Fanfic: The Road to Detroit is Paved With Hell
Beta: Borgmama1of5 – World’s best editor! All mistakes are mine.
Summary: Post-Abandon All Hope. Lucifer wants Sam to say yes. He wants Dean back in Hell. And he's tired of playing nice. Sam and Dean will never know what hit them.
Spoilers: Set in Season 5. Follows 5X10 Abandon all Hope
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby, Lucifer
Rating: T (mature themes, strong language)
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. They belong to the CW and Eric Kripke -- who'd best treat them well
Author's Note: Story is 18 chapters plus epilogue (approx 55k words). Complete.
Will post over several days. Show has been/will be in hiatus for 8 weeks. But we know the boys aren't just sitting in a motel room waiting to go back to work stopping the Apocalypse. My beta says I have filled in the missing weeks, which is not what I started out to do. But the original six chapters just kinda took off ...
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The Road to Detroit is Paved With Hell
Sam is gone.
Heart hammering, Dean sees explosions behind his eyes and Lucifer taunting them cockier than ever with designs on his brother and he can’t think straight, doesn’t understand how someone the size of Sam can just fucking vanish.
Rufus is calm and working the situation out. “Wendigos are too territorial, never be two of ‘em.”
They scour the area where Sam had been. Minutes before Sam disappeared Dean had checked this very spot and seen nothing. Had he missed something? He searches in circles with his flashlight looking for anything, any clue. There’s gotta be one. Because if nothing is here then … No. Castiel had told them the rib tats would hide them from the angels. And Lucifer is only an angel after all. He replays that thought in his head. Why does it seem so wrong?
Think, Dean. Be John Winchester’s son. It’s not a Wendigo. But still fast, a blur. Sam had seen it, but he and Rufus had not.
His light catches something. He drops on his knees, sifts through leaves and dirt and pulls out a single wooden dart. Holds it up in his light for Rufus to see. His heart stops. “Rufus … your friend ever report seeing anything besides Wendy out here? Red glowing eyes maybe?”
Rufus needs only one look to confirm. “A Baykok. Don’t touch the end.”
Dean grunts. Wasn’t born yesterday. Poison. Won’t kill but will knock someone out cold. That way the Baykok can take his prey to his lair and feast on the liver while the victim is still alive. If it’s not too hungry then it lets the meal go. Minus a liver.
His heart is pounding so hard he figures all the animals around him must think a buffalo herd is passing by. He missed a fucking Baykok! And now it has his brother. He shakes his head to clear it, forces himself to start thinking again. Remember the lore. Rufus is circling the area slowly. Best tracker there is, Bobby says about him. Please. Pick up the trail. Let them at least have a chance.
“Once we find its lair gonna be a bitch to kill it,” Rufus says. “Make Wendigos look slow.” He is walking back the way they’d come. Dean follows silently assuming the other hunter has chosen this direction for a good reason.
“Fire should work,” Dean says after they’ve walked a bit.
“Salt and burn after that?”
“Only way to be sure.”
A Baykok was a revenant like the Wendigo, a corporeal ghoul. Also a hunter, it was proud and primarily sought out other hunters or warriors like it had once been itself as its prey. That’s why the reports of the Baykok were quite sparse over the years. There is no better hunter than his brother. He jokes that Sam is second best but that isn’t so. The Baykok has picked the best hunter to make himself an honorable kill.
He has to ask. Stops himself. Chokes down bile. “Rufus … will it go for the liver right away, you think?”
Rufus turns to him, the whites of his eyes reflecting the moonlight around them. “Only if it’s hungry,” he says.
And this is all Dean has. After 27 years of caring for his brother with all that he is, Sam’s life depends on the appetite of a long dead Chippewa warrior who got lost in a forest one night and refused to fucking die.
* * *
Sam opens his eyes and knows immediately this can’t be real. The room is ornate and gothic, multi-paneled and rich. Colors of gold, turquoise blues and rich ocher surround him. Classic paintings old Masters? adorn the richly hued walls. He doesn’t know where he is but it’s definitely not the backwoods of Minnesota.
