Word Count: ~24,600
Warnings: loose interpretation of Greek and Christian mythologies (both within and outside of canon)
Summary and Author's Notes: At the masterpost.
Dean stayed at Sam’s side for two days before he and Bobby discovered the source of the problem. He carefully forced water and protein shakes down Sam’s throat, sip by sip, between Sam’s episodes of talking – and sometimes shouting – at nothing. There were times where Sam addressed whoever he was seeing by name, such as his mother and father, but other times Dean had no clue who Sam thought was in front of him. It was making Dean crazy to watch Sam hallucinate and sometimes levitate off the bed, arching against his restraints as he was held up by some supernatural force, without knowing what was causing it.
Bobby had come to trust Dean, and they’d bonded over their concern for Sam. None of his texts had been helpful but he still hadn’t given up. He was bringing down water and another shake for Sam when Sam’s eyes snapped open, blinking around the room. As always, Dean held out hope that it would be the time when he finally snapped out of them, but his gaze passed over them as though they weren’t even there.
“Ruby!” Sam cried, and Dean glanced at Bobby for a moment before looking back at Sam, who was staring in the direction of the opposite wall with relief. “I left so many messages and you never called. I’m out of blood, Ruby. I need more. Please, you gotta give me more.” He laughed hysterically after a moment, opening his mouth and leaning up as though he was being given something to drink from.
“Holy shit,” Dean whispered, holding his fist to his lips and shaking his head in disbelief. “He was drinking demon blood.”
He’d heard rumors of demons feeding their blood to humans, but that had been hundreds of years ago. He hadn’t thought about it much since, and had never heard about it having this kind of effect. The way Sam’s tongue rolled around outside his mouth would have seemed almost comical, if Dean wasn’t feeling so sick.
“Why would he do that?” Bobby asked, his face twisted in disgust. Dean leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.
“It’s supposed to make them stronger – in a supernatural power kind of way, not just physically. Demons give little bit of their blood to… say, witches, so they can do more damage. But I’ve never, uh, read about it doing anything like this. I don’t know how much she’s been giving him, or for how long.”
“Couldn’t have been more than a year,” Bobby murmured, lost in thought. “No way he could’ve gotten away with something like that under John’s nose. He did all he could to keep Sam away from that girl.”
“It must have been after he died. Sammy would’ve been vulnerable, and Ruby might’ve used that against him.” Dean kicked at a leg of the bed. “Fuck, that bitch. I knew she was lying to him.”
Bobby looked at Dean curiously. “He told you about Ruby, then?”
“No. No, he hasn’t told me shit about any of this. I met her last week. She’d been following us around all day and showed up at the motel when Sam was in the shower. I exercised her,” he lied, not exactly able to explain how he’d really killed her. “I didn’t know this was going on, I swear. She told me she was on our side but I didn’t trust her.”
“You were right not to, it looks like. And at least we know what’s wrong with ‘im, but that won’t do us any good if we can’t fix it. “
“Might just have to wait it out. He’s going through some severe withdrawal symptoms, so we keep taking care of him until it’s out of his system,” Dean reasoned, not seeing many other options. He wasn’t about to go out and find some demon blood so he could pump more of that poison into Sam’s system, and it wasn’t like there was any kind of demon blood methadone to make it easier on him.
“And what if he doesn’t make it?” Bobby asked after a minute, and Dean leaned over Sam, who had calmed again.
He didn’t have a response to that.
Dean was dozing in the chair when Sam first acknowledged him two days later. He heard the soft, “Dean?” and sat up quickly, gaping when he saw Sam’s eyes pointed right at him.
“Sammy? You can see me?”
Sam blinked and nodded. His face and hair were wet from sweating out his fever, and Dean couldn’t help but hope that the awareness of his actual surroundings was a sign of him getting better.
“‘Course I can see you.”
Dean laughed. “Yeah, you say that,” he murmured, reaching for a rag and using it to dry Sam’s skin. “You smell like ass, man.”
Sam tried to move his arms, looking at his wrists when he realized he couldn’t. “What- what the hell happened?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
Sam’s face scrunched up as he thought. “We were driving, in Iowa. I… My phone stopped working.”
Dean hummed, nodding and dropping the rag back on the floor. “And you threw a shit-fit and passed out. Been out for four days.”
“Four days?” Sam laughed, clearly shocked. “I don’t remember it.” He shifted and hissed. “Fuck, my arms hurt. Can you let me out of this?”
