Second Verse, Same as the First - fic
Dec. 1st, 2014 06:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amberdreamsFill for 
stripytights for 
spn_j2_xmas
Title: Second Verse, Same as the First
Gifter:
amberdreams
Characters: Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Dean Winchester, Risa, Chuck, Cas
Word count: ~5800
Rating: Gen R
Warnings: Character deaths and resurrections as per canon. Kind of.
Summary: The End AU. In this version, there is no trip to the future for Past!Dean. Sam said yes, Dean said no, and though Dean found the Colt, his attempt to kill Lucifer with it failed. So now Dean is going to try Plan B, and lead a small team to face Lucifer again. The story is told from Risa’s point of view.
Author note: Written for this prompt: The End AU. Dean saves Sam. The world still goes to shit. I’ve tried to throw in a sprinkling of stripy’s likes, namely - apocalyptic/post apocalyptic scenarios, people being tough and competent, stoic people, strong female characters, and Christmas. I hope the mixture works for you my dear!
Thank you to the lovelygeckoholic for a great beta job, which has vastly improved this stream of nonsense. Any remaining errors are stubbornly mine.
Second Verse, Same as the First
When Dean Winchester calls his council together on December 23rd, Risa is half expecting it to be about supplies for Christmas. Winchester hasn’t ever celebrated the redundant holiday himself, but he always goes out of his way to make sure the Camp has some special food, as much liquor as they can lay their hands on, and a chance to relax for a few hours, even if it has to be done in shifts so that the perimeter is always guarded.
So Winchester’s opening declaration takes her by surprise.
“I know where Lucifer is.”
The mention of the Devil’s name causes the usual frisson of fear down Risa’s spine, a fear that she immediately supresses, just like she always does. Fear is no use to anyone. On the other hand, Chuck pales and looks even more like a scared rabbit than usual, while Cas leans back, trying for nonchalance and failing. Risa doesn’t bother to conceal her cynicism when she responds to Winchester’s bombshell.
“Well that’s great, but what good does that do us? We know the Colt won’t kill him, and we don’t have any other weapons that will do the job, so…”
Dean winces a little, as he always does whenever anyone is insensitive enough to mention the Colt Incident, and Risa doesn’t know why. It has to be more than just Dean’s memory of having the Devil come straight back to life two seconds after Dean shot him in the face with the weapon advertised as ‘killing anything’ – though, yeah, that had to have been some scary shit. But Dean Winchester doesn’t ‘do’ scared. In fact, it’s hard to get Winchester to show any emotion whatsoever. She’s spent enough time with him, in and out of bed, to have witnessed how difficult he finds it to give up his hard-man façade. Hell, even while in the midst of an orgasm he’s hard pressed to let go, so she’s certain there’s more going on here than anyone’s telling her. It’s galling because she’s pretty damn sure both Chuck and Cas know what the secret is, even though neither of them had been there when Dean had fired the magic gun and found it wanting. The fact that Winchester must trust them more than he trusts her, his second in command and semi-regular lover, makes Risa madder than a cut snake.
“Look, I’ve got a plan, okay.” Dean says. His eyes fix on each of them in turn, wide and honest, but Risa can see his fists are clenched tight where he’s resting them on the table, and his shoulders are tense. “What I have in mind may not kill Lucifer, I’m pretty sure not even a nuke could do that, but it should get rid of him for now, and it’s worth a shot. I just need to get close to him. Now here’s what I’m thinking…”
Winchester is hiding something, holding something back, but Risa doesn’t care any more. The world had already gone to Hell without even bothering with the handbasket, so if this plan doesn’t work they might as well die now in a blaze of glory, instead of waiting for the inevitable starvation or Croat-infection. So when Dean ends his spiel with “Who’s with me?” of course she says aye. As the so-called command team rise from the table, Risa catches Cas looking at her, and is startled by the awareness in that suddenly piercing blue gaze. Like he’s taken a peek inside her soul and understands exactly what she’s thinking.
Even their resident crazy stoner thinks they aren’t coming back from this one. Great.
“Chuck, I need you to stay and keep things running here,” Dean says. Risa raises an eyebrow at him after Chuck has made his hurried and relieved exit, clearly anxious to get out before Dean could change his mind.
“What?” Dean’s mouth quirks, an almost-smile, and Risa surprises both herself and Dean by landing a kiss on his cheek. “Nothing,” she says as she walks out. She’s almost as relieved as Chuck that Dean’s given the little guy an out. Dean’s right, someone does need to stay behind and hold the fort, but Chuck is probably not the right person for that particular job. However, Chuck’s a sweet guy, if irritating with his toilet paper fixation, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to die the horrible death that is all too likely lined up for anyone taking part in this mission.
Risa shuts her mind down after that, and gets on with the job, because that’s all she’s got left. Whatever happens when they finally face off against the Devil, and whatever her opinion of Dean Winchester now, Risa will always be grateful to him. If it hadn’t been for Dean, she’d have been dead two years ago, alongside her kid brother Carl, who Dean hadn’t been able to save. She’d forgiven Dean for that failure, even though Dean hadn’t forgiven himself. Because, unlike Dean, Risa understands that you can’t always save everyone. Okay, yeah, a lot of those two years has been pretty shitty, but she has some good things to offset against the grieving and the crud. During that time she’s witnessed the unearthly beauty of a meteor shower over Lake Michigan, helped save a few lives herself, and the sex (even with Dean) hasn’t been too shabby. So on balance, Risa thought she’d take those two years of being human over being dead, or worse, becoming a Croat.
In spite of all that, Risa doesn’t think it takes much courage to rush towards death - if you can call an eleven-hour drive from Kansas City to Detroit a rush. She clings to her hard-won fatalism right up until the moment she comes face to face with the Devil for the first and last time. That’s when she discovers she does have some last small reserves of fortitude. She’s glad Carl isn’t alive to face this monster by her side, because it’s only the knowledge that this creature is responsible for her family being decimated that stops her from screaming and fleeing as fast as she can.
The Devil is not what she was expecting. He’s too handsome for starters, which on reflection shouldn’t be surprising really. He was an angel after all. His taste in clothes is questionable though. He’s wearing a creamy-white suit, like some sort of pimp from a bad 1970s cop show, or John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.
Lucifer stands alone in the middle of this beautiful island park in the centre of Detroit - and who’d have thought there was anything lovely left in the world, let alone in Detroit, huh? He watches them approach without moving, seemingly unfazed by their array of weapons and grim expressions. He allows them to get within a couple of yards before stopping them in their tracks with a negligent flick of his wrist. All except Dean, that is, who walks right up to the Devil to stand there, toe to toe. Dean looks him in the eye, even though he has to tilt his head up to meet that chillingly amused gaze. Nobody had warned Risa that Lucifer is a giant.
Their conversation can be clearly heard through whatever invisible barrier Lucifer threw up to restrain them. Risa had known that Dean Winchester and Lucifer had some sort of history that nobody wanted to talk about, but it was still chilling to hear the Devil greet Dean like an old friend.
“Dean, how agreeable to see you. Sam will be pleased,” Lucifer says, then holds up a hand, tilts his head. “Wait. You haven’t come to try and kill me again, have you? That would be…nugatory. But I think you know that, don’t you, Dean? I hope so anyway. I’d like to think you are capable of learning, even though you are a human.”
