Log in

No account? Create an account


The Wanting Comes In Waves

All Sam/Dean, All The Time

Previous Entry Share Next Entry

fic: Hidden In The Right Place (Sam/Dean, NC-17) Chapter 9 of 11

Back to Chapter 8


Time flew by quickly during what was likely the first few days, it was an easy task to get things reorganized once he’d gotten the responsibility delegated to demons with some competence. His new team got the majority of demons quickly whipped back into a more orderly shape. The ones who didn’t comply were brought before Sam in chains and he dispatched them with a snap of his fingers, easy peasy, snap, gone for good.

The resurrectionist complained and questioned his request to resurrect Meg at first. The stooped old woman eyed him with suspicion and fear. “She will not be a party to your rule, your majesty.”

“I know that, but I still require her services. Will you begin it now, or do I need to summon another who will clean up what’s left of you?” Sam asked, holding his hand up where she could see his long fingers prepared to make the final snap.

She scowled at him and then nodded.“Yes, your majesty, right away, I will begin.”

“How long will it take?” Sam asked, worrying about how long the reconstitution process to bring Meg back to her demon form would really take. He couldn’t leave Hell until he had her put back together and onboard with his plan.

“It is usually a day or two, but for one buried so deep, and scattered so thoroughly, it may take more,” the old demon said.

“You have two,” Sam said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

Sam hoped that he had two more days to wait for Meg to be reassembled. He was guessing that not too much real time had already passed by upstairs, that Raya hadn’t gotten too far along in the process of curing Bela. He’d forgotten how strangely time moved down here in Hell, and wished there was some way to have a clock on the wall that gave the date and time on Earth. Sam shouldn’t have been so surprised when one appeared on the stone wall, just as he’d imagined it. He was happy to see that it was still the same day that he’d left, and just three hours had gone by back home. It had felt like weeks had passed here. He’d been carving notches in his bedpost every time he took a chance to sleep in Crowley’s old quarters, but as there wasn’t any visible night or day in Hell, that wasn’t much of an indicator.

Two days later, Meg was whole and herself again, and she was brought before him where he sat upon the throne of Hell. He dismissed all the other demons from the throne room so that they could have their first meeting in privacy. Once the door closed behind the noisy departing throng Sam looked at her from head to toe, she looked virtually the same as she had the last time he’d seen her. He remembered how they’d driven away in a panic, leaving her to face Crowley alone.

“Fancy meeting you here, stranger. How’s your unicorn doing, and what about mine?” Meg asked.

“Mine’s…uh, doing fine, thanks, he says hi. Yours though, well, I’m not sure how to explain it, but he’s not on this plane of existence anymore,” Sam said.

“So not all the way dead and gone then?” Meg asked, an emotion approaching sadness flitting over her face briefly.

“Something like that, yeah. He’s not ever coming back from Heaven or beyond. So, Meg, I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here in Hell, and why you’ve been put back into one piece.”

“Had crossed my mind, don’t tell me you’re going to take over doing the hairdresser salon thing again like Crowley was into at the end there. Because that was just cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs,” Meg said, smiling that sly one-sided smile at Sam.

“No…nothing like that. I brought you back for something in particular. I want you to run Hell so I can go back home,” Sam said, watching Meg carefully for any reaction.

“Why would you pick me, out of all of us demons?” Meg asked, head turning to the side as she looked at him, shrewd and considering.

“Meg, you once told me that you found a cause and you served it, that it was how you ran your life. I think you can do that same thing with running Hell the way it should be run.”

Meg stood up a little straighter at the praise and seemed to think about the idea. “What’s the catch?”

“There is one, a big one. The Gates are going to be permanently closed, pretty soon as a matter of fact,” Sam said, quietly, he hoped that none of the demons were eavesdropping. He glanced at the clock and saw that there were only a few hours left back home before Raya would be done with the third Trial.

The Gates, as in the ones that we use to get into and out of Hell?” Meg asked with wide, surprised eyes.

“Yep, those are the ones, after they’re shut, Hell will be closed off from Earth forever. No demons allowed topside ever again.”

“Good, a closed-off system will be easier for me to govern,” Meg said, approaching the throne, Sam could see the plans beginning to form behind her eyes. “I accept the offer and I thank you for the opportunity, Sam. Always knew you were one of the good ones.”


Raya was bouncing off the walls with her triumph, she had done it, she had gotten in and out of Hell with Evan’s soul, and while she was down there she had happened to have a chance to kill a hellhound. So she was two Trials down and raring to go for the third.

