Season Two

Episode Twelve: Valhalla

By Irismay42 & Kittsbud

Part Three

Port Newark – Elizabeth Marine Terminal

Dean looked across the harbor, fearing the minor change in the night sky as a vampire might fear the coming of the dawn sun. The slight tinge of daylight beginning to permeate the darkness meant Sam was running out of time – if he hadn’t already.

The coming of the new day also meant the ship Dean was here to find would soon be lost forever, drowned in the darkest bowels of the Atlantic where no one save the ocean’s inhabitants would ever see her rusting hulk again.

“Why here? Why now?” Dean mumbled to himself as he shifted the weight of his duffel bag on his shoulder. It wasn’t all that heavy, but it was a constant reminder of what he was here to do.

Or was it?

Even Dean wasn’t sure what was going to happen despite Sam’s foreboding-filled warning. All the hunter was sure of was that he trusted his brother’s instincts. Sam had seen the Last Hope and he had seen Haris. That was enough for Dean to know that he needed to find both if he had any chance of saving his brother.

No deals.

Sam had begged – no pleaded – that he banish the yellow-eyed demon, but if this ship brought the freakish thing out of its hiding place, could he really waste the chance of bargaining for his brother’s life?

As Dean searched among the myriad of ships docked at the terminal, he wasn’t sure that he could. But then, he had to find the aging ship first, and she was proving as elusive as the demon hiding within her steel compartments.

Ahead, a group of workers had congregated and seemed to be arguing about the morality of what they were about to do. The tallest of the group pointed towards the rusting frame of a nearby vessel and began to rant that Greenpeace would be on their asses all the way out to the drop off point.

Hearing the word “Greenpeace,” Dean squatted behind a container and peered carefully at the ship drawing all the attention. She was a cargo ship that had seen way better days. Corrosion marked almost every section of her fore and aft sections, the steel rivets that held her together oozing a thick red slime where salt water had bitten into her body.

Beneath the flaking grey and red colors was a barely distinguishable name that had long ago been forgotten by all but her crew.

This floating wreck that had served her owners for over thirty years was the Last Hope.

To Dean, seeing the ship this way was somehow strangely fitting and yet frightening at the same time. She was truly Sam’s “Last Hope,” but she was also the place where Sam believed Dean would drown. Looking at her crumbling panels, it wasn’t exactly hard to believe.

“Sister, you better hold it together for just a little while longer, ’cause I got an appointment with a freak to keep.” Dean eyed the still-jabbering workers and then stealthily skirted them, dodging on board the Last Hope as if he were a professional cat burglar.

Once on deck, he dropped the duffel to peer over the side, being careful to remain out of the dock workers’ view. His entrance had gone unnoticed, and the Last Hope had already been tethered to the tugs that would haul her to her final resting place.

Time for this old lady was running out as surely as it was for Sammy.

Dean felt the breeze from the Atlantic hitting him in the face, salt air refreshing him, urging him to venture into the depths of this cavernous steel tomb. The Last Hope was a floating Venus Flytrap, and he was the helpless human insect being lured into her maw.

For Sam, it didn’t matter.

Re-acquiring his bag, the hunter scanned the empty deck for a doorway that would probably lead him to his doom. Only one portal presented itself and Dean headed for it, ever-cautious that any noise might alert the port’s crews of his presence.

The metal doorway lay open as he reached it – inviting, alluring in some bizarre nautical fashion. It was like the ship wanted him to enter her.

“Sweetheart, you’re not the kind of gal I normally open my heart to.” Dean patted the cool metal of the ship. “But, Lady, I sure need your help today.”

The Last Hope seemed to groan in response, an eerie clanging echo reverberating through her metallic walls. The sound repeated, each clang resounding like the tolling of some sinister death bell.

Dean turned, instinct telling him to leave, to run towards the light of the portal he’d just entered through, but he couldn’t – not today.

It’s just the crews working to tow this sucker out to sea. That’s all it is. Gotta hurry. Gotta do this for Sammy…

Letting a hand probe his jacket pocket, Dean retrieved a small flashlight and flicked it to the “on” position. In an instant, the beam illuminated the ship’s corridors, making the continuing noise seem less fearsome.

Dean waved the ray in an arc, washing the shaft of light over the Last Hope’s interior as he moved forward, deeper into the ship’s infrastructure. Reaching an intersection that had once been a throughway into the cargo area, he paused, playing the flashlight over a double-thick hatch welded into the decking.

The hatch had once been a portal into the lower storage compartments, and it still appeared to be a perfect seal.

Dean’s staid features almost cracked into a smile, but he held back. This was what he had hoped for – hell, almost prayed for – had he been a praying man.

The hunter stooped, rubbing a rough hand over the curved, hinged hatch. It reminded him of the hatch that had been “oh so important” in Lost. Except this was no TV show, and there was more than an exploding island at stake – at least to Dean.

Sucking down a breath, Dean realized the air here was stale, the odor of rotting metal, corrosion – death infusing the atmosphere until it was almost too much to inhale. He endured the sensation, picturing Sam in the hospital bed, deathly pale, dying.

It kept him focused.

It kept him alert.

Dean dropped the duffel bag from his shoulder and let the light in his hand play over its opening. With his free hand, he rummaged inside until his fingers met a small box. Tugging the tiny wooden container into the light’s beam he flicked open the lid with his thumb and then retrieved a small slab of white chalk.

“Alright, you bastard, this one’s for Sammy…”

And Dean began to draw.

Careful, long strokes that intersected one another until a familiar shape began to form on the metal plates beside the hatch.

A familiar shape that formed the sigil for the Winchesters’ nemesis, Haris.

St. James Hospital
Newark, NJ

Sam stared upward, fingers clutching the crisp hospital sheet beneath him as the first rays of early morning sunlight stole in through the tiny gap at the top of the curtains and tentatively crept across the ceiling tiles.

