Fortress - Section Eight

[glasslogic]

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Hope you got your things together.
Hope you are quite prepared to die.
Looks like we’re in for nasty weather.
One eye is taken for an eye.
~Bad Moon Rising, Credence Clearwater Revival

Twilight had long passed and the clock was ticking over into double digits before they made it to their motel room. Dean had decided that what Sam really needed was the kind of shoring up only a bar could provide, and while the shoring-up part was dubious, it had given Sam the distraction he had really been looking for in begging the extra time.

But now the hours were up.

Sam was looking at the notebook paper and chewing his lip while Dean looked on expectantly.

“Well?” he finally asked impatiently, when Sam seemed reluctant to speak.

“I’m sure it doesn’t mean what it says; or at least, it must mean something else.”

“That sounds a little ominous, Sam. Want to go ahead and share with the class?”

“It, ah... it calls for the ‘Holy Chalice’.”

Dean just stared at him for a moment. “‘Holy Chalice’, as in the Holy Grail ‘Holy Chalice’?!”

“I don’t know, Dean. I just read it myself.”

“The Holy Grail Indiana Jones and Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table were after Holy Chalice?”

“I don’t know, Dean! And way to drag the movies into this. I think we’re a little beyond Hollywood at this point, don’t you?”

“Like you know anything else about it either. And I hate to break this to you, Sam, but if getting our hands on this cup requires any amount of purity or piety, neither one of us is likely to fit the bill --you know?”

Sam sighed and rolled off the bed to go retrieve the laptop.

It didn’t take him long to come up with some answers, though Dean’s fuming and pacing didn’t help his concentration any.

“So, no. It’s not the Holy Grail, the Holy Chalice is something different and shouldn’t require any special state of moral… whateverness,” Sam said dryly.

“Great. Where can we pick one up?”

“Interesting you should ask that. Looks like Valencia, Genoa, or the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

“Is that Valencia, California?” Dean asked suspiciously.

“Italy.”

Dean thought about that for a moment. “There’s more than one?”

“There’s argument over which one is real.”

“What the hell is this thing, even?”

“It’s supposed to be the cup Jesus used at the Last Supper to serve the wine.”

“And then they used it to catch his blood at the crucifixion. How is that different from the Holy Grail?”

“No, there’s no blood associated with the Chalice, other than maybe some argument about transubstantiation...” He trailed off at Dean’s blank look. “Okay, supposedly after the Last Supper, the apostle Peter took this cup with him and… it ended up in the Cathedral of Valencia.”

“Then what’s up with the other places you mentioned? They hack in into pieces and spread it out as a souvenir?”

“Well, we’re talking more than two thousand years of religious wars and continental strife and upheaval, Dean. It’s a long time to keep track of a cup. The Valencia Chalice seems to have a strong historical claim, but there are definitely a few hundred years where things got a little muddled, so it’s possible that one of the others could be legitimate, and that’s not even including all the ones who made a claim and have just vanished.”

“And none of them could be legitimate and the real cup could be at the Salvation Army down the street.”

“Pretty much.”

“Perfect. That’s just fucking fantastic.”

“Well, at least we know it actually exists. The angel wants us to succeed, and if it’s not out there to find, then this entire thing is pointless.”

Dean growled something Sam couldn’t quite make out, then: “Fine. New York it is.”

“What?”

“That’s where the Metropolitan Museum is, right? At least that one is on this continent; and until you have a vision that directs us otherwise, we may as well start with what’s easiest.”

“You want to break into the Met? I’m not sure ‘easy’ belongs in that sentence, Dean!”

“Hey, it’s not my idea, but I don’t think they are just going to hand it over. Besides, we do have some advantages.” He raised one eyebrow over a pitch black eye.

