Tag to Lucifer Rising.
"He's coming." Sam's fingers twisted into the fabric of Dean's jacket.
Dean tightened his own grip on his brother. The shaft of light rising from the stone floor illuminated Sam's face and cast sharp shadows around the crypt. OK. That can't be good.
Dean gave his brother a harder pull than he had just a moment before. Holy crap, holy crap. "Sam! Let's go!" With a burst of strength Dean wouldn't have bet he had in him, he jerked Sam off-balance, breaking his brother's enraptured attention on the opening starting to appear in the floor. "NOW!" he shouted.
With a start, Sam staggered to the side into Dean, finally responding to his brother's voice and touch.
Dean shoved Sam in front of him, keeping a hold of Sam even as he pushed. "Go go go!"
And Sam went.
They stumbled out of the trembling building, Dean casting frantic eyes around, looking desperately for a way out. There.
He thrust Sam down the stairs as the earth shook, making the steps beneath their feet ripple and lurch. There was a small yellow car parked in front, and Dean herded Sam toward the passenger side. "Get it, get in," he chanted, throwing the door open and giving his brother another shove, this time toward the interior of the car.
Sam balked, but Dean wasn't going to let that keep them from getting the hell out of here. "Get in!" he practically screamed in Sam's ear, not lessening the pressure he was using to force Sam into the car.
When Sam finally buckled, practically falling into the seat, Dean slammed the door and raced around to the driver's side. He slid in, hands already under the steering column, fumbling for wires. Come on come on come on.
"Oh God," Sam moaned next to him.
The smell registered only dimly with Dean in his desperate need to get them gone – blood and feces. Death.
The engine sparked to life. Dean threw the car into gear and jammed his foot onto the gas, tires screeching as they car roared away.
"Oh my God, oh my God," Sam was hunched in the seat next to him, one hand on his head, the other clutching the bottom half of his face. "Dean, Dean, I can't … I can't… Stop. God, please stop. I can't."
"Sam!" Dean couldn't catch his breath. And he couldn't stop. He reached over and grabbed his brother by the scruff of the neck, shaking him harder than he probably should, harder than he meant to, but. "I can't stop, man. I can't. You gotta hold it together, Sam. You gotta hold it together." The car wove erratically across the road as Dean tried to settle Sam down and keep up the speed he could only hope would get them to some degree of safety.
Sam continued to shake under Dean's hand, turning ashen-faced toward his brother. His eyes looked black against his pale face, and Dean swallowed down a quick-silver flash of apprehension and fear. But when Sam blinked, wide-eyed in shock and horror, they were only dilated, the hazel of his irises reduced to almost nothing.
"Dean," Sam whispered. "Dean," he said again, eyes flicking to the back.
Dean checked the rearview mirror—nothing. He swiveled his head to look in the back seat—nothing there either. Not a warning apparently. When he looked at Sam again, Sam was marginally more under control, though his gaze shifted constantly toward the back of the car.
Dean took his hand off Sam to grab the wheel, using his left hand to roll down the window next to him. God, the smell… He looked in the mirror again, a piece clicking into place. The trunk. He felt bile rise at the base of his throat, eyes going to Sam, pale and sick-looking beside him. No. Nonononono… Dean forced his mind away from that thought. No. Not right now I can't…
He ran a shaking hand over his face. They needed to go to ground, find a place to hide, to regroup, someplace safe, where they couldn't be found… Dean felt a sudden almost hysterical desire to laugh. Or cry. Safe. From Satan. And the angels.
But no. God had left the building. Dean felt a powerful and completely unexpected surge of despair. For a man who had denied God and shaken his fist at the sky in defiance more times than he could count, Dean felt suddenly overwhelmed by the idea that God in fact didn't care about what was happening. That He had checked out and that they were on their own, without even a whisper of hope that there was Something – Someone – bigger than he was, who had things under control. Even if Dean had never been able to see it.
And it felt like a hole, endless and dark, opening up beneath him and threatening to drag him down into it.
"Dean?" Sam's quiet question broke through, and Dean swiped angrily at his eyes.
Suck it up, Winchester, he thought fiercely. It's only what you always suspected.
"What?" Dean didn't take his eyes off the road in front of them.
"Where are we going?"
Dean gave a bark of bitter laughter. "I don't know, Sam." He clenched his teeth together to keep the laughter from breaking through completely, out of control and useless. We are so screwed.
They both jumped when Dean's phone rang.
"Get it," he said to Sam, both hands on the wheel as he negotiated the winding road.
Sam's hand dug into Dean's right jacket pocket, found what he was looking for. He looked at the display. "Bobby." He didn't answer the phone.
"Sam," Dean snapped.