“I’d kill you if I could,” Dean says. His voice sounds rough and harsh set alongside Lucifer’s soft tones. Lucifer’s expression is pained, a music connoisseur who’s heard a disharmonious note in a symphony.
“You’d be killing Sam as well as me if you had the means, and I don’t think you have the stomach for that, do you? So perhaps it’s just as well you aren’t capable of harming me.”
“Sam would be happy to die if it came to it,” Dean says, “If we could free the world from your grasp, it would be worth it.”
Dean’s desperate defiance thrills and terrifies Risa in equal measure, even while she is puzzling over this Sam who keeps being mentioned.
“Who’s Sam?” Risa whispers to Cas, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
“Sam Winchester is Dean’s brother,” Cas explains, never taking his attention from the scene unfolding before them. His eyes are sad rather than fearful as he listens to Lucifer declaiming. Risa can’t help wondering why the Devil is bothering to try and win them over.
“Free the world from me? I’m the best thing that has happened to this planet for a very long time. Look at the damage your kind was causing, how your ugly factories and unbridled consumerism was polluting Earth’s beauty. Now I have the opportunity to save this world from God’s mistakes, from his pathetic, hairless apes. I am your saviour, Dean. I’m…”
“I know what you are,” Dean interrupts, and if Risa didn’t know better, she’d have sworn their fearless leader was crying now, there is so much anguish in his voice. “You’re the same brand of cockroach I’ve been squashing my whole life. An ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you is the size of your ego.”
Even from a distance, the expression on Lucifer’s face freezes Risa’s blood.
“You know, I’ve tried to be nice, for Sammy’s sake. But you…you are such a pain in my ass.”
Lucifer’s smile and that stupid Miami Vice suit make it a thousand times more horrifying when the Devil explodes into violence, brutal and coarse as any bar-room brawler, and starts laying into Dean. Within seconds, Lucifer has turned Dean’s pretty face and swagger into a mess of broken bone and blood.
Risa finds the barrier that was restraining them has vanished and she steps forward. She doesn’t know why, or what she thinks she’s going to achieve by it, because she’s just one malnourished, lonely woman who isn’t even in love with Dean, not really. She only takes that one step before Cas pulls her back, his grip on her arm digging in painfully.
“Don’t,” he says, his hoarse voice filled with pain.
“But…” Her protest is choked off by the casual fury in Lucifer’s next punch, which sends Dean to his knees, and that’s when she realises what’s been bothering her (apart from the obvious horror, that is).
Dean isn’t fighting back.
“There’s nothing we can do, Risa,” Cas says. “If Dean can’t get through to Sam, then we’re all fucked anyway.”
Risa can hear Dean now. Somehow he’s still managing to talk, even while Lucifer whales on him. Dean’s tone is soft, almost gentle, loving even. Blood bubbles up from his split lips, and his words make no sense to her. “It’s okay, Sammy, I’m here. I know you’re in there. I’m not gonna leave you.”
Lucifer’s only reply is another vicious punch.
“Wait,” Risa says, “Why is he talking to Sam? I don’t understand.”
Cas gestures at Lucifer. “Sam Winchester is Dean’s brother. That’s Sam’s body Lucifer is wearing. Sam was bred to be Lucifer’s vessel, while Dean was meant to be worn by the Archangel Michael. It was intended that these two sets of brothers would fight to the death for the fate of the world. But unlike demons, angels need consent to occupy a human form. So when Lucifer asked, Sam said yes, while Dean refused Michael.”
Risa tears her gaze away from the bloody scene unfolding in front of her to look at Cas. She thinks she might be gaping but she can’t help it. Demons she understands, she’s seen their disease, after all. But angels? Lucifer the Light Bringer, the Morning Star, was somehow also Dean’s mortal brother, Sam Winchester? Did that mean Dean’s brother still alive in there with Lucifer?
Cas is nodding and she realises she’s said all this out loud, as if fratricide wasn’t being enacted in front of her right now, and this was an appropriate time for revelations. Then Cas turns away, muttering “Lucifer is my brother too.”
Risa assumes she’s misheard - it’s just too ridiculous. If Cas was Lucifer’s brother that would make this sad, broken man beside her another angel. But whatever Cas said, the Devil must have caught it, because he pauses in his act of assault and battery. Dean slumps to one side the drops boneless as a rag doll when Lucifer lets go of him. Cas winces as his friend hits the dirt and doesn’t move. If it wasn’t for the faint rise and fall of his chest, Risa might have thought Dean was dead, he’s so utterly still. Risa flinches when she realises Lucifer’s attention is now fixed on Cas, who’s standing right next to her. She feels like a coward, but she doesn’t want Lucifer’s gaze anywhere near her right now; the sense of menace weighs heavy in the air like an impending thunderstorm, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise.
“Castiel, little brother. How far have you fallen,” Lucifer makes it more a statement than a question, and Cas – Castiel? – doesn’t answer. Well, this is quite the family reunion, isn’t it? Hysteria bubbles just under her surface, just waiting for the next thing that will doubtless knock the lid off and allow it to boil over. She’s pretty certain that giving in to the urge to laugh right now would be the quickest way to get herself killed. That thought is the only thing keeping her together, because in a world that has totally, irrevocably gone to shit, this is the most bizarre discovery yet. Stoner Cas is the Devil’s kid brother.
Castiel looks up then, squaring his shoulders. As if Cas has heard her earlier frightened thoughts, he moves away from Risa to face his brother down, taking the burden of that terrifying attention away from her. The desperate determination on Castiel’s face makes Risa shiver, even while she is filled with a new admiration for him. Some instinct holds her in place as firmly as Lucifer’s will had done moments before, and keeps her from running away as fast as she can.
“How far have I fallen, brother? Not as far as you.” Cas says, challenging. “Our Father must be so disappointed in you.”
In the silence that blankets the world, Risa hears Dean whisper no. Then Lucifer snaps his fingers and Cas simply disintegrates, atomised as surely as if he’d stepped on a landmine, disappearing into a cloud of blood tinged mist. Risa feels Castiel on her cheek, wipes a shaking hand through the warm wetness and tries not to breathe him in.
Dean is moving, his hand stretching out to where Cas had been, groping in the red-stained grass for something Risa can’t quite make out. It doesn’t matter. Already Lucifer is turning, ready to resume pulverising his vessel’s brother, taking out his wrath on the human who refused to play his divine part in this apocalyptic charade. Risa resents the fact that childhood Bible classes have become so relevant, leaving her mourning the loss of rationality and science along with everything else. She clings to that because she can’t deal with the senseless brutality of Castiel’s death, or the helpless knowledge that next it will be Dean, then her. Deep inside there is a tiny voice that says there is a worse possibility – that Lucifer won’t kill her, that he’ll keep her close to him and make her watch until she is the only human left in a world full of Croats and demons.
Trembling and faint, she almost misses what happens next. Dean is holding out the object he’d picked up. Lucifer grasps Dean’s outstretched wrist in his left hand and hauls him to his feet, taking Dean’s weight as easily as if Dean was a hollow-boned bird instead of a man, while Lucifer’s right fist is raised, ready for what has to be a killing blow. But now the Devil’s eyes are fixed on the object dangling from Dean’s clenched fingers, and the raised fist doesn’t fall. Instead Lucifer unclenches his hand, reaches out and takes the object, holding it up to the dying rays of the setting sun.
