#ok but also imagine if sam had made a deal for jacks life thus continuing the cycle!?!?

[xyberangelzparadise]

Sam is condemned by each of these deals but in different ways. Mary's deal condemns his body, John's deal condemns his life, and Dean's deal condemns his soul.

mary’s deal condemns john to life and john’s deal condemns dean to life and dean’s deal condemns sam to life and sam was already damned by mary’s deal to begin with.

[klove0511]

At Any Cost Chapter 5

Sam had been comatose in Bobby’s panic room for just over 24 hours, and Dean thought he was going to go crazy if he didn’t do something. He’d used up the last of their African Dream Root in a failed attempt to enter Sam’s dreams, but Cas had informed him that it hadn’t worked because Sam wasn’t truly asleep. Without the grace holding him together, his soul, and therefore his mind, had likely fractured under the strain of his memories from Hell. Dean didn’t like sitting still, and he hated being told he couldn’t help Sam. Cas had been in and out all day, wanting to keep vigil with Dean, but constantly needing to talk to angels or deal with business in Heaven as they scrambled to figure out what Raphael planned to do with Sam’s grace. The obvious answer—open the Cage—wasn’t terribly helpful since no one seemed to know how he planned to do that.

Dean thought it might not matter. Since every other opening to the Cage had been on Earth, he reasoned this one would be too. All they needed to do was show up wherever he was and take Sam’s grace back. In the meantime, Dean wanted to try something to get Sam vertical again. If Cas could get him into Sam’s head, then maybe he could help Sam piece enough of himself together to wake up. Cas thought returning the grace to Sam would be enough to “fix” him and having him present when they took it back from Raphael would make the whole process a lot faster. There was also the small matter of defeating Raphael once and for all, which Cas was apparently convinced Sam could do. Dean wasn’t sure what gave him that idea, but if it was true, then it begged the question: had Raphael targeted Sam because he needed the grace to open the Cage or just because he saw Sam as a threat?

Either way, they needed to get Sam walking.

Dean posed the question to Cas the next time he appeared. “Can you get me in there?” he asked. Cas said nothing, just narrowed his eyes at Dean, so Dean explained his reasoning.

Cas hesitated. “I can. You may not like what you see. His experience in Hell was likely very different from yours.”

Dean stared right back at the angel. “I don’t care.”

With no time to delay beyond getting Dean settled on a cot of his own, they began immediately. Cas pressed his palm against Dean’s forehead, then reached for Sam’s shoulder. The panic room melted away, and Dean found himself in…a porn video?

He looked around. They appeared to be in a motel room, familiar in the way they all were, but it didn’t ring any specific bells for him. On the bed were three large, naked men. After he got over the initial shock of being confronted with three guys having some very athletic sex, he realized it was him, Sam, and Cas. Sam was being spit-roasted, with Dean taking him from behind while Cas was doing an admirable job of fucking Sammy’s face. Sam, for his part, seemed to be enjoying himself, judging by the obscene noises he was making and the way his impressive erection bobbed with every thrust. They finished simultaneously, and the scene morphed around them. Different motel room, similar scenario. This time, Cas was flat on his back while Sam rode his cock. As they watched, dream-Dean approached from behind and worked himself into Sam alongside Cas. Sam was flushed and groaning, clearly enjoying himself.

“Damn, Sammy. Been holding out on me,” Dean breathed. He was achingly hard himself, just from watching for the last minute.

Cas’s strangled voice startled him out of his reverie. “This is a…pleasurable situation?”

Dean glanced at the angel and snickered. He’d never seen Cas so flustered before. “Yeah. This is a pleasurable situation so long as everyone agreed to it.”

Another glance told Dean the angel still had questions. “Dude, no. I am not getting into the protocols of kinky sex with you right now. Ask Sam when this is all over.” He checked the room again. “Speaking of Sam, what are we doing in his spank bank?”

Cas frowned. “The damage has made Sam’s mind difficult to navigate. This was the most coherent section I could find.”

Dean attempted to parse that into something resembling English. “You mean we found him? That,” he pointed to the Sam currently pounding dream-Cas into the bed while dream-Dean jacked off in the chair watching them, “is really Sam? He’s been having wet dreams while I was out there worrying he was dying?”

