father moved to grab more alcohol.