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Fic: Never Say Die (14/16)
Title: Never Say Die (14/16)
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Adults Only
Pairing: John/Ellen (see notes in Part 0)
Summary: After a hunt that went horribly wrong, John wakes up in a California hospital. It's thirteen years later, everyone he trusted seems to be dead, and he has no idea how to find his sons. Meanwhile, unknown to John, Dean's time is running out.
Warnings: Darkfic. Character death. Torture. (See notes in Part 0 for more details)
Spoilers: Up to Jus In Bello.
Previous chapters: archived here.
NEVER SAY DIE
Part Fourteen
John was lost in pain. He could no longer distinguish one hurt from the others. Earlier he could: the shattered and swollen fingers of his hand throbbed with his pulse. The cuts down his back were a sharp pain, the ticklish trails of his blood a counterpoint that somehow made the pain more distinct. But somewhere between the burns and the moment the stretched muscles of his arms and legs started to cramp and shake it all became just pain. He should have been paying attention to everything happening around him, but he couldn't.
Being in Hell was worse...but John had forgotten how a living body could become so tired, how pain could wear you down until even relief was pain. Until the only thing that he wanted or needed was oblivion.
The demon bitch who tortured him never once asked him a question. Yet John was certain this wasn't just for her entertainment. This was too methodical: there was some purpose to his pain. There were moments when images would flash into his mind. Each was there only for a moment, never long enough for him to catch it. John knew the demon was doing it, somehow. He was afraid he was giving them what they wanted because he had no idea what that could be.
He hung there in his chains, naked to the waist, waiting for the next blow, the next agony.
Instead, he heard his son's voice. "Dad? Oh, Dad, please."
Fear lent him strength and he tried to raise his head away from the smooth marble. He saw relief flash across Dean's face. John tried to speak, but could not. Dean. Oh, Dean why are you here? You shouldn't be here. John closed his eyes and took a slow breath before he could open them again. By then the demons were working on Dean. They chained Dean to the pillar with John. John felt the chains holding him jerk tight. Dean was on the opposite side of the pillar, his chest against the marble. It meant that John could touch his son - he could just reach Dean's hands - but he couldn't see him. John reached toward Dean's hand with his good right hand and felt their fingers entwine. Dean squeezed his fingers hard, silently reassuring. It'll be okay, Dad, the gesture said. Of course it was a lie.
John heard cloth tear and knew they were stripping Dean. He saw Jezebel standing back, watching eagerly.
She moved closer to Dean, reaching out to touch him. "A little the worse for wear already, I see," she cooed.
John figured it was the Hell-hound claw mark on Dean's shoulder that had the bitch all excited. A fresh wound, though it must be mostly healed by now.
He heard Dean's voice replying to her, but not the words. Dean's tone was familiar, though, mockingly sarcastic and John prayed Dean could keep up that spirit.
Why was Dean here? Where was Sammy? Surely the boys weren't stupid enough to come after him again? Fear made John cold. He turned his head, trying to see. The room stretched behind him, dark and threatening. He saw no sign of Sam. Was that a good thing?
The demon, Jezebel, was there, her smile malicious. "Two Winchesters for the price of one," she purred. "I wonder which of you I can break first."
John didn't waste breath answering her.
Lilith hovered behind Jezebel, looking critically at Dean. "Don't kill him," she instructed, "and I don't want him losing too much blood. He'll need it later. Except for that, he's all yours." The demons moved away.
That didn't sound good. They had only a moment before Jezebel returned. John tried his voice.
"Dean?" He squeezed Dean's hand as he spoke. The word came out like sand in a cement mixer.
"Dad? Are you alright?"
John took the question for its meaning, not the words. Of course he wasn't "alright", but that wasn't what Dean really meant. "Been worse," he answered. Can you reach my other hand? The hinge on the chain is loose."
"I'll try."