Cas glared at Dean. “Most likely, he has retreated here because the rest of his mind has become a hellscape.”

Dean considered that, then returned his gaze to the scene. He sighed. He hated interrupting a good sex dream, but he needed to get Sam conscious ASAP. If they were lucky, maybe he’d be able to make it up to him later.

“Sam. Hey, man, I need you to wake up.”

Sam didn’t respond. Dean wasn’t sure if he was just ignoring him or if the fractured state of his mind was preventing Dean from interacting with him. Either way, Dean moved closer to the bed, placing himself in Sam’s eyeline. Reaching out, he gripped Sam’s shoulder. Sam startled and stared at Dean, before his eyes began to glaze over and he lost himself to the rhythm again.

“Hey, no. Come on, Sam. Stay with me,” Dean said, twisting Sam’s shoulders around to face him. “This isn’t real.”

Sam laughed darkly. “Of course it’s not real. You think my brother would ever want to do this with me after what I’ve done? Or that Castiel would? Me, Lucifer’s vessel, Ender of the World?” He snorted derisively.

Dean blinked in surprise. “Ok, there is so much wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start. But the point is that you’re going to die if you don’t wake up.”

Sam shrugged. “At least I’ll die happy,” Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh for the love of—Sam, I’m real. That Cas, over there, is real. I can tell you for a fact that you can have at least some of this fantasy in real life if you’d just wake up.”

“My brother thinks I’m a freak. But now that the grace is gone, I’m human again. It’s better this way.”

“The hell it is.” Dean thought he might be sick. Was this what Sam thought of him? Of them?

Sam refocused on Dean and wrinkled his forehead. The naked bodies dissipated, though the motel room remained. Dean tried to hold onto hope. This was progress, right?

“Sam, I just—just—got you back. Is this whole situation bizarre? Yes. Of course it is. Even by our standards it’s weird knowing my brother is some sort of half-angel now. But you know what? I don’t care. I would rather have you alive and by my side than—” Dean spread his hands. “Than anything. You name it.”

Sam watched him give his speech, then sadly looked out the door. “I can’t go out there.”

Dean looked from Sam to the door and back again. “Why? Because your memories of Hell are out there?”

Sam gave him a tight nod.

“Sam, I’ve been to Hell. I know you can do this.” He smiled. “You were always the stronger one of us.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, you’ve been to Hell. Dean, that was just the rack.” Dean was taken aback by the pitiless look on Sam’s face, but then his expression softened a little. “Sorry. I know how horrible that was for you. So, please, try to understand this: I looked forward to the days he put me on the rack and just cut. Those were my good days.”

Dean felt nauseous remembering his time in Hell. He couldn’t imagine something worse, much less what would be so much worse that the rack was the preferable option. He’d been willing to torture souls, to do anything, really, to escape that pain. He thought he could, maybe, face that again if he had to, but there weren’t words for what he was asking of Sam. He swallowed hard, realizing there was nothing he could say that could convince Sam. He was going to lose him. The knowledge hit him in the gut, and he thought he might throw up. He turned to Cas, who had been quiet till now. A silent conversation passed between them, then Cas spoke.

“I am sorry that we are asking this of you, Sam.” His voice was rough. “However, you must understand. Raphael will use your grace as a conduit to reach Michael and Lucifer. They will find new vessels, and then they will fight. You know best what that will look like for Earth.”

Sam shook his head. “So go get the grace. What do you need me for?”

Castiel hesitated. “To defeat Raphael.”

Sam started to laugh, the looked at Castiel’s serious face. Dean couldn’t meet his eyes. “I can’t.”

Dean cringed. “You can. You tossed him across the yard the first time you fought him, and you did that injured and without training. Now? I know you can kick his ass.”

Sam’s eyes were wild, panicked. “Then bring me the grace after you take it back from Raphael. We all know that even if I wake up right now I’ll be useless without it.”

Castiel shook his head. “That is too risky.” He continued speaking over Sam’s spluttered protests. “If Raphael escapes, it will be impossible to track him. He will not let his presence be known, and if he ambushes you again he will not be so foolish as to let you live. Bringing you to this fight as you are is dangerous, exceedingly so. However, this is a risk we must take if we hope to succeed. You need to be ready to accept your grace as soon as we have it, thus you must leave this room and face your memories. We cannot do this without you, Sam.”