Dean wanted to wait to start the last of the Trial things until Sam joined them. Where was his brother anyway? Sam should have heard Raya come back into the garage, the truck was not at all quiet. He looked up and down the long hallway.

“Dean, Sam told me about this plan of his. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was so sure that it needed to happen this way, that he had to go there himself.”

“What the hell are you even talking about? Where is Sam?” Dean demanded, towering over her against the brick wall.

Raya looked up at him with exhaustion and some fear, and handed him the envelope that Sam had left with her.

Dean saw that it had Sam’s handwriting, the familiar curve of the way Sam had always written the ‘D’ of his first name, so wide and open. He knew he needed to be alone to read this, he couldn’t do it in front of her. Not with what she’d done to him.

“You go stretch out on the couch for a little while, then we’ll get started on the third Trial.” He turned and walked away from her as quickly as he could.

“It’ll be okay, Dean, he knows what he’s doing,” Raya said in a sad voice that followed him down the hall.

He shut his bedroom door and locked it. He didn’t want anyone to see this, how he would fall apart for the last time. He knew without reading this letter that Sam was gone. No wonder he’d freaked in the kitchen when Dean had asked him if he was leaving. Dean had been right to leave up all those walls between them.

He sat on the edge of his bed and traced the edge of the envelope with one finger, hesitating. He wouldn’t know for sure until he read this. He didn’t want to read about how he was sick for wanting them to be together, how Sam could never be happy with him, how he wasn’t enough or what Sam wanted or needed. He knew all that already. Sam told him that every damn time he left.

Finally the words that Raya had just said filtered through into his consciousness from his recent memory. Sam had to go there himself. Go where exactly? He ripped open the envelope and unfolded the paper hoping to find out.

Dear Dean,

While you were gone retrieving Raya, I had a dream. Well, it was more of a prophecy than a dream. Because of this vision or whatever you want to call it, I have gone to Hell to temporarily take over and straighten things out. In my dream I saw how the chaos down there isn’t going to solve itself just because the Gates get closed. I am convinced that the best way to keep humanity safest is to have someone in charge to keep the chaos down to a dull roar.

My plan is to assume control, then choose a demon to make the new ruler of Hell, and be back before you and Raya are done curing Bela. There should be plenty of time because of how it moves so differently down there.

Please get started by summoning Bela, I left all the equipment and the instructions laid out in the dungeon for you and Raya to use.

I will be back as soon as I can. I’m not going to tell you not to worry, because I know that’s pointless, but maybe this will help:

All I want is to be with you, Dean. That’s what I’ve always wanted.

I will see you soon, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth before.

I Love You,


At first Dean didn’t react, it wasn’t what he’d thought at all. It was somehow a million times worse. It wasn’t a personal rejection or whatever, Sam hadn’t just left him. Sam wasn’t even here in their world anymore. Why didn’t he feel it though? Did that mean Sam wasn’t dead?

He rushed from his room to Sam’s, and had to jimmy the lock open. He found a neatly made bed and organized closet, but no Sam. He ran through the rest of the bunker, checking all the places that Sam would have used to do a spell or whatever to travel to Hell and found nothing. No cars were missing, but his brother was. Sam was really gone. Finally, after all the fruitless searching, he ended up down in the dungeon, where he found Raya, reading over Sam’s notes on the third Trial.

Dean didn’t want to show Raya how he was being torn apart by his brother’s sudden departure, or what Sam had done by going without telling him first. She had known all along where his brother had gone without even telling him, she had known, a damn demon again. Raya had been the one who Sam had confided in, the one who Sam had chosen to trust over Dean. His heart felt like it was being squeezed in the fist of a massive I-told-you-so.

“Did you do the confession part yet?” Dean asked.

Raya nodded and handed Raya the stack of Sam’s notes. She obviously could see how torn up he was, but was now human enough not to say anything about it.

To cover all the turmoil he was feeling, he robotically did exactly what Sam had asked him to do in the stupid note. Because what else was there? He quickly combined the spell ingredients that Sam had left out for them and summoned Bela to the dungeon. She arrived with a puff of sulfur and a small scream, collapsing into an ungainly pile in the center of the devil’s trap. Before she could come to her senses, he hefted her up into the chair and secured her with the shackles as Raya watched them.

“Why if it isn’t Dean Fucking Winchester himself! Why in the world am I here?” Bela demanded, shaking her limbs against their restraints.

“We’re going to make you a human again, Bela,” Dean said in a monotone.

“You’re going to what? If all you wanted was that angry sex I promised you, Dean, I can make it a whole lot better as a demon as I’m sure you well know,” Bela taunted.

