Chapter Text
“No.”
Dean went deathly still, having just turned his back on Sam to leave the dungeon and the Ma’lak box that he’d just informed Sam he’d be luring their kid into.
“No?” Dean repeated, shaking his head like he was clearing water from his ears.
“No,” Sam repeated, crossing his arms over his chest.
It was odd, how the single word had meant so much to Sam once. Before it had meant the difference between the end or the saving of the world, it had been Sam’s one source of power against their father. It had meant constant arguments, stubbornly egging on his father when he knew the consequences. Because as a child, he knew the final decision would never be his, but he that could damn well draw it out. And when he was finally old enough, it morphed into refusing outright to go along with their father’s plan to hunt and deciding to turn his back on him to chase the safe, normal life Sam had craved since he was old enough to understand.
Even if that life had turned out unattainable, the ability to refuse had been Sam’s comfort all over again when dragged kicking and screaming back in. This time, it became a denial of letting the thing that killed his one shot at a normal life win.
And after that, a stubborn, naive hope that he could simply will his brother out of his deal if he just fought hard enough. It was a fiery belief that if he just got angry enough, strong enough, he could get revenge on the thing responsible.
He’d spent so much of his life raging, pushing back against what was expected of him by everyone around him.
And then…
And then, deep under the Earth, trapped with his own worst nightmare for centuries that Sam could still feel writhing under his skin, the word ‘no’ had been the one thing that had been wholly his. The one thing Lucifer had never managed to carve out of him, even when his clearest memories of Earth, his brother, and eventually his own name had vanished under Lucifer’s unrelenting fingers like daggers made of ice raking through his soul and leaving only dust in their wake.
And yet. Dean was surprised. Because he knew better than anyone that he was the one person that Sam had always had trouble saying ‘no’ to. The older they got, the angrier Dean grew, the easier it became for Sam to just go along with Dean’s plans, even when it wasn’t always necessarily what Sam wanted.
Because Sam had learned his lesson, right? He’d gone to Stanford, and it ended with Jessica on the ceiling and Brady possessed to make it happen. He’d refused to kill Jake Talley when commanded, and it’d ended with a knife in his spine. He’d gone off the rails after Dean died, and it ended with Ruby stringing him along to do exactly the thing he’d been so sure he was stopping.
So then he’d tried to do the opposite and let Dean go when he and Cas went to Purgatory. He tried to avoid the rage inside him begging him to try and bring Dean back, and that’d been wrong, too, because obviously in this situation he was supposed to do anything to bring Dean back. So he’d done the Trials to make up for it, except no, that had been wrong, too, somehow, because with the Trials came the death of Benny, who of course Dean was safe in trusting while Sam couldn’t even be trusted to say Amy Pond had been worth keeping alive for her child. Then came the start of the strained relationship with Crowley that became a fucked-up friendship when Dean died and became a demon while Sam was still angry at him for saving him in a way he’d never wanted to be saved.
And then, of course, next came Sam’s idiotic blind faith that God was sending him visions, and even though he made a choice, and he said no, over and over, it didn’t matter. Because his mere presence ended up giving Lucifer a free ride out of the Cage and completely invalidating the sacrifice Sam had made in the first place, one of the only things he’d ever done right.
Around and around and around, no matter what Sam did, it ended up being wrong.
Sam had learned his lesson. He was tired of making the wrong choices and reaping the consequences, so he simply stopped choosing. On the rare occasion he did, like giving Rowena the page from the Black Grimoire, it was still wrong.
So he did it sparingly.
So maybe Dean was right to sound as stunned as he did in this moment, because Sam supposed it’d been a long time since he’d been the hotheaded hunter that shouted his stubbornness for the world to hear.
But this?
Because you’re gonna be so damn sincere. Because you’ve always been in his corner.
It was a plan that hinged on Sam saying yes. On Sam taking advantage of the trust he’d earned from Jack to manipulate him. On using the empathy he had fought his entire life to keep in his core to trick someone that trusted them into exactly what Sam had risked everything to keep Dean free from.