After a long pause where Dean thought Sam was going to continue to argue, Sam gave a small nod. Dean tried not to notice how pale his little brother looked as he turned to face the door. He spared a glance at Cas while Sam steeled himself, then he clapped a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“We’ll see you on the other side,” Dean said, offering Sam his best proud brother expression.

He thought Sam looked marginally less queasy as he swallowed hard and muttered, “Yeah. See you.”

Dean wished he could do this for Sam, wished it didn’t need to be done. He didn’t bother wishing Sam had never gone to Hell in the first place. It was done. He couldn’t change the past; he’d tried. But this, yeah, he wished there was a viable alternative to making Sam suffer for them again. It didn’t change the fact that he was damn proud of Sam as he pulled open the door and walked into Hell, head held high.

 Sam wasn’t sure where he was. Or when. Or who. He thought he was Sam, but he might be Lucifer. Only that didn’t make sense. He hurt. Angels didn’t hurt, right?

Or, or maybe they did. He thought he remembered screaming. Or heard screaming. Not human screaming. Was it him? Or just a memory? He felt so lost, and he just wanted his Dean. Or Cas. If this was Hell, maybe Cas would come to lead him out again.

Wait. Again. Sam latched onto that life raft of a word like a drowning man. He could remember getting out of Hell. Slowly, he managed to piece together enough of his shattered consciousness to realize he was probably awake and in Bobby’s panic room.

The panic room had been a particular favorite in Hell thanks to Sam’s bad memories of detoxing in there, so he wasn’t 100% sure this wasn’t one of Lucifer’s illusions. The tumbler of whiskey on the table that suggested Dean had been here recently helped, but the otherwise empty room didn’t. Maybe Dean had just stepped out. Everyone needed to pee eventually.

Momentarily buoyed by this thought, Sam levered himself to sitting with a groan. He wondered how long he’d been out. Obviously not long enough to justify a hospital, but with an angel for a friend, that didn’t mean much. His body was stiff, more than usual for a morning after a hard sleep. As he worked to organize his thoughts, he realized half of his discomfort was simple thirst and hunger. Easy enough to fix, and maybe he’d find Dean. He had a bad feeling that Dean should have been back by now.

The world tilted dangerously as Sam stood, but steadied after a moment. He carefully shuffled to the door and was relieved to find it unlocked. Not punishment, just safety. For a moment, panic spiked through his brain. What if he was alone because everyone else was gone? They’d been attacked while he slept, safe in the warding of the panic room. Pain bloomed in his chest as he struggled for air, and darkness ate at the edges of his vision.

Suddenly, hands landed on his shoulders, manhandling him into whatever position they wanted. Lucifer, his mind supplied. Sam fought back with all the strength he could muster, but it wasn’t enough. There was shouting, then a cool breeze and the smell of thunderstorms, then blackness.

The next time Sam woke, he was not alone. Dean and Cas were both there, carefully watching him. It was embarrassing, but Sam had to admit he was grateful. The world felt more solid this time around.

“Easy, Sammy.” Dean spoke as Sam slowly shifted himself upright on the cot. His hand on Sam’s back felt warm and reassuring.

“What happened?” Sam asked, realizing he still wasn’t sure what was real and what had been dream.

Dean and Cas shared a glance, then Dean asked, “What do you remember?”

Tough question, when reality felt disturbingly shaky. He remembered a lot, most of it bad. He shoved away the memories of his time in Hell for the moment. Most recent was…Lucifer? He wasn’t sure about that one and didn’t want to ask, so he opted for the most recent memory he had any confidence in. “Raphael jumped me in our motel room.”

Another shared look between Dean and Cas, and Sam was starting to get annoyed by that. This time, Cas broke the silence. “How are you feeling, Sam?”

“Hungry, thirsty. Not bad, considering.” He hoped that trend was going to continue, but he wasn’t optimistic enough to expect it. “How long was I out?”

“Two days,” Dean said, then he went over the plan to take on Raphael. Sam cringed inwardly as he realized he hadn’t imagined Dean and Cas’s visit in his mental landscape.

