The Lesser of Two Evils

Part Seven

A/N: Final part! And first completed multichapter Supernatural story, so...yay for me, I guess! All reviewers get virtual lemon creme pie from me, because I'd really like to know what you think of it.

"I…may have an idea about that."

"Go on."

"I don't know if you will like it. In fact, I think I can guarantee that you will not."

"We're listening."

"As I said, Heaven is now in a state bordering on anarchy. Very few of us seem to be trying to rectify the situation and restore some semblance of order. It has been…difficult, very difficult, to say the least, to get any of my brethren to so much as listen to me, let alone follow me, excepting a select few from my garrison, and I could use some…"

"Some what?"

"Some assistance."

"From… From who? Sam?" Oh. Wow… Dean didn't know if he liked the sound of that.

"If he's willing."

"R-really?" Sam asked. Unbelievably, he looked…sort of happy. Relieved, definitely. "You c-can do that?"
"I believe so. If a demon could take you to Hell, where your soul does not rightfully belong, by force, then it should be no more difficult for me to bring you to Heaven. Sending you to my garrison…well, your soul, anyway…may be the only way I can ensure you will reach Heaven safely."

Dean frowned at him. "But he'd be okay, right? Safe? I mean, if he winds up tagging along with you up there?"

"I would do my best to keep him safe, yes. I can promise you that. And besides, unlike an angel, a human soul cannot be killed in Heaven. Suffer harm, maybe, but…"

"Harm?" Yeah, Dean really didn't know if he liked the sound of this plan.

"Yes. However, I have a…theory…about Sam, and what might happen should he choose to accompany me."

"Which is…?"

"His is no ordinary human soul. For the same reason that the demons would literally have to drag him down to Hell and I might have to drag him…up, I believe that his spirit may show the same sort of resilience in the face of potential harm in Heaven, and those who oppose us may find it more difficult than they will anticipate to manipulate or control him." He smiled wryly. "And even if I am wrong…his reputation will precede him."

Okay, maybe Dean felt a little better now. He smiled a little in return. "They'd be scared to take him on, huh?"

"He could be a powerful ally."

"But you'd protect him?"

Cas nodded. "I swear it."

"Sound good, Sammy?" Dean asked Sam. "That's Plan B for right now." Hell, at this point, it was probably Plan A. His chest constricted painfully at the thought.

"Y-yeah. It does." Now he definitely looked relieved. "Thanks, Cas."

"You're welcome. I'd be…honored to have your assistance."

Sam smiled.

"Okay, stitches time, buddy," Dean said abruptly, reaching for the needle. After all, he had to make sure Plan B stayed Plan B. "I'm not gonna give you an anesthetic, which is means it'll hurt like a mother if I can't find any topical stuff in here, but I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

Sam nodded tightly. Dean approached the wound with the threaded needle, but stopped when Sam suddenly retched again, spraying Dean with drops of blood. Dean dropped the needle and took his shoulders. "Easy, Sammy, easy," he muttered, wincing as more blood leaked out of Sam's mouth. A surefire sign that something was busted up bad inside of him- he'd be willing to bet it was the demon blood that had done it, or helped it along at least- and there was no way Dean could fix that. He'd known it from the second Sam had woken up. He slid himself back behind Sam again, holding his shoulders until the coughing subsided. Yeah, maybe stitches weren't such a great idea after all, for now anyways.

Eventually they did subside, and Sam let his head fall back on Dean's shoulder. His eyes slid shut, and his breathing was wheezy and labored.

"D—"

"Yeah?"

"'M sorry…" he gasped out.

Dean's eyes burned. "Yeah well, whatever you're sorry for, don't be."

A few seconds of heavy silence passed, and then Dean heard a sharp intake of breath from Cas. He looked up. Cas was on his feet, posture stiff, eyes narrowed at the door.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Reaper. Right outside."

Fear trickled down Dean's spine and he held Sam tighter. "Well tell 'em to fuck off."

Cas's eyes didn't move from the spot. His jaw clenched.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Heaven has no authority over reapers. It won't listen to me."

"Well fake it, then. Make something up, I don't care. Just get rid of it."

"Dean—"

"Do it!"

Sam's eyes had opened. "R-reaper?" he stammered out, his breath hitching.

"Yeah. But Cas is taking care of it, don't worry," he told him.

Cas's eyes stayed fixed on the door for a moment, and then they slowly slid to a fixed spot near the foot of the bed. Dean felt Sam shudder against him. Cas drew himself up to full height, The lights started flickering, and the very air seemed to crackle with electricity. "Friend, you have no jurisdiction here," he said to something they couldn't see, his voice booming and echoing in a way that made Dean want to shove his fingers in his ears and cover his head. "You will yield this one to me and mine." He paused, as if listening. "These are uncommon circumstances, and ones that will bring you undue difficulty, you must sense that," he said. "He is not one of yours." He paused again. "Yes." He stood rigidly, as if a guardsman at its post, his eyes moving from the air in front of him and then slowly back to the door.

A second later, he sighed and let his shoulders drop, the divine power he'd cloaked himself with once more retreating back within him. He looked a little exhausted.