Sam groaned, flopped back, pulling a pillow over his face, hoping a vision would roll him under before it wasn’t just the demons but also the New York cops they were running from.

~~~~~~~

That night brought no visions, and neither did the next day. Sam spent the time trying to manipulate his psychic ‘net’ to hopefully draw in a vision that would help them out. For his part, Dean seemed almost happy to be on the road with a concrete goal. He would have probably been happy to drive straight on through to New York, but Sam made him find a room right over the Ohio state line. He was still holding out hope that they would get more information, and justified it that he couldn’t concentrate nearly as well in the car as he could in the quiet and stillness of a room. Dean was annoyed, but eventually agreed that they didn’t need to borrow any more trouble at this point if one more night might save them the inconvenience.

Sam had had enough ‘togetherness’ over the last few days and wanted some space. Dean seemed to feel the same way because, after personally checking Sam’s cell phone and giving a lecture on safety that would have insulted an eight-year-old, he agreed to let Sam walk the few blocks to the quickie-mart alone while he remained flopped on one of the beds watching some incarnation of Casa Erotica. Sam had raised an eyebrow at the choice, seeing as how Dean claimed not to care about those sorts of things outside of their manipulative value anymore --except for the curse of course, and it’s weird physical entanglements-- but Dean had insisted it was nostalgically interesting and showed no signs of wanting to move.

The weather was cold and snow was piled up along buildings and covered the grass, but the sky was clear and the sidewalks and street free of ice. Sam enjoyed the walk; it was twilight and the snow decorating the store fronts added a festive sort of air to an otherwise drab area of town. He didn’t usually pay much attention to things like that, but tonight it suited his mood.

He was on his way back with his shopping, less than three blocks away from the motel, when a woman stepped out of an alley and blocked his path.

“Sam.”

Sam froze. He didn’t recognize her, and that was never a good sign in his experience.

“I just want to talk to you for a minute, Sam.”

She stepped back into the alley as if he was supposed to follow her. Sam tensed to run, but remained locked into place when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he glanced over to see three expressionless men and another woman standing behind him.

“I think I’m going to have to insist. We don’t want to hurt you.”

“Right. Of course you don’t; you just brought all this company so we’d have enough for a lively game of cards,” he retorted, as he was herded into the alley. Impersonal hands relieved him of his grocery bag and patted him down, removing his silver knives and the pistol. Sam tried desperately to find that link in his mind that Dean could read. He had never been able to feel it before, but desperate times and measures…

His brother had insisted the emotional link grew weaker the longer they went from when Sam drank his blood, and they were within a few days of having to renew that, but there was a physical link that should be strengthening at the same time. Sam didn’t know if it only transmitted pain, or if Dean could feel the fear and adrenaline flooding his system as well. Sam tried to broadcast a wave of distress to his brother.

“What the hell do you want?”

“That seems like an unreasonably rude way to greet an old flame, don’t you think, Sam?”

Sam blinked at her, shocked. The woman was unfamiliar, but he took in her dark hair, the tilt of her head...

“Ruby.” It wasn’t a question.

She looked pleased. “I knew it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch for you.”

“How did you find me?” Sam demanded.

She shrugged. “You leave distinct traces when you go messing with your psychic stuff. It’s not easy to pick up, especially as dim as you usually run, but this last day it’s been like a neon light at fifty feet. At least to me. Probably because of all that time we spent tangled up together. You remember that. Right, Sam?” Her lips curved into a smile that the mere hint of which used to heat his blood.

Sam cursed internally. He hadn’t even thought of that when trying to expand his aura. Dean was going to be pissed.

“You still haven’t said what you want.”

“I want to help you.”

Sam couldn’t help the disbelieving snort that slipped out. “Right. Because you’ve always been so helpful to me.”

“Lilith is going to get what she wants, Sam. It’s just a matter of how much you have to suffer for it in the meantime.”

“Lilith isn’t going to get anything from me, Ruby!”

“Sam--” she began, her tone coaxing and compassionate.

“Stop it!” he cut her off. “You think I’m going to listen to you again? That there is anything you can say that would make a difference to me? You’re pathetic.” Sam still dreamed about her sometimes, the comfort she had given him in the time after Dean’s death; but seven years of living in his self-made prison, with all that time to dwell on how deeply she had betrayed him, guaranteed that the only thing he felt facing her across the shadowed, broken ground was fury.

“I’m pathetic?” She laughed. “ So… what then -- you think you and that thing that used to be your brother are going to manage to stop Lucifer?”

“Yeah, you know what? I do, Ruby. But even if we don’t, I know you won’t be around to enjoy it. I should have done this a long time ago.”

Sam threw out hand out and tightened his will around her just like she had taught him. He figured with the other four right behind him, he only had seconds before they stopped him, but even if they killed him, he would still win. His mind flickered to Dean briefly, and Sam was surprised how deep the stab of regret went, but there was no time. If he had been in this position while bound to Ruby, he would never have been strong enough to do what he was going to try, but Dean gave more of himself than Ruby ever had, and Sam felt really motivated.

Ruby’s scream was interrupted by choking coughs as black smoke began to roil out of her mouth. Powerful hands grabbed Sam and he fought to hold his concentration; he barely felt it when he was released seconds later, all of his attention on the demon in front of him.

When he was sure he had her entirely pinned with his power, he clenched down and squeezed until he felt the last spark of her extinguished. The woman’s body collapsed to the ground. Sam fell to his knees a moment later, then belatedly remembered the other demons and turned to see Dean pulling the knife from the chest of the last one.

Their eyes met and they just looked at each other for a moment, before Dean broke into a wide smile and held out a hand to pull Sam back to his feet.

“I think that was the hottest thing I have ever seen. I would totally want to do you even without the whole gone-to-Hell and curse thing.”

“Um… yeah. Thanks, I think,” Sam mumbled, dazed, staring at Dean. One of the demons had gotten a blow in before Dean took it out, and the split in Dean’s lip that was healing even as Sam watched had left a smear of blood that Sam’s eyes seemed riveted to.

Dean just smirked. “You want to suck on my lip, don’t you?”

Sam nodded almost helplessly. It felt like his veins were being scoured out with fire, and the only thing that could quench the pain was standing a mere five feet away.

“Hold that thought,” Dean told him, looking around appraisingly.

Sam leaned against the cold wall, watching Dean’s every movement while his brother dragged the bodies deeper into the alley and stashed them under some old carpet and half-rotted-looking pallets.

“That should keep them for at least a few days.”

Dean gathered up the items Sam had bought that had spilled in the fight, then, holding the bag in one hand and Sam’s arm in the other, got them moving back towards the motel.

“I don’t think we should stay the night. We will, ah, just take care of what you need. And then split town.”