Now Risa can see it clearly, but she’s none the wiser. It doesn’t look like much, just a small brass pendant on a thin leather cord.
“Sam,” Dean croaks, still being held suspended by his wrist by Lucifer’s grasp, then “Sammy.” How he’s able to speak at all is beyond Risa’s comprehension.
Lucifer seems to have frozen. He keeps a firm grip on the pendant, but his lax fingers release Dean, who crumples without the support. Somehow Dean manages to keep his abused head raised, and his bloodshot gaze fixed on Lucifer’s face. Risa finally recognises that foreign expression on her leader’s battered face. It is hope.
“Sam?”
An another, more civilised time Risa had read novels describing the world holding its breath. She’d always thought it a pure flight of fancy, but she feels it now in the tightening of her lungs. All the air is being sucked out of Belle Isle Park, Detroit; it’s being siphoned off into space, and she isn’t sure it will ever return.
“I’m here, Dean. It’s okay. Oh god. What…what have I done to you?” Lucifer says.
But Lucifer’s voice sounds different - softer, more hesitant – it’s altered enough that Risa wonders if this is what Sam Winchester sounded like. But Risa can’t allow herself the luxury of optimism. Not yet. Lucifer kneels, big hands suddenly gentle, long fingers brushing against the horrific damage they’ve inflicted on Dean’s face, and Dean maintains eye contact as best he can with those gruesome injuries, and doesn’t flinch. Finally Risa knows for sure - this is Dean’s Sam talking, not the Devil.
“Wasn’t you, Sammy. Not y’r fault.”
The expression of utter love and devotion in Dean’s half-shut eyes makes Risa feel like a voyeur, intruding on the most private of moments. She certainly doesn’t want to examine the flash of jealousy that burns through her, knowing that in all the time she’s spent with Dean, he’s never looked at her with even a fraction of that intensity.
Then the two of them are talking, heads together, voices low, so she can no longer hear much of the conversation. Just something about it’s the only way; can’t kill him, he’s too strong, then Dean’s voice becomes much clearer.
“You have to expel him, Sam. You have to withdraw your permission, tell him to get the fuck out of your body and never come back.”
“Dean, if I do that, I’ll most likely die.”
Dean’s hand is clutching Sam’s ridiculous lapels, leaving dirty marks and blood-stains on the pristine white cloth. The absurd thought intrudes, those will never come out.
“You won’t die, Sammy. I won’t let you die, not again.”
Risa doesn’t exactly understand what Dean means by the latter, but she believes him. This is the voice of authority. The voice of the man who dragged her out from a nest of Croats and gave her a new lease of life, the leader who had brought together a group of individual losers and welded them into a family of misfits, given dozens of men and women a chance of survival in a world full of madness and death. Surely Sam must believe Dean too, but then he gently extricates himself from Dean’s embrace. He stands up and takes a step back.
“Dean,” he says, quiet but sure. “You might have to.”
As he moves back, away from her and from Dean, Risa gets her first real look at Sam’s face – at the man rather than the angel. And she can see the difference.
Sam’s features are the same, but instead of those high cheek bones and slanted hazel eyes making him look all edges and sharp as a blade, this version is more like a big cat - dangerous, sure, but probably domesticated.
“Lucifer, Star of Morning, hear me. I rescind my permission. Get out, leave my vessel. I’m saying no. Do you hear me? No.”
So Risa isn’t scared at all, listening to Sam Winchester laying down the law to the Devil - but that’s before he starts to glow.
Risa doesn’t know which is more shocking. Seeing how beautiful Lucifer’s true form is, as the Prince of Lies is expelled from his former vessel, or witnessing Dean Winchester’s subsequent breakdown, once the angel is dispelled into the ether. Risa watches dumfounded as Dean dissolves into tears mixed with laughter as he holds onto his giant of a little brother and won’t let go.
That, Risa decides, is definitely the most disturbing event of this strange afternoon. She can tell herself this because she is successfully maintaining a wall of steel between her frail mind and the trauma of Cas exploding. At least Lucifer blazing with light was how the script was supposed to go. It was what she would have expected of an angel, had she ever given those heavenly beings any consideration. On the other hand, seeing Dean Winchester like this - who never even smiles while having sex and goes about every task as if his soul is dead inside – that’s so out of character it leaves Risa feeling unsettled and off balance. Two states she hates even more than using leaves for toilet paper.
Neither of the Winchesters is looking too good though, and the setting sun means their light is nearly gone. The island the park is had been Croat-free when they’d arrived, but there’s no guarantee it will stay that way, especially now that Lucifer is no longer present as a deterrent. And this little island is slap bang in the middle of Detroit – ground zero for the Croat virus back in ’09, when media hacks had all worked so hard to stir up the panicked population. Risa remembers it well, even though she tries to forget most things about the past – no point in dwelling on everything they’ve lost, right? Her hand drifts unconsciously to the pocket where she keeps the photograph of Carl.
“Sam,” she says; tentative, as she’s still wary of the man, who is after all a complete stranger to her. “We need to get away from here.”
He smiles and nods agreement, but his expression quickly turns to a grimace when he tries to stagger to his feet, pulling Dean up with him. She’s not sure who’s supporting whom, the two brothers are so wrapped up in each other, hands clinging onto layers of cotton and incongruous polyester, and leaning in like each of them is trying to get inside the other’s skin. Sam is sallow and worn in the last light of the dying sun, but Dean looks exponentially worse, his bleeding face swollen almost out of all recognition. As they try to get to their feet, Risa helping as best she can, Risa thinks Dean isn’t going to make it. She’s seen enough fatal wounds in the last two years to get a feel for these things. Sam throws her an angry glance as if he’s heard what she’s thinking, but she can see from his eyes, panicked and desperate, he’s thinking the exact same thing. Then Sam’s face lights up as he takes in something behind her, and this day full of weird gets even stranger. A warm hand lands on her shoulder and gently moves her out of the way, then a figure moves in to prop up Dean on the opposite side to his brother.
Risa drops back and nearly lands on her ass in shock. “Cas…Castiel? But…you exploded. You were dead! I saw you…how…?”
This Cas is different. He’s more clean shaven, his hair still tousled but shorter, and he looks at her - blue eyes dark and wide, his expression more solemn than she’s ever seen - like he’s forgotten how to smile. “I do not know how I’ve been brought back, Risa, but I think I know why.” His speech patterns are strangely formal, and Risa wonders about angels. This angel in particular. How much of the Cas she had known and cared about is in this Castiel?
Castiel turns his head to contemplate the battered, wounded tangle that is the brothers Winchester. Risa thinks from that proximity the old Cas would have been daunted by the mess the two men are in, but Castiel looks completely calm. As is he’s aware of the impassionate scrutiny, Dean somehow manages to lift his head to look at Cas through his least injured eye.
“You got your angel juice back again, Cas?” Dean slurs, sounding hopeful, and Cas inclines his head to the right, a curiously bird-like gesture.
“I think I am, as you put it, Dean, juiced enough to heal one of you. I fear I will not have sufficient strength for both,” Cas says, and almost before he’s finished his sentence, both brothers speak at the same time.
