sam winchester (neversurrender) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2014-09-10 21:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, !trigger warning, dean winchester, sam winchester, veronica mars |
Who: Sam & Dean Winchester, Veronica Mars
What: Dean has a nefarious plan to get Sam on his side. Sam has a plan to cure him. One of those plans succeeds, the other fails miserably.
When: it was supposed to happen over the weekend, but things got delayed, so errrrr.... ~flamboyant handwave~
Where: Dean & Cas's apartment
Warnings: demon-vs-human violence, demon powers-against-demon violence, blood drinking & demon blood addiction. i tried to write it subtly to avoid being super disturbing, but if any of those warnings skeeve you out, please don't read any further.
The moment was here, and Sam wasn’t even a little bit prepared for it.
Well, sure, he was prepared in theory. He had a plan, which mostly involved getting a handcuff around Dean’s wrist, getting him to the church he’d picked out, curing him, then making the deal to get rid of the Mark. He just wasn’t prepared, emotionally, for the face off with his brother, and the fact that Veronica was here didn’t really make it better. It was nice to have a hand to hold as they walked up to the door, but the possibility of her being hurt really only added to his sense of dread. None of this was going to be pleasant, even if it went as well as it could.
He was tight-lipped and silent on the bus ride over to Dean and Cas’s apartment, but he didn’t let go of her hand. And before he knocked, he took a deep breath and tried to look more relaxed than he felt. Like he wasn’t planning on having to fight his brother, like he wasn’t expecting Dean to be planning to fight him back. Both things were probably true. Either way, they were probably going past the point of no return tonight.
He looked at Veronica, squeezed her hand, then raised his free hand and knocked.
--
The only thing Dean hadn't lied about was cleaning the apartment. Considering his track record, that was actually pretty ahead of the curve.
Not comforting, but still.
Veronica was an obstacle he could easily work around, so he'd invited her along too, because why the hell not? Dean set this up while Cas was out, just to be safe, leaving him alone with Sam and Veronica when he opened the door and ushered them in. "It'll never look this nice in here again," he warned playfully. It was a far cry from the man Sam had seen on the show, who had been thoroughly nested in the Bunker and actually kept the place organized.
"So I owe you an apology," Dean continued, closing the door behind them. He locked it while he spoke, letting his voice cover up the click. "If you two crazy kids want to get married, I want to be there for you." He pulled Sam into a tight, apparently apologetic hug.
No weapons. Good.
--
From a logical perspective, Veronica understood why Sam was reluctant to bring her along. Even if Dean was sincere, he could still be very dangerous. She understood from him that the process of turning Dean back was one that had a potentially high price. But whatever happened, Veronica didn't want to find out about it later. This was her future husband. He was her partner, her other half, and she was going to be there for him, good or bad.
Was part of her just stubborn and completely unwilling to sit around on her hands waiting for him to come back and say it was okay? Well, obviously. She wasn't a sitting around waiting kind of girl. She liked action, and being a part of things. Some might call it a character flaw, but it was part of her.
So when they arrived, hand in hand, to Dean's door, she was willing to hope that he wanted to apologise and that Sam's plan would work. She didn't plan to have much physically to do with that part, but no matter what, she wanted to make sure that nothing happened to Sam.
She watched Dean hug his brother, and while she didn't come down off alert, she at least felt somewhat better. She hoped he wasn't just a good actor.
"Dean, I know this isn't what you wanted. But I'm not going anywhere. No matter what. But I want you and Sam to...well, make up, if you can. I hope me being here doesn't make it harder," she said. She was rambling a bit, and she played with the ring on her finger as she spoke, still unused to its weight on her hand.
--
Dean could have kept it up a bit longer, but... nah. Maybe it was Veronica's voice. Bad enough that Sam was getting married in the first place, but his taste level had obviously fallen.
Throwing out a hand, he gave Veronica a telekinetic shove that would send her flying across the room, and he took advantage of Sam's distraction to give him a harsh suckerpunch to the jaw. Dena was stronger than he'd let on before, quicker, and was rushing Sam before he had the chance to recover and throw him further into the apartment, with such force that he should crash right into the couch.
"Take a seat, Sammy. We've gotta talk."
--
The way Dean was acting had the opposite effect on Sam: it put him more on edge, not less. He'd seen enough to know that even when human, being nice or sympathetic was Dean's buildup to taking him out, and especially after talking to Cas, he just couldn't find it in himself to believe any of it. He hugged Dean back, but there was an obvious tension in his body.