~~~~~~~

Sam managed to keep it together long enough for Dean to get them back to the motel, and the door unlocked, but he gave up as soon as they were both inside and shoved Dean back against the door to get at his mouth. Dean let the grocery bags tumble to the floor and pulled out his pocket knife to slice a deep furrow into his forearm while Sam was distracted getting all of the blood from his lip and investigating for more.

“Sam,” Dean gasped around his brother’s insistent tongue, “Sam, here.” He tried to show Sam the wound, but his brother didn’t seem interested in moving away from his mouth. Dean finally just shoved him back a foot and held his bleeding arm up between them. That ended the problem and Dean maneuvered them both over to the bed while Sam sealed his lips around the cut.

What Sam had done to Ruby wouldn’t have wiped him out if it hadn’t already been getting close to time, and Dean didn’t want to stay in town as long as it would take them to transfer the usual amount of energy between them. He needed Sam mobile more than he needed him passed out in a coma for hours. So he let him get a good taste and take the edge off, then healed his arm up and slid in closer. With the blood cut off, his brother was already feeling the second stage of the curse.

Sam writhed against him. “Dean. Fuck.”

He struggled with the fly of his jeans, fingers too frantic to manage the buttons. Dean pressed him flat and knocked his hands away, reaching for the fastening himself.

“Hold still a second, Sam; let me do this.” Dean’s fingers made quick work of the buttons and he tried to shove the denim down before Sam lost patience with his efforts.

Sam dragged Dean into his arms and welded their mouths together, licking hungrily into Dean’s mouth and tangling their legs.

“Jesus, Sam,” Dean said breathlessly, as soon as his mouth was free, Sam sucking desperate kisses onto his jaw and throat. “I suddenly remember why I insist on stripping first and bleeding second.”

“Shut up,” Sam ordered, his voice muffled in Dean’s skin. He rolled, pinning Dean down, and tried frantically to drag his shirt off. Dean reached up to help, then pulled his own over his head while Sam kicked off his pants. “Off,” Sam growled, hooking his fingers under the waistband of Dean’s jeans. Dean grabbed his head and pulled him down for another scorching kiss.

With their skin pressed together, Sam’s desperation calmed somewhat, and he didn’t resist when Dean rolled them to the side. He twisted the fingers of one hand in Sam’s hair to keep his head angled how he wanted it and ran the other soothingly over his back.

“Dean,” Sam panted when Dean pulled back, “please.” His hips rocked, rubbing his erection against his brother’s denim-clad thigh.

Dean chuckled and moved his free hand down to the smooth skin of Sam’s hip, encouraging the motion. “There something you want from me, Sam?”

Sweat was beaded up on Sam’s skin. Dean slid his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Sam’s swollen cock and giving it a helpful squeeze. He ran his tongue over Sam’s bottom lip and Sam opened his mouth obligingly for Dean to claim again. Sam groaned and flexed his fingers on Dean’s back; his movements became more erratic. Dean pressed him onto his back as he shuddered and hot liquid spilled over Dean’s fingers and leg. He gentled the kisses and stroked his hands slowly along Sam’s body as he calmed.

“You know, these were my last clean pants.”

“You should have thought about that when you encouraged me to rub off on your leg,” Sam grumbled.

Dean licked over one flushed cheek and grinned when Sam wrinkled his nose and turned his face away. Sam tried to squirm out from beneath him, but lassitude caused him to settle back beneath Dean’s weight before making more than a token effort.

“You wouldn’t be trying to get away from me now, would you, Sam?” Dean asked pointedly. “Not when the entertainment has been so one-sided and all.” Sam opened his eyes warily. Dean’s erection was pressed hot into Sam’s hip through his jeans. Dean smirked. “Surely you wouldn’t leave a guy hanging, and after I was so nice to you.”

Sam tensed and Dean could feel his roiling emotions in the strength of the recently-renewed blood-bond. Could almost hear the cutting replies and retorts that sprang to Sam’s mind. But after a moment, his muscles relaxed and his inner turmoil seemed to settle out. His eyes were still dark with earlier pleasure as he took a deep breath and slid one leg slowly back up around Dean’s.

“Did you have anything specific in mind?” Sam asked.

Dean buried his face in Sam’s throat to hide the triumph in his eyes at Sam’s voluntary capitulation.

