Dean: What if we win? I’m serious. I mean, screw the angels, and the demons and their crap Apocalypse. Hell, they want to fight a war? They can find their own planet. This one’s ours, and I say they get the hell off it. We take ‘em all on. We kill the Devil, we even kill Michael if we have to, but we do it our own damn selves.
Bobby: And how are we supposed to do that?
Dean: (shrugs) I’ve got a G.E.D. and a “give them hell” attitude, and I’ll figure it out.
Bobby: You’re nine kinds of crazy, boy.
Dean: It’s been said. –Sympathy For The Devil
Dean woke up to the soft murmur of voices. There was a sleepy, warm feeling in his stomach that floated through his blood. It felt good, safe.
Dean couldn’t remember the last time he'd felt safe. He burrowed deeper into the blankets
He turned over, and the voices fizzled in and out like a static-y radio.
Dean slowly opened his eyes, still in that luxuriously pleasant place between sleep and wakefulness. He didn’t move though as the static-y sensation faded, leaving crystal clear sound behind it. He felt bad for eavesdropping, but he knew there was something off. Even though he and Sam had told each other their gay, incestuous feelings (well not tell, but the heavy make-out session the night before had clarified a couple things); there was still something bubbling underneath the surface. He shut his eyes again, praying they hadn’t notice him wake.
“I should do this alone,” said Sammy clearly, “We made it clear that we each got one of the three key demons to the Apocalypse. Gabe got Ruby. Cas got Lilith. I get Azazel.”
“We’re not saying that you cannot do it,” murmured Castiel in his deep monotone, “But this is the demon that set your family on the path to destruction. You should at least tell your father and Dean that much.”
There was the sound of someone sitting down heavily on the bed. Quiet ruled the room for several moments.
“What am I supposed to do?” whispered Sammy. (Christ, when did his brother become so broken?) “What am I supposed to tell them?”
“As much as you can,” whispered Gabriel, speaking for the first time.
What the hell had Sammy gotten into?
“Dean,” said his brother suddenly, “I know you’re awake.”
Dean opened his eyes and slowly sat up. He fixed his brother, sitting on the bed opposite with his head in his hands, with the hardest stare that he could muster. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and made sure that he could keep watch on Sam’s face.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Sam looked up with certain deadness to his hazel eyes.
“Trying to stop the Apocalypse.”
“Like as in the End of Days, Four Horsemen type deal?”
“Yeah,” said Sam ruffling up his hair.
“What the hell did you get involved in, Sammy? I can’t believe the Apocalypse is going down right now. I haven’t heard of rivers of blood and plagues sweeping across the land, or any of that shit.”
“It won’t if we have anything to do with it,” said Castiel simply.
“Look,” growled out Dean. “I want a straight answer from someone, and I want it now!”
“Whoa, whoa,” said Gabriel with his hands up. “Calm down, Dean-o. I’ll explain.”
“Gabriel,” snapped Sam, sounding so very old and so very dangerous.
Gabriel rolled his eyes and continued on.
“The Apocalypse is scheduled to happen some nine years from now. And what happened was that it went down, and all that’s good and beautiful was lost,” said Gabriel seriously before shrugging. “Not to worry though. See the only people who were looking to y’know actually save the world came up with a plan. A soul was sent back in time, with all its memories intact to stop the thing.”
“And I was the soul,” whispered Sam.
Dean licked his lips not really sure whether to believe this or not. However, he studied Sam, really looking at him. The hunched shoulders, the heavy lidded eyes, the nightmares, keeping everyone at a distance, even Dean, these past couple months…this was his Sammy for sure, but it was a Sam with another set of memories - of something so bleak…
Dean shut his eyes tight, wondering why it wasn’t him with that haunted look.
“You died,” said Sam as if reading his mind. “You died in the final battle.”
