Hell on Earth

"He finally told you to kill me, didn't he?" Sam asked.
Dean had no idea how his brother could be so calm about the situation, "You knew he would?"
Sam shrugged, snapping the gun he was cleaning back together, "I thought he might, book's all full of that kind of thing, brother against brother. If it's not you he'll send someone else." He shrugged again, handing Dean the freshly cleaned and reassembled gun, "I want it to be you."

Dean was startled, dropping the weapon to the bed, "What? Are you crazy? I'm not going to shoot you Sammy!"
Sam sighed, "It has to be you Dean, I don't know if I'll be able to come back if it's anyone else."
Dean's brow furrowed, blinking, jaw working, words failing until he got to: "Come back?"
Sam nodded, "I know what I'm supposed to do Dean, but I have to die to finish. Go to hell."
"What?" Dean was out of his depth and sinking fast, "We've been over this Sammy, you aren't evil, not the Antichrist, you're my brother, you help people and you hunt things. This isn't something you have to do."

Sam's brow was arched, "You done?"
"...Yeah?" Dean finished lamely. Sam nodded once, "Good, because I'm not the Antichrist, I'm not Hell's general, I'm just a captain, leading a unit, not the whole army."
Dean was puzzled still, "What about Yellow Eyes, your destiny you keep reminding me about?"
Sam shook his head, "Azazel was trying to control things he had no right controlling, that's why there were so many of us, to make sure that I or whoever came out on top had followers among the ranks. I'm his champion though, I'm the one who survived. But I could be more. That's the important part, the potential."

Dean's brow arched, eying his brother, "Ruby tell you that?"
"As best she can. Others have confirmed it, more or less, none of them can say anything outright, but they're good at hints. The other captains are already there, they already know what they need to lead their factions. I'm the one who doesn't, and I'm the only human. I need to die Dean, and I need to go to hell so that I can come back and make sure this goes the way it's supposed to."
Dean was silent, taking this all in, weighing Sam's certainty, studying him hard. Finally he said, "Fine. But I'm not going to shoot you. Too messy and I'm not letting you use some poor schmuck as a meat puppet when you come back. Have to leave your body intact, and I can't believe I'm having this conversation."

Sam smiled, it was almost sad, "I don't know if that'll work. It could be moths before I'm back, maybe a year."
Dean shook his head, holding up a hand to stop him there, "Hours, Sammy, you've got hours."
"I don't think that's how it works Dean." He responded calmly, "I don't know that I get to decide."
Dean stood firm, "You're deciding to go down there, you can decide when to come back."
Sam weighed Dean's certainty then, "And if I'm not back in a few hours?"
"I'm coming after you. I don't care about whatever followers Yellow Eyes left you, you need me."

Sam huffed, equal parts amused and frustrated, "You really think he'll let you do that?"
"He won't be able to stop me." Dean was positive of this, and Sam could feel it. So he nodded, "Alright. Hours, four or five, then I'll come back. How do we do this?"
"You think I know?" Was the sharp reply, packing the cleaning supplies away, "I'm usually making sure things stay dead."
Sam sighed, flopping down on the edge of the bed, shrugging, "I don't know either Dean, you're the one who said I needed to stay intact, what did you have in mind?"

He could tell by the way Dean avoided his eyes that he'd thought of something, but wasn't ready to share just yet. So he leaned back on his elbows, just waiting it out. He was good at being more patient than Dean.
Finally the elder sighed, raking a hand through his hair, "I've always wondered why they always go for your neck." He finally said in a half-mumbled rush.

It was enough to get Sam's attention, sitting up again, "You want to choke me?"
"No!" Was the first response, followed by a quieter: "Just curious is all. Don't think I'd be able to follow through."
Sam's head tilted, "I think you could." Then he nodded, "I want you to." And because he knew it would work he added, "Please Dean?" Tongue darting out over his lower lip a moment later, almost nervous.
It was going to work, he could tell by the way Dean tried to suppress a shudder, tensing a moment, shoulders hunching a moment before he let out a heavy sigh, turning to face Sam, "Okay."