“Oh,” Dean smiled, “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

~~~~~~~

The ‘something’ had been brief but satisfying, and Sam, thank God, didn’t seem to be in a mood to angst about it. Rather, he was almost contemplative, and definitely sleepy, as they pulled away from the motel.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Just, you know, Ruby and all.”

“You knew it was her?” Sam was surprised.

“I heard enough of the conversation to get the idea of what was going on.”

“You can’t have possibly believed I would listen to her again.”

Dean snorted. “Hardly. That wasn’t why I didn’t charge in. I was hoping the bitch would spill something useful.”

“How did you know I was in trouble?”

“I felt it. You reached out deliberately?” Dean asked, curious.

“Yeah. I was trying to, anyway; wasn’t sure you got the message.”

“Oh, I got it all right. Just about split my skull in two. You hit pretty hard when you’re panicking.”

“I’ll keep your delicate sensibilities in mind next time demons who want to drag me off to Lilith jump me in an alley,” Sam retorted sarcastically.

“You do that. I missed the first part of the conversation, though; did she say how they found you in the first place?”

Sam shifted, a bit uncomfortable. “You know how I’ve been hoping to get a vision to help out with this Chalice thing?”

Dean nodded.

“I was trying to expand my, um, aura, hoping to attract one. Ruby said she could sense that; that’s how she found me.”

“Hmmmm.”

Sam frowned. “I kinda expected more of a reaction from you than that.”

“Why? You’re psychic crap hasn’t caused any problems before like this; no reason for you to have known she could detect it. So, does this mean any time you try anything, we’ll have demons on our ass?”

“She seemed to indicate it was just her, due to our… past acquaintance.”

“That’s a delicate way to put it,” Dean snorted.

Sam was too tired and pleased-feeling to bother being annoyed with Dean being Dean. “We finding another room?”

“May as well let you try some more of your mumbo jumbo stuff and see if it can save us the trouble of grand larceny. Probably try and hit New York first, though.”

Sam nodded sleepily.

“You sure you’re okay? About Ruby and all?”

“You’re my brother; she lied and helped Lilith send you… away. She didn’t get half of what she deserved. I’m fine, Dean. I promise. Better than fine, even; this was a long time coming.”

“Good. I just… good. Get some sleep.”

“Does this mean you aren’t going to let me go out on my own again?”

“Over my rotting corpse,” Dean suggested pleasantly.

Sam wasn’t surprised; he grumbled something incoherent and let sleep drag him under.



Chapter Twenty-Three:

There’s a man going around taking names
And he decides who to free and who to blame
Everybody won’t be treated all the same
There’ll be a golden ladder reaching down
When the Man comes around
~When the Man Comes Around, Johnny Cash

“Did Dean really think I had sent you two off after the so-called Holy Grail?”

Sam opened his eyes to see a swirl of autumn leaves skitter past his foot in colors so crisp they were almost painful. He turned to face the person on the other end of the bench; in concession to the weather, it was now wearing jeans and a light jacket. The people passing by on the sidewalk seemed to be sporting more seasonal clothes too.

“You know it’s winter now, right?”

“Maybe where you are.”

Sam knew better than to pursue that line of questioning. “We know the Holy Chalice isn’t the Holy Grail.”

“Good. As if a spell like this would have anything to do with that bit of media hype.”

“So the Grail is fictitious?” Sam asked curiously.

“Let’s just say that the reality of the Grail, and you’re society’s understanding of it, don’t have a lot of parallels.”

“I thought you were trapped somewhere where you couldn’t reach the World at all.” Sam motioned around at the park and the people. “But you seem to know a lot about it.”

“Reaching and reaching are different things, and so is watching. I can’t observe things easily, but I don’t have so much else to do with my time that it’s not worth the effort. Think of it like television. Turning it on and watching a program about Mars might be some effort, but actually going to Mars yourself? Completely out of the question, as I understand your science.”

“Did you summon me here for a reason?”

“So impatient.”

“I just figure the less time I spend here, the less agony I will be in when I wake up,” Sam snapped.

It looked amused. “How do you rate that against the agony you will experience when Lucifer claims his proper Vessel?”

Sam scowled.

“The cup you are looking for is in New Mexico. It’s in the Church of Knights Crossing. Where in the church, I am uncertain, but the cultists who guard the place are likely to take a dim view of your older brother, so you had best be on your guard.”

“Why are you telling me this? The last two things we needed for the spell, you let us flounder around until I had a vision of them.”

“I told you, this spell, like all spells that aren’t sourced from an individual, comes from the World, and She knows best what ingredients She wants. There were different options for the other two; this one is very specific. Where I can help you, I am.”

“How did a church in New Mexico get the Holy Chalice?”

It shrugged gracefully. “The Chalice has been around for a very long time, in human consideration; things happen. I have not made tracking this particular item a concern of mine until recently, so I can’t give you specifics. But I would imagine in the usual way. Someone gave it to someone who gave it to someone who decided it would look nice on their mantle and eventually it was sent over the sea. They replaced it with a cheap knock-off and the masses have been worshipping at someone’s great aunt’s prized spittoon ever since.”

It glanced at its bare arm again, as it had previously before Sam had woken back up in the real world.

“Wait!”

It raised a brow.

“What does it look like?”

Sam bolted awake, an image burning behind his eyes of a cup that looked much like the Valencia Chalice, but smaller, more battered and sitting slightly crooked on its base. A cheap-looking antique that he would have never given a second glance at if he had come across in a thrift store.

The spectacular pain always associated with one of his little ‘chats’ with the angel barely managed to register before the taste of blood was on his lips and the world was swept away in a more pleasurable sort of oblivion.

~~~~~~~

“In there?” Dean asked dubiously, a few days later.

Sam didn’t appreciate the skepticism, especially not when he was battling his own, but it made a welcome change from Dean’s nonstop commentary on the Chalice being located in a town down the road from a city called Lordsburg.