Dean stood and released Sam’s wrists from the bindings. Sam groaned as he stretched them out, wincing with every movement he made.
“God, I hurt everywhere,” he complained, and Dean nodded.
“I’ve heard withdrawal will do that to you.”
“Withdrawal?” Sam’s forehead crinkled up again. Dean would have found it kind of adorable, but with his relief had come a surge of anger at Sam for doing something so stupid. “What are you talking about? I just got sick.”
“Yeah, you did. Sick because you ran out of demon blood.” Sam’s eyes went wide and Dean smirked without any actual humor. “You had a lot of hallucinations these past few days. Very talkative.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Sammy. Don’t even try.” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, but it wasn’t enough. His concern had kept it down, but fury was bubbling to the surface now. He was angry at Sam for being so gullible and secretive, angry at himself for not noticing that Sam had been strung out – and the demonic sense he’d had right from the beginning, too strong to be that knife, but blood, he never even guessed – and most of all, he was angry at Ruby for taking advantage of Sam when he was weak. “I’m gonna go get Bobby. He’ll want to keep you down here for at least a few more hours, make sure you don’t lose it again before we let you go. I need to take a walk.”
He turned to head out, ignoring Sam calling his name. The iron door clanged shut behind him, echoing through the basement.
Dean couldn’t stay mad for long. As Sam recovered, he gradually became more attractive than he’d ever been before. Combined with his ever-present kicked puppy look, Dean didn’t stand a chance. It was only a few days before Dean was cracking jokes just for the pleasure of seeing Sam smile, though he still kept a close eye on the boy. He didn’t know enough about demon blood addiction to trust that Sam really was as fine as the mortal claimed.
As it was, he could hardly get Sam to talk about the withdrawal. Dean wasn’t totally sure how to act around him, and he didn’t want to stress Sam out, but there were things he needed to know. Dean joined Sam at the table one morning two weeks after Sam had regained full consciousness, and took a deep breath before getting straight to it.
“Are you still craving demon blood?”
Sam’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Are you still drinking demon blood? Have you found some other blood pusher?”
“What? Dean, no!” The puppy eyes were back, and Dean rubbed a hand over his face.
“I gotta know, man. The whole time, I had no idea,” he said, noticing the way Sam flushed and dropped his gaze. “I want to believe you wouldn’t do it again, or that you wouldn’t lie to me about it but… I don’t know if I can. It was an addiction for you, and that fucks up people’s judgment. I have to ask. I’m trying to trust your word here, at least.”
Sam stared at him, a little swirl forming in his forehead as he frowned, and finally nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”
“So do you have some secret stash?”
“Dean, you’re with me all the time. You’d know if I was still… doing it.” Dean just raised his eyebrows and Sam sighed. “And no, I don’t have a ‘secret stash’. I’m clean.”
“Cravings?” Dean pressed, and Sam shifted uncomfortably.
“Sometimes,” he admitted, stirring his spoon around his Cheerios, which had started to go soggy. “I felt… powerful, before. Now I just feel weak. And with all of this,” he said, looking around and gesturing at the roof above them. “You guys have me on lockdown, basically. I feel like some little kid who fucked up and got grounded. And I know I fucked up,” he added before Dean could say anything. “I’m not trying to say I didn’t. Dad died and Ruby was there and then it was so easy to kill demons and save people and it felt good, and everything just got out of control.”
“That happens,” Dean said quietly, and the air was thick with tension as their eyes met. “You do things you shouldn’t have, and you regret it later. It isn’t the end of the world.”
“Unless it is,” Sam mumbled, pushing his hair back out of his face. It was a perfect opening for Dean to ask him about what Ruby had said concerning the prevention of an apocalypse, and he’d just opened his mouth to do so when Bobby stepped into the kitchen.
He looked between them and his eyebrows rose. “Am I interruptin’ somethin’?”
“Nah. Just chatting,” Sam lied, and Dean offered a tight smile. Bobby nodded, clearly not believing them but letting it slide.
“I found something that looks like a spirit in Montana. Thought you boys might want to look into it, get you out of the house for a while. If you’re up for it,” he said with a glance at Sam, who averted his eyes when he noticed.
“Sounds good to me,” Dean said. He gave Sam’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, trying to convey his support without embarrassing them both in front of Bobby. The smile he got in return was just a twitch of Sam’s lips, but his eyes were bright enough that his appreciation shone through.
Dean went off to find the keys and by the afternoon, they were standing in front of a comic book store in Montana, dressed in suits with fake IDs in their pockets.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a store like this,” Dean said, and Sam chuckled.