He was expecting a punch; he wasn't expecting Dean to go after Veronica first. He knew better than to take his eyes off his brother, but he couldn't help tracking Veronica across the room with his gaze, and just barely got his eyes back to Dean in time to see the punch coming. Not in enough time to duck it, though he managed to step backward, reducing the strength of the blow. It didn't help much, with Dean's extra strength.
It probably would have been the smarter thing to just sit down and listen. But Sam was angry. He'd been angry for months now, with no real outlet for it, and now he had all sorts of fears fueling it too: most presently the fear for Veronica's safety, fear that Dean would win this fight and the plan would fail, fear that even if they went through with the cure and the removal of the Mark he still wouldn't have his brother back. In those few seconds, somewhere around the time Veronica hit the wall or maybe it was when Dean's fist connected with his jaw, something inside Sam snapped.
He couldn't stop himself stumbling backward, but he barely managed to get his footing with one heel against the edge of the couch, and shifted his weight forward. Barely cognizant of what Dean was saying, he tried using his height advantage to get a punch in over his brother's guard, aiming it hard for Dean's face. The only answer Dean was going to get, for now, was a guttural sound akin to an angry growl.
He wasn't entirely weaponless; there were webshooters full of webbing mixed with holy water at his wrists, courtesy of Ben Reilly. He'd given the cuffs and a flask of holy water to Veronica. But at the moment, he had too much pent up fury and frustration for anything but a fist fight to be satisfying, no matter how outclassed he was in the strength and speed departments.
--
Sam landed that punch. Dean's head snapped to the side, and when he turned to face Sam again, his eyes had flicked black. "No dice, brother." And he grinned before throwing his brother, hurling him toward the wall.
It was a brutal thing, enough that Dean gave up on the quips. Whenever Sam hit him, Dean hit back harder. Dean could have killed him outright, if that was what he wanted, but every time Sam was thrown, Dean advanced on him with vicious kicks or punches. At one point he snapped a bone in Sam's arm with nothing more than a gesture, and it almost seemed like he was just showing off with it.
The beating -- not the fight, but the beating -- ended when Dean decided he was done. The apartment, shitty as it already was, was trashed. He hadn't been shy about breaking his own furniture or knocking anything over, leaving Sam collapsed in a pile of broken clutter and mess. Dean kept a hand out, telekinetically holding his brother down -- and then he dragged him up onto the wall, the same way Yellow-Eyes and Brady had done with their mother, with Jess, stopping before he got anywhere near the ceiling.
"Tell you what. I'll stop -- really stop -- if we can work something out." With his free hand, Dean slid his hunting knife from the sheath hidden in the back of his jeans. He deliberately dragged the blade over the inside of his arm, deep enough that the blood immediately welled up and dripped, drawing the cut at a slant so he didn't just open up his wrists and bleed out. He'd survive, sure enough, but it would still be inconvenient. "Let's get out of here, Sammy. Just you and me, like old times. You need me, a hell of a lot more than you need any of the assholes around here."
--
Part of the problem was anger, it made Sam want to take the harder way, to take the beating for the sake of getting to dole some out himself. Part of the problem was simply that he wasn't proficient enough with the webshooters, and Dean was too fast to give him enough time to use them, that he didn't manage to get in any shots.
It probably wouldn't have made much difference anyway. The fight was too satisfying, for both of them apparently, until Dean got the better of him. Sam fought the telekinetic hold as hard as he could, managing to get his head and hands a little ways from the wall, only for them to be snapped back against it when his will broke under the strain. His arm hurt, drowning out all the other bumps and bruises and bleeds that peppered almost every part of his body at this point.
And it was part pain, part stubbornness that still kept him from responding-- from saying that he didn't need this Dean, demonic Dean, he needed his real brother back. It was clear to him that this wasn't Dean anymore. His vision was a little blurred; there were tears of mixed pain and frustration in his eyes. But he stared back at Dean defiantly, and in some confusion, watching him cut his own arm.
A little breathlessly, through gritted teeth, he said roughly, "What the hell are you doing?"
--
"You know what I'm doing." Dean sheathed the knife again, freeing up his hand so he could run his fingers over the cut. "Don't you miss it? Feeling powerful? You're following a lot of rules these days, and for what? You belong on the road, kicking ass, taking names. Showing the real monsters who's boss. I know how you felt now, back when you were running with Ruby."
It was... oddly genuine? If there was any shred of his human caring or kindness, it was here, trying to convince Sam to feel good again. "The rush. The power. And I'm bigger than Ruby ever was." Dean took a step forward, then another, gradually coming closer. "You'll be able to do all sorts of new tricks, believe me."