Driving back across the country to New Mexico had only taken two days. Finding the Church of Knights Crossing had taken another two days. It wasn’t listed anywhere, and it was only because Sam had finally found a casual reference to a raffle prize donated by Knights Crossing in a New Mexico community newspaper that they had taken a chance on that being the right church and finally located it. The small grey stone building was located on private land and did not appear to be open to the public. A hand-lettered sign by the door read ‘Church of Knights Crossing’. But the door itself was locked when they tried it and no one answered a polite knock.

“What now?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged as they headed back to the car. “The usual. Wait until nightfall and try the more direct way.”

“I’m not happy about this, Dean. The angel went out of its way to tell me this place is home to a cult that might be a danger to you.”

“A cult.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Do you know how far down the list of things I am worried about a cult lies?”

“And the warning your angelic friend seared into my brain?”

“Did it actually say I was in danger, Sam?”

“Not exactly -- but why else mention it?”

“Who knows? It’s been trapped in the Pit for a few millennia without cable. It’s probably got a warped sense of humor and gets a kick out of seeing us jumpy.”

“Do you really believe that?” Sam asked skeptically.

Dean was quiet for a minute, then sighed. “What do you want me to do about it, Sam? We need the freaking Chalice, and I’m not letting you sneak around where there might be crazed cultists on your own. You have another suggestion?”

“No.” Sam looked unhappy.

“Cheer up, Sam. We will just be a little careful tonight, and this time tomorrow, we’ll be hundreds of miles away.

~~~~~~~

Much later, after wasting the afternoon browsing shop windows and sampling some of the local hamburger joints, they left the Impala parked a few streets over in a twenty-four-hour store parking lot and walked back to the church.

The lock on the front door was well oiled and easy to pick. They had rejected the only other entrance, a back door next to a small dirt parking lot, because it apparently got more traffic in the evenings -- judging from the sodium light shining down on it. No lights illuminated the front of the church and the moonless night made them invisible against the doors. When the lock sprung, the handle turned and the door opened silently.

“Wait.” Sam grabbed Dean’s arm before he could enter the church.

“What?” Dean asked impatiently.

“This is a church, Dean. You know-- holy, sacred, consecrated ground? Can you even go inside?”

“So are cemeteries, Sam, for the most part. You ever seen a demon have any trouble in one of those? Or remember Meg filleting Pastor Jim inside his church?” He tugged his arm free. “It’s fine; let’s go.”

“Why do demons have trouble with holy water and other things like that if the actual church doesn’t even slow them down?” Sam hissed, as he followed Dean into the building, pulling the doors closed behind them.

“I might have some trouble if I tried to eat part of the building, or roll myself naked across the floor -- but you can’t consecrate air any more than you can consecrate running water. I’ve got on some good, thick soles and have no pressing desire to lick the altar, so I think I’m good to go. Holy water and other heavily blessed stuff is like a magnet for the sort of energy that is corrosive to the basic nature of a demon. It’s not all ‘Wrath of God,’ more ‘oil and water.’ Some things just don’t go together as well as peanut butter and chocolate do, Sammy. Now shut it; we’re on a job.”

The inside of the church was one great room with a vaulted ceiling of raw timber and stained glass windows above head height. Dark-stained, low wooden benches sat in rows across the floor, then at the end of the room, three short stone stairs led up to a plain altar on which several half-melted candles sat cold on its bare surface. Also, a bronze oil lamp that’s shielded flame provided all the light in the cavernous room. Behind the altar in the stone wall was a recess, and in the recess, gleaming in the steady lamp light, sat a metal cup.

“Score,” Dean whispered.

“Is there anyone around?” Sam whispered back, eyeing the lamp warily and grabbing Dean’s arm again before he could step down onto the main floor from the entryway.

Dean gave him another impatient look, but closed his eyes for a moment with an expression of concentration.

“Don’t know,” he said after a moment, “this place is lousy with all sorts of wards. There’s some kind of basement, and a few rooms beyond that wall.”

“Great,” Sam hissed, but let go and followed his brother across the floor and around the altar.

Sam examined the cup and felt his heart sink. “That’s not it.”

“What?” Dean hissed back.

“That’s not the Chalice the angel showed me.”

Dean waved a hand expansively at the mostly empty church interior. “You see a lot of other chalices around here, Sam? This is the church, and that’s a chalice! Case closed.”

“Look, I don’t know what--” But his words cut off as overhead lights flared to life. The sudden drone of Latin filled the air and Sam spun to see about ten people wearing pale robes standing near the wall where they had filtered in from a recessed doorway. Water splashed in his face and he blinked to clear his vision, just as Dean screamed behind him and Sam spun towards his voice. Hands grabbed him and pinned him down, someone pressed something metal against his cheek and he cursed and struggled against the restraint. He managed to shove some of them back, but then a powerful blow slammed his head against the stone floor and the world went black.



Chapter Twenty-Four:

I’ve been sitting here for the longest time
Reading all the warning and the danger signs
I don’t have the gift of the prophecy
Telling everybody how it’s gonna be
~This House Is On Fire, Natalie Merchant

Sam woke up with a raging headache in a soft bed staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Having a headache on waking was not unusual for Sam, but the pattern of the pain was. He grimaced and slowly looked around.

Sunlight was pouring into the room through an open window, and his clothes were neatly folded on the edge of what looked like a motel-grade dresser. In fact, if it wasn’t for the softness of the mattress and the sparkling cleanliness of the entire place, he would have thought it was a motel room. But the air was just more… homey, than that. He reached for his shirt and winced. A bandage was wrapped around his forearm, and when he picked at the edges, he saw a straight cut carefully closed with butterfly strips and smeared with an ointment.

“Sorry about that,” a voice called cheerfully. Sam looked up sharply. “We had to be sure you weren’t one of them.”

“Silver?” Sam croaked, throat incredibly dry.

“And salt, and holy water and quite a few different pieces of Latin. But you passed with flying colors”

“That’s… great. I’m, um… that’s great. What about D-- the demon?”

“Why don’t we start with your name?”