“Seriously? Not even as a kid? What kind of childhood did you have?”
Dean snorted and shook his head. “Not a normal one. I’ll let you take the lead here, Superman.”
Sam smile, elbowing Dean in the side on his way to the door. They approached the man at the counter whose name tag read ‘Steve’ and Sam flashed his FBI badge, Dean following suit. “I’m Agent DeYoung; this is Agent Shaw.”
Steve’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked between Dean and Sam. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”
“We have a couple of questions,” Sam explained. “About the building. Have you noticed anything strange recently?”
“Odd sounds,” Dean suggested, “or flickering lights.”
Steve took a good look at each of them. “The FBI is investigating an electrical problem?”
“We just have to cover all the bases,” Sam told him. “What about cold spots? Sudden drops in temperature; you feel anything like that here?”
Steve’s lips slowly lifted into a grin. “You guys are LARPing!” he said. “I knew you weren’t really feds.”
Dean glanced at Sam, alarmed. No one had ever called them out before. “Excuse me?”
“LARPing?” Sam asked, and Steve chuckled.
“Live-Action-Role-Play. Oh, I get it. You’re trying to stay in character.” He nodded, smirking as though they were all in on a joke together. Dean wasn’t seeing the punch line.
Dean blinked, trying to think of a good answer to that before giving up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he finally admitted, and Steve’s smile faded.
“You guys… are LARPing, aren’t you? You’re asking questions like there’s a ghost in the building and using rockstar names, like in those Supernatural books.” He shrunk back, eyes growing wide. “Shit, are you guys really feds? I’m sorry; I just thought you were trying to be Sam and John.”
Sam froze, blinking a few times before he was able to speak. “Sam and John?”
“Yeah, like the books.” He moved out from behind the counter and went to one of the discount bins, shuffling things around until he pulled out a paperback novel. “Here’s the first one.”
Dean took it, glancing at the cover. “Supernatural by Carver Edlund.” He turned the book over to read the summary aloud. “‘Along a lonely California highway, a mysterious woman in white lures men to their deaths… A terrifying phenomenon that may bring Sam and John together again.’”
Sam choked, lifting his fist to cough into it. “Sounds interesting,” he said, his voice strained. “How many do you have?”
Steve spent more time fishing in the bin, turning up with eight more books.
“How many of these are there?” Sam asked, gaping.
“Twenty or thirty, I think. I heard the publisher went bankrupt; they didn’t sell all that well.”
“We’ll take them.” Sam fumbled for his wallet, nodding towards the books Steve held. Dean smiled awkwardly.
“Good to have something to read – lots of time to kill while we’re traveling,” he lied. “We’ll just take those and get out of your way.”
“You guys really are feds, then? What was it you were looking for?”
“Just something in the area we’ve been looking into.” Dean watched Sam pull out enough cash to cover the books, and as soon as he had them in hand he was heading towards the door. “But it’s probably nothing for you to be concerned about. Thanks for your help.”
He followed Sam out, seeing he’d already let himself into the impala and was reading the back covers of the books.
“The names aren’t just a coincidence, then,” he muttered as he slid into the driver’s seat. Sam shook his head, flipping through the inside pages of the book in his hands.
“They’re all cases we worked, since Dad picked me up from Stanford.”
Dean blinked, head tilting to the side. “I didn’t know you went to Stanford.”
“Was gonna be a lawyer. Then Dad came and got me when he needed help on a case, and my boyfriend was killed by a demon the night he dropped me off again, so I got back into hunting.”
“You’re gay?” Dean asked, leaning back in surprise. He hadn’t known that either, and had to smother the flare of attraction that roared to life at hearing it. Sam finally looked up from the book, flushing as he realized what he’d said.
“I- Yeah, I am.” He looked away, and Dean held up his hands.
“No, it’s cool, man. Doesn’t bother me or anything. I am, too,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if that was the best way to describe it. ‘Gay’ might not have accurately described having the one person who owned his heart for the rest of eternity be male. Still, it was close enough when it came to reassuring Sam that he wasn’t judging him.
“Oh,” Sam replied, looking baffled. He coughed, attention returning to the book. “It’s not only the same names and cases. Everything in here is exactly how it happened. My nightmares about Jesse, the ways we researched and fought, the guns we used – even what we said, it’s word for word from what I remember.”
“So… what, this Carver Edlund guy’s been spying on you this whole time?”