“That’s not what this is about, not by a long shot. Raya will take it from here,” Dean said.

“Wait, you’re Raya? Like Raya from Hell, Sister Without Mercy, all that? But you’re not a demon anymore, how?” Bela asked.

Raya sketched out a sarcastic bow in Bela’s direction. “Yes, it is I, human once more thanks to the Winchesters. And now I shall do the same deed for you.”

Raya began performing the demon cure on the very confused demon with the first injection of Raya’s own blood, now human and purified from the first two trials. Bela screamed and carried on so much that they had to step almost outside the dungeon to even talk.

“I really hope this works,” Raya murmured.

“Me too,” Dean said in an expressionless voice. “Just keep a timer going, and don’t miss any of the injections, every hour on the hour, for eight hours, until it’s done.”

“You’re not staying with us?” Raya asked.

“No, I’m goin'…I gotta…you got this, Raya,” Dean said, stumbling the rest of the way out of the dungeon room back to his own.

Dean was absolutely distraught that Sam had gone to Hell without telling him. Dean knew he wouldn’t have ever let Sam go, no matter what Sam had said. He internally scolded himself, “No wonder he didn’t tell you. You didn’t trust him about the third trial business, why would he trust you with this?” But that kiss, and the things Sam had just said to him, what it had said in Sam’s note. It didn’t add up, he couldn’t possibly just sit and wait here for Sam to maybe come back at some point.

The thought of Sam being stuck in Hell by himself, maybe forever, was unbearable. And even more unendurable was Sam turning himself into the Boy King, fulfilling the demonic prophecy they’d always fought against. How could Sam ever come back from that? How could he ever be just his Sam again?

Dean ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, clearing away the stinging tears of frustration. Maybe Sam knew what he was doing about the taking over Hell thing, but he still might get stuck down there. Dean had a little less than eight hours as measured up here topside to stop the worst from happening down below. It had to be possible for Dean to get into Hell and get them both out safely. Maybe it would prove something to Sam if he went there for him. Maybe it would communicate to Sam that he really wanted this thing between them to change into the next thing it was becoming, lovers or whatever it was meant to be. He wanted it more than anything. Just that small taste of possibility had practically knocked him out.

He dug around in his medicine cabinet and came up with several bottles of pills that would probably work. Before he could think too hard about it and talk himself out of this last ditch attempt to fix things, he washed all of the pills down with the rest of the whisky that was left in his current bottle. He laid back on his bed to wait for the toxic stew to do its job. He reached out to what he’d always think of as Sam’s side of the bed, and tried to remember how it had been being wrapped up with him the last few nights.

Just breathing together, recharging, balancing, being.

He drifted off to an uneasy sleep or maybe a coma or whatever, his last thought was to hope that the next thing he saw would be Sam, but no, of course not—this was his life after all.

“Dean Winchester, I swear on all that’s still holy, you’ve got a helluva nerve, boy!” Billie yelled in his face.

Dean sat up quickly and tried to step away from his now-dead body that lay on the bed. He winced to see the mess of drool and foam all over his slack face but found he couldn’t separate from himself. “Hey, Billie, come to reap me yourself, I’m so honored.”

“What are you playing at this time, Dean?” Billie asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“It’s Sam…he’s gonna be stuck there in Hell with the Gates closed. I have to get him out. He can’t be…I can’t…you know us,” Dean stopped himself, he knew there was no point in begging anything from her.

“How were you going to accomplish all that if you were dead, you damn fool idiot?” Billie grabbed his hand and in a blink they were stepping into the throne room of Hell. Her power still surrounded them, so none of the demons noticed them. “You go talk to him, you two are beyond help at this point!” Billie hissed in his ear.

And then she was gone. But at least he was right where he’d wanted to be. And maybe he wasn’t really dead, which was a real bonus, right? He wiped the foam and drool off his face which seemed like proof. He watched Sam ruling from the throne for a minute or two, trying to stay quiet and invisible as possible. But of course Sam knew he was there, the moment Billie had left he’d known. Sam was letting Dean look, allowing him to see Sam being the Boy King that had always been foretold. Sam directed demon after demon that came before him on their knees to stand up and take charge of this or that part of Hell. He projected competence and authority and no one argued with him at all. The demons really seemed to be relieved as far as Dean could tell.

Finally the mob of demons before Sam had been assigned tasks or sent off and they were left alone. He felt Sam’s eyes on him from across the room, raking over him, angry and hot. He wished his body would stop responding this way to Sam’s attention, but it drew Dean towards the throne where his yellow-eyed brother sat, patient as a cat that knows it’s being fed on its own schedule.


Chapter 10