John stretched as far around the pillar as he could. It was his broken hand, but he'd felt the fragile hinge. If Dean could reach it, he might be able to free John's hand. Exactly what good that would do, John wasn't sure. But one step at a time.
Dean's fingers found the hinge quickly. "Dad, Sam is - "
"No! Don't tell me."
Jezebel's footsteps approached
"Be strong, son." John pulled his good hand away from Dean's touch. It was all he could do to spare Dean.
It was just in time. Jezebel carried a whip in her hands, a long cat o'nine tails. She ran the tails through her fingers, making sure John could see every moment of the slow, teasing gesture. Each strand of the whip was knotted along its length, and carried a small, pointed weight on the end. The knots would maximise the pain of each blow; the weights ensured each tail would hit as hard as possible. John braced for the pain.
Jezebel let the tails of the whip fall to the floor and drew her arm back in a graceful arc. The weights hissed along the polished floor. John heard the whoosh of the whip and then the white-hot pain seared across his back. John yelled his pain. He learned that in Hell: scream, if you can, because it's so much worse when you can't.
Dean echoed John's cry. "Dad!" He pulled against the chains, struggling.
John had to concentrate just to breathe. He expected another blow. It didn't come. He heard the hiss of the whip across the floor again. Jezebel leaned close to him. She stroked his hair gently. She licked the blood from his skin. John forced himself to remain still and endure it, because Dean's fingers were once again working at his wrist.
Jezebel leaned up to his ear. "Now that you know how it feels, baby..." she whispered.
John felt the hinge come loose from his wrist. He held his breath. Had she noticed?
She stalked around the pillar, once again drawing the whip through her hands. Dean would be next. She wanted John to listen while she whipped the skin from Dean's back.
Dean would try not to scream. He would fight it for as long as he could, but John didn't believe Dean could hold out forever. And if Jezebel could read Dean's mind, as so many demons could, it wouldn't matter. The moment Dean thought about whatever plan he and Sam had concocted, Jezebel would know it.
John could not allow that to happen. Sam was the one and only chance they had now.
But to give Sam that chance, Jezebel couldn't be permitted to hurt Dean. John could see only one way to stop it.
He shook the chain off his left wrist. Letting the other chain take his weight, he swung around the pillar to where Dean was chained. He saw Jezebel's face for an instant, her black eyes wide with shock before the loose chain slammed into her body. John had a split second to see Dean, his arms outstretched, the muscles of his back tense. Dean started to turn toward John. John reached out with his useless, broken hand. Just that small flex of his fingers was like plunging his hand into molten metal. He tasted blood. John reached out and slammed his hand into the back of Dean's head with all his strength. Dean, unprepared for it, smashed into the marble.
The pain in John's broken hand overwhelmed him and his legs buckled.
Dean sagged in his chains, unconscious.
Jezebel grabbed a handful of John's hair, jerking his face up to hers. "You'll pay for that!"
"Fuck you, bitch!" he spat. It was done. Dean's secret was safe...for now.
John saw a glint of silver in Jezebel's hand. A knife. She pulled his head back, exposing his throat.
The knife flashed down.
Pain was good. Pain meant he was alive. But, damn, did there have to be so much of it?
Dean felt a warm hand enclose his wrist and lift his arm, gently laying it across his chest. The gesture didn't feel threatening. He opened his eyes. Everything was blurred and too-bright, but the face swimming out of the blur was familiar.
Ellen stroked his forehead with a cool cloth. "Hey, Sweetie. How do you feel?"
Dean groaned. "Like I got hit by a truck." It wasn't a truck, though, was it? Not this time. It had been...
The memory returned with a rush of adrenaline. Lilith. Sam. Dad. Dad knocked him out!
"Whoa!" Ellen held Dean down as he tried to sit up. "You're hurt, Dean."
He barely heard her. "Sam! Where's Sam?" The world swirled around him and acid rose into his throat. He lay back weakly, swallowing hard. That was the first time he noticed he was lying on a bed and there was the mattress of the upper bunk above him.