“Heal him,” they say. Cas and Risa exchange a glance that says Of course they do. Both of them understand how families work, and Risa would have done anything for Carl when her little brother was still alive. Even though Sam’s only been back with them for a matter of minutes, Risa already understands where Dean’s priorities lie. And it isn’t with her or the new-born angel. Her sympathy for these Winchesters grows, alongside a feeling of comradeship with the angel, filling a small empty space in her heart.
“Dean,” Sam says, and somehow, in spite of everything, he’s smiling at his brother, though it looks like his eyes are full of tears. “It has to be you. I won’t lie to you and tell you I’m all right, because I’m not, but I’m going to work on it, okay? But I can’t do it alone, and you…you’re dying, Dean.”
Dean doesn’t try to deny it, and Risa swallows hard past the lump in her throat. At the end of the world with their greatest battle fought and won, who’d have thought everything would come down to the love between two damaged men.
“You won’t be alone, Sammy. You’ll have Cas, and Risa, and Chuck…”
“Dean, no. Stop. I lost you once before and I lost myself then too, and you know how badly that ended for all of us. I can’t go through that again, I just can’t.” Sam holds up one hand when Dean looks like he’s going to carry on protesting, and then he stares challengingly across at Cas.
“I’m guessing Castiel could heal my body of the damage being Lucifer’s vessel has done,” Cas nods at that but Sam continues, relentless “But he couldn’t ever heal my heart, Dean. Even an angel of the Lord can’t heal that kind of grief. It goes too deep.”
“Sammy,” Dean sounds more broken now than he has at any time during these terrible few hours, but it’s already evident Sam isn’t going to allow Dean to sway him. This is the man who just said no to the Devil, after all. Risa can see the inner steel in Sam Winchester, even though he’s swaying on his feet.
“It has to be this way, Dean. Castiel, please. Do it, before it’s too late. I don’t suppose you’d be able to rescue Dean from Hell a second time, so let’s not take that chance.”
Cas brings a hand up to touch Dean’s face, and Risa only has a second to comprehend that what they have just been discussing is impossible, they are talking about performing a genuine miracle, before she witnesses the power of it in action. As Castiel passes his hand across Dean’s face, Dean’s wounds seal themselves and the terrible black bruises fade to nothing. Inside, under the newly-formed skin, Risa can sense bones knitting, pierced lungs emptying of fluid and torn muscle fibres blending together, as if she herself was an active part of the healing process. It’s making her breathless and dizzy and her heart is beating fast as a hunted deer.
The healing continues until it’s done, and with it Risa’s done too; what with the with fear and wonder, and a surfeit of fight or flight and unable to do either. Her legs are trembling and all she wants to do is sit down and sleep for a week. Fat chance.
Castiel steps back and she expects Dean to say something, to leap to his feet shouting I’m cured or something – after all, he’s just been healed by the power of God or whatever - but he merely lets out a small sigh and falls into an anticlimactic slumber. Risa feels nothing but envy, she’s so tired she could cry. Sam is still holding Dean, but he’s looking trashed, and Risa just knows it’s going to be up to her and Cas to get these two to safety. She’s not looking forward to another eleven-hour drive, but Camp Chitaqua is the only truly safe place they know, so back to Kansas is where they have to go.
Between them, Cas and Risa help a wobbly Sam and comatose Dean back to the jeep. She understands now why Dean hadn’t brought a bigger team. It’s going to be hard enough for anyone who ever encountered Lucifer to accept Sam as it is. It’s Risa who gets Sam to strip off that too-recognisable white suit and dress in some spare fatigues that were stuffed into a duffel she finds in the back. Dean came prepared, she realises, because the clothes were very clearly made to fit Sam, even with those long limbs of his. She chokes up a little again, thinking about that tiny flame of hope Dean must have been nursing inside him all this time, even knowing that his brother was being worn by the Devil and was probably beyond saving. It suddenly hits her, the memory of that little flinch Dean gave every time he’s reminded of the failed attempt to kill Lucifer with the Colt. Now at last she understands what it meant. That memory must have been tinged with relief as well as the pain of failure. Dean had gone into that situation thinking that shot would kill Lucifer, sure, but knowing it was going to kill his little brother too.
Even while he’s getting dressed, Sam never lets go of the pendant, and only releases his grip on Dean for the brief time it takes him to pull on the t-shirt and over shirt, and button up his pants. Then the two Winchesters are hunkered down in the back seat, while Cas joins her to ride shotgun. Risa rubs at her heart, pretends she’s just adjusting her seat belt.
“Sam,” Cas says, looking over his shoulder. Sam has Dean’s head cushioned on his broad chest, and a peaceful expression on his weary face. “I fear my grace is only temporary. I can feel it draining away even now. I wish it were otherwise, and that I had sufficient juice to help you too.”
“It’s okay, Cas, really. You did the right thing. I’ll be fine.”
Cas doesn’t look convinced, but he faces front again and Risa drives. After a few miles, she sees in the rear view that Sam too is asleep. These two men, who have been through so much, look like children in their sleep, and though all maternal instincts have been burned out of her, Risa can’t help but be moved by it. A few more miles and she can’t bear the quiet any longer. She needs more than the sound of breathing over the rumble of the engine if she’s going to make it back home. She needs answers.
“So. An angel of the Lord, huh?”
Cas starts and she can feel him looking at her. She keeps her eyes on the road, makes it easier for him.
“I was, once,” he says. “Then…things happened and…I fell.”
“Want to tell me about it?” she asks, giving him the opt out, but hoping he won’t take it. He doesn’t. Castiel whiles away the dark by telling Risa his story. Which is, of course, inextricably linked to Dean, and to Sam, and, as it turns out, to dear departed Bobby and Chuck too. It really is a revelation.
By the time they arrive back at Camp Chitaqua, Sam and Dean are waking up, but Risa and Cas are exhausted. It doesn’t stop Risa leaning across after she’s parked up and she kisses Cas, soft and tender, full on the lips. It’s meant as a promise and an invitation, and she’s happy to wait a while to see whether Cas will accept. Perhaps this time his descent into humanity will be less about banging gongs and more about finding comfort where it’s offered. She sure as hell could do with some, and she’d be more than happy to share.
It’s a mark of the community Dean’s created that ninety per cent of the Camp accept Sam’s presence without question, even though some of them recognise his face from the news casts back from when there was still television. And most of the ten per cent that express doubts are willing to listen to the Winchesters’ side of the story. It’s Christmas after all, a time for story telling. Chuck’s managed to find a stock of Wild Turkey, a hundredweight of toilet paper, and in a true Christmas miracle, a couple of sides of frozen beef. In the end only one guy, Dave Mitchell, wants to leave, and Dean lets him go even though Risa can tell Dean’s terrified Dave is going to spread the word outside that the Devil is living in Chitaqua, making Sam vulnerable to anyone who wants to take a shot at him.
Risa quietly follows Dave when he walks through the gates and down the road outside the fence. She trails him for a mile or so before she slits his throat and drags his body into the woods for the coyotes, and doesn’t think twice about it. Sometimes ugly deeds are necessary in this brave new world of theirs, and Dave clearly hadn’t understood something crucial about this life. This is her family now, and if Risa’s learned one thing from Dean and Sam Winchester, it’s that family is the most important thing there is.
stripytights for spn_j2_xmasTitle: Second Verse, Same as the First
Gifter:
Characters: Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Dean Winchester, Risa, Chuck, Cas
Word count: ~5800
Rating: Gen R
Warnings: Character deaths and resurrections as per canon. Kind of.