~~~~~~~

“So it took you with it?”

Sam nodded solemnly, finding it surprisingly easy --between the pain in his head from having it slammed into a stone floor, and the bright light from the lamp behind the man questioning stabbing into his eyes-- to work up a few tears.

“It has my brother. I, uh, didn’t know about demons like I do now. I just… couldn’t let it take my brother.”

The man, who had introduced himself as Father Justin, nodded sympathetically and reached one hand out to clasp Sam’s where it rested in his knee.

“You know it isn’t your brother anymore, right?”

“Yes, but… can we get my brother back?”

Father Justin looked around at the ten or twenty equally sympathetic yet grim faces in the room. “We’ve never encountered a demon of such strength and fortitude. We have barely been able to contain it. We will do the banishing ritual at noon in three days, when the sun is at its highest, and all of the faithful will be here for Sunday service to lend their holy strength to vanquishing the beast. If your brother has not suffered mortal injury while being possessed, he should recover at that time.”

Sam nodded again, resisting the urge to reclaim his hand. “Thank you, Father Justin, um… what should I do in the meantime?”

The man squeezed his hand and let go. “You are welcome to stay here with us. Did the beast happen to mention why it wanted the Chalice?”

“No, he just said he had to get something and brought me here.”

One of the other men in the room chimed in. “How did you get here? We didn’t find a car -- maybe there are some clues in there.”

Sam winced internally; he should have been prepared for that question and he couldn’t give them the Impala. “Ummm… he stole a car. I think it was a blue Civic, but I’m not sure from where. He left it… somewhere. I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“That’s perfectly understandable. We will see if we can find it and maybe help us get some answers. Was the room you woke up in okay? You can stay there, and if you need any medical assistance, we are happy to provide it.”