“You don’t know what you did for me, Dean,” whispered Sammy, “You don’t know. We shouldn’t have kissed but…but…God Dean. We were together in that future. And those were the only good memories that I had. I just wanted that so much. I needed that so much.”
Dean noticed that Sammy’s eyes were suspiciously wet. He watched as his younger brother swallowed back tears and choked back the sobs that threatened to spill over.
“I led to your destruction. I can’t let that happen again.”
“Sammy,” whispered Dean softly, the way he'd always done when his younger brother had a bad dream.
“No Dean. Don’t say it isn’t my fault. You sold your soul for me. You went to Hell for me. And I was too weak to even try to survive without you. I can’t let that happen again. Not this time. I don’t want the world to be overrun by demons and turned into ash. But, most importantly…”
Sam stared at Dean with eyes full of unshed tears, full of fear at how Dean might react, and full of such overwhelming love that it made Dean feel unworthy of that gaze.
“I don’t want to know a world without you by my side ever again, above the world, above all others. I can’t lose you, Dean.”
Dean stood and slowly walked over to take a seat next to his brother. He wrapped a tentative arm around Sam, slowly pulling his brother closer. He gently pressed his lips to Sam’s, hoping to shut him up. They stayed like that for several moments until reluctantly they broke the kiss.
“End of Days huh?”
“Okay,” murmured Dean pressing his lips to Sam’s hair, “How do we stop it?”
“Dude, do you really think I’m going to let you go into this alone?”
Sam looked to be at a loss for words. He sighed, knowing that Dean was just going to be stubborn if he told his brother no.
“So this demon that killed mom?”
“Azazel,” said Sam slowly. “He took a bunch of babies, selected through deals and random chance, and he would sneak into their nurseries on their sixth month birthday and…”
“The demon Azazel would feed the infant his blood,” said Castiel seriously.
The Winchester brothers jumped, realizing that they had completely forgotten about their audience. Dean stood, staring down at the two man-shaped creatures.
“I know you two ain’t human. So what the fuck are you?”
“Angels,” said Gabriel simply, “Or rather Archangels. Of course, I could be much more specific.”
“Angels?” asked Dean dubiously. He glanced at Sammy for confirmation. Sam smiled reassuringly.
“They’re legit, Dean. Castiel was the one who saved you from Hell.”
Castiel nodded seriously.
“And Gabriel?” asked Dean.
“Besides being the Messenger of God? Well I did leave home, went pagan, and am now sticking my neck out for you all.”
“Angels are dicks for the most part,” said Sammy simply. “Their true forms would melt our eyes out of their sockets, and their true voices would make us deaf.”
“You have no idea,” said Sammy as he stood.
Dean sat back down on the bed again. He clasped his hands together tightly and went into deep thought for several moments. Finally, he spoke.
“I’m not sure how much of this I would believe on my own,” said Dean finally. Sam’s face assumed a crestfallen expression, “However, I do believe Sammy. And if he believes this…then so do I. This is really fucking weird though.”
“You’re not the one with memories of an apocalyptic future in your head,” said Sam dryly.
“One rule though,” said Dean.
“We’re not telling Dad the whole story. He may not be as understanding as me.”
Sam laughed bitterly, “I didn’t plan on it.”
“Alright,” said Dean finally, “So what do we do?”
“We plan and call in the Calvary.”
“And pray,” said Castiel seriously.
“And drink!” crowed Gabriel holding a bottle of tequila in his hands.
“An archangel you say?” murmured Dean.
“Reformed Trickster if that makes you feel any better.”
“It really doesn’t.”
Sam sat back and stared at the group of people surrounding him.
“This is Team Free Will,” said Sam under his breath.
“Yes,” said Castiel, hearing Sam’s murmur of disbelief.
“Amazing we kept to The Plan at all really.”
And as Gabriel and Dean argued back and forth about proper morning drinking etiquette, Sam and Castiel leaned back on the bed in wonder.
John: Get back in the car.
John: I said, get back in the damn car.