"Answer the goddamn phone!" Dean yelled at him.
With a flinch and a heavy swallow, Sam obeyed. "Hello?"
There was a pause, then "Sam?" Bobby's voice was cautious.
Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah."
"Wh – Where's Dean?" The caution was tinged now with fear.
"He's here, Bobby. He's… he's driving. I…"
"You're together?" Relief. "Thank God! He disappeared right out of my living room and I've been trying to reach him and…" Bobby broke off. "What happened? Did you kill Lilith? Where are you? Are you boys OK? Wh-… "
The barrage of questions was more than Sam could handle, and he could only shake his head, eyes closed tightly, hand clutching desperately at the phone he was holding.
"Sam." Dean was holding out his hand. "Give it to me." His eyes alternated between the strip of highway in front of him and Sam's face. Sam put the phone in his brother's open palm.
"Boy, you scared the crap out of me!" Bobby was yelling now, but Dean cut across him.
"Bobby! We're in serious trouble, man. We need a place to hole up. Someplace…"
"What do you mean you need a place? You get back to my place ASAP, you dumbass!"
"We can't, Bobby, we can't! You don't understand, we've…"
"Well, explain it to me," Bobby snapped. "If you killed Lilith…"
"Lilith was the 66th seal, Bobby. Killing her was the last seal, and he's out now. Lucifer, he…."
"Dear God in heaven," Bobby breathed.
Dean snorted, "Yeah, well. Evidently God's not home and the angels decided the end of the world was just what we all needed. They wanted Sam to kill Lilith and break the seal. So when I tried to stop him…" He trailed off, eyes darting to Sam, who was now staring blankly into middle distance. It looked like Sam might have left the building as well. Terrific.
Bobby sighed heavily on the other end of the line. "You've got heaven and hell on your tails," he realized.
"Pretty much," Dean acknowledged. He could actually hear Bobby scratching at his beard while the older man thought.
"Well, that don't change anything. Get here as fast as you can."
"Bobby," Dean almost couldn't get the word out through the tightness in his throat. "We can't. We can't drag you..."
"You're not dragging me anywhere, boy. I'm already in it." Bobby's voice was rough with emotion. "You get here. I'll do what I can."
Dean cleared his throat. "Thanks, man. Bobby. Thank you."
A gusty sigh sounded in Dean's ear. "Idjits."
Dean surprised himself by laughing. "Yeah."
"We're going to Bobby's."
Though Sam was motionless in the seat next to him, Dean watched as his brother stilled. Swallowed. "O- OK," Sam faltered.
They drove another thirty minutes in silence until Sam said softly, "Can we stop now?" He didn't look at Dean.
Dean checked the rearview mirror, though he knew there was no sign of a vehicle behind them. His eyes grazed the back of the back seat.
"Yeah," he agreed quietly, gut churning with dread. He found a place where they could pull off and not be seen by passing cars. As soon as the car rolled to a stop, Sam was out. Dean followed more slowly.
Sam stood by the trunk. "Pop it."
"Sam." I don't want to know. I so don't want to know.
Sam's face was almost scarily blank as he stared back at his brother. And Dean did what he'd been asked.
The expression on Sam's face shifted—grief and revulsion—when he looked into the trunk, shifted again—shame and fear—when he looked at Dean as his brother joined him.
There was a body. Not that Dean had really expected anything else. A pretty dark-headed woman dressed in blue scrubs, a gaping slash across her neck. Dean closed his eyes. Fought back a tidal wave of heart-sickness. Sammy.
"What should we do?" Sam asked quietly, and when Dean looked at his little brother—SamSammy wantingneedingsorrylost—he wondered if this was going to be too much.
"We'll bury her," he said.
Sam nodded. "OK."
Together they lifted her gently out of the car and moved into the trees. Together they used sticks and rocks and their bare hands to dig a hole. Together they lowered her into the ground and covered her up.
When it was over they stood silently by the grave until abruptly Sam staggered away, falling to his knees and starting to vomit. Dean stayed where he was, listening vaguely to the sound of Sam's retching, feeling the ache in his arms, the sting at his finger tips. Finally he went to Sam, leaned over and put a hand on Sam's trembling back. Even in the dark Dean could see the slick blackness of what Sam had thrown up. Blood. The girl's blood.
"Come on," was all Dean said, putting a hand under Sam's elbow and raising him to his feet.
Sam stood obediently, and let Dean guide him back to the car.
When Dean got behind the wheel, he looked across at Sam sitting—shattered probably beyond repair—in the passenger seat.
For you and dad…the things I'm willing to do or to kill…it scares me sometimes.
Reaching under the steering column, Dean got the car started again and with another glance at his brother, pulled back onto the road and headed for Bobby's.