Summary: The End AU. In this version, there is no trip to the future for Past!Dean. Sam said yes, Dean said no, and though Dean found the Colt, his attempt to kill Lucifer with it failed. So now Dean is going to try Plan B, and lead a small team to face Lucifer again. The story is told from Risa’s point of view.
Author note: Written for this prompt: The End AU. Dean saves Sam. The world still goes to shit. I’ve tried to throw in a sprinkling of stripy’s likes, namely - apocalyptic/post apocalyptic scenarios, people being tough and competent, stoic people, strong female characters, and Christmas. I hope the mixture works for you my dear!
Thank you to the lovely
geckoholic for a great beta job, which has vastly improved this stream of nonsense. Any remaining errors are stubbornly mine.Second Verse, Same as the First
When Dean Winchester calls his council together on December 23rd, Risa is half expecting it to be about supplies for Christmas. Winchester hasn’t ever celebrated the redundant holiday himself, but he always goes out of his way to make sure the Camp has some special food, as much liquor as they can lay their hands on, and a chance to relax for a few hours, even if it has to be done in shifts so that the perimeter is always guarded.
So Winchester’s opening declaration takes her by surprise.
“I know where Lucifer is.”
The mention of the Devil’s name causes the usual frisson of fear down Risa’s spine, a fear that she immediately supresses, just like she always does. Fear is no use to anyone. On the other hand, Chuck pales and looks even more like a scared rabbit than usual, while Cas leans back, trying for nonchalance and failing. Risa doesn’t bother to conceal her cynicism when she responds to Winchester’s bombshell.
“Well that’s great, but what good does that do us? We know the Colt won’t kill him, and we don’t have any other weapons that will do the job, so…”
Dean winces a little, as he always does whenever anyone is insensitive enough to mention the Colt Incident, and Risa doesn’t know why. It has to be more than just Dean’s memory of having the Devil come straight back to life two seconds after Dean shot him in the face with the weapon advertised as ‘killing anything’ – though, yeah, that had to have been some scary shit. But Dean Winchester doesn’t ‘do’ scared. In fact, it’s hard to get Winchester to show any emotion whatsoever. She’s spent enough time with him, in and out of bed, to have witnessed how difficult he finds it to give up his hard-man façade. Hell, even while in the midst of an orgasm he’s hard pressed to let go, so she’s certain there’s more going on here than anyone’s telling her. It’s galling because she’s pretty damn sure both Chuck and Cas know what the secret is, even though neither of them had been there when Dean had fired the magic gun and found it wanting. The fact that Winchester must trust them more than he trusts her, his second in command and semi-regular lover, makes Risa madder than a cut snake.
“Look, I’ve got a plan, okay.” Dean says. His eyes fix on each of them in turn, wide and honest, but Risa can see his fists are clenched tight where he’s resting them on the table, and his shoulders are tense. “What I have in mind may not kill Lucifer, I’m pretty sure not even a nuke could do that, but it should get rid of him for now, and it’s worth a shot. I just need to get close to him. Now here’s what I’m thinking…”
Winchester is hiding something, holding something back, but Risa doesn’t care any more. The world had already gone to Hell without even bothering with the handbasket, so if this plan doesn’t work they might as well die now in a blaze of glory, instead of waiting for the inevitable starvation or Croat-infection. So when Dean ends his spiel with “Who’s with me?” of course she says aye. As the so-called command team rise from the table, Risa catches Cas looking at her, and is startled by the awareness in that suddenly piercing blue gaze. Like he’s taken a peek inside her soul and understands exactly what she’s thinking.
Even their resident crazy stoner thinks they aren’t coming back from this one. Great.
“Chuck, I need you to stay and keep things running here,” Dean says. Risa raises an eyebrow at him after Chuck has made his hurried and relieved exit, clearly anxious to get out before Dean could change his mind.
“What?” Dean’s mouth quirks, an almost-smile, and Risa surprises both herself and Dean by landing a kiss on his cheek. “Nothing,” she says as she walks out. She’s almost as relieved as Chuck that Dean’s given the little guy an out. Dean’s right, someone does need to stay behind and hold the fort, but Chuck is probably not the right person for that particular job. However, Chuck’s a sweet guy, if irritating with his toilet paper fixation, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to die the horrible death that is all too likely lined up for anyone taking part in this mission.
Risa shuts her mind down after that, and gets on with the job, because that’s all she’s got left. Whatever happens when they finally face off against the Devil, and whatever her opinion of Dean Winchester now, Risa will always be grateful to him. If it hadn’t been for Dean, she’d have been dead two years ago, alongside her kid brother Carl, who Dean hadn’t been able to save. She’d forgiven Dean for that failure, even though Dean hadn’t forgiven himself. Because, unlike Dean, Risa understands that you can’t always save everyone. Okay, yeah, a lot of those two years has been pretty shitty, but she has some good things to offset against the grieving and the crud. During that time she’s witnessed the unearthly beauty of a meteor shower over Lake Michigan, helped save a few lives herself, and the sex (even with Dean) hasn’t been too shabby. So on balance, Risa thought she’d take those two years of being human over being dead, or worse, becoming a Croat.
In spite of all that, Risa doesn’t think it takes much courage to rush towards death - if you can call an eleven-hour drive from Kansas City to Detroit a rush. She clings to her hard-won fatalism right up until the moment she comes face to face with the Devil for the first and last time. That’s when she discovers she does have some last small reserves of fortitude. She’s glad Carl isn’t alive to face this monster by her side, because it’s only the knowledge that this creature is responsible for her family being decimated that stops her from screaming and fleeing as fast as she can.
The Devil is not what she was expecting. He’s too handsome for starters, which on reflection shouldn’t be surprising really. He was an angel after all. His taste in clothes is questionable though. He’s wearing a creamy-white suit, like some sort of pimp from a bad 1970s cop show, or John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.
Lucifer stands alone in the middle of this beautiful island park in the centre of Detroit - and who’d have thought there was anything lovely left in the world, let alone in Detroit, huh? He watches them approach without moving, seemingly unfazed by their array of weapons and grim expressions. He allows them to get within a couple of yards before stopping them in their tracks with a negligent flick of his wrist. All except Dean, that is, who walks right up to the Devil to stand there, toe to toe. Dean looks him in the eye, even though he has to tilt his head up to meet that chillingly amused gaze. Nobody had warned Risa that Lucifer is a giant.
Their conversation can be clearly heard through whatever invisible barrier Lucifer threw up to restrain them. Risa had known that Dean Winchester and Lucifer had some sort of history that nobody wanted to talk about, but it was still chilling to hear the Devil greet Dean like an old friend.
“Dean, how agreeable to see you. Sam will be pleased,” Lucifer says, then holds up a hand, tilts his head. “Wait. You haven’t come to try and kill me again, have you? That would be…nugatory. But I think you know that, don’t you, Dean? I hope so anyway. I’d like to think you are capable of learning, even though you are a human.”