“I don’t know, man. Even if he was… He knows what I was thinking and dreaming about. How could he know that? And how would we find him? It doesn’t give any information. Doesn’t even sound like a real name.”
“Maybe it was some intense form of sleepwalking,” Dean joked. “You were writing all these things down and contacting publishers without knowing it.”
“The publisher!” Sam exclaimed, ignoring the rest of Dean’s statement. “They would have to have some sort of contact information, right? We have to find this guy, Dean.”
“But the job-”
“I’ll call Bobby,” Sam said, already reaching for his phone. “Have him put someone else on it, and then we’ll track down Carver Edlund.”
Dean sighed, twisting the keys in the ignition and heading off to find a motel.
Carver Edlund was officially determined to be a penname, and Dean went to work on tracking down the publisher. Sam wasn’t much help, his nose buried in the books, fascinated and disturbed all at once. Once they had the publisher’s name they made the drive to her home office under the cover of journalists writing a piece about the book. After answering a few questions about John’s birthday and Sam’s LSAT score, Sam’s tattoo managed to convince her that they were fans. A generous dash of puppy-dog eyes finished her off and they walked away with Carver Edlund’s – real name Chuck Shirley- home address in Toledo, Ohio.
“This is the place,” Dean announced as he parked the impala against the curb. Sam had spent the trip with his nose buried in one of the books, and he finally closed it and set it down. “Bugs?”
“Native American curse,” he explained simply, looking through the window at the house. He checked that his gun was tucked into his jacket and climbed out of the car, not waiting for Dean to catch up as he headed towards the door.
“Shit,” Dean mumbled, hurrying after him. “You can’t shoot him on sight,” he reminded, reaching the porch just as Sam was ringing the bell. “We don’t know how he’s doing this, but it isn’t necessarily evil.”
“It sure isn’t good,” Sam snapped, his eyes fixed on the door. It opened after a moment and he continued to glower down at the man in front of them. Dean offered a half smile, trying to make up for it.
“Can I help you, gentlemen? If this is about the dog barking, that’s the house behind me. It’s not mine.”
“Are you Chuck Shirley?” Sam demanded, and Dean eyed him warily.
“Uh, maybe. Yes,” Chuck confirmed when Sam turned his glare up a notch. “Why?”
“You wrote the ‘Supernatural’ books?” Dean asked, tempted to place a hand on Sam’s chest in case he needed to physically hold him back.
Chuck’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, I did. You guys are… fans?”
“Not exactly,” Dean said.
“How did you know all of that?” Sam spat out, and Dean could see he was clearly using his height to intimidate Chuck. It was working – the author cowered under his stare.
“I- Know all of what?”
“About the ghosts and the demons and the vampires. About me.”
Chuck opened and closed his mouth as he tried to come up with an answer to that, looking between them curiously. “Sorry, who are you?”
“I’m Sam Winchester. My father was John Winchester. The Sam and John Winchester in your books.”
Chuck blinked and turned to Dean, his eyes darting nervously back to Sam every few moments. “Is he alright?”
“He’s a little pissed off,” Dean replied, chuckling half-heartedly. “Come on, Sammy, he doesn’t look evil. Let’s just talk about it.”
“Ah, so you’re both- Ah.” Chuck smiled, beginning to close the door. “It’s great to meet fans, but you two might want to get some help.”
Sam hand shot out, smacking against the wood as he held the door open, and Chuck jumped back. “Are you a hunter? A psychic? A demon? What?”
“Listen, buddy, none of that is real. Sam and John are just characters in a book. There are no such things as monsters or hunters or anything like that.”
“Oh yeah?” Sam took the car keys from Dean’s hand and stalked off towards the impala, and Dean sighed.
“You might want to go with him. He’ll probably just come back if you don’t.”
Chuck followed them to the car, where Sam had propped open the trunk. “Wait, are those real guns?”
“Real guns, real holy water, real rock salt, real fake IDs,” Sam said, opening the little box that contained their laminated badges.
“You guys sure are fans,” Chuck said. He let out another nervous laugh and took slow steps backwards towards the house. “I’ve got some extra copies of the books I could sign for you, or some posters, or-”
“Tell me how you’re doing it,” Sam demanded, advancing on him. Chuck held up his palms in surrender.
“Come on, don’t hurt me. I’m just a writer, it’s not real.”
Dean glanced around the street and laid a hand on Sam’s back. “How ‘bout we take this inside before we end up with an audience, huh?”
“Oh, god. You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?” Chuck breathed, his eyes wide.
