Speculation fic. Possible spoilers for 5.04 and anything prior. A very special thank you to Red, Trasan and Caracoli.
Warnings: language, spoilers for everything up to and including clips for 5.04
This is my take on a possible conversation between Dean and LuciferSam in the upcoming episode. Please, no flames.
The Evil that Men Say
Five years later – Dean has no idea how he got here, or even why but he blames the angels. They love doing this sort of crap which is probably why, of all the things he is, surprised isn't one of them. The Croatoan virus has turned men into murdering lunatics. They roam the streets in little vicious bands exterminating themselves for the pleasure of demons.
It is hell on earth and after seeing too much and hating what he does see, Dean has finally found Sam. And although everyone has tried to tell him, he is still shocked by what he's found.
Sam has finally succumbed and become exactly what he was supposed to be.
And Dean is furious.
Sam sees that but before Dean can say anything, the man moving towards him speaks.
"You sanctimonious son of a bitch," Sam snorts at Dean, "just because your trip to hell was righteous, doesn't make you suddenly better than everyone else topside. I'm sorry, bro, but that is not how it works."
Sam moves like a snake. Undulating power, grace and confidence, he moves around Dean, forcing the older man to turn in a circle to keep eye contact. They are outside a large well-kept house with a manicured lawn in odd contrast to the ruins of the city around them. Sam, tanned, hair shiny black and well combed, is dressed in a sharp white suit and, Dean hates to admit, he looks good.
"And to think I once gave a fuck about what you thought? About what you said? Well that's changed.
But not nearly as much as you."
That smarts and Dean's jaw tightens. This isn't his brother. Sure the body – vessel – is Sam's and certainly there is familiarity, but there is also something much darker here as well. Lucifer.
"You ride around with your angel, your BFF while your evil little brother is a shunned blemish on your armor; a bug smear on the windshield of the Impala.
Well, oh Mr. high and mighty, who the hell do you think let me out of my cage? It certainly wasn't Ruby. Oh she wanted to, but she couldn't get anywhere near me.
You and Bobby did that part right."
Dean isn't sure who Sam is talking about, Lucifer or himself? They are so blended, he is getting confused.
"Where you screwed up? Where you dropped the ball – old man – was with your angel.
Let me spell this out to you since I can see how confused you are. Bobby and you were upstairs drinking Picanti and listening to me scream. Ruby had no idea where I was – so that leaves who? Or rather what?"
Sam. He was talking about himself. Images of the empty panic room come unbidden and Dean feels sick. He never should have left his brother down there alone. But who is he talking about now? Surely, Castiel would have never –
"Oh I know, I know! Let me answer that for you, big brother. Castiel! Bingo. Someone give the man a cigar. A smoking cigar. See, oh conquering saint, it was your best buddy, your so-called angel co-pilot who opened the monsters cage and let him out to play."
No. No. He has to be lying. Why would Castiel have let Sam out? Dean knows the answers even as he wants to deny. And it hurts. He closes his eyes briefly in supplication but there is no God to hear his prayers. Not according to the Arch Angels anyway. He opens them again to find his brother gloating.
"What? Surprised? Well gee, Dean, that's just horrible. Imagine. Someone who never gave a rat's ass about your demon blooded brother unleashing him? Making it impossible to save him? From the inside?
And still you trust him?
Oh well. It's only trust. Not worth getting all fussed about, is it?"
Fussed? Dean almost smiles at that. That is not a Sam word. That is a Lucifer word. Instead of smiling though he brings his gun hand up. The one holding a gun. A very special gun. A part of him is surprised he could get so close with it, another part is not. Maybe they are not as blended as Lucifer thinks. He hurts to think this could have been different if he'd just known the truth about any of this. He was going to have words with Castiel.
Strong words. If he survived.
"So what now? You've come all the way to the future to kill me? Yeah, like that gun is going to – oooh the colt? Wow, big brother, I didn't think you'd actually have it in you.