Sam: Yeah. And I said no. –Dead Man’s Blood
It had been two weeks since sort of coming clean to Dean. And they were in a crappy motel about twenty miles outside of Lawrence, Kansas. Sam sat on the bed, cross-legged, watching as Dean paced back and forth. Gabriel alternated between watching them and the movie on the shiny, new, totally out of place television in the room. Castiel sat on one of the totally out of place, squishy chairs that Gabriel had conjured into existence, with an ancient tome on his lap.
“I can’t believe you told Bobby to tell Dad where we are.”
“It’s part of the Plan, Dean,” said Sam as calm as could be, “He wasn’t around when we killed Azazel the first time…so he may want to be there when I kill the bastard.”
“I say we should name the Plans instead of capitalizing the word plan at random and then expecting everyone to know what plan is being talked about,” said Gabriel.
“For the last time, Gabriel,” said Sam with a fond exasperation coloring his voice. “We are not calling the plan: Ganking Azazel.”
“It sounds like a porno; that’s why.”
“Guys!” called Dean, whistling sharply in order to get the archangel's and his brother’s attention. He sighed, focusing on Sam to pick up their conversation. “He’s not going to let you near him.”
“But I’m the one who has the ritual, and I called dibs. Besides, who has the knife that kills demons?”
“We should’ve grabbed the Colt,” murmured Castiel from his spot.
Sam waved him off casually with a small smile on his face. The past couple of weeks with Dean near him had done wonders for Sam’s psyche. Sure, there had been the phone conversations, but actually having him near to touch, to sleep next to, to kiss…
Well they hadn’t done anymore than kiss.
Dean, Castiel, and Gabriel had noticed, each with their own brand of relief, that the shadows in Sam’s eyes had begun to recede, that he seemed more driven and less tired. There was something almost akin to peace with himself settling over the youngest Winchester. The nightmares were still there, but they didn’t have Sam screaming bloody murder and begging for forgiveness from long dead ghosts until he could be woken up again.
The last three days or so since they'd settled in the motel, Sam had been quiet, not withdrawn but quiet as if he was trying to figure something out. It was an almost meditative silence, and he faced the world with a Zen like calm.
“What’s he doing?” Dean asked Gabriel on a dinner run.
“Sam has a temper,” said Gabriel, “I think he’s trying to get to a mental place where it won’t affect the outcome of this grudge match. Azazel knows some of the chinks in his armor. Demons know how to press his buttons just right. If Azazel can’t get a rise from Sam, then it will make him nervous and so much more vulnerable to attack.”
Something in Gabriel’s eyes when he said that frightened Dean a little; he had gotten the idea that the archangel turned trickster, who was now apparently reforming, usually took the less serious root. There was a steeliness in his eyes that made Dean’s honed senses scream at him not to mess with Gabriel when he was like this.
“Simple, Castiel,” said Sam simply and with a tone in his voice that showed he had thought at length about this, “I don’t want to shoot the bastard. I want my face to be the last thing that he sees ever. I want vengeance.”
There was a pause.
“And after that we can get the Colt,” continued Sam.
“And after we get the Colt?” asked Dean.
“Well,” said Sam, “then that’s your call, Dean. Personally, I’m hoping you decide for a trip to Tahiti on Air Angel. We could use a break.”
Dean sat down next to his brother and gently pressed a kiss to his temple.
Sam smiled indulgently, “No planes. Babes, booze, and personally I’m hoping to get acquainted with the bedroom.”
Dean opened his mouth to answer, when a familiar knock echoed through the motel room.
Team Free Will froze.
“Dean! Sam! Open this door right now.”
John Winchester and the cavalry had arrived.
Azazel: You know the truth right? About Sammy? And the other children?
John: Yeah. I’ve known for a while.