“Thanks. I’m just… so grateful. Really.”

~~~~~~~

The next few days passed in a blur for Sam. The cult, who called themselves Knights and informed Sam they had been chosen by God to guard the Holy Chalice until such time as it was needed to battle the darkness. Which darkness exactly, they were a little shaky on, though several of them offered Sam some interesting theories.

Sam was much more concerned about what he was hearing about the banishing ritual they planned to use on his brother. They hadn’t let him see Dean, and Sam was afraid to show too much interest. He had heard that the demon was being held in a pure iron Devil’s Trap laid on a floor of consecrated concrete, and that had been enough to send him scrambling for the cult’s library under the guise of doing research into demonology, since it was supposedly a brave new world for him. The Knights who had told him about the trap had taken great pains to tell him how no demonic spell could rip their trap asunder. Even if the demon could get through the pure iron, the floor it was laid on was formed of crushed cemetery granite and holy water, amid the other more usual ingredients. Sam’s heart had sunk more with every word. He thought they were right, he thought that Dean would never be able to escape on his own. And that meant he had to act.

Finding what he wanted and piecing together a plan took most of the three days, and then it was Saturday night. Sam pleaded exhaustion to his newfound friends, who didn’t want him to be alone dwelling on his brother’s fate, and retired alone to finalize his plans.

He had one other errand too.



Chapter Twenty-Five:

And it’s alright though we worry and fuss,
we can’t get over the hump or get over us
It seems easier to push than to let go and trust
but it’s alright
~It’s Alright, Indigo Girls

After watching the cultists’ movements, Sam knew he would only have a brief window to try and rescue Dean before the ritual started. The morning of the third day, Sam slipped down the stone staircase to the underground chamber where he had been told the demon was imprisoned as quietly as possible.

It was hard to make his more-than-six-foot frame invisible, but he gave it his best effort. The cloying smoke of burning herbs made his head feel thick, but it was nearing dawn and he was out of time. The room was well lit with a blazing assortment of candles, but it left restless shadows against the wall, and Sam pressed himself into these as he reached the bottom.

Two robed figures were lighting more candles and talking quietly, giving no indication they had heard Sam approach. There was no altar in the room, or any decorations or religious items, just the scattering of unfinished wooden tables on which the candles were merrily burning and a few smoky bowls of what had to be incense.

Sam felt his heart sink as he got a good look at the centerpiece of the chamber. The Devil’s Trap was as elaborate as he had feared, but far worse, it was actually laid into the floor, not on the floor like he had been told. There was no way he would be able to disrupt it enough for Dean to walk free. His hunter instincts admired the simplicity of the idea, but the part of him that was worried about his brother, about the Apocalypse, was in panic. The cultists were setting up for the ritual, and once it started, there would be no saving Dean at all.

Sam swallowed hard and steeled himself for his fallback. Contingency planning had been something his dad had drilled into him, but the idea of this one made him feel sick.

Dean was curled up in the middle of the trap, his back to the wall Sam huddled against. The rents in his clothes and dried blood everywhere testified to the viciousness of his capture. He wasn’t moving, but Sam supposed that wasn’t really going to matter.

The chimes for the dawn prayer rang and Sam drew back as much as possible as the two cultists turned quietly and climbed the stairs. He doubted they would be gone more than ten minutes. Time was up. He hastily unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the knife from his boot. Sam took a deep breath, gathering his resolve and steadying his nerves, then slashed through the anti-possession charm on his chest and walked into the trap to kneel by his brother.

Dean rolled onto his back at Sam’s touch, startling Sam with the speed of his reaction and the black of his eyes. “Sam, what--”

“Shut up,” Sam whispered harshly. He dragged an unresisting Dean’s legs apart and reached for the inner seam of his pants. There just wasn’t time. He knew the second Dean noticed the bloody charm on his chest because he froze into that unnatural stillness that nothing alive could manage. Sam ignored it and punched a hole in the denim of Dean’s jeans with the blade, then used his hands to rip it apart so he could see his brother’s inner thigh. The lock curved there gracefully. A deceptively simple sigil for all the problems it could cause. Sam slashed through it without hesitation. Dean hissed and recoiled.

“Sam, what the hell?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the Knights are about to obliterate your demonic ass. And by about, I mean as the culmination of festivities that are going to kick off in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, I noticed.” Dean sat up warily. “Which doesn’t explain what you are up to when you should be a thousand miles away from the crazy, demon-killing cultists by now. You think they are going to be any friendlier to you than they are to me if they find out about your visions, and blood addiction, and --oh yeah-- future status as Lucifer’s Vessel?!” he hissed.

“It’s fine,” Sam assured distractedly, patting his pockets to find where he put the spell. “They think I was your prisoner, and I’m all ecstatic with freedom.”

“Aren’t you?” Dean asked quietly, making no move to get up.

Sam gave him an incredulous look. “Dean, I hardly think this is the time or place to have this discussion. And no, for your information. If anyone is going to send you back to Hell, or oblivion, or whatever, it’s going to be me. Not to mention the little detail of needing your blood to continue living. Plus we still have the Lilith and Lucifer thing hanging over our head and an Apocalypse to avert, which is all going to be a little more difficult without you -- you know? Now shut up and be ready.”

“Ready,” Dean repeated flatly, eyeing the bloody charm on Sam’s chest again.

“Yeah,” Sam hissed. He shoved a piece of paper into Dean’s hand and backed out to the edge of the Trap so that as much of his body as possible was clear of it and he could just barely reach over the inner ring. “Ready. If you aren’t trapped, they have no reason to leave a rotting corpse in their sanctuary. So you just… ride along with me for a little while, they toss your body, and then you take it back.”

“Sam…”

“Dean, there’s no more time.” He gave his brother a frustrated look. “Just read that and grab my hand.”

“It’s not that simple. What you’re asking--” Dean hesitated.

“I know,” Sam said quietly, still holding his hand out.

Dean watched Sam expressionlessly, until Sam wanted to scream. He could feel the seconds ticking away. Any moment, there would be footsteps on the stairs and then it would be over.

He closed his eyes in relief as Dean finally wrapped his fingers around Sam’s wrist. His brother’s familiar voice was spilling out Latin with far more fluidity than he had ever heard him manage when properly alive.

Sam felt the spell bite. The cool firmness of his brother’s fingers holding his wrist was suddenly the snare of a thorny vine drawing him in. He braced himself on the Trap’s perimeter and kept his eyes tightly shut. The spell promised to reveal the demon’s true face as part of its charm, and Sam had enough problems without having to deal with that experience too. With as much agony as he felt in his arm, he also wouldn’t have been surprised to see great gouges in his skin and blood everywhere. He didn’t need to see that either.

Dean’s voice stopped, and so did the pain. Sam felt a tingling coolness sliding up his arm. He opened his eyes, startled, in time to see Dean’s body crumple to the floor in the center of the inner ring. He stumbled back from the Trap, surprised, and his vision went twisty then dark.

The last thing he heard before his consciousness was swept away was his brother’s voice in his head, telling him to sleep.

~~~~~~~

Dean took a wobbly step back. Being able to take a host body was one thing, doing it well could take some adjustment, and he just didn’t have time. Nor did he have the centuries of practice most demons did in possession. First things first, though; even outside the Trap, it was still strong enough to set his teeth on edge. He moved away from it and out of the light so he could get his bearings in his new body. He absolutely refused to think of it as Sam. He had moved through hosts before, but limiting the damage he had done to their minds by possessing their flesh had never been a critical concern for him. He just couldn’t be sure he was doing enough to protect Sam from his… nature.

A quick pat-down told him Sam had been kind enough to pack a gun at the small of his back and a knife in his boot. A standard set of lock-picks and a wallet were in his pockets. The button-up still hung loose, and the slashed anti-possession charm was still bleeding, but the dark green of the shirt would help hide it. He fastened the shirt and heard footsteps on the stairs.