"I don't know," Ellen answered. "I haven't seen Sam at all."
"Dad! He - "
Ellen frowned. "He hit you. I know."
Dad must have been possessed. It was the only explanation that made sense. The chained-prisoner thing was just some head-fuck. But why? What was the point?
"Dean," Ellen said softly, not quite meeting his eyes, "John was trying to save you. He was afraid the demon would read your mind and find out your plan. So he took you out. They can't read you if you're unconscious."
He nearly killed me, Ellen! "No," Dean protested. "Dad wouldn't..." Except he had. John asked Dean to help free him, and Dean had done it. Hadn't he always followed Dad's orders? Dean remembered the demon-woman, and Dad crying out in pain. God, how bad did it have to be for Dad to scream like that? Then he had...but the rest was fuzzy. He recalled only John smashing his head into the pillar.
What Ellen said made sense, but...
"How do I know you're not possessed?" Dean demanded. Demons had fooled him before.
"I guess you don't," Ellen answered. She touched the tattoo on his chest. "That's smart."
Dean caught her hand in his, gripping as hard as he could. He murmured the first lines of the exorcism ritual. When Ellen didn't even flinch, Dean released her. "Jesus, Ellen. This is so fucked up. He could have killed me."
"John's been through a lot. They..." Ellen looked away from him, her expression darkening. "They punished him for what he did, Dean."
Oh, God. What does that mean? Dean tried to sit up again. "Where is he?"
Ellen didn't try to hold him down this time. Instead she shifted so she could help him sit up. Pain swirled through his skull again. He let her help him.
Then he saw his father.
John was sitting on the concrete floor, still naked to the waist. He was hunched over, his face turned toward the wall. In the harsh electric light, the signs of abuse were all too clear: dried blood on his skin, bruises and lacerations. He was hugging a cloth against his chest, a cloth saturated with blood.
"Dad?" Dean tried. There was so much blood...
John looked up, moving very slowly. "I'm...okay, son."
"The fuck you are!" Ellen objected.
That was enough. Dean pushed Ellen out of his way and slid off the bed. Just that movement made the room start swimming again. Dean focussed on his father and crawled slowly toward him There was too much blood for the injuries he could see. Was it covered by the cloth? Did they slash John's wrist or something?
Dean reached John and tried to touch the bloody rags. "Dad, let me see."
John held his hand out to Dean. His hand wasn't there. The arm ended four or five inches below the elbow, the stump wrapped in the bloody rags and evidently still bleeding. Someone - it had to be Ellen - had improvised a tourniquet using a belt just above the elbow. Dean checked it and cinched it tight. John gasped in pain.
Dean looked up, a silent apology in his eyes. He had no idea what to say. Dean had nursed his father through a lot of injuries but this wasn't something he could fix with iodine and a few stitches. This was permanent.
"Dean, it's okay," John said quietly.
Two years before, Dean might have been reassured by that. But he learned better on the day John sold his soul. Don't be scared, Dean, John told him then. Bastard. Dean would never again believe his father when he used that tone.
"Ellen's right. The fuck it's okay!"
"I'm alive. You're alive. The rest I can handle."
"But - "
"Son. You and Sam have a plan. Let's focus on that."
Dean drew back. If Dad damn near killed him to stop the demons learning the plan, then he knew Dean couldn't tell. Not anyone. "No, I - "
"I don't mean tell me the plan," John said. "It's best if no one knows. Just tell me how I can help."
Dean looked pointedly at John's mutilated arm. "I don't think you can. I need to be with Sam." He looked around their prison, taking in the bleak surroundings. Sam wasn't in the room. He might be dead already. If he was, it was over. Dean met his father's eyes, hoping his fears didn't show. "It's okay if I'm hurt, Dad. It's okay if I'm in chains. I just have to be in the same room with Sam when he confronts Lilith."
John looked grim. "I can pretty much guarantee that one of us will be."