--
The first thing Sam felt was disbelief. He'd talked about using his powers, as a last resort, a trump card against his brother that Dean might not be expecting. Not that he really expected it to work for more than a second or two; he didn't have much power without the blood. But a few seconds could buy a little bit of time if he really needed it. And now Dean wanted to hand him the keys to a power that only worked-- that Sam would only use against-- against him.
The second thing he felt was disgust, and a horrible sense of loss. Every ounce of hope that there was still something of Dean left in there, something that was good, that cared about Sam's best interests, was gone. Dean would never give him blood, even if it was running in his own veins. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by something that he could only call grief, and tried to think.
He didn't miss the blood. There was a part of him that was still addicted, chemically and emotionally, but it was buried under disgust for the way the blood had made him feel, underneath every moral fiber and instinct that told him to resist, to ignore. He was clean, he'd been clean for almost two years, the blood didn't have the power over him that Dean seemed to think it did.
But if his brother-- no, not his brother-- was going to try to convince him to drink it, then the time had come for desperate measures. With the blood, he might have enough power to contain the demon in front of him, really contain him, for more than a few seconds. He might even be able to kill him, or something close to it, though that option wasn't on the table.
He swallowed, hoping it would be taken as an increase in appetite rather than swallowing down the bile rising inside him at the idea of what he was going to do. "Let me down, Dean."
--
Dean was so sure that his logic was sound, so sure that if Sam could backslide again, he need would override anything else. He was remembering how Sam had been years ago, skulking around in the dark, lying, betraying family to feed that hunger -- and how the Mark of Cain and the Blade had slowly taken his own life, like living on an incline and slowly sliding down. Dean was the only demon around, and may have been the only one for a good long time. If Sam was dependent again, Dean would be his only source.
It was a high risk play, and he was banking on that high reward, with the price being his own life. He knew it, but it didn't even occur to him that he could fail.
"That's what I thought." Dean gradually let him down, for the first time wary that Sam was probably hurting and needed the kindness. His bloody arm was outstretched while he was using his powers, putting him in the perfect position for Sam to reach forward and bite.
--
Resisting the temptation of the blood would have been the easiest thing in the world. The amount of disgust, repulsion, and loathing for the stuff that had caused him so much trouble and made him feel so wrong just standing inside his own skin, ever since he was a child-- it far outweighed anything else. Far from having difficulty resisting the addiction, it was a harder battle to force himself to drink it. Again.
Sam took advantage of the fact that he was injured to slump briefly against the wall when he was released. He looked over at Veronica, and felt his heart twist inside his chest. And then he looked Dean in the face, and then at the cut on his arm. He took hold of Dean's arm with his good hand-- the broken arm hung uselessly, painfully, at his side-- and he lowered his mouth to the cut, and drank.
There was a part of him that liked the taste. There was more of him that liked the rush of power that accompanied it the moment he swallowed. He took more, until he was sure he was going to be strong enough. It didn't take much-- Dean had been right about one thing, his blood was stronger than Ruby's.
He raised his head, and wiped his mouth. And then he lifted his good hand, and with a gesture, sent Dean flying back against the wall behind him. His fist clenched, grasping the edges of his brother's twisted demonic soul with his mind, tightening until it hurt. He didn’t want to do any damage, but he wanted it to hurt. "You-- son of a--" he said, too angry to finish the sentence, his fury rising back up along with the tide of power in his veins. He spat the next words in Dean’s direction. "I don't need you. You're not my brother."
--
Well, that's perfect, was Veronica's lone thought before she had been knocked cleanly unconscious by the telekenetic throw across the room. She fell like a sack of potatoes, out like a light. It could have been a minute, could have been an hour, but after a while of a head swimming in colors without any distinct thoughts or dreams, Veronica groaned, coming a bit back to herself.
Through her groggy (and very painful, fuck, being knocked out was not fun) state, Veronica did the best she could to sit up and figure out what was going on. When she did manage to sit up, she saw Dean and Sam going at it, and Veronica's heart sank. The thing she had to steel herself for was happening right in front of her eyes-Sam, taking Dean's demon blood. It was something Sam had thought might have needed to happen in order to subdue Dean, but it didn't make it any easier to watch. Veronica's heart pounded in her chest, but she couldn't speak-it was like a vice had gripped around her throat at what she saw. She pulled herself to her feet, grateful for the fact that they were so distracted as she regained her strength. She swayed only a little before she was fully upright, and then cried out in shock as Sam sent Dean flying across the room.
"Sam!" she cried out, finally having control over her voice, wanting him to know she was okay, she was fine, and whatever he did, he didn't want to kill his brother. She stayed a little back, but her hand went to her pocket with cuffs and with her knife. By God she WOULD be useful, even if it killed her.