Sam leaned back on his hands again, tilting his chin up, "C'mere then."
Dean closed the space between them, finally just settling across Sam's legs, hands curling lightly around his brother's throat, fingertips almost meeting at his nape, thumbs caressing against the underside of of his chin a moment, brow creasing, watching Sam's face.
"Don't stop just because I pass out." Sam murmured, "You have to kill me." Dean nodded, "I know, I'm sorry Sammy." He started to squeeze then, a steady, even, ever-increasing pressure, able to feel Sam's pulse fluttering against his palms, feeling Sam's breath start to rasp, watching his chest hitch as he began to struggle for air. One of Sam's hands lifted to curl against Dean's wrist, not to push him away, but to spur him on, the touch light, barely there.

Dean was starting to understand why things were always doing this to Sam, it was easy for one thing, Sam's neck was long, almost graceful, and it was easy to keep a hold on. It was pretty, really, which was one of the weirdest things he'd ever thought. Besides that it was a rush, even without Sam fighting back.
Sam's eyes had rolled back at that point, eyelids fluttering, his breath a thready little wheeze, pulse thrumming against Dean's fingers like a live current. He pressed a little harder, stopping even that last wheeze.

Sam shuddered beneath him, fighting what every instinct was telling him, staying as still as he could even as his vision began to narrow, going dark around the edges and spotty in the middle.
He forced his eyes open, wanting Dean to be the last thing he saw, knowing that he'd need something to hold onto, a reason to come back. Dean's breath caught when Sam's eyes opened, suddenly realizing what people meant when they talked about the spark of life in someone's eyes, Sam's was flaring right then, like an ember drawing on all the available air, his eyes fever-bright. Dean was committed to this now and he knew it, bearing down all the harder, wanting, even needing, to see that light go out.

Sam shuddered, a full-body heave, the second was weaker and the third weaker still. Finally he went limp, head lolling back. Dean held on for a few moments longer, long enough to register that the pulse he was feeling in his hands, the rasping breath filling the room were both his own. He let go then, Sam's body falling back bonelessly to the bed.

It took dean a moment longer to hear the quiet, dry applause, whipping around to come face-to-face with Castiel, "Very good Dean, there were some who didn't think you could do it. It's good that you've proven them wrong."
"Get out." Dean's voice was little more than a growl, low and dangerous. It was enough to cause Castiel to straighten, brows lifting, "Why Dean? You've just cemented yourself as our champion."
"Get out." He repeated, "I don't care. I didn't do it for you, I did it for him, so it wouldn't be one of your cronies. I'm not your champion, I don't want any part of it."
Castiel looked puzzled, apparently unsure how to respond to this, which gave Dean a chance to roar: "Get out!" again. Castiel was still puzzled, but he nodded, "You know how to find me when you realize you've done the right thing."
He walked away then, simply not there between one blink and the next.
Dean shook his head, looking back to his brother's body, "Three hours Sammy. Clock's ticking."

Dean soon found that he couldn't wait in the room and went out to keep himself occupied for a couple hours.
He returned to find Sam sitting on the edge of the bed looking lost.
Even Dean who had the psychic ability of a tree stump and knew it could feel the change in his brother. There was a new weight to his presence that wasn't demonic, but was enough to put Dean on edge all the same. Sam lifted his head, looking haunted, even hunted, "I thought you were coming after me." His voice was a croak, bruises already standing out lividly against his neck. He stretched a hand, studying it, "How'd you do this?"

Dean's brow furrowed, filling one of the flimsy plastic cups on the bathroom counter, holding it out to Sam, "Do what, Sammy?" There was the slightest cringe at the nickname, but he accepted the water all the same, downing it in one long swallow, toying with the empty cup as he answered: "Keep me fresh for so long." He shook his head a moment later, blinking up at Dean, "You were supposed to follow me after four hours. You never came."
Dean's brow creased, concerned, "Sam..." He wasn't sure how to continue, finally sinking to the opposite bed, knees bumping Sam's, causing him to cringe again. Dean shook his head, "How long do you think it's been?"