But neither of us can control that. Dean understood. Every instinct told him to confide in John. He always had, and goddamn it, John Winchester was the best hunter on the road. He could help. John would probably approve of Sam's crazy plan. He had that same obsessive streak, the same willingness to do the unthinkable in his cause. But if Ellen was right and these demons could read minds, it was too dangerous to tell him. Even Dean knowing was too dangerous.
Surreptitiously, Dean slipped a hand into his jeans pocket. The small bag was still there. He crushed it between his fingers and felt the contents. They hadn't found it. There wasn't much of the herbal mixture, but if Dean shared it with John, they could be sure at least one of them could get to Sam...
John reached up with his good hand and began fumbling at the tourniquet.
Dean stopped him. "What are you doing?"
"If I'm too weak when they come, they'll take you instead. Blood loss will - "
"No," Dean said firmly. "You've already lost too much."
Ellen crouched beside them. "Dean, you should rest. You've got a bad concussion and they could come for you any time."
She was right, but Dean stayed where he was, looking into John's eyes. "Don't do anything stupid, Dad, okay? Takin' you out of here in a body bag is not Sam's plan."
John nodded. "Alright, son."
Satisfied, Dean allowed Ellen to help him back to the bed. He lay down and the agonising headache eased a little. Happiness is relative. His last thoughts before sleep took him again was that he should have told John that Lilith was after the children...and where was Sam?
Sam was staring into the barrel of a large shotgun. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a demon use a gun, but it was unusual. The gun told Sam two things: one, that this demon knew more than most of them about how the modern world worked and, two, that they meant business this time.
He wasn't sure how long he had been tied in this room with only Ruby's body for company. It was several hours at least. Long enough for his arms to ache and his calf to begin to cramp. He was stretching the leg, trying to fight the cramp when the door opened and the demon came in. The demon took one look at the body lying in its pool of blood and fled.
Moments later, he returned with some cronies and the shotgun.
Sam stared down the gun while two of them entered the cell and removed the body. Sam stared down the barrel of the gun so he wouldn't have to look at the innocent girl Ruby killed. It was Ruby, not Sam, responsible for that girl's death, but Sam still felt some guilt. He could have sent Ruby back to Hell when they first met. If he had, maybe that girl would be alive today, instead of a broken, bloody piece of meat.
One of the demons untied Sam's hands. He lowered his arms with relief, but the shotgun still pointed steadily at his face, warning him to make no other move. Sam stayed where he was, passive, waiting.
"Strip," the demon with the gun ordered.
"Excuse me?" Sam blurted, too surprised to say anything else.
The demon scowled at him. "Take. Your. Clothes off. Now!"
This couldn't be going anywhere good. Remember the plan, Sam. Whatever they do, you can take it. Sam began to unbutton his shirt. If they made him strip down to nothing they would find the knife. That was a problem, but Sam thought he could deal with it. He stripped off the shirt and t-shirt, dropping each to the floor. He unbuckled the belt and drew it out through the loops before dropping it, too. He unbuttoned the jeans, but went no further, gazing at the demon.
"All of it," the demon instructed. "The boots, too."
Damn. Sam bent to unlace his boots. The shotgun moved with him. He felt something in his back pocket as he bent over and slipped a hand into the pocket as he straightened. He felt the small cloth pouch and realised Ruby must have given it to him. But how was he going to keep it if they made him strip completely?
When Sam raised his pants leg to unlace the first boot he loosened the band holding the knife to his calf. When he pulled the jeans off, he slipped the knife away with them. If he was lucky, they would never know he had been armed. He feigned a cough and stuffed the pouch into his mouth before he slipped off his underpants without waiting for another order. The demon didn't seem to notice. As long as he didn't have to speak, Sam would be okay.
Sam stood up straight, naked. He made no attempt to cover himself and did his best to ignore how vulnerable he felt, naked and unarmed.