“No, we’re not going to kill you. Calm down,” Dean said, his hand moving to grip Sam’s shoulder and keep him in place.
“Calm down? Two guys show up at my house with guns thinking they’re Sam and John and you want me to calm down.”
“I’m not John,” Dean replied, frowning. “John was killed over a year ago.”
“Right, so you think you’re… I don’t know, Bobby or something?”
Dean sighed. “I don’t think I’m anyone in your books, man. I’m a friend of Sam’s, Dean Smith.”
Chuck froze. “I never told anybody about Dean. Nobody’s had access to those pages.”
“You’re still writing?” Sam asked, and Chuck nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on Dean.
“But nobody could have known about... You can’t be Dean.”
Dean eyes shifted nervously to Sam and he shot Chuck a warning look. “Could we please just do this inside?”
Chuck led them in, dazed. He kept looking at Dean, which made it obvious enough that he knew who Dean really was – if he was beginning to believe them, at least. Dean held onto the hope that he also knew that Sam didn’t know, and that he should keep his mouth shut.
“I’ve got to be dreaming, or- or hallucinating,” he mumbled, tugging his fingers through his short hair. “You can’t be… How could either of you be…” His eyes landed on a stack of paper sitting on his desk. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Sam asked. He wasn’t radiating anger anymore, but his eyes were still narrowed as he watched Chuck.
“The latest book I’ve been working on… I wrote myself into it. Me, meeting Sam and Dean.” He picked up the top sheet of paper with trembling hands. “Exactly how it just happened.”
“You wrote it before it happened?” Sam frowned, his bravado fading fast. “So you’re a psychic.”
“I’m not psychic. If I were psychic, why would I be writing? I’d be buying up lotto tickets. Writing is hard, and I’m not even getting paid anymore.”
“I don’t know what else it could be. You’re channeling my life specifically, somehow. I can’t figure out why, but the things you’ve written... There’s no way you should know all of that.” Sam eyed Chuck curiously. “How much do you know?”
“What, like the apocalypse stuff?” Chuck asked, and Sam looked at Dean with wide eyes. “He knows. Ruby told him.”
Sam gaped at Dean. “When did you meet Ruby?”
“That day we were in Chicago,” Dean admitted, already fearing Sam’s reaction. “She came to find you when we got back to the motel. I knew she was a demon, so I killed her. I didn’t know you were going through withdrawals.” Though if he had, Dean knew he’d still have done it. He just would have taken his time torturing Ruby first for getting him hooked on that poison.
“So you know about Lilith, and the seals? The angels?”
“Ah – she didn’t mention any of that,” Chuck spoke up, and Sam paled.
“Bobby did mention the angels,” Dean pointed out, to be fair. “But seals?”
“The demons are breaking these seals. They get to sixty-six before the angels can stop them, and Lucifer walks free. Lilith is sort of like head demon in the whole thing,” Sam explained, and Chuck collapsed onto his couch.
“You can’t know all of that. I made it all up, you can’t possibly be…”
Dean ignored Chuck’s whimpering, focused on one word: Lilith. The name alone made Dean nauseous. He was well aware of Lilith – the first demon Lucifer had made before he’d been locked away in his cage. The darkest being Dean had ever seen after Lucifer was done with her, who had turned her diseased soul on others until there were finally too many demons for Dean to keep them in check and he’d been run out of his kingdom after watching his Asphodel flowers rot and his Elysian Fields burn. Just thinking about her made his blood boil.
“Dean knows who Lilith is,” Chuck said quietly, and Dean shot him a glare.
“Shut it, Chuck.”
“He’ll find out at some point,” Chuck told him, and Dean advanced on him quickly, hand reaching up to cover his mouth.
“Unhand him,” a rough voice demanded, and Dean turned sharply, letting his hand drop.
“Cas?” Sam said as Dean spotted the angel across the room. He could see the angel’s true form under the meat suit, and his eyes went wide. He backed away from Chuck, his hands up in surrender. There wasn’t much on earth that frightened him, but he wouldn’t necessarily win a tussle with an angel, so he preferred to keep his distance from them. “Dean, it’s okay. This is Castiel, he’s a friend.”
“You’ve got angel friends, too? Any werewolves or skinwalkers on speed dial that I should know about?”
“A funny question for you to ask, Aidoneus,” the angel said, and Dean looked down at the floor. There was no way he was getting through this one without Sam finding out.
“It’s Dean now.”
“Wait, you two know each other?” Sam asked. Dean opened his mouth, but Castiel answered before he could.