But Sam wasn’t a child anymore, and he wasn’t as weak against his brother as Dean seemed to believe. No matter how long it’d been since he utilized it, he still could say no.
Dean turned around, but it was like watching it happen in slow motion, like putting everything on hold to focus on the disbelief in Dean’s voice when he asked, “What do you mean, no?”
Sam forced himself to look up and meet his brother’s eyes. Dean didn’t look angry, yet. But Sam knew it was only a matter of time before the shock wore off and Dean lashed out like he always did.
Sam swallowed back his own revulsion. “You think—You seriously think I’m going to help you, what? Lure Jack down here, put him in the box, throw away the key and go drink our pain away?”
Dean’s expression fell. Just for a moment, Sam caught a glimpse of the raw, unfiltered grief that his brother kept masked so well. But then it was gone, and Dean’s face was hard and cold and everything Sam knew always led to shouting and throwing things.
“We don’t have a choice, Sam,” Dean said flatly, his hands at his sides clenching into fists.
“We always have a choice,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “That’s our thing, remember? We save people, Dean, we don’t lock them away for something that isn’t their fault!”
“Not his—Not his fault?” Dean demanded, his eyes flashing. “He killed Mom, Sam! He killed her and didn’t even have the guts to tell us—”
“Right, and locking up a kid for eternity is such a perfect way to fix that,” Sam snapped.
“It’s the only way to fix this!” Dean shouted, his fist slamming against the bookshelf next to him. Sam flinched, but Dean either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “He’s dangerous, and you know that—”
“He’s a kid!” Sam argued, fighting his every instinct to back away when Dean glared at him. “He’s a kid, Dean, and I know he killed Mom, believe me—and it’s gonna take a while for me to forgive that—”
“A while?” Dean repeated, something too furious to be a laugh bursting free from him. “A while—Sam, that implies you plan on forgiving him—”
“Yeah, I do!” Sam said, feeling the burning truth of it deep inside him. “God knows we’ve forgiven each other for worse—He’s our kid, Dean! Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“No,” Dean growled. “No, it doesn’t. Not when he killed her.”
“It was an accident, he didn’t mean to,” Sam protested.
“An accident,” Dean scoffed, finally turning his back on Sam again to run his hands roughly through his hair. “An accident, oh, that makes it so much better—”
“He’s a kid,” Sam emphasized. “He’s a kid, Dean, a-a scared, powerful kid with barely anything left of a soul and no idea that he has people he can reach out to, because he’s terrified. He needs—he needs help. He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t deserve this.”
“The fact that he’s soulless is what makes him even more dangerous!” Dean bit out, turning back to Sam with a fire in his gaze. “He doesn’t care, Sam, he doesn’t care about her, or you, or me, or Cas! If he were here, he’d probably take you out without a second thought the same way he did her!”
“I don’t believe that,” Sam said, shaking his head and ignoring the way his brother’s words had made his chest ache. “You saw him, he tried to bring her back.”
“And it didn’t work!” Dean shouted. “This is the only way we fix this, Sam. This is the only way to contain him, the only way he doesn’t hurt anyone else. Now, I’m gonna do this with or without your help. You want to go upstairs and pretend you’ll come up with some magic solution, be my guest. But you’re not going to stop me.”
Sam stared at the man in front of him, barely recognizing him as his brother. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’re damn right I’m serious.” Dean took two steps to get back in front of Sam, jabbing a finger into Sam’s chest. “He’s a monster, and since he can’t be killed, I’ll be damn sure he’s contained.”
He’s a monster.
It means you’re a monster.
Sam’s breath hitched, but Dean gave no reaction. Sam’s gaze slipped away from him, scanning the room for something, anything, that he could say or do to make Dean understand. His heartbeat was wild, his fists clenched at his sides and a tremble wracking through his body. He felt cornered, especially with Dean placed firmly between himself and the exit.