He waits. Is not surprised at the man approaching him.
“Go to Hell.”
The Devil smiles. Instead of wearing Nick’s casual clothes, he’s sporting an all-white suit. Cheesy as hell. Matches the decor. “Not yet,” Lucifer replies softly.
“Am I dreaming?” Sam asks although the answer is obvious. His mind is working overtime, realities clashing. At Carthage, Lucifer’s body was disintegrating, oozing, peeling. Now his skin is pristine, luminous … compelling.
Something happened in the forest … Sam was looking … Red eyes … Lucifer? No. Felt like something else. Much more primitive.
“Not dreaming exactly.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I believe you called me. You need me.”
Sam snorts. Hardly. He starts walking around. The room has no visible door. Great.
“What do you want? You can’t keep me here. The answer is still no.”
“I’m not keeping you here, Sam. I think you need to tell me where you are.”
Lucifer walks over to a gilded side table and picks up an apple from a ceramic bowl, old, blue and white, perhaps Chinese. The apple is red and shiny. Reminds Sam of the one the old crone holds out to tempt Snow White. Or more appropriately the one the serpent uses to tempt Eve.
Lucifer takes a slow bite, relishes it, admires the fruit in his hand as if it is the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. Absently he looks at Sam again. “Sam, you’re in trouble. You know this.”
Sam doesn’t reply, isn’t sure what the son of a bitch means. Ignoring the other man’s deliberate patience, Sam paces the room again. The paintings are out of a museum, too beautiful to be in the same room with the malevolence behind him. He stops before a portrait of the archangel Michael, sword drawn. He sees Dean in his mind. As beautiful as the image in oil. Fierce. Judging. Righteous.
“My brother,” Lucifer says.
Sam decides to play along. “You miss him.”
“Do you miss your brother?”
“Yes.” It’s the most honest Sam remembers being in ages.
“Sam, Sam … Silly hunts, needless wastes of time. You know what’s important. You have always known. It’s your brother that puts these little things first. He has never been able to see the big picture. Aren’t you tired of traipsing after him?”
Sam turns away. He doesn’t want to hear this.
“He’s held you back for years now, hasn’t he?” Lucifer continues. “Following daddy’s rules, literally living from the pages of his father’s life to cover up his own lack of one. Sad, really. I understand your sympathy. But it’s time to let go now and be the man you were meant to be.”
“Shut up,” he shouts. “You’re wrong!” Lucifer’s wrong, he doesn’t resent Dean. Not anymore … If there’s any reason on Earth that keeps him saying no, it’s his brother. Because without that …
Lucifer’s eyes burn midnight in the yellow incandescent light. He sighs deeply. “I thought you’d wise up and move on by yourself but perhaps I’ll have to help you along a bit.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Dean was never supposed to leave my home, you know. Really he had such a promising future, I’m going to give it back to him. Now that Alastair’s gone I think I’ll give your brother a crack at the job. Of course he’ll have to earn his way back, start at the bottom. But that’s only fair.”
What is Lucifer saying?
“Sam … a deal is deal. Dean has welshed long enough. It’s time for him to come back.”
“You leave my brother alone, you son of a bitch!”
“Ah, there’s that fury. Hold it Sam, let it burn in your belly. We will put it to such good purpose.”
Sam’s head spins and a woozy feeling floods over him. What is happening to him? And why are they on this stupid hunt when they should have been trying to track down Death and …
“Sam. Your body is in trouble.” So earnest. “Let me help you,” Lucifer says again.
Sam’s remembering. A movement, thought it might be a lost hiker, felt a pinch of pain. He touches his neck. In this room there is nothing unusual to feel. The eyes … red, piercing in a … skeleton head. Not another Wendigo. A Baykok. It paralyzed him, knocked him out. Is taking him to his cave and will slice out his liver. Put a stone in its place and patch him back up. Magicks will seal the wound so that no one will know, not even Sam himself when he awakes. And without a liver he’ll last maybe a day.