“We’ve never officially met, but I recognize him. You would most likely know him as Hades.”
Sam’s eyes shot up towards his hairline and he snorted. “Hades? Like, brother of Zeus, ruler of the underworld, Hades? You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“I am not… joking with you,” Castiel said, frowning. Sam looked between him, Chuck, and Dean, all of whom were wearing serious expressions.
“No,” Sam said, his gaze staying on Dean, who had to fight to meet his eyes. Guilt was threatening to suffocate him. “You’re… Hades.”
“The one who brought the souls to the underworld before my father’s word could be spread and they could be brought to heaven,” Castiel confirmed. Dean rolled his eyes.
“They were perfectly happy without your heaven.”
“And how are they now?”
Images of flames and screams and the smell of burning flesh filled Dean’s mind, and he said nothing.
“I’m still waiting for someone to tell me this is a joke,” Sam said weakly. Castiel had the nerve to look sympathetic. Dean would have punched him if he thought it would actually hurt him.
“I wish I could, Sam. The man you are traveling with is an imposter – the very thing you were raised to hunt.”
“Watch it, bird-boy.”
“It’s merely the truth.”
“I’m not a monster. I might not have been kind, but I was fair. Much like your father, wouldn’t you say?” Dean shot at Castiel, who chose not to say anything. “I didn’t even take human sacrifices. And that thing with Persephone was bullshit, she made the entire thing up for attention.” He looked at Sam, pleading, “I’m still me, man. I may not really be a hunter, but I’m not evil.”
“You were lying this whole time? Why?”
“Well I couldn’t exactly tell you who I was; you would have staked me while I was sleeping. But I wanted to spend time with you.” He looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “There was something about you, and I just wanted to be around you.”
“‘Something about me’?” Sam laughed, incredulous and outraged. “So, what, you lied and said you weren’t a Pagan god so you could get into my pants?”
“No, Sammy, that’s not what I meant.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Chuck assured. “He has a soulmate.”
Dean huffed. “It’s more of a bondmate, but yeah, I’ve got a guy. And while I’ve been waiting to get him back I’ve been so bored, and… you were interesting. And you’re really my friend, none of that was a lie.”
Sam rubbed at his temples with his index and middle fingers. “Any other secrets anyone would like to share?”
“Chuck is a prophet,” Castiel said, and all three looked at him in shock. “His writings will be kept as the Winchester gospel.”
“Winchester gospel?” Sam repeated, at the same time Chuck said, “A prophet?”
“I admire your work,” Castiel added bashfully.
“I’m a prophet,” Chuck said, a hysterical giggle escaping his lips. “I’m a prophet, and I have a god, an angel, and a former psychic in my living room.” He moved towards a bottle of whiskey, and Dean looked over at Sam.
“It was a few years ago,” Sam muttered. “Azazel fed a bunch of kids his blood when we were six months old and we developed powers. His ‘psychic kids’. Devil’s Gate thing.”
“What is it with you and demon blood?”
“What is it with you and not mentioning fucking Zeus is your big bro?”
“He’s my little brother! I’m older! And it’s not like we have family reunions,” Dean grumbled. “Why does everybody always focus on that asshole?”
“Not really the point, Dean!”
“No, the point is that I lied, and I’m honestly sorry for that, Sam. I really am, but I felt it was necessary at the time. I’m still in this with you, though. I’m on your side.”
The look Sam gave Dean was clear enough – he didn’t trust him. “You killed Ruby. She was helping me get strong enough to kill Lilith. This whole time, you could’ve been trying to stop that from happening.”
“She was lying to you,” Dean insisted. “I could see it before I killed her. She wanted Lucifer freed, so whatever she was helping you do, it wasn’t to kill Lilith.”
“How do I know you’re the one telling the truth, then?”
Dean took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. “Lucifer and Lilith and all those fucking demons took everything from me. I may not have liked getting stuck with the underworld, but it was my job, and it was important to me. And then Lucifer made Lilith, and she started churning out other demons until there were too many for me to control. They destroyed my realms,” he choked out. “Billions of souls who should have been happy for all of eternity, twisted into those ugly creatures. I can tell you honestly, Sammy: there is no one in existence who I want dead more than Lilith or Lucifer.”
The room was silent for a minute until Chuck spoke up. “Um. Speaking of Lilith. I remembered something else I wrote. I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”
“What is it, Chuck?” Sam asked, his expression unsure as he kept his eyes on Dean.
“She’s going to be in town tonight.”