Sam's knee-deep in demon guts when he gets the call. A sweep of his thumb spreads blood across the screen of his phone when he answers and he barely gives a second thought to the crumpled mass of what, at one time, was a human being. There's a part of him, down there somewhere, that feels bad for him. The person that once was.
But they haven't been human for awhile now, he reminds himself. And now they've fulfilled a larger purpose.
Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Sam pockets his phone. Looking down at the wrecked carcass before him, he feels a pang of... of something. Guilt, maybe. Remorse.
And fear for what's to come. He's already failed his brother once. Failed this one many more times than that.
What if he fails here, too?
No.
No. He won't. The blood running hot through his veins tells him so. He's been practicing. He's not as strong as he was before he got here, but he'll be strong enough for this. Because he has to be. Because this is Dean and he has to be.
When Sam finds them inside a chapel on the city's edge, Dean strapped to splintered pews with Castiel, Mike, and Neil surrounding, he wastes no time. They only have minutes here. Less. Sam doesn't know enough about this demon to know what it wants with Dean specifically. If anything. He doesn't know if he's using him for other purposes, if the plans of the pit extend beyond the world Sam left behind a year ago. He doesn't know and there isn't time to find out.
The door slams behind Sam as he marches in, gaze focused on the his brother's form, arms bound behind him.
Gritting his teeth, Sam stands, legs part and lifts one arm. He breathes. Centers himself. And then calls up the blood running through him, the darkness and power that crawls and itches and slithers inside him. And he feels it react, curling up his spine little by little, a pressure that builds from the pit of his stomach outward, unseen but working all the same. Working. It's working.
no subject
But they haven't been human for awhile now, he reminds himself. And now they've fulfilled a larger purpose.
Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Sam pockets his phone. Looking down at the wrecked carcass before him, he feels a pang of... of something. Guilt, maybe. Remorse.
And fear for what's to come. He's already failed his brother once. Failed this one many more times than that.
What if he fails here, too?
No.
No. He won't. The blood running hot through his veins tells him so. He's been practicing. He's not as strong as he was before he got here, but he'll be strong enough for this. Because he has to be. Because this is Dean and he has to be.
When Sam finds them inside a chapel on the city's edge, Dean strapped to splintered pews with Castiel, Mike, and Neil surrounding, he wastes no time. They only have minutes here. Less. Sam doesn't know enough about this demon to know what it wants with Dean specifically. If anything. He doesn't know if he's using him for other purposes, if the plans of the pit extend beyond the world Sam left behind a year ago. He doesn't know and there isn't time to find out.
The door slams behind Sam as he marches in, gaze focused on the his brother's form, arms bound behind him.
Gritting his teeth, Sam stands, legs part and lifts one arm. He breathes. Centers himself. And then calls up the blood running through him, the darkness and power that crawls and itches and slithers inside him. And he feels it react, curling up his spine little by little, a pressure that builds from the pit of his stomach outward, unseen but working all the same. Working. It's working.