"He's gone," he said.

Dean let out the breath he'd been holding in. "Good."

Sam laughed weakly. "Way t-to go Cas. S-stickin' it t-to a r-reaper…"

"He gave us ten minutes," Cas said gravely. "Then he's coming back and handling the matter his way."

Dean's insides went numb. "Oh."

Sam took a deep, shaky breath. "T-ten m-m-minutes should be l-long enough."

"No," Dean said. He looked down at Sam, beseeching. "No. Sammy, you're not going out this way, not now. God, I just…I just got you back."

Sam looked devastated. "I d-don't think I h-have any s-s-say in this, Dean. I'm s-sorry."

"Dean, one way or the other, it's Sam's time," Cas said slowly.

Dean didn't trust himself to respond to that. Instead, he turned back to Sam. "You're sure that's what you want? Going with Cas?" Didn't matter that that was pretty much his only option, Dean still needed confirmation that it was going to be a good one for him.

Sam nodded once and coughed.

Dean tried to smile. "Well, I guess it beats the 'heaven' we saw, doesn't it? The never-ending walk down friggin' Memory Lane and all."

Sam's lips twitched but he didn't answer. His eyes were closed again.

"What exactly are you gonna have him doing, anyway?" Dean asked Cas.

"Negotiation," Cas said. "A diplomat of sorts, for now, and hopefully nothing more…forceful than that, though there's no way of telling how dire the situation will become. If that happens, we both know he can hold his own. But I cannot make them listen, and I need somebody who can."

"Well here's your man," Dean said. "He'll get 'em all on your side, just give him half a chance and if they don't come around he'll talk 'em all to death."

Sam snorted quietly.

"What's so funny?"

His eyes opened a fraction and he peered up at Dean. "L-lawyer."

"What?"

"'M g-gonna get to b-be a l-lawyer after all."

The sound that came out of Dean's mouth could've been a strained laugh or a stifled sob or both. "Yeah. You bet you are."

He didn't remember all too clearly what happened after that, or what he said, but he remembered talking, talking talking and talking, about nothing and everything. From Lisa and Ben again to how he'd lately been halfway considering calling Bobby to see if there were any local cases he could look into, to the hilarious encounters he'd had with various town oddballs while hanging around in the waiting room of the Temp agency, to how much he'd missed Sam all that time. This mindless chatter was as much for his own benefit as it was for Sam's, to calm them both down, though to be honest he didn't know if Sam was listening how aware he really was of his surroundings. His eyes were open, but it seemed as though he'd lost the energy to speak or even acknowledge anything Dean was saying. His breaths were slow, few, and far between, and Dean could feel the blood that now covered the entire right side of Sam sinking into his own clothing.

He didn't know how much time passed before Sam finally stopped breathing. Dean fell silent, numb horror settling over him. No, no, no…damn it, Sam…no… "Sammy?" His voice cracked. He shook him gently. "Sam?"

In a second Cas was by his side. "Is he dead?"

Dean could hardly make his throat work. "I…uh…"

"Tell me." His voice was urgent. "Is he dead?"

He nodded dumbly.

Cas bent over the bed and put his hand on Sam's forehead.

"What're you doing to him?" Dean's voice was low, quiet. He wrapped his arms around Sam's middle. "Is he still…still in there?"

Cas didn't answer, but his face was screwed up with intense concentration, and the muscles in his neck corded. A long moment passed, and then he stumbled backward as if repelled by an invisible force, like the wrong end of a magnet. He looked dazed.

"Cas?"

"He is safe." He straightened back up, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"You did it?"

"Yes."

A pause.

"He's gone?"

"Yes, he is."

Dean nodded again. His vision swam.

"And…" Cas cocked his head to the side, appearing to be listening for something. "He says you'll want proof."

"What?" Dean's head snapped up. "You mean y-you can—"

"I can hear him, yes."

"How…"

"He's at my place of residence, in my garrison. I know exactly where he is, so I know where to listen. The holy fire makes it difficult, so I don't know if I'll be able to hear him for very long."

"Oh…" His arms tightened around Sam's body. "Well…what's he saying?"

"Again, he says you'll want proof that I'm not lying to you." His brow knit in confusion. "He said… The rescuers?"

"What?"

"I…don't know what that means." He paused again to listen. "He says…his tape, his videotape, The Rescuers, when you were both children. He's asking if you remember."

"Uh…yeah. Why?" Yeah, he remembered, but…a Disney movie? What the hell…

"He remembers how much it annoyed you that he watched it over and over, and you kept saying you were going to smash it into little pieces and throw it away," Cas explained. He sounded completely bewildered.

"Uh-huh…" Seriously, what the hell.

"And when he was seven and you were ten, you did. Except…" Another pause. "Except you thought he never found out. He found it in the garbage can before he went to bed that night, and when you thought he was asleep he saw you coming back from sneaking out to the Blockbuster to steal another one for him because you felt bad. He never told you that he knew."

That startled a watery laugh out of Dean. "I do remember that."

"He wants to know if you're convinced it's him."

"Yeah." Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I am."

"Good."

"Cas, can he...y'know… Can he hear me?"