“You guys were really in my head,” he said flatly. “I didn’t—You w—” He stopped, swallowing both confession and apology. They weren’t supposed to know about those fantasies. Even if Dean had felt something once, or even still did, Cas had never been part of that equation. Besides, Sam was all too aware of how the angel felt about him. Still, he couldn’t apologize for loving them. He sighed, head hanging.

“Sam,” Castiel said, voice full of emotion that Sam couldn’t begin to parse out, “What do you remember about how you escaped Hell?”

“Noth—" The denial died on his lips. He did remember, possibly always had if he’d just looked close enough. It was easier to remember without the grace, though the memories of Lucifer’s torture were constantly threatening to drown him. “You pulled me out.”

“Do you know why?” Cas said, kneeling in front of Sam and gently tilting his head until their eyes met.

Sam managed to maintain eye contact as he shook his head.

“I did it because I could not bear the thought of this world without you in it. I am sorry that I took so long to reach you, that I have been distant lately.”

Sam was speechless. That sounded like—but no. That wasn’t possible. “Cas?” he asked, annoyed at how breathless he sounded.

The angel’s piercing blue gaze never wavered.

Sam glanced at Dean, but his brother’s expression was unreadable. He didn’t look surprised though, so the two of them must have talked while Sam was out. Tentatively, Castiel’s hand came up to cup Sam’s cheek. Sam would have been ashamed of how he leaned into the touch if he could think clearly, but his mind was a fog of disbelief and quavering hope.

“May I?” Cas asked, eyes flicking down to Sam’s mouth.

Sam nodded, and Castiel surged up to press their lips together. Sam’s arms wrapped around the angel while Cas’s hands buried themselves in Sam’s hair. Sam lost himself in the feeling of Cas surrounding him, his grace like a gentle breeze pushing against the madness lurking at the edges of Sam’s mind. He reveled in it, hardly daring to believe that this one thing he thought impossible was really happening.

Dean loudly cleared his throat, and they broke apart, panting. Sam managed to tear his eyes away from Cas long enough to check on Dean and caught him adjusting himself in his pants. Huh. That was not something Sam had been expecting. He felt light-headed, realizing he might actually get a chance at having it all, every last thing he wanted. It felt too good to be true.

With that thought, a wave of cold terror washed over him as his mind happily supplied dozens of scenarios Lucifer had manipulated him with in Hell. Scenarios in which Dean or Cas had saved him. Scenarios in which he was happy, loved and safe until Lucifer threw back the curtain and revealed the lie for what it was. Son of a bitch. He’d thought for sure this time. He’d thought he’d gotten past this stupid, weak, pathetic hope. Dean might have loved him enough once, but not since Sam started the Apocalypse. Cas—well, Castiel had never been subtle about his opinion of Sam. No way this was real, which meant—Sam felt his chest tighten as he struggled for air.

 Watching Sam and Cas making out had been unexpectedly hot, as had the lust blown look Sam had leveled at him when he spotted Dean’s erection. The arousal in the air had only lasted a moment though, as Dean watched Sam’s expression falter. He felt his own eyebrows gather in concern that swiftly transformed into alarm as Sam doubled over, hyperventilating.

“Sam?” he said, moving to his brother’s side. “Sam! Cas, what the hell is going on?”

The angel looked stricken where he crouched between Sam’s knees, but he didn’t answer.

Ignoring him, Dean pulled Sam closer, trying to get Sam to make eye contact with him. With Sam pressed to his chest he could hear his little brother muttering nonsense about Lucifer and Hell and how nothing was real. Christ, the kid couldn’t be awake for five minutes without having a panic attack. This was a stupid plan that was going to get them all killed. Cas brushed his fingers against Sam’s forehead, and Sam slumped into Dean’s hold. Dean closed his eyes and clung to his brother while he addressed Cas.

“This isn’t going to work. He can’t fight like this.”

He didn’t look, but he could feel Cas’s resignation in the air. “He needs his grace.”

“We don’t know that’ll help.” Dean frowned, reluctant to voice the fears chasing around his head but needing to know the angel’s contingency plan. “What if—”

“It will work. It must.” Cas’s voice was hard, and Dean wondered if that was how he sometimes sounded to other people. Cas was right, of course. Getting Sam’s grace back to him had to work. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Still, they obviously needed to revise their plan to make sure Sam didn’t get killed before they had a chance to get his grace back to him.