Azazel: But Sam doesn’t, does he? You’ve been playing dumb. –In My Time of Dying
Castiel had always been curious about John Winchester. Even as the world ended, Dean and Sam would still refer to their father and their childhood. He was a phantom presence, truly gone but always bubbling underneath the surface. His actions in a situation would dictate Dean’s and Sam’s. While Dean would try to do what his father wanted, Sam rebelled to a point.
Some say that this would be classic mirroring of Michael and Lucifer; however, Castiel was more inclined to compare their actions to himself and Gabriel. Michael was a warrior, almost machine like. He did everything while questioning nothing. Dean, as his vessel, may have displayed those traits in earlier years. But even without living through an Apocalypse, Castiel could see that he was beginning to change. Dean was always faithful, (like Castiel himself) but Dean always questioned.
Lucifer was a sweet talking, charismatic, prideful being; traits which Sam embodied, up to a point. The difference between Sam and Lucifer was that Sam was always willing to admit that he was wrong. Oh, it often took some time, and he was frequently hurt by his confession, but Sam Winchester was always ready to admit when he’d messed up. Sam was always ready to ask for forgiveness and accept it with a good grace. Lucifer never asked, never admitted that he may have been wrong. Gabriel, in contrast to Lucifer, and a lot like Sam, was willing to admit when he was wrong. Again it took some time, but in the end Gabriel had asked Castiel for forgiveness.
Castiel pulled himself out of his musings as he calmly stared down the barrel of Pastor Jim Murphy’s shotgun. He sat on the bed next to Gabriel (who looked on with a mixture of amusement and anger). Their hands were tied behind their backs with bindings that they could easily get out of (but wouldn’t, in order to gain the hunters’ trust.)
“Oh this reminds me of the good family memories,” muttered Gabriel as he watched Sam and John stare each other down. He seemed unconcerned by the fact that Bobby Singer’s gun was in his face.
(To be perfectly honest, both Pastor Jim and Bobby felt very bad about shoving guns into their faces. However, it was either that or John would shoot out their kneecaps for them. They had apologized as they tied Gabriel and Castiel, which Gabriel thought was rather considerate of them.)
Castiel turned his head and looked at Gabriel.
“Will they be speaking soon?”
“Dunno,” began Gabriel, “I think they’re trying to establish who the alpha is. It’s like watching a nature documentary on Animal Planet; except there’s a better chance that someone’s going to end up getting shot…or stabbed. Sometimes I forget how twisted Sammy can be with a knife. What I really want for this is popcorn.”
Bobby raised an eyebrow at Gabriel, who shrugged.
“You’re not all there are you?” asked the elder hunter.
“Not in the slightest,” said the archangel easily.
Castiel turned his head to watch father and son square off. Dean sat on a bed looking between them helplessly. Sam’s body language screamed non-threatening teenager, from his slouched shoulders that made him look smaller, to the hands in his pockets. However, Castiel had a suspicion about how fast Sam could go from passive to threatening if John Winchester prodded the right buttons.
“What were you thinking, Sammy?!” growled out John Winchester. His entire body posture screamed aggressive. He made a valiant attempt to tower over the slouching Winchester brother, but, even slouching, Sam was still taller.
Sam didn’t answer. He merely pursed his lips and stared impassively back.
“Well?! Answer me!”
“Why?” asked Sam softly.
“Why?” murmured Sam as he stood taller, “Why should I answer you?”
“I’m your father.”
“And I know a secret,” said Sam voice still quiet and calm, “And the worst part is you know it too.”
“What are you talking about, Sammy?”
“I know what Azazel did that night.”
And with that sentence, John Winchester’s face turned ashen gray. He sat heavily on a chair. Sam looked at him from under his long ashes.
“I have demon blood in me, Dad,” began Sam before pausing and licking his lips, “And you knew it.”
“I suspected it,” said John Winchester.
“Dad…,” said Dean finally sounding a little bit betrayed.
Sam nodded, “All right then.”