“I’d kill you if I could,” Dean says. His voice sounds rough and harsh set alongside Lucifer’s soft tones. Lucifer’s expression is pained, a music connoisseur who’s heard a disharmonious note in a symphony.
“You’d be killing Sam as well as me if you had the means, and I don’t think you have the stomach for that, do you? So perhaps it’s just as well you aren’t capable of harming me.”
“Sam would be happy to die if it came to it,” Dean says, “If we could free the world from your grasp, it would be worth it.”
Dean’s desperate defiance thrills and terrifies Risa in equal measure, even while she is puzzling over this Sam who keeps being mentioned.
“Who’s Sam?” Risa whispers to Cas, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
“Sam Winchester is Dean’s brother,” Cas explains, never taking his attention from the scene unfolding before them. His eyes are sad rather than fearful as he listens to Lucifer declaiming. Risa can’t help wondering why the Devil is bothering to try and win them over.
“Free the world from me? I’m the best thing that has happened to this planet for a very long time. Look at the damage your kind was causing, how your ugly factories and unbridled consumerism was polluting Earth’s beauty. Now I have the opportunity to save this world from God’s mistakes, from his pathetic, hairless apes. I am your saviour, Dean. I’m…”
“I know what you are,” Dean interrupts, and if Risa didn’t know better, she’d have sworn their fearless leader was crying now, there is so much anguish in his voice. “You’re the same brand of cockroach I’ve been squashing my whole life. An ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you is the size of your ego.”
Even from a distance, the expression on Lucifer’s face freezes Risa’s blood.
“You know, I’ve tried to be nice, for Sammy’s sake. But you…you are such a pain in my ass.”
Lucifer’s smile and that stupid Miami Vice suit make it a thousand times more horrifying when the Devil explodes into violence, brutal and coarse as any bar-room brawler, and starts laying into Dean. Within seconds, Lucifer has turned Dean’s pretty face and swagger into a mess of broken bone and blood.
Risa finds the barrier that was restraining them has vanished and she steps forward. She doesn’t know why, or what she thinks she’s going to achieve by it, because she’s just one malnourished, lonely woman who isn’t even in love with Dean, not really. She only takes that one step before Cas pulls her back, his grip on her arm digging in painfully.
“Don’t,” he says, his hoarse voice filled with pain.
“But…” Her protest is choked off by the casual fury in Lucifer’s next punch, which sends Dean to his knees, and that’s when she realises what’s been bothering her (apart from the obvious horror, that is).
Dean isn’t fighting back.
“There’s nothing we can do, Risa,” Cas says. “If Dean can’t get through to Sam, then we’re all fucked anyway.”
Risa can hear Dean now. Somehow he’s still managing to talk, even while Lucifer whales on him. Dean’s tone is soft, almost gentle, loving even. Blood bubbles up from his split lips, and his words make no sense to her. “It’s okay, Sammy, I’m here. I know you’re in there. I’m not gonna leave you.”
Lucifer’s only reply is another vicious punch.
“Wait,” Risa says, “Why is he talking to Sam? I don’t understand.”
Cas gestures at Lucifer. “Sam Winchester is Dean’s brother. That’s Sam’s body Lucifer is wearing. Sam was bred to be Lucifer’s vessel, while Dean was meant to be worn by the Archangel Michael. It was intended that these two sets of brothers would fight to the death for the fate of the world. But unlike demons, angels need consent to occupy a human form. So when Lucifer asked, Sam said yes, while Dean refused Michael.”
Risa tears her gaze away from the bloody scene unfolding in front of her to look at Cas. She thinks she might be gaping but she can’t help it. Demons she understands, she’s seen their disease, after all. But angels? Lucifer the Light Bringer, the Morning Star, was somehow also Dean’s mortal brother, Sam Winchester? Did that mean Dean’s brother still alive in there with Lucifer?
Cas is nodding and she realises she’s said all this out loud, as if fratricide wasn’t being enacted in front of her right now, and this was an appropriate time for revelations. Then Cas turns away, muttering “Lucifer is my brother too.”
Risa assumes she’s misheard - it’s just too ridiculous. If Cas was Lucifer’s brother that would make this sad, broken man beside her another angel. But whatever Cas said, the Devil must have caught it, because he pauses in his act of assault and battery. Dean slumps to one side the drops boneless as a rag doll when Lucifer lets go of him. Cas winces as his friend hits the dirt and doesn’t move. If it wasn’t for the faint rise and fall of his chest, Risa might have thought Dean was dead, he’s so utterly still. Risa flinches when she realises Lucifer’s attention is now fixed on Cas, who’s standing right next to her. She feels like a coward, but she doesn’t want Lucifer’s gaze anywhere near her right now; the sense of menace weighs heavy in the air like an impending thunderstorm, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise.
“Castiel, little brother. How far have you fallen,” Lucifer makes it more a statement than a question, and Cas – Castiel? – doesn’t answer. Well, this is quite the family reunion, isn’t it? Hysteria bubbles just under her surface, just waiting for the next thing that will doubtless knock the lid off and allow it to boil over. She’s pretty certain that giving in to the urge to laugh right now would be the quickest way to get herself killed. That thought is the only thing keeping her together, because in a world that has totally, irrevocably gone to shit, this is the most bizarre discovery yet. Stoner Cas is the Devil’s kid brother.
Castiel looks up then, squaring his shoulders. As if Cas has heard her earlier frightened thoughts, he moves away from Risa to face his brother down, taking the burden of that terrifying attention away from her. The desperate determination on Castiel’s face makes Risa shiver, even while she is filled with a new admiration for him. Some instinct holds her in place as firmly as Lucifer’s will had done moments before, and keeps her from running away as fast as she can.
“How far have I fallen, brother? Not as far as you.” Cas says, challenging. “Our Father must be so disappointed in you.”
In the silence that blankets the world, Risa hears Dean whisper no. Then Lucifer snaps his fingers and Cas simply disintegrates, atomised as surely as if he’d stepped on a landmine, disappearing into a cloud of blood tinged mist. Risa feels Castiel on her cheek, wipes a shaking hand through the warm wetness and tries not to breathe him in.
Dean is moving, his hand stretching out to where Cas had been, groping in the red-stained grass for something Risa can’t quite make out. It doesn’t matter. Already Lucifer is turning, ready to resume pulverising his vessel’s brother, taking out his wrath on the human who refused to play his divine part in this apocalyptic charade. Risa resents the fact that childhood Bible classes have become so relevant, leaving her mourning the loss of rationality and science along with everything else. She clings to that because she can’t deal with the senseless brutality of Castiel’s death, or the helpless knowledge that next it will be Dean, then her. Deep inside there is a tiny voice that says there is a worse possibility – that Lucifer won’t kill her, that he’ll keep her close to him and make her watch until she is the only human left in a world full of Croats and demons.
Trembling and faint, she almost misses what happens next. Dean is holding out the object he’d picked up. Lucifer grasps Dean’s outstretched wrist in his left hand and hauls him to his feet, taking Dean’s weight as easily as if Dean was a hollow-boned bird instead of a man, while Lucifer’s right fist is raised, ready for what has to be a killing blow. But now the Devil’s eyes are fixed on the object dangling from Dean’s clenched fingers, and the raised fist doesn’t fall. Instead Lucifer unclenches his hand, reaches out and takes the object, holding it up to the dying rays of the setting sun.