Now it was Sam's turn to look puzzled, shaking his head and studying Dean's face intently, "Three months, Dean, almost four. They kept track." He bunched his sleeve up, looking even more confused by the unmarked skin there, checking the other arm too, just in case.
Dean was horribly confused at that point too, half afraid to touch same just at the moment, not sure what the reaction would be, "Three hours Sam, just hours."
Sam shook his head, looking lost again, "But I remember..." Another head shake, "I said hours, I told them. They just laughed."
Dean bristled at that, "Demons lie Sammy, we both know it." He sighed then, the sound almost a growl, "We should pack up, move on as soon as you're ready. Castiel was here, said I'd done the right thing by killing you." His brow creased, looking over at Sam, "Did I? I mean, did you learn what you needed?"
Sam nodded, voice finally having given out.

Dean nodded once in return, "Good." He went about packing up everything he hadn't packed earlier, trying to ignore how pale Sam still was, trying to ignore the bruises. Mostly trying to ignore what he'd done just a few hours previous.
Sam finally stood, just a little unsteady, making his way to the bathroom and closing the door quietly behind him. "I'm taking stuff to the car." Dean called after him, waiting for a moment, not sure what to do with the lack of response. He shook it off, lugging the bags out to the car, returning to find the bathroom door still closed. He paced for a few moments before knocking once, "You okay in there Sammy? We should get a move on." He knew that Castiel would crop up wherever and whenever he wanted and that they couldn't really outrun him or hide from him for long, but he was damn well going to try.
"Sammy?" He said again at the continued silence, finally getting an answer that time, a quiet, "Just a minute, Dean." Dean resumed pacing and Sam emerged not long after, looking a little less hunted, but even more tired. His voice was still a croak, "Okay. S'go."

Sam trailed his fingers along the side of the Impala before popping the door open and slipping into the seat, very nearly petting the leather as well. The Impala was, and would always be, Dean's girl, but Sam had still missed her, and this was like coming home.
Dean's brow arched, but he didn't say anything, he understood what was going on, so he just nodded, gunning the engine and cranking the stereo. It wasn't long before Sam had dropped off to sleep, even despite the noise.

Dean kept sneaking sideways glances at him, realizing how sunken his eyes looked, the delicate skin mottled from lack of oxygen, the bruises on Sam's neck a rather stomach-churning purple. The marks would fade, he knew, and Sam had always healed fast, but Dean realized that he'd always know what he'd done, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Catching a reflection in the rearview mirror from the backseat made him jump, managing not to slam on the brakes, pulling off to the shoulder with spray of gravel, "He's not dead." was Castiel's mild comment from the backseat.
"No." Dean replied, fingers tight on the steering wheel, "He's not." He was silently willing Sam to wake up, open his eyes.
"He'll stay asleep as long as I'm here." Castiel said, studying what he could see of Dean's profile, "Do you have any idea what you've done, Dean? Any inkling what you've brought about by allowing him to return? Knowing what he does about the Pit?"

Dean arched a brow, meeting the angel's eyes in the rearview mirror, "I don't care. I told you that already."
Castiel bristled, making a sound that was very like a growl, "Hell on Earth, Dean, and you're the one who's started it, who's allowed Armageddon."
"No he isn't." Was Sam's quiet comment, voice still rough, though better than it had been back in the motel, "I know what I am. I know what I can do. Why you're so afraid of me."
Dean had relaxed just at the sound of Sam's voice, knowing that whatever had happened to Sam made him immune to the angel's power was soothing to him for some reason.
Castiel was still bristling, he was struggling for words at the moment. It was then that Dean realized Sam's fingers were twitching, spread against the edge of his seat. Sam's voice was still quiet, "Close your eyes Dean. You'll know when to pull back on the road and drive."

Dean's brow furrowed, not sure he liked the sound of that, but he stayed quiet for the time being, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he felt the flash more than he saw the light of it through his lids, it was a steady pressure on his eardrums, like changing altitude too fast, like the car had suddenly depressurized and repressurized in quick succession, "Go ahead, Dean." Was Sam's quiet murmur.
So Dean went, eyes sliding open as he thumbed the windows open, the Impala trailing sparks from the exorcised angel as they sped away.