That shocked everyone in the room. Castiel assumed that they’d been expecting a temper tantrum, to have Sam scream and yell at John Winchester for what he’d kept secret. Maybe Sam at eighteen would have done that, but this was a Sam who had lost his father close to four years ago; he wasn’t up to rehashing old wounds.
Sam sat down next to Dean and gave his brother a gentle smile that said Dean wasn’t going to have to play peacekeeper this time, and then he turned and stared at his father for several moments.
“What do you want to know?”
“How do you know this, Sammy?”
“Dreams…,” began Sam as if he was choosing his words, “Visions if you want to get specific about it. Whatever the blood was supposed to do kicked in early for me.”
“This bastard did this to more families?” asked Bobby, not taking his eyes off Gabriel.
“Demons,” said Castiel from his spot, “especially powerful ones, tend to mess with the Earth’s atmosphere. Electrical storms, mysteriously dead cattle and other signs show that there is a powerful demon in the area. They are naturally against the order of things.”
He then fell silent again before asking, “Can we not be tied up anymore? I do not think that I like it.”
“Good to know that my kid brother isn’t kinky.”
Dean snorted. Sam’s mouth twitched upward into a smirk.
John Winchester was decidedly not amused.
“I still think that it’s too convenient that you two appeared suddenly.”
“Well we are not human,” began Gabriel easily.
The rifles’ got pumped.
“However,” continued Gabriel, “we’re not anything bad.”
“What the hell are you then?” demanded Bobby, voice having gone cold.
“We are angels of the Lord,” said Castiel seriously.
“Sent to make sure Sammy there kills Azazel and stops the Apocalypse,” continued Gabriel cheerfully.
“Angels,” said Pastor Jim, looking like he wanted to desperately lower his weapon. He was a man of God after all.
“Prove it,” demanded the eldest Winchester.
No sooner than the words had left his mouth, the room shook with unrestrained power. The streetlamps outside exploded in a shower of sparks and broken glass. Sam gulped as he took in the sight of Gabriel and Castiel unleashing enough of their Grace to bring the shadows of their wings into existence.
It was terrifyingly beautiful.
Blue-green light swarmed around Castiel. It reached out to everything, almost cautiously. It reminded Sam of when he and Dean went to the beach a couple years back. The ocean was glistening. They hadn’t got swimsuits, so they’d run in, jeans, and wife beaters and all.
Dean laughed, and Sam fell a little bit more in love that day.
Gabriel’s Grace was more untamed. It was light and color. It wrapped around everything and bounced off the walls. It reminded Sam of prisms in science class, how they refracted light. He turned to look at Dean who looked equal parts curious and on edge. The colors of Gabriel’s Grace, unseen to all but Sam and the archangels, caught up in Dean’s eyes making them shine.
Sam smiled and heard the gasp come from everyone in the room.
He turned his head. He knew what everyone else in the room was seeing - vague shadowy outlines.
Sam saw something very different. He saw color, and creation, and the world and beauty. He wondered what the angels’ real wings looked like, wondered if he could stand the sight of them. He was seeing only shadows, and that was so beautiful that it hurt. He wondered if this was what divine ecstasy felt like; wondered if people’s eyes burned out if they felt just the briefest moment of this tendril of bliss that he was feeling. He could understand why Pam had been so upbeat after losing her sight if that was the case. They were chasing the memory of that perfect moment, of that Nirvana.
“They really are angels,” murmured Dean softly.
“Yeah,” answered Sam, “They really are.”
And that was that.
John turned his eyes onto his sons. He slowly met Sam’s tired gaze, wondering what his youngest had seen to give him such old eyes.
“So you have to kill the bastard,” he stated.
“Yes, sir,” said Sam with steely resolution.
“I don’t like this, Sam.”
“You don’t have to like it. I have the ritual. I have what’s going to kill the bastard. And I have two archangels of God on my side. I’m taking this sick son of a bitch down.”
“What do you have that will kill a demon? I heard that the Colt was the only thing in existence that could do that.”