He looks at Lucifer. The Devil has told Sam that if he kills himself Lucifer won’t allow him to stay dead. Sam almost tested this. The night Lucifer had first come to him, and he’d called his brother, and Dean had told him to stay away ... Sam had come close. Trigger against his finger. He didn’t do it then. And Dean called back. Something he tells himself daily.
“I have to wake up,” he tells Lucifer, hating the supplication in his voice but unable to help himself.
Steady blue eyes drift longingly over Sam’s body. Lucifer takes a step closer and Sam’s breath hitches. In this instant Sam gets the stories, the lore, the mystique surrounding this being, this angel. Lucifer glows lit from within. The Lightbringer. He knows Nick is normal, ordinary … just a human. But not any more. Sam can’t make his eyes look away from Lucifer’s face. Beautiful. Tears build behind his eyes. Too beautiful for a human to comprehend. He feels the man’s gaze caress him and Oh God it’s so wrong that it feels so …
Goosebumps rise on his arms and he shivers and looks down and he’s naked. Not a stitch on and instantly he drops his hands to cover himself as his face heats … only not just from shame.
“I’m not keeping you from waking up,” Lucifer says softly.
Sam grasps the moment to break the spell, turns away and shuts his eyes, wills himself to awaken, to escape this gilded cage and return to the Baykok’s lair. Awake he stands a chance, albeit very small. Like this … his hand touches his side where his vital organs live. Has it already happened? Wouldn’t … wouldn’t Lucifer save him? The desire behind that thought scares the living daylight out of him.
Again Lucifer’s eyes focus on him with desire. Sam retreats, back pressing the wall. Sam is taller, bigger, stronger, but here, in this dream space, Lucifer’s essence is charged, alive, too stunning for Sam to fight.
Face close, invading, breath against his bare skin, Sam has a panicked moment as he thinks that Lucifer intends to kiss him. Wants to say no, to fight, to scream. But he’s petrified and all he has left are tears.
“You need to wake up now, Sam.” Lucifer’s hand touches his cheek. Warm, feels human … feels affectionate. “Consider this a freebie. But … last one.”
* * *
They’ve walked so long Dean doesn’t feel his feet in his boots any longer. The only good thing about tracking a Baykok is that their lairs are much easier to find than a Wendigo’s. For one, they don’t hibernate for decades at a time so they don’t need to burrow down quite as tight. Two, they don’t particularly try to cover up their tracks. They hunt only occasionally, aren’t as ravenous as Wendigos. They go after alpha hunters as trophies more than anything else.
Dean is beyond worried, has surpassed that over an hour ago. Hasn’t gotten over how he’d missed signs of the Baykok’s presence. Had let Sam stroll right into … The one thought that brought a moment of relief disappeared some miles back. And to say that thinking of Lucifer could ever comfort really spoke of his state of mind. But Sam said Lucifer’d bring him back if he died. Dean doesn’t allow himself to think too long on how that had worked itself into conversation between the Devil and his brother. Senses the reason in the corners of his mind and pushes it back down deep.
So, for a moment he thinks of Lucifer as their Hail Mary play. Then he remembered the tattoos that hide them from angels. What is he suppose to do about that … put out a pitchfork-shaped Bat signal and present his brother to him? Perhaps with a bow and gift wrapping?
He stumbles over an exposed root. Rufus calls out, “You okay?”
“Yeah. Think we’re close?”
The older man nods, eyes on minute signs of disturbance in the flora, the dirt, the branches. “I think I found it. There.”
A rock formation stands out against the wooded background. He sees the low opening. Another advantage of hunting a Baykok, they’re not generally 10 feet tall. In fact, most likely it’s about the same height as his brother. Sam stands a really good chance. Awake. Unconscious, the thing can do anything it wants to him. Fear vibrates through Dean when has it ever not and he tries to swallow but his throat is dry.
Rufus puts his finger to his lips and they work their way to the cave’s entrance. Dean’s standing just outside indicating he will lead the way when he hears a primal victory yell followed immediately by a human cry of pain. Sammy.
Go to Chapter 3