But he knew Dean. He knew that however hard it was for him to say no to Dean, Dean sometimes had the same problem with him. Especially if Sam played the right cards.
“I’ve been where he is,” Sam said quietly. “I was soulless once, remember? I almost killed Bobby. I would have, and it wouldn’t have affected me.”
“But we got your soul back,” Dean reminded him without hesitation. “And you didn’t kill Bobby.”
“No, but I killed a lot of other people,” Sam whispered. “Civillians.”
“We got your soul back,” Dean repeated. “And you never killed family.”
“I may as well have,” Sam argued. “I started the Apocalypse, in case you forgot. That was the entire world, Dean, every single human on the planet that could’ve died. So many did die because of that, because I was stupid enough to kill Lilith. But you forgave me for that, didn’t you? I jumpstarted the end of the world, Dean—You were ready to kill me then, but you didn’t. Why is it different?”
“You didn’t kill family!” Dean insisted.
“Bobby got possessed because of that!” Sam said. “Ellen and Jo died because of Lucifer! Jody lost her family, so many people lost someone! You want to talk about family, Adam went to Hell because of me! None of that would’ve happened if I hadn’t listened to Ruby!”
“You didn’t kill them!” Dean snapped.
“I killed Samuel,” Sam said, raising his chin. “I had my soul back by then.”
“Samuel was a backstabbing bastard who traded us to Crowley,” Dean spat.
“But he was family,” Sam argued. “Isn’t that what matters to you? Family?”
“Jack killed our mom,” Dean said. “What part of that makes him family?”
“Because he’s our kid!” Sam shouted, a burst of anger flaring deep inside him. “He’s our kid, Dean! He’s my kid! Doesn’t that matter to you?”
“No, it doesn’t!” Dean said, fury making his entire body visibly taut. “I want him gone, Sam, I want Mom back and I want him to pay for it!”
“Revenge doesn’t fix this!” Sam insisted, gesturing to the Ma’lak box behind him, its presence like a bonfire at his back. “It never fixes anything! All it does is cause more pain over and over again—God locked up Amara, and she almost ended the world for it. God locked up Lucifer, and look where that led us!”
“Lucifer isn’t the problem,” Dean spat.
“No, he’s not, because even if you and Michael killed him, I locked him back up the first time,” Sam seethed, something horrible inside him relishing the way Dean finally flinched. “God locked up Amara, and that key, the Mark, led to Lucifer getting locked up, which led to me jumping into the Cage with him, which gave him a hold over me that let him back out and caused all of this. Jack wouldn’t exist without him, but you know what? I don’t care. Because Jack is good, Dean, I believe that. But caging him—All it would do is restart the cycle and make this a thousand times worse, because we’ll be confirming what Jack is already scared of—That he doesn’t have anyone in his corner, anyone willing to believe in him.”
“What do you think is going to happen?” Dean demanded. “You think you’re gonna hold his hand and forgive him and everything’s gonna be fine?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Sam admitted, his voice cracking, but he ignored it. “But I’m going to try. Because this is a disgrace to Mom, and you know it. I wouldn’t let you trap yourself in there, Dean, what makes you think I’d let you trap him?”
“Disgrace,” Dean repeated. Sam half expected Dean to punch him. He was definitely gearing up for it, if the trembling fist at his side meant anything.
“Yes, a disgrace. Because I know what it’s like,” Sam said, forcing the words free from his throat. “To be trapped.”
Though Dean’s face clearly tightened with visions of the Cage as he knew it, Sam’s didn’t. He had a stained glass window of differing images. One was indeed of himself with Lucifer in the version of the Cage he’d never quite be able to explain or comprehend. The screams of tortured souls mingling with his own, the neverending agony of being ripped apart and carefully stitched back together by a being who found endless amusement in his pain. The blistering ice that Sam could sometimes still feel eating his soul alive, even years later.