A demon picked up his clothing and the knife clattered to the floor. Sam tried to keep his face impassive but couldn't help watching them. Damn it, he needed that knife!
Another demon came in with fresh clothing neatly folded in her arms. Sam wasn't sure what to make of this. The strip search made sense: it ensured he couldn't conceal anything. It humiliated him. He would not have been surprised if they tried to do a cavity search, too. But why not just give him back his own clothing?
Sam dressed when instructed and found that the clothes fit him fairly well. The pants - black, soft wool - were a little short and a little loose at the waist. They didn't give him a belt. There were white briefs and black socks. The sweater was black, too, a cotton turtleneck. The shoes were plain loafers, his size. The clothing was comfortable. By turning his back on them to dress, Sam managed to slip the pouch of herbs into a pocket without - he hoped - any of them noticing.
"Now what?" he asked.
"Now," the demon answered, "Lilith wants to see you."
About time! Sam spread his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "Fine. Take me to your leader."
The demon motioned with the shotgun. The movement was too wide; under other circumstances it would have been the opening Sam needed to escape. But not tonight. He walked toward the exit. Dean, I need you now. Please be there.
There was no sign of Dean or John as Sam walked into Lilith's hall. In a way, it was a relief not to see John chained and bleeding. But he needed Dean. He needed Dean even more now they had deprived him of his knife.
Lilith sat on her dais in a chair that made her look even smaller than she was, but there was a new, smaller chair beside her.
Sam didn't hurry his walk down the middle of the room. The smell of burning wax was strong and the many candles threw odd shadows onto the walls. There were at least twenty demons in the room.
Dean would have made some joke about Hellraiser. Sam felt more like he was in a Bond movie: the scene where the villain offers Bond a martini and explains all his plans before ordering Bond's execution. Of course, in the movies Bond always escapes.
Lilith didn't offer him a martini. She did offer him a seat beside her, and that made Sam uncomfortable enough. He sat down warily.
"Why'd you kill Ruby?" Lilith ask conversationally.
Sam gave the answer he had prepared. "The bitch betrayed me. She knew I'd send her back to Hell when she stopped being useful." He gazed at the marble pillar as he spoke. Its chains were now empty. There was fresh blood on the floor that hadn't been there the last time Sam was in this room. It sent a chill down his spine.
He felt Lilith pushing at his mind, trying to test the truth of his words. It was an odd sensation. The image that came into his mind was a goldfish swimming in a clear plastic bag, a child poking at the plastic but unable to reach the fish through the water. Sam, without really understanding what he was doing, thrust power into that image, replacing vulnerable plastic with glass.
"Where are my father and brother?" he asked her.
"Below," she answered. "All in good time, Sam."
"Are they alright?" he insisted.
Lilith twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. "You have a strange family, Sam. Among us, family means something. Loyalty. Love."
He looked at her directly for the first time. "Among you," he corrected, "there is no family." A serial killer might consider his trophies his family, but that didn't make it so. "I know you don't know love."
"You think not?" Lilith beckoned to another demon who approached and sat beneath her chair. The body was a teenaged boy with curly blonde hair. Lilith petted his hair as if he were a dog. "I chose him," Lilith said, "when he was human. He came to me willingly in life. In death I kept his soul close for centuries. I created what he is today. Don't you think that makes him my son?"
Sam remembered Meg telling him she did what she did for loyalty and love. He remembered Azazel taunting Dean: You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family? Oh, that's right. I forgot. I did.
Sam looked at the demon Lilith called her son. "You conned him into selling his soul and you tortured him for centuries. That makes you a lot of things, but family? I don't think so." Sam met Lilith's strange eyes. "Now, answer my question. Is Dean alright? And my dad?"
"They are alive."
It wasn't an answer, but Sam let it go at first.
Lilith leaned forward, holding on to the arms of her chair as if afraid she would fall. "You have some power, Sam Winchester," she said. "Now you've finally become what you were intended to be, I can use you."