--
Well.
That hadn't gone the way he'd wanted it to.
Dean flew into the wall with a sick thud and was in blinding pain by the time he hit the floor. Sam was powerful, and even worse, he was furious, which didn't lend itself to a comfortable experience. It made Dean keenly aware that this body was a vessel as the insides of it were scraped and burned by his soul, twisted thing that it was.
He tried to stand, and got as far as sitting up and shoving himself against the wall. He brought his hands to his head, fisting them in his hair like it would help with the pain. "Sam---!"
--
Sam hadn't dared to look over at Veronica except to spare her a brief glance, and he hadn't known if she was just unconscious, or injured, or-- he didn't dare think about anything worse. Dean wouldn't kill her, surely; he had come here tonight to get Sam on his side, in a manner of speaking, so he had to know that killing her would run counter to his purposes.
The moment he heard her voice, his anger faltered like a candle in a breeze, and then sputtered and disappeared, leaving him with everything underneath. She'd always had a talent for getting under his guard and to the core of his emotional state, though at the moment that wasn't such a good thing. He opened his hand, releasing Dean from the torment he was causing him, but not letting go of his hold entirely. He couldn't let go of Dean's soul for even a second, or Dean would disappear.
"Cricket," he said, voice strained and shaky, cracking with the strange mixture of pain, fear, worry, and relief that he was currently drowning in. He used her nickname as a cue to let her know that however awful this situation probably looked, regardless of what state he was in, he was still him; neither the blood nor his emotions had managed to take control over his thoughts or his actions. "Can you do me a favor and cuff him so that we can pack him up and get him out of here?"
He drew in a ragged breath. Now that the adrenaline was fading, he felt every bit of pain that Dean had dealt him, especially in his arm. "I'm going to need to get my arm fixed, and… detox, before I can do anything else."
--
Veronica responded to Sam's request so quickly that it must have been autopilot and/or adrenaline that moved her forward. She nodded quickly, and then grabbed the cuffs from her back pocket, glad to have a task. She was too amped full of that energy to think about the fact that Dean had just thrown her against the wall, probably had ideas about getting rid of her in some capacity, and instead concentrated on doing what was needed so they could get out of there safely. She cuffed Dean, resisting the temptation to slap him for being a gigantic demonic dick.
She made her way back to Sam, putting a hand gingerly on her arm, her face full of concern. "What do you need me to do? Should I call someone? Who should be here?"
--
The desire to lean against her, or the wall, was a strong one. It was partially force of will and partially the feeling of power from the demon blood in his system that kept Sam standing, but the moment Dean was trapped, he allowed himself to release his hold. He turned his attention to Veronica, though he kept part of his mind focused on the demon soul across the room, a presence that he could feel even when he wasn’t looking. Another part of him was gratefully aware of the hand on his arm, and trying to soak up the strength and comfort that she was offering him. He felt as if he ought to apologize, to explain, but now wasn’t the time. Not yet.
“I’ll tell Mara to call in the troops,” he said. It was just easier, since she was ready and standing by for it. “Can you… send a message to Sarissa, or maybe Snape, or both, ask them if they can help me?”
He closed his eyes, and reached out for Mara with his mind. A few moments later, he opened his eyes again and stalked over to Dean, grabbing hold of his arm-- and intangibly, closing his will around the void inside Dean like an iron fist. “Don’t even think about trying anything. You’ll regret it.”
--
"I'm on it," Veronica said, her voice nearly professional. She'd taken on the role of efficient assistant so she didn't have to think about the danger this situation represented. This wasn't the worst it could possibly have gone, but it definitely wasn't a best case scenario. Veronica was determined not to freak out, not until everything was contained and Sam was okay and she could be sure it would all work out. Until then, she operated on instinct, and moved quickly and efficiently.
She pulled out her cell and sent messages to Sarissa and Snape, asking for help in healing Sam and general demon control. She watched Sam interact with Dean with a kind of nervous anxiety, and she bounced from foot to foot, hoping that she wouldn't need to do something drastic at a moment's notice. Stupid asshole demons. She couldn't wait for Sam to get rid of the one inside his brother, it really did turn him into a dick.
--
Despite having used the exact same cuffs on other demons (especially Crowley), Dean was still a bit surprised at how well they worked. He could pull on them if he wanted to, but he didn't have his strength, and he couldn't really move around unless he was pulled along by someone else.
Then with that painful grip on his soul, Dean grunted in pain. "Fuck, I get it." He didn't necessarily know defeat when he saw it, but this specific fight?
Nope.