But Sam had been trapped more than once, and he couldn’t help comparing the Ma’lak box to each. One image was of himself handcuffed to a cot, feverish and hallucinating and calling for a brother he knew wouldn’t come. Others were images of times his body had moved without his say, with an angel in his head he hadn’t known was there who killed a kid who’d trusted them, a demon who taunted a girl he’d seen as a sister, both while masquerading as Sam himself. Still another was an eager woman shoving liquid down his throat that made all his coherent thoughts fade away like a fever dream in favor of infatuation that wasn’t real. Another was of a basement, burned feet, and broken ribs that blurred into a candlelit room controlled by a woman who’d asked him was it good for you?
‘Trapped’ didn’t even begin to cover how well-aquainted Sam was with captivity.
“I’m not doing that to him,” Sam vowed, his voice hoarse with screams that hadn’t ever left his throat. “Not now, not ever.”
Dean didn’t react for a moment. He simply glowered, every part of him radiating with tension that seemed to soak everything in the room with vivid red heat. Sam held his gaze, and for one moment he almost believed he’d finally gotten through to Dean. But then Dean spun away from him, grabbing the nearest thing—one of the smaller trunks on the bookshelf nearest to him—and flung it across the room, the chest bursting open and its contents spilling on the ground.
Sam flinched, but Dean kept going, grabbing books and vials that smashed against the floor, each noise violent and ringing in Sam’s ears long after Dean had stopped, his chest heaving, his back to Sam.
“I promised Jack, once,” Sam whispered in the silence after, just barely loud enough that Dean would hear him over his ragged breath, “that I wouldn’t let you do anything to him. Don’t make me keep that promise, Dean. Don’t make me have to have meant it.”
“You won’t stop this,” Dean swore in as cold a tone as Sam had ever heard, like it was fact. Like he honestly believed Sam wouldn’t be able to. Like he honestly believed Sam wouldn’t even try.
“Watch me.” Sam brushed past his brother, grateful beyond words when Dean didn’t grab him despite how close he had to be to get past him.
Sam was a couple feet away from the door when he heard, “Sam.”
Sam stopped.
“You stop me…” Dean said, something more dangerous underneath than any punch he’d ever thrown, “and we’re done.”
You walk out that door, don’t you ever come back.
Sam remembered, suddenly, a conversation he’d had with Mary. It had been while Dean was missing, kidnapped by Michael doing God-knew-what while Jack was struggling with his own newfound humanity and Sam was slowly burying himself alive under leading the Hunters from Apocalypse World and heading the search for his brother.
Parenting is always a struggle, she’d told him, her eyes alight with an understanding that passed between them, a comparison of her own self-proclaimed failure with Sam and Dean with Sam feeling he’d abandoned Jack. You always feel like you’re failing. But then you look at them, and somehow, they’re amazing.
Sam remembered a lifetime of complacency, of following orders he loathed and being forced to let his older brother and his father dictate what his life should be. He remembered clinging to denials, and he remembered that grip fading the older he got and the more exhausted he became. The more life showed him that his choices, his opinions, didn’t have any bearing on what paths would be chosen for him to walk, the more he believed it.
He remembered Jack. Jack, who’d been born of one of the strongest women Sam had barely known and the cruelest creature he’d known better than anyone. Jack, who’d clung to Sam’s promise that powers didn’t dictate your fate, that he was worth every bit of faith that his mother, Cas, and Sam had placed in him. Jack, who’d tried so hard to be good against multiple worlds that had already decided he was incapable of it.
Jack, who was his kid. In every way that mattered most. Even when Sam felt like he was failing him, even when he thought of Jack now, kneeling over Mary’s body with a broken, guilty expression that was burned in Sam’s memory. Even with everything, Sam couldn’t think of Jack’s mistakes without thinking of everything else that made him him. The brilliant, strong and good child Sam had grown to love. The one who, like Mary had promised, Sam couldn’t see as anything other than amazing. No matter what he’d done.
So Sam exhaled and forced his shoulders to relax. “If that’s what it costs.”
Then he walked away. He half expected Dean to stop him. But he didn’t, and somehow that was so much worse.