Sam wondered if this was the conversation Jake had with Azazel. But Lilith was wrong. She could use him only if he let her and Sam would die first. He didn't want to let her know that, though: not yet.
"Is that what this is about?" Sam forced a smile to his face. "They all told me you wanted me dead."
"You can be useful to me, Sam. You should consider it...for the sake of your family."
The threat frightened him, but it was what Sam had been waiting for. He looked again at the blood-soaked floor, letting her know he understood her threat. He let her see he was afraid of it. When he was sure she got it, Sam turned to her, leaning forward in his chair and meeting her eyes, making it seem like an effort.
"Let me tell you something about my family," Sam said. He knew the words didn't sound as confident as they should. "Azazel murdered my mother and my father. He's dead now. The crossroads demon thought she could buy my brother's soul. She's dead. The one she served tried to kill Dean a few weeks ago. Guess what? He's dead, too." He narrowed his eyes at Lilith. "You want to make it four for four?" It was a bluff when he'd said it to Beelzebub, but that was then. Sam felt the power rushing through his veins, pumping through his heart. He knew he could defeat Lilith.
Sam had become the rival she feared.
Lilith laughed, a joyous, delighted sound. "Oh, Sam, look at you. Trying to be so brave. You don't have the Colt any more, sweet boy. Ruby won't be riding to your rescue. How do you think you're going to kill me?"
Sam answered, "If you hurt my family, believe me, I'll find a way."
Lilith rose from her chair and came toward him. "Serve me, Sam, and you won't have to."
He scoffed, "Not a chance."
"Think about it, Sam. I want a few simple services, not your soul. Your family will be safe. You can even keep hunting, just not my demons. It's a good offer."
Sam shook his head. She wasn't asking for his soul, but he would lose it anyway if he took her offer. But she knew what answer he would give. She knew. "I'm never going to agree to this. Why even ask?"
Lilith gestured impatiently.
An invisible hand closed around Sam's throat. He gasped for air. He couldn't breathe! Sam clawed at his throat, instinctively trying to free himself but his hands encountered only his own flesh. Panic filled him as blood pounded in his skull and his lungs screamed for air. Sam fell from the chair to his knees. His body was shaking so much he couldn't even stay upright. From the floor, Sam looked up at Lilith. His vision was grey at the edges. Breathe! Oh, God, can't breathe, please, can't...
Lilith was smiling down at him, a sweet, innocent child.
Sam reached out to her, not with his hands, but with power. It was a desperate move, anything to distract her for an instant so he could take a breath.
But when his power touched Lilith's, for an instant Sam saw into her mind. He saw the truth of what she was and could not comprehend it. Bile rose up, burning the back of his throat.
Please, Sam thought, and it was a prayer, a hope.
He lost consciousness.
Sam woke tied to a chair. There were steel handcuffs around his wrists, each set holding him to one arm of the chair. Ropes encircled his arms at the elbows and his legs at his ankles. He was facing the back wall of Lilith's hall. Sam kept his head down, not ready to show that he was awake.
It didn't work.
"Sam." It was Jezebel's voice. "Welcome to the show."
Oh, fuck, that sounds bad. Sam gave up faking unconsciousness and tried to turn his head enough to see her. He couldn't move enough to see.
The chair Sam was in lifted itself off the ground and slowly rotated in the air. The rest of the room came into his view like a theatre curtain drawing back. Welcome to the show. It was a show, alright. Oh, God...
Jezebel had Dean and John tied to an upright L-shaped frame. The vertical part of the L held Dean, hanging upside-down. His arms were bound to his sides and he was naked to the waist. He didn't look injured. Oh, God, please let him be okay! Beneath Dean, Jezebel had tied John to the horizontal part of the L. John lay in an odd position: it looked as if his hands were tied under his back, so his body arched upward. That had to be painful. He could see the marks of abuse on John's body: bruises and dried blood.
"Dean!" Sam called to let them know he was there.