 Hours later, Dean shook Sam’s shoulder to rouse him. He looked adorable asleep, but it was time. They finally had a lead on Raphael and they couldn’t afford to wait. Dean saw when Sam’s mind fully clicked back online, the fuzziness from angel-induced sleep clearing as he recognized where he was. Dean didn’t say anything at first, not wanting to provoke another meltdown. He could see the question on Sam’s face, but he wasn’t sure if it was “what happened” or “is this real,” and Dean didn’t want to know. Probably would make the world seem more fake if he addressed the issue, and his goal at the moment was to get Sam upstairs with the others without needing an angel intervention.

Annoyed with how off-kilter he felt, he shoved a glass of water at Sam and half-growled, “We’re good to go, sleepyhead. You coming?” He watched Sam think, trying to decipher the context behind the question. Dean realized his misstep almost immediately. Sam’s mind was a minefield, making him navigate it was just asking for trouble, so he added, “Time to throw down with Raphael, get your mojo back.” To his relief, the confusion in Sam’s expression cleared, replaced with determination.

They met the others upstairs, and before the atmosphere could get too tense and awkward, Cas zapped them to a cemetery. Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it. He recognized this place even though he’d only been here once, nearly two years ago. Stull. He swallowed. Cas was right about one thing at least. This was ending today.

Raphael had an altar set up and covered in spell ingredients. Dean couldn’t see the vial of Sam’s grace, but he was sure it was there. The group split, Bobby dragging Sam behind cover while Dean and Cas faced down the archangel. Half a dozen angels flanked Raphael. Dean steeled himself. Outnumbered didn’t begin to cover this scenario. He just hoped Cas could piss Raphael off enough that he went for pain and not the instant kill Dean knew he was capable of.

He shouldn’t have worried. Castiel vanished, reappearing above Raphael. “Hey, assbutt,” he said, dropping a holy oil Molotov on yet another archangel. It was becoming his signature move. That should buy them some time, at least. Dean tried to run to the table—the grace was definitely there, Cas wouldn’t have risked torching it if he didn’t have eyes on it—but he was stopped by two of the angels. They clashed, and it took all of Dean’s attention to stay alive. Getting to that altar was not going to happen, not before Raphael pulled himself together enough to atomize them.

 Sam tried to tune out the sound of fighting behind him, but it was impossible. He knew what was happening, but his memories of Michael and Lucifer’s futile clashes in those early years were causing such a visceral reaction that all he could do was rock in place and hum. He hated it. He was not this broken thing, hiding while his family fought for him. Maybe died for him. That—that was unacceptable. He became aware of Bobby next to him, tangling with an angel that had decided the two of them were easy prey.

Sam took a deep breath and surged to his feet. He could do this. He—he needed an angel blade. Cas had already downed two angels, bringing the numbers more in their favor. Sam could see their swords glittering in the dry grass beside their vessels’ bodies.

He lurched over, tuning out a phantom Michael whispering how useless he was. He knew he could do this. He could fight with Dean, protect the people he loved. He didn’t need to be whole to do that. With each step he regained confidence and strength, finally plunging his blade into an angel that had been trying to stab Dean in the back while he finished off another.

Sam grinned at his brother, emotions soaring with the rush of adrenaline. Lucifer whispered, “I broke you,” but it was so easy to ignore in this moment. These were the people that put him back together. The sound of wings and a look of horror on Dean’s face broke the moment.

Sam didn’t register flying across the cemetery, just the pain that exploded through his head and back as he collided with a gravestone. The world spun, and stars erupted across his vision when he tried to move. Breathing hurt, moving hurt. Even sitting still hurt so much he struggled to keep from vomiting. Dimly, he recognized the cold numbness spreading through his lower half as a very bad thing, but it was difficult to remember why. The liquid iron dripping from his mouth was also bad, and contributing to his nausea, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Continuing to draw shaky, painful breathes was taking every ounce of his concentration. Darkness crowded his vision, and the only clear thought he recognized in his muddled brain was, Not yet.

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