"No." He sat down on the opposite bed. "I'm sorry."

Dean realized with a jolt that Sam's eyes were still open. Feeling sick, he slid them shut. "Is he saying anything else?"

"Uh…" Cas squinted. "Yes."

"What?"

"He says…don't give up on Lisa and Ben, and please don't do anything stupid…"

Another choked laugh.

"And he loves you, and he's sorry."

"Yeah. Me too." And that was about all he could take. His head slumped forward onto Sam's shoulder.

He had no idea how long he stayed like that—holding onto his brother's body in desperation, his frame wracked with silent sobs. And surprise surprise, Cas had nothing to say.

But he did try, a little later on.

Not that it helped much.

"Dean."

He didn't answer.

"Listen. Maybe…Maybe this was—"

"What?" Dean muttered. "Yeah, why don't you tell me, Cas? What exactly was this?" But he didn't really have the energy to pick a fight right now. God, he was so exhausted…

"A mercy."

Dean snorted. "Really." Oh, this oughta be good.

"Lucifer's forces would not have stopped hounding him, Dean. If not today, then it would have happened eventually. Don't delude yourself."

Dean bit his lip. "We could've stopped it. If he'd have just come to me sooner, I coulda protected him."

Cas gestured at Sam's body, agitated. "Yes, well…He didn't, and you didn't."

"Yeah, I got that, thanks," Dean snapped.

"I'm sorry." His tone softened. "But he's safe, Dean. Where he is, the forces of Hell cannot touch him. Ever again."

"But the forces of Heaven can," Dean pointed out.

"True, but he'll be with me. I told you I would look after him. And he's far from helpless, you of all people know that."

Well, Cas was right about that. Dean briefly wondered just who was going to be protecting who up there.

But something was still nagging at his mind. "So why'd he get busted out at all then, if this was going to happen the minute he did?"

"I don't know."

"Huh, maybe it was one of Lucifer's pals, who just wanted to play some sick little game of cat-and-mouse."

Cas looked dubious. "It's…possible."

"Oh yeah? Well what's your theory?"

Cas sighed. "Is it so unreasonable to assume that it was the will of God?"

Dean barked a humorless laugh. "Don't you even talk to me about the will of God, Cas." He shook Sam's limp body for emphasis.

"Dean, this is…difficult, I know that. But you have to understand, whether or not you yourself are willing to acknowledge God's hand at work, the powers of evil will always strive mightily against it. You know this. And you cannot blame God for it."

Oh yeah? Watch me. "Your point?"

"My point is, you believe that your brother's death is the lesser of two evils. But exchanging an eternity of fire and damnation for Heaven and safety and respite? I'd call that mercy."

Funeral pyres were never as cool as they were in the movies. Dean had seen enough fallen hunters torched in his day to know that. Because the movies always left out the stomach-turning stench of burning hair and flesh, or what you really saw once whatever you'd wrapped the body with burned away… Or what it was like to stand there and watch, your heart ripped out, facing the wall of heat, the thick, oily, dirty smoke stinging your eyes and searing your lungs as you watched your own brother burn…

They'd had to torch him in the parking lot. The goddamn parking lot. During the next day, the circle surrounding the motel had burned itself down to scattered fires and heaps of smoldering brush, which Cas still could not pass through but which Dean could step over easily. And they hadn't been attacked since, not that he wasn't anticipating it eventually if they didn't get the hell out of here, and soon. But they were still in the middle of nowhere, with no phone and no car and no civilization at all to speak of. That didn't mean they could wait to get rid of the Sam's body, though. It took a great amount of convincing on Cas's part, because Dean wanted to wait until he could take him to Bobby's place and do it there so that maybe he could go out with a little bit of dignity. But Cas had pointed out that even though he himself wasn't capable of bringing Sam back, and neither were any of the other angels, that didn't mean the demons might not have something nasty up their sleeves, try to bring him back and then drag him down. He'd have to settle for bringing the ashes with him to Bobby's. Getting rid of the body was the only way to make absolutely sure Sam would stay safe, and Dean knew it. Didn't make watching it happen any easier on him.

And right now, seeing what he was seeing, it didn't console him all that much that Cas said that as soon as the holy fire was gone, he'd be able to hear Sam again. Or that Dean made Cas swear that if anything happened to him and he got himself killed, Cas would make damn sure that Dean ended up wherever Sam was up there.

As he stood there, the same loud, disjointed words and phrases that had been swirling around in his head now screeched angrily somewhere between his ears. No. No! He saved the world, dammit. He can't go out this way, he doesn't deserve to. It's been a day. A DAY. Well, for me, anyway. No, no, no...

Sammy…

He was on his knees then. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Cas.

"Are you going to be alright?"

Huh.

He assessed his situation. What did he even have left? Aside from one gaping hole in his heart.

Lisa. Ben. Bobby. A tenuous, sure-to-be-maddening one-way communication with Sam through Cas. And the promise of seeing Sam again if he died. When he died. Hopefully he didn't have long to wait.

He'd cling to those things. Cling to them with all his might. Because what choice did he have, really?

Are you going to be alright?

"No," he said. "But I'll manage."

End.