Now Risa can see it clearly, but she’s none the wiser. It doesn’t look like much, just a small brass pendant on a thin leather cord.
“Sam,” Dean croaks, still being held suspended by his wrist by Lucifer’s grasp, then “Sammy.” How he’s able to speak at all is beyond Risa’s comprehension.
Lucifer seems to have frozen. He keeps a firm grip on the pendant, but his lax fingers release Dean, who crumples without the support. Somehow Dean manages to keep his abused head raised, and his bloodshot gaze fixed on Lucifer’s face. Risa finally recognises that foreign expression on her leader’s battered face. It is hope.
“Sam?”
An another, more civilised time Risa had read novels describing the world holding its breath. She’d always thought it a pure flight of fancy, but she feels it now in the tightening of her lungs. All the air is being sucked out of Belle Isle Park, Detroit; it’s being siphoned off into space, and she isn’t sure it will ever return.
“I’m here, Dean. It’s okay. Oh god. What…what have I done to you?” Lucifer says.
But Lucifer’s voice sounds different - softer, more hesitant – it’s altered enough that Risa wonders if this is what Sam Winchester sounded like. But Risa can’t allow herself the luxury of optimism. Not yet. Lucifer kneels, big hands suddenly gentle, long fingers brushing against the horrific damage they’ve inflicted on Dean’s face, and Dean maintains eye contact as best he can with those gruesome injuries, and doesn’t flinch. Finally Risa knows for sure - this is Dean’s Sam talking, not the Devil.
“Wasn’t you, Sammy. Not y’r fault.”
The expression of utter love and devotion in Dean’s half-shut eyes makes Risa feel like a voyeur, intruding on the most private of moments. She certainly doesn’t want to examine the flash of jealousy that burns through her, knowing that in all the time she’s spent with Dean, he’s never looked at her with even a fraction of that intensity.
Then the two of them are talking, heads together, voices low, so she can no longer hear much of the conversation. Just something about it’s the only way; can’t kill him, he’s too strong, then Dean’s voice becomes much clearer.
“You have to expel him, Sam. You have to withdraw your permission, tell him to get the fuck out of your body and never come back.”
“Dean, if I do that, I’ll most likely die.”
Dean’s hand is clutching Sam’s ridiculous lapels, leaving dirty marks and blood-stains on the pristine white cloth. The absurd thought intrudes, those will never come out.
“You won’t die, Sammy. I won’t let you die, not again.”
Risa doesn’t exactly understand what Dean means by the latter, but she believes him. This is the voice of authority. The voice of the man who dragged her out from a nest of Croats and gave her a new lease of life, the leader who had brought together a group of individual losers and welded them into a family of misfits, given dozens of men and women a chance of survival in a world full of madness and death. Surely Sam must believe Dean too, but then he gently extricates himself from Dean’s embrace. He stands up and takes a step back.
“Dean,” he says, quiet but sure. “You might have to.”
As he moves back, away from her and from Dean, Risa gets her first real look at Sam’s face – at the man rather than the angel. And she can see the difference.
Sam’s features are the same, but instead of those high cheek bones and slanted hazel eyes making him look all edges and sharp as a blade, this version is more like a big cat - dangerous, sure, but probably domesticated.
“Lucifer, Star of Morning, hear me. I rescind my permission. Get out, leave my vessel. I’m saying no. Do you hear me? No.”
So Risa isn’t scared at all, listening to Sam Winchester laying down the law to the Devil - but that’s before he starts to glow.
Risa doesn’t know which is more shocking. Seeing how beautiful Lucifer’s true form is, as the Prince of Lies is expelled from his former vessel, or witnessing Dean Winchester’s subsequent breakdown, once the angel is dispelled into the ether. Risa watches dumfounded as Dean dissolves into tears mixed with laughter as he holds onto his giant of a little brother and won’t let go.
That, Risa decides, is definitely the most disturbing event of this strange afternoon. She can tell herself this because she is successfully maintaining a wall of steel between her frail mind and the trauma of Cas exploding. At least Lucifer blazing with light was how the script was supposed to go. It was what she would have expected of an angel, had she ever given those heavenly beings any consideration. On the other hand, seeing Dean Winchester like this - who never even smiles while having sex and goes about every task as if his soul is dead inside – that’s so out of character it leaves Risa feeling unsettled and off balance. Two states she hates even more than using leaves for toilet paper.
Neither of the Winchesters is looking too good though, and the setting sun means their light is nearly gone. The island the park is had been Croat-free when they’d arrived, but there’s no guarantee it will stay that way, especially now that Lucifer is no longer present as a deterrent. And this little island is slap bang in the middle of Detroit – ground zero for the Croat virus back in ’09, when media hacks had all worked so hard to stir up the panicked population. Risa remembers it well, even though she tries to forget most things about the past – no point in dwelling on everything they’ve lost, right? Her hand drifts unconsciously to the pocket where she keeps the photograph of Carl.
“Sam,” she says; tentative, as she’s still wary of the man, who is after all a complete stranger to her. “We need to get away from here.”
He smiles and nods agreement, but his expression quickly turns to a grimace when he tries to stagger to his feet, pulling Dean up with him. She’s not sure who’s supporting whom, the two brothers are so wrapped up in each other, hands clinging onto layers of cotton and incongruous polyester, and leaning in like each of them is trying to get inside the other’s skin. Sam is sallow and worn in the last light of the dying sun, but Dean looks exponentially worse, his bleeding face swollen almost out of all recognition. As they try to get to their feet, Risa helping as best she can, Risa thinks Dean isn’t going to make it. She’s seen enough fatal wounds in the last two years to get a feel for these things. Sam throws her an angry glance as if he’s heard what she’s thinking, but she can see from his eyes, panicked and desperate, he’s thinking the exact same thing. Then Sam’s face lights up as he takes in something behind her, and this day full of weird gets even stranger. A warm hand lands on her shoulder and gently moves her out of the way, then a figure moves in to prop up Dean on the opposite side to his brother.
Risa drops back and nearly lands on her ass in shock. “Cas…Castiel? But…you exploded. You were dead! I saw you…how…?”
This Cas is different. He’s more clean shaven, his hair still tousled but shorter, and he looks at her - blue eyes dark and wide, his expression more solemn than she’s ever seen - like he’s forgotten how to smile. “I do not know how I’ve been brought back, Risa, but I think I know why.” His speech patterns are strangely formal, and Risa wonders about angels. This angel in particular. How much of the Cas she had known and cared about is in this Castiel?
Castiel turns his head to contemplate the battered, wounded tangle that is the brothers Winchester. Risa thinks from that proximity the old Cas would have been daunted by the mess the two men are in, but Castiel looks completely calm. As is he’s aware of the impassionate scrutiny, Dean somehow manages to lift his head to look at Cas through his least injured eye.
“You got your angel juice back again, Cas?” Dean slurs, sounding hopeful, and Cas inclines his head to the right, a curiously bird-like gesture.
“I think I am, as you put it, Dean, juiced enough to heal one of you. I fear I will not have sufficient strength for both,” Cas says, and almost before he’s finished his sentence, both brothers speak at the same time.
