hopeitsworthit | (no subject)

It's been a shitty week, an even shittier day (or night), and Dean's about ready to start busting heads.

Except he can't, because that fucking hellbitch is still inside his brother and that means she's off limits.

God fucking dammit.

"You're not getting Sammy. You're not fucking getting my brother. I'll find my way to Hell and kill every last one of you sons of bitches first."

He means it.

God, does he mean it.

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From:

mynamesnotmeg

Talk about unwelcome deja vu.

He wrenches himself back and forth in the chair, pulling against the ropes, then gives up the effort and cackles at Dean.

"Fuck you, Winchester. You think you're so tough -- like you could last a day in Hell."

He bares his teeth.

"As for sweet, sweet Sammy -- I've already got him, and I'm gonna do whatever I want with him. You think I give a rat's ass about the master plan? Fuck the master plan! Sam Winchester's mine!"

From:

salver

Bobby, meanwhile, is standing behind Dean with the book, doing his best to get through this shit as fast as possible.

"Humiliares sub potente magnu dei..."

From:

mynamesnotmeg

"Oops," Sam cuts in. His sudden smile's sharp and sly as he glances back and forth between them. "Doesn't seem to be working. See, I learned a few new tricks."

With that, he bows his head and begins his own Latin chant.

"Spiritus in mundus un glorum suarum umitite palatum iram domine--"

The sound of his voice is suddenly lost underneath the roar as the fire flares and the earth trembles, shaking the room.

From:

hopeitsworthit

Oh fucking hell.

Not literally.

"Uh."

He shoots a look at Bobby, bracing himself for whatever's about to happen. Ten to one odds it ain't gonna be good.

"Pretty sure this isn't going how we planned it, Bobby. You got any clue?"

From:

salver

His gaze has been flicking up and down, from the words (that he knows pretty well already, but this isn't the kind of thing you want to fuck up) to Dean to Sam and back again.

In the chair, Sam -- the thing riding Sam -- strains; the sleeve of his shirt pulls up, revealing a scar, one that looks new, kind of like the power symbol on the computer but twisted at an angle.

Shit --

"It's a binding link -- it's like a lock -- he's locked himself inside Sam's body!"

From:

hopeitsworthit

"Fuck."

Goddammit, this is even worse than that casino bullshit, and whatever that was was --

"What the hell do we do now?"

It's Sam, it's Sam being possessed this time and god fucking dammit, Dean can't think --

From:

salver

It's not like Bobby has the fucking key.

"I don't know!"

From:

mynamesnotmeg

He's kept chanting steadily all along, when suddenly--

"-- omnia veritatis!" Sam throws back his head and howls at the ceiling.

What's worse, it responds.

Dark lines shot with fire rip across wood and plaster, then tear apart into wide cracks.

Cracks that destroy the sanctity of Solomon's seal.

Cracks that open the devil's trap.

Sam smiles.

"That's better."

He jerks his head back, and a wave of unholy force blasts out of him at the other two.

From:

salver

It knocks Bobby straight into a wall. Stacks of books slide to the floor.

From:

hopeitsworthit

Oh shi --

What is with the whole flinging people into walls thing?

Dean has a second to try going limp before he smashes into said wall, the jarring impact freezing up his muscles (and brain), and he opens his hands in a futile effort to keep his face from hitting the floor.

Guess what that means for the flask of holy water he was carrying?

Yep. It's about two feet to the left of where he lands.

Fuck.

From:

mynamesnotmeg

He rips free from the ropes binding him as though they were mere paper chains, and stalks toward Dean.

"You know what people say when they want to describe the worst possible thing?"

He crouches down and bunches Dean's shirt in his left hand, lifting him slightly. His jaw is clenched tight, and the ink-black gaze promises nothing good.

"They say it's like hell. You know what? There's a reason for that."

From:

hopeitsworthit

Dean's open his mouth to say something if he weren't already so fucking dizzy.

As it is, he grapples weakly for Sam's shirt, holding on just in case he can get some leverage. Or. Something.

To tell you the truth? It's kinda starting to feel like Hell right here and now. Goddamn demons. If he doesn't get Sam back --

From:

mynamesnotmeg

He lifts Dean a little higher, then cocks his right fist and slams it hard into Dean's jaw.

"Hell is like, um..."

Fury crosses his expression, and he hits Dean again. Sam looks grimly satisfied as Dean's nose begins to bleed.

"Well, it's like hell. Even for demons."

From:

hopeitsworthit

Yeah, Dean feels real damn sorry for whatever's in there.

Real sorry.

Yeah, right.

He can't even muster up the energy to spit.

From:

mynamesnotmeg

"It's a prison," Sam informs him, "made of bone, and flesh, and blood, and fear."

He smashes his fist into the other's face again, then grabs him by the hair, holding his head still and forcing Dean to look at him.

"And you sent me back there."

From:

hopeitsworthit

Dean sent --

Oh Jesus fucking Christ, a demon with a grudge.

Great.

Could this get any better?

He dredges up the energy for a sneer.

"Meg."

Who else is it gonna be?

From:

mynamesnotmeg

"No. Not anymore." He hits Dean again, and smiles. "Now I'm Sam."

He grabs hold of Dean's injured shoulder, finding the right spot with unerring skill. Sam digs his thumb into the bullet wound as he tells him,

"By the way, I saw your Dad there."

He smirks, twisting his wrist and driving his fingers deeper.

"He says 'Howdy.'"

From:

hopeitsworthit

Dean's response of 'like he'd say anything to you' gets cut off and replaced by a wordless moan.

Motherfuck.

At least he doesn't scream.

And he isn't gonna. No matter what.

Goddammit.

From:

mynamesnotmeg

"All that I had to hold onto was that I would climb out one day. And I knew that when I did, I was gonna torture you. Nice and slow. Just like pulling the legs off an insect, one... by... one."

He grabs Dean's wrist and shoves his hand away, then returns his iron grip to the bullet wound.

"But it doesn't matter, does it, Dean? I can see it in your eyes. Whatever I do to you is nothing compared to what you'll do to yourself. You couldn't save your Dad, and deep down?"

He lets go of Dean's shoulder and indicates himself.

"You know that you can't save your brother."

He draws back his fist again, holding off the next blow just long enough to spit into Dean's face,

"You're fucking worthless. They'd have been better off without you."

From:

salver

His hand clamps down on Sam's arm.

Enough.

If it doesn't work, he's probably dead, but they're both dead if he doesn't.

He slaps the hot poker from the fireplace -- orange-hot -- on Sam's arm.

From:

hopeitsworthit

Yeah, that last one hurt.

Not that Dean's gonna admit it.

Especially not if the smell of Sam's burning flesh makes him hurl.

Fuck.

Maybe passing out wouldn't be so bad, after all.

From:

mynamesnotmeg

He yells at the searing pain, then throws his head back and howls in true agony.

Black smoke pours upward from his throat as Sam continues to scream, gathering in a wildly seething mass underneath the cracked seal on the ceiling. It twists around itself, seeking an escape route -- and spying one.

The column of smoke throws itself into the fireplace and vanishes up the chimney.

Sam collapses to the floor.

From:

hopeitsworthit

Dean takes a second or two to breathe, taking stock of himself before struggling half-upright.

Only then does he look at his brother.

"Sammy?"

From:

gavemea_45

His eyelids flutter, then open.

Sam jerks in shock and scrabbles at the floor, pushing himself up until he's leaning against a nearby table. Only then does he seem to realize that hurt a hell of a lot more than it should.

"Ow--" He grabs at his right forearm. Blinking in confusion, Sam looks up at Bobby, then back to Dean.

"... uh. Did I miss something?"