“It’s not the Colt,” said Sam.
“We found a demon on the run from her own kind, who had a knife specifically made for the killing of other demons.”
“What happened to her?”
“I overtook her and killed her with the knife,” said Gabriel nonchalantly. The shadow of his wings had disappeared along with the bindings, “So what do we say about wasting this bastard? I say, go team!”
The archangel paused for a moment, “Maybe I should conjure some cheerleaders in.”
Sam felt bad for Pastor Jim, because the elder man looked like whatever he was expecting from angels, Gabriel wasn’t it.
“Gabriel, behave,” called Sam. The archangel stuck out his tongue but went silent. Sam rolled his eyes and continued, “Tomorrow night is when we do the ritual and kill him. All the conditions are going to be right. And…”
Sam paused feeling all eyes in the room on him.
“And I just want this over with.”
Everyone returned that sentiment rather heartily.
Sam: Maybe we could tell them there’s a gas leak, that might get them out of the house for a couple hours.
Dean: Yeah, and how many times has that actually worked for us?
Sam: Yeah. (long pause) We could always tell them the truth.
Dean and Sam: (in unison) Naaaaah. –Salvation
Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting of the thing that had killed his mom. He’d imagined it at lot as a child: a nightmarish creature with a cruel face and long, sharp teeth. He pictured something that oozed so much evil that it would practically bleed into the air itself.
He imagined the worst monster that had ever walked the planet Earth.
Because it had ripped his mother, young, and beautiful and his mom, who sang ‘Hey Jude’ to him every night, away from him, away from Sammy, away from their family.
Dean really missed his mom.
So yeah, after Sam had done the ritual, and an ordinary man appeared, (possessed though he might have been) Dean was a little bit disappointed.
Then the man’s eyes turned a muddied yellow, the color of sulfur, and Dean felt the smallest shiver of fear. He could feel his Dad tense up beside him. Castiel and Gabriel on the other side of Sam stared down the man.
They stood in the ruined remains of the church attached to Stull Cemetery, so overtaken by evil that water wouldn’t even touch it. Gabriel and Castiel looked brighter then everything else, because of their angel mojo.
The man with yellow eyes stared at them before smiling.
“Sammy,” he greeted in a voice that reminded Dean of his Trig teacher (the old douchebag!) “You’re early.”
Dean could feel something thrum in his veins. His only thoughts were directed toward his brother.
Keep safe, Sammy. Keep safe. Please, please don’t die. Sammy has to stay safe.
Because as wrong as it was, (and Dean knew how wrong it was)…
Dean loved him.
And maybe, just maybe, that was what was going to get them through this.
(But Dean knew he wouldn’t breathe properly, until Sammy was no longer anywhere near this guy)
(To Sam) I don’t know if it’s being a big brother or what, but to me, you’ve always been this snot nosed kid that I’ve had to keep on the straight and narrow. I think we both know that’s not you anymore. I mean, hell, if you’ve grown up enough to find faith in me, the least I can do is return the favor. So screw destiny right in the face. I say we take the fight and do it our way. –Dean Point of No Return
So in his sophomore year in college in the other timeline, Sam had had to take a course in the classics. He’d chosen a class about ancient Greek heroes, both obvious and not. During one of the lectures, his teacher had pointed out something that Sam couldn’t now get out of his head as he stared down Azazel.
In every great ancient mythological story, there’s a time when the hero goes into the Underworld. It’s a metaphor for the soul having to journey into the darkest parts of itself in order to come out stronger in the end. Sam had always taken it to mean that a person has to look at the ugliest parts of themselves, hidden under masks and layers, in order to come out a better person.
Those who partake in the journey have to face anger and loss and utter agony. They have to hate themselves, despise their darkest thoughts. They have to face their inner demons, and Sam had always thought that those were a lot scarier than the things his family hunted.