But I'm not surprised. You kinda promised this the night I let the big guy out of his box now didn't you? Hmm… what were the exact words? Something about me being a monster, a blood sucking freak – okay so you might have had a point there – but geez Dean did you have to go kill the last of my Pollyanna hope with the whole 'you're done saving me' spiel? Basically the gloves were off… Yeah, that was the gist, if I'm remembering right. Although I could be off. After all, I've been known to get these things mixed up. But-"
Lucifer was messing with Sam's memories, when had Dean ever said that?
"What? When'd you ever say that? Oh c'mon you're not the senile… yet."
Did Sam just roll his eyes at him? Was that even possible?
"Yes, I did just roll my black eyes at you. And yes that is possible.
Well, big brother, what did you think you'd said? That everything would be okay as long as you were around? What a joke!"
Dean flinches as words, a promise, from a lifetime ago is flung back in his face. But what was Sam talking about? Blood sucking freak? Done saving Sam? He'd never said that to his brother. Demons lie. There was no way he could be serious.
"No, Dean, I am being very serious. Here, listen yourself. I kept the message and have to admit it helps remind me of my priorities whenever I start to go soft, you know?"
Sam holds his cell out. Dean hesitates and then very slowly, Colt hand not moving, reaches for and takes the phone. His eyes never leaving the man in front of him – thank God Sam has stopped moving, he was getting dizzy – he thumbs the messages and holds the phone to his ear. All color drains from his face as he hears his own voice murdering the last of his brother's hope. Oh. My. God. That was not what he'd said.
"You look surprised. That isn't what you said? Well, boo hoo, too bad, so sad. Such a pity though, 'cause I gotta admit, bro, that was the final shove that pushed me over the line of no return. I had one demon blood latte too much after that.
Damn that stuff has a kick"
Horrified, Dean's hand holding the phone drops to his side.
"Oh well. I fucked up but you fucked up worse."
Again confusion. How does Sam figure that? Sure Dean's made some mistakes but nothing compared to any of this. Sam was Lucifer for fuck's sake.
"How do I figure that? Well, easy. I'm still alive, aren't I?"
Coldness blankets Dean. His father's words come back to haunt; truncated but potent. If you can't save him, kill him…
"But I have admit that you confused me when you didn't kill me outright in the convent. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and boy oh boy did it ever. Just not quite what I was expecting.
This way? That gun you're pointing at my face? That's the much quicker way. Death by emotional evisceration? Let's just say, I never knew Alastair taught that in his Fast-Track Torturer's Management Program –
And people say you hate the chick flick moment.
You invented it.
You did this to me.
I hope you're proud, big brother.
Dean couldn't save him.
And then Dean pulled the trigger.
So he killed him.
Gasping Dean sat up in bed. His clothes clung, sweat soaked, to his body but he didn't care. His heart was pounding, his head aching; the dream so vivid. So real.
He'd killed Sam.
Oh. My. God. He'd killed Sam.
He'd pointed the Colt at his brother's head. And pulled the trigger.
He'd seen his brother's brain and bone splattered –
Dean swallowed hard. He had killed Sammy.
And not five years in the future with the Colt, like in this fucked up dream, but today, hours earlier, with his words when Sam called and said he wanted to hunt with Dean again, and Dean told him "no." He had destroyed his brother's hope, cut him off from the only family who loved him, and spit in the face of Sam's belief that he could be, and was worthy of, being forgiven… and left him wide open for Lucifer.
He'd served his brother up on a platter with 'Vessel here' pretty much tattooed on his ass.
Scrambling out of a mess of tangled bedcovers, Dean tripped, hit his knee on the carpet and cursed loudly.
Sam. Sam. Sam.
That was the only thing on his mind.
Fingers fumbled for the phone.
He had to call Sam.
He would explain, beg, cry, but he needed his brother back.
No. More than that. He wanted his brother back.
They couldn't do this alone. Neither of them.
When Sam picked up one ring later, Dean didn't even let him get one word in. He burst out, "Sammy, I can be there in an hour-"