There were only two choices. He could fight, or he could bluff.

He had no idea how long he had been here, no idea how long Sam had been here. Didn’t know the layout, didn’t know the people. But he didn’t want to risk a fight. In his own flesh, sure. But Sam was not only taller, but built all different. And for some reason was wearing pants that felt like they were about to fall off. Sure, he wasn’t in any danger. Outside of the trap, he could jump bodies freely. But Sam wasn’t sacrificable, so bullshit it was. Dean stepped out of the shadows just as the first cultist reached the floor.

“Hey,” Dean said, trying for casual. The man recoiled, a bit startled.

“Sam! What are you doing down here?” The man sounded more curious than angry so Dean felt things were going well. Three others slipped past the man, and after glancing at Dean, moved on. From where he was standing, Dean could see them eyeing his body, and was grateful that he had spent so much of his time in the Trap focusing on the obnoxious tedium of mending his flesh. It should have looked like he was dead from the outside, so hopefully they wouldn’t notice any difference.

“I just wanted to see it. You know, before you finish up.” Dean cringed inside at the awkwardness. He was sure Sam hadn’t been to visit him before a few minutes ago. Even deep in trance, he would never have missed Sam’s presence. But that was pretty much all he knew; these guys could have a secret handshake, password and mystic dance he was supposed to perform to prove he belonged, and the guy could be getting ready to scream for back-up even as they stood there.

The man didn’t seem to find anything odd, though. He clapped Dean sympathetically on the shoulder, the hand warm and probably comforting had the situation actually been as it appeared. Dean thought about ripping it off, or at least breaking it in a few places. But being in the flesh himself wasn’t nearly as grating as when he had to watch strangers touch Sam. Though the presumption was still irritating. Sam was his.

“I understand. It’s dangerous, though. Demons…” The man broke off, shaking his head. “You can’t image how dangerous. Especially when it looks like family. They find your weaknesses, and use them mercilessly. I wish you had told us; we would have been happy to escort you.”

Dean agreed wholeheartedly with the man’s summary of demons.

“I just had to see it trapped. I had to know it wasn’t out there anymore.” He shivered suddenly as Sam’s sleeping self stirred lazily in the back of his mind. Normally, he would have ruthlessly quashed a host’s dormant consciousness, but there was too much risk of damaging Sam. He nervously settled for vague soothing vibes and cursed Sam’s demonically enhanced psychic gifts. Any normal human would be blissfully still and oblivious until Dean was ready to wake them. If Sam woke up, there was going to be an internal power play. Dean knew that Sam wouldn’t intentionally mess them up, but it would be disorienting and he would panic before Dean could calm him. And it would be painfully obvious to the friendly cultist standing in front of him that something was very wrong.

“Did you want to stay for the ceremony?” the man asked with sympathy. “It might be hard to watch, but perhaps it will give you peace.”

“No.” Dean tried to mimic Sam’s martyr smile. “I think I’ve gotten what I came for. Thanks, though.” He stepped past the guy and climbed the stairs. Tension crept into his muscles as quickly as he could relax them. He reached the top and blinked in the clear dawn air. There was no door, but he appeared to be in a small courtyard bordered by white stucco walls; cultists in their pale robes were moving towards the staircase. Dean stepped hastily out of their way, returning waved greetings or nods to those that offered them. He had no freaking idea where to go.

He was giving a half-hearted smile and a wave to one lady that in another life he would have found quite interesting, when the sleeve of the shirt slid back, revealing inked numbers on the inside of his forearm and a precise, tiny map in black lines with little red arrows and an X. Dean breathed a huge sigh of relief and tried to look confident walking across the green while sneaking peeks at his arm. He imagined he looked like a total idiot, but comforted himself that it was Sam these people saw, and also that they were crazy, demon-killing cultists. So really, more points for haste than style.

The room he ended up in was sparse. A paper bag on the neatly-made bed held a change of clothes, some generic toiletries, and a cheap spiral-bound notebook. He flipped through it, but only the first page had any writing on it. He skimmed it and sighed. Sam hadn’t left a lot of information. It had been three days since he was grabbed, Sam had no idea where the Impala was but assumed it was where they had left it, and he had told the cultists that he was Sam Smith and that the demon had been interested in him because he was a rare occult book dealer. Dean had a powerful desire to kick Sam awake and demand to know what the hell he had been thinking with his insane rescue plan, which admittedly had worked – though that was entirely not the point.

But for now, Sam’s sleeping self was firmly in Dean’s protection, and there were more pressing concerns. Like getting out and finding his baby. Dean picked the bag up and thought it was surprisingly heavy. He sat it back down and moved the clothes, and at the bottom of the bag, wrapped in a t-shirt, was a gleaming cup, similar to the one from the church, but obviously worn and battered by time.

Dean tucked the bag under his arm and left.

Sam’s note estimated they weren’t more than ten miles from town. Time to start walking, before the cultists finished whatever they were doing to his body and maybe came up with some pressing questions to ask.



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Comments

[angeblond.livejournal.com]

Rhoo it's quiet intimate that ! possession and all.

And Dean who always want to be inside his brother to love and claim him.....