Sam had been toyed with his whole life. He and Dean were merely instruments to an end. Since the moment blood was dripped into his mouth as a baby; dominoes had fallen, and beings of much greater power had made sure they followed their pre-destined paths.
Sam had for sure journeyed through the Underworld since he’d seen Jess on the ceiling; going in deeper as the years passed by. He’d faced his inner evil, his darker urges, the parts of himself that truly frightened him. He’d been clawing his way out, fighting back the ghosts, and the evil that he knew he had.
Now it was time to come into the light.
This was the moment that he had been waiting for. The moment where he could arise from the ashes of all he had destroyed.
He stared Azazel down, feeling more hatred course through him than he ever had in his life.
The demon had no idea. And somehow that was going to make it all the sweeter.
“I didn’t know that I was supposed to call at a certain time,” answered Sam dryly.
Azazel smiled and moved toward Sam.
The youngest Winchester made a vague motion.
Gabriel and Castiel simultaneously threw up the sigils. Sam could hear the screams of the evil embedded in the ground as they were purified. He heard Azazel’s pained shout as he was forced into the perimeter that Sam had outlined in his blood earlier.
“You have help,” gasped Azazel.
“I’m not stupid enough to think that I wouldn’t need divine intervention.”
“Very clever, Sammy.”
“I try to be.”
“So is this revenge for your mommy?”
“Her, yes,” said Sam with a nod, “See apparently my powers kicked in a bit early. And I’ve been having these nightmares. Oh, and I see these really terrible things. Horrible actually…a future where the world ends, and demons rise.”
“Sounds like my kind of future.”
“Not mine though,” said Sam as he brandished the knife.
“And what’re you going to do with that? You know that won’t hurt me.”
“Actually,” said Sam with a wide honest smile, “It will. This little bad boy is what the demon Ruby used to kill several demons, before we took it away from her.”
“See I know the players. I know how to end this. Gabriel killed Ruby for the knife. Castiel killed Lilith to take her out of play. I assume you know her destiny.”
“Lilith’s dead?” rasped Azazel.
“Deader than a doornail,” clarified Sam. “So that leaves you. And since I know that you were hoping for me to lead the army of hell on earth; I was very eager to be the one to kill you. You killed my mom. You’re the son of a bitch that was going to take everything away from me, from my family. And I can’t let that happen.”
Sam stared Azazel dead in the eye. Sulfuric yellow met golden hazel.
Azazel knew what was coming.
“Sammy boy, you don’t want to do this.”
Sam continued to stare.
He thought of his Mom and Dad when they were young, and hopeful and totally untouched by dick angels or apocalypse dreams. He imagined his father, from growing up, as he hunted down anything and everything to dull the ache of Mary being gone. He thought of Cold Oak, and the psychic children, and the massacre, and the ruined lives that came with it. He saw all the people that had been used as pawns since Azazel had cold-bloodedly sent his family down the path of the Apocalypse.
Sam thought of Dean.
He could hear his brother scream from Hell as he was tortured until he’d broken, until he slowly turned to the dark side. He could see him with shadows in his eyes that should never have existed there.
He could hear the echo of Dean’s defeated “Yes” to Michael.
He saw his brother with his neck broken, and a sword of white hot flame sticking out his chest.
Sam walked towards Azazel.
He carried the weight of all that was never going to happen on his shoulders. He carried all the deaths, and demons, and inner pain that he had gained over the years.
Tomorrow morning, Sam Winchester was going to wake up and try not to hate himself.
Right now, his only thought was of his self hatred, and the demon blood coursing through his veins.
He saw the world in ashes and blood.
Sam leaned in real, real close, until he was staring straight into Azazel’s yellow, yellow eyes.
He grasped the demon’s shoulder hard, smiling when it cried out in pain.
“Only Dean’s allowed to call me Sammy, you asshole.”
Then he stabbed Azazel through the heart with the knife.
He could hear Lucifer screaming, trapped for all time.
And Sam smiled.