“Heal him,” they say. Cas and Risa exchange a glance that says Of course they do. Both of them understand how families work, and Risa would have done anything for Carl when her little brother was still alive. Even though Sam’s only been back with them for a matter of minutes, Risa already understands where Dean’s priorities lie. And it isn’t with her or the new-born angel. Her sympathy for these Winchesters grows, alongside a feeling of comradeship with the angel, filling a small empty space in her heart.
“Dean,” Sam says, and somehow, in spite of everything, he’s smiling at his brother, though it looks like his eyes are full of tears. “It has to be you. I won’t lie to you and tell you I’m all right, because I’m not, but I’m going to work on it, okay? But I can’t do it alone, and you…you’re dying, Dean.”
Dean doesn’t try to deny it, and Risa swallows hard past the lump in her throat. At the end of the world with their greatest battle fought and won, who’d have thought everything would come down to the love between two damaged men.
“You won’t be alone, Sammy. You’ll have Cas, and Risa, and Chuck…”
“Dean, no. Stop. I lost you once before and I lost myself then too, and you know how badly that ended for all of us. I can’t go through that again, I just can’t.” Sam holds up one hand when Dean looks like he’s going to carry on protesting, and then he stares challengingly across at Cas.
“I’m guessing Castiel could heal my body of the damage being Lucifer’s vessel has done,” Cas nods at that but Sam continues, relentless “But he couldn’t ever heal my heart, Dean. Even an angel of the Lord can’t heal that kind of grief. It goes too deep.”
“Sammy,” Dean sounds more broken now than he has at any time during these terrible few hours, but it’s already evident Sam isn’t going to allow Dean to sway him. This is the man who just said no to the Devil, after all. Risa can see the inner steel in Sam Winchester, even though he’s swaying on his feet.
“It has to be this way, Dean. Castiel, please. Do it, before it’s too late. I don’t suppose you’d be able to rescue Dean from Hell a second time, so let’s not take that chance.”
Cas brings a hand up to touch Dean’s face, and Risa only has a second to comprehend that what they have just been discussing is impossible, they are talking about performing a genuine miracle, before she witnesses the power of it in action. As Castiel passes his hand across Dean’s face, Dean’s wounds seal themselves and the terrible black bruises fade to nothing. Inside, under the newly-formed skin, Risa can sense bones knitting, pierced lungs emptying of fluid and torn muscle fibres blending together, as if she herself was an active part of the healing process. It’s making her breathless and dizzy and her heart is beating fast as a hunted deer.
The healing continues until it’s done, and with it Risa’s done too; what with the with fear and wonder, and a surfeit of fight or flight and unable to do either. Her legs are trembling and all she wants to do is sit down and sleep for a week. Fat chance.
Castiel steps back and she expects Dean to say something, to leap to his feet shouting I’m cured or something – after all, he’s just been healed by the power of God or whatever - but he merely lets out a small sigh and falls into an anticlimactic slumber. Risa feels nothing but envy, she’s so tired she could cry. Sam is still holding Dean, but he’s looking trashed, and Risa just knows it’s going to be up to her and Cas to get these two to safety. She’s not looking forward to another eleven-hour drive, but Camp Chitaqua is the only truly safe place they know, so back to Kansas is where they have to go.
Between them, Cas and Risa help a wobbly Sam and comatose Dean back to the jeep. She understands now why Dean hadn’t brought a bigger team. It’s going to be hard enough for anyone who ever encountered Lucifer to accept Sam as it is. It’s Risa who gets Sam to strip off that too-recognisable white suit and dress in some spare fatigues that were stuffed into a duffel she finds in the back. Dean came prepared, she realises, because the clothes were very clearly made to fit Sam, even with those long limbs of his. She chokes up a little again, thinking about that tiny flame of hope Dean must have been nursing inside him all this time, even knowing that his brother was being worn by the Devil and was probably beyond saving. It suddenly hits her, the memory of that little flinch Dean gave every time he’s reminded of the failed attempt to kill Lucifer with the Colt. Now at last she understands what it meant. That memory must have been tinged with relief as well as the pain of failure. Dean had gone into that situation thinking that shot would kill Lucifer, sure, but knowing it was going to kill his little brother too.
Even while he’s getting dressed, Sam never lets go of the pendant, and only releases his grip on Dean for the brief time it takes him to pull on the t-shirt and over shirt, and button up his pants. Then the two Winchesters are hunkered down in the back seat, while Cas joins her to ride shotgun. Risa rubs at her heart, pretends she’s just adjusting her seat belt.
“Sam,” Cas says, looking over his shoulder. Sam has Dean’s head cushioned on his broad chest, and a peaceful expression on his weary face. “I fear my grace is only temporary. I can feel it draining away even now. I wish it were otherwise, and that I had sufficient juice to help you too.”
“It’s okay, Cas, really. You did the right thing. I’ll be fine.”
Cas doesn’t look convinced, but he faces front again and Risa drives. After a few miles, she sees in the rear view that Sam too is asleep. These two men, who have been through so much, look like children in their sleep, and though all maternal instincts have been burned out of her, Risa can’t help but be moved by it. A few more miles and she can’t bear the quiet any longer. She needs more than the sound of breathing over the rumble of the engine if she’s going to make it back home. She needs answers.
“So. An angel of the Lord, huh?”
Cas starts and she can feel him looking at her. She keeps her eyes on the road, makes it easier for him.
“I was, once,” he says. “Then…things happened and…I fell.”
“Want to tell me about it?” she asks, giving him the opt out, but hoping he won’t take it. He doesn’t. Castiel whiles away the dark by telling Risa his story. Which is, of course, inextricably linked to Dean, and to Sam, and, as it turns out, to dear departed Bobby and Chuck too. It really is a revelation.
By the time they arrive back at Camp Chitaqua, Sam and Dean are waking up, but Risa and Cas are exhausted. It doesn’t stop Risa leaning across after she’s parked up and she kisses Cas, soft and tender, full on the lips. It’s meant as a promise and an invitation, and she’s happy to wait a while to see whether Cas will accept. Perhaps this time his descent into humanity will be less about banging gongs and more about finding comfort where it’s offered. She sure as hell could do with some, and she’d be more than happy to share.
It’s a mark of the community Dean’s created that ninety per cent of the Camp accept Sam’s presence without question, even though some of them recognise his face from the news casts back from when there was still television. And most of the ten per cent that express doubts are willing to listen to the Winchesters’ side of the story. It’s Christmas after all, a time for story telling. Chuck’s managed to find a stock of Wild Turkey, a hundredweight of toilet paper, and in a true Christmas miracle, a couple of sides of frozen beef. In the end only one guy, Dave Mitchell, wants to leave, and Dean lets him go even though Risa can tell Dean’s terrified Dave is going to spread the word outside that the Devil is living in Chitaqua, making Sam vulnerable to anyone who wants to take a shot at him.
Risa quietly follows Dave when he walks through the gates and down the road outside the fence. She trails him for a mile or so before she slits his throat and drags his body into the woods for the coyotes, and doesn’t think twice about it. Sometimes ugly deeds are necessary in this brave new world of theirs, and Dave clearly hadn’t understood something crucial about this life. This is her family now, and if Risa’s learned one thing from Dean and Sam Winchester, it’s that family is the most important thing there is.