"Don't do it, Sam!" Dean called back. His voice was strained, but Sam heard him. Don't do it meant that Dean was ready. They had agreed on the code beforehand. Fear ran through Sam like freezing water. There had been no turning back from the moment they entered this building, but now the moment had arrived. Dean's questions came back to Sam: could he really do this? Was he this sure of his unwanted powers? Truthfully, Sam wasn't completely sure.
But he was sure of what Lilith was about to do. Maybe he had seen one too many horror/slasher movies, but the intent of this display seemed obvious. She was going to kill Dean. She was going to cut his throat and let him bleed out, with John right beneath him where the blood would pour all over John's face. John could choke on Dean's blood. He might literally drown in it. While Sam would be forced to watch.
Unwilling, Sam felt his power build, as it had that night in Colorado. He struggled to contain it. It was like something inside coming to the boil; any moment it was going to spill over.
Jezebel smiled as if she could read Sam's thoughts and drew a long, slightly curved knife from her belt.
You bitch. You fucking bitch!
Sam turned to Lilith. He whispered the words, as if too cowed to speak aloud. "Alright. What do I have to do?"
"All you have to do, Sam," Lilith answered sweetly, "is watch them die."
"No!" Sam protested, panicked. "No, if you just wanted to kill them you wouldn't bother with the show. What do you want, Lilith?" Sam fought against the ropes binding him, testing their strength.
Lilith smiled her little-girl smile again. "I want..." she answered, "everything my brother gave to you."
Her brother? She must mean Azazel. What had he ever given to Sam? He stole Sam's life: the childhood he should have had, the woman he would have married, his father... What Azazel gave him?
Demon blood.
David tried to tell Sam that his power came from his demon blood. Azazel gave you the ability to channel the power of Hell. You and Lilith both work off the same battery, so to speak.
This had been Lilith's plan all along. She never meant to kill him. She didn't want him on her team. She wanted his power. She didn't want her rival dead; she wanted him destroyed.
"You see, Sammy?" Lilith sang. "It's a small thing I want. You can leave, all of you. You can live a nice, safe life. Just give me what I want." Her tone was seductive. Not sexual, but seductive. Tempting. In a way, Lilith was offering Sam everything he wanted.
But Sam couldn't trust her. Even if he could believe in her offer, Sam had seen into her mind. He knew what she would do when she had no rival...it was hard to imagine just how bad the world could become. By Lilith's standards, the carnage she left behind in Monument was subtle.
Sam looked at Dean, meeting his eyes. It was the only heads-up he dared to give.
Sam let the power inside him bubble over. He formed it into a dart and sent to Dean. Ready? Take her out. He gave Dean a picture of what he needed: Jezebel and her knife.
He was surprised to hear Dean's thought echo back to him. Ready, Sammy. Do your thing.
Sam felt his eyes blaze to gold as the power finally exploded inside him. He threw his body forward, breaking not the ropes binding him, but the chair itself. The handcuffs remained on his wrists but the ropes fell away as Sam stood. He felt as if his body was on fire with the sudden rush of power. He was vaguely aware that he had a hard-on. Sam flung that power out to Dean and the ropes binding Dean frayed and broke. Dean was ready and twisted in the air as he fell, landing on his feet.
Sam didn't wait to watch Dean. He simply trusted that Dean would do what needed to be done. Sam whirled to face Lilith. He threw up a hand as he moved, sending a blast of power toward Jezebel, getting her out of his way. He met Lilith's eyes, ready to stop her once and for all.
Lilith's eyes glowed magnesium-bright. Sam cried out in pain just from meeting those eyes. Her eyes burned into his and he was instantly blind, the spots dancing in his vision the only thing he could see.
Lilith's glow became brighter. Her power rushed over Sam like a tidal wave, snuffing out his power like a candle. All the strength drained from his body. Sam fell to his knees amid the shattered pieces of the chair.
Lilith came toward him and all Sam could do was wait for her to finish him off.
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