He’d fought at first when the nurses had tried to cannulate him, pushing the breathing tube away with flailing, panicked hands; but now he barely noticed it, barely noticed the constant constriction in his chest; the way his lungs struggled for every breath; the way his body spasmed continually as it fought a losing battle for more oxygen.

When he’d first awoken from his last bout of unconsciousness, he hadn’t noticed any of this: All he’d noticed was that Dean wasn’t there.

As he stared up at dawn’s first light, he couldn’t help but wonder why Dean had left him here to die alone. Because he was surely going to die soon. The doctor had given him till sunrise at best, and here, creeping across the ceiling in streaks of beautiful golden light, was his last deadline. A few hours’ reprieve was his only reward for the years he’d spent saving other people’s lives at the risk of his own.

He took a labored breath, blinking back the moisture fogging his eyes. Why wasn’t Dean here? Why would he leave him now, of all times?

Then it hit him, and for a brief moment he began struggling to get himself up and off the bed.

The only possible reason Dean would have had for leaving Sam when he was this close to death would have been if he had gone off to do something stupid; if he had gone off to summon Haris and try to make some kind of deal for Sam’s life.

It was the only thing that made sense, the only motivation Dean would have had that could have torn him from Sam’s side, the only reason Dean would have left when Sam was unconscious – because he knew his little brother would never have let him go had he been awake.

Dammit! Why the hell did Dean never listen to him?

And then with a jolt Sam remembered.

Dean had listened to him.

And suddenly Sam knew what Dean was doing as surely as if he could see right into his brother’s head.

Dean was acting on the only code of conduct from which he had never deviated his whole life: Follow orders. Protect Sammy. Protect his family.

Sam had told him, begged him to go find that ship, go find Haris – even though he’d foreseen Dean’s death on that very vessel.

And Dean was just following orders: Sam’s orders.

And yet Sam knew there was more to it than that. Because while the importance of obeying orders was something Dean had had drilled into him from a very early age, Dad’s single, most important standing order had always outweighed any other in Dean’s mind: Protect Sammy. So while Dean was following Sam’s orders, he was also following Dad’s – he was protecting his brother and he was protecting his family. Like he always did.

And he was going to get himself killed doing it.

Sam struggled to sit up, trying to kick the bedclothes off his legs, trying to get his body to do his bidding when all it really wanted to do was lay down and die.

Sam wasn’t having that. He wasn’t going to lie here while Dean risked his life – and maybe his afterlife – to save him.

Because Sam was under no illusion that Dean was motivated purely by the desire to save the countless hundreds, thousands, who would suffer should Haris unleash his unholy army on the world. Dean wasn’t going after Haris to save them; he was going after Haris to save Sam. And it was Sam’s fault. Sam had told him to go.

Sam had to do something. He had to –

Couldn’t breathe.

His lungs screamed for air as his body was once again wracked with painful convulsions, and he collapsed back against the pillows, gasping for breath and gritting his teeth against the agony torturing every last muscle.

He closed his eyes against it as he tried to even out his desperate breathing, each inhale more painful than the last, clenching his jaw as he fought to hang on to consciousness.

Gradually, the agony began to subside, and he was able to open his eyes again, the image of the hospital room swimming in and out of focus as he squinted about himself, looking for… Looking for… What was that?

Sam concentrated on his breathing, lying very still as he slowly scanned the room.

He was completely alone. No doctors. No nurses. No anyone.

And yet…

Just for a second he’d thought – he’d felt – someone – something – else in the room with him.

Something he’d felt before.

In Nebraska.

When the Reaper had come for David Wright; when the Reaper had come for Dean…

There! A blur of – something – just out of the corner of his eye. Gone when he looked directly at it.

He didn’t understand. If it was a Reaper – if it was here for him – then why couldn’t he see it? When it had come for Dean, Dean had been able to see it…

“Hello?” His voice sounded weak, foreign in his own ears. “Is there someone there?”

He didn’t expect a response, so wasn’t disappointed when he received none.

“If you’ve come for me, you’ll have to wait,” he insisted stubbornly. “’Cause I’m not going anywhere until my brother gets back here!”

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, silently praying for Dean to be safe, for Dean to get back here soon.

For Dean to get back before the Reaper took what it had undoubtedly come for…

Compartment inside the Last Hope

Blood dribbled to the floor, making a tiny splatter pattern that Gil Grissom would no doubt have loved to analyze. The bright red liquid seemed somehow alien on the drab oily metal floor of the ship, a stark contrast that stood out like a beacon, calling Haris to its tempting iron tang.

Dean clutched at his hand where he’d sliced it open, pressing against the cut now that enough of his blood had painted over the sigil on the floor. He felt no pain, only a longing for this to be over.

“Come on you bastard. Show me those ugly ass yellow eyes of yours…” The hunter’s fractious timbre bounced from the walls like a ping pong ball until it finally petered out, replaced by another familiar tone of voice.

“My last host had the audacity to die on me. Maybe I should take you as his replacement. Make you mine for all eternity.” Someone moved in the shadows, making patterns dance across the gloom without quite moving into the dull light that would afford his features to be seen. “But then, that wouldn’t be much fun, would it, Dean? Not when in my true state I can take any form I choose, any form at all…”

The tall, gawky figure stepped from the shade, finally allowing Dean to see who he was talking to.

The glistening hazel eyes, the boyish, dimpled cheeks, the towering yet unassuming frame – all Sam – even though it was a physical impossibility.

“S…Sammy?” Dean almost let go of the flashlight in his hand, stepping back from the thing that could not be his brother, even though some part of him wished it could be. “You, you can’t be here…”

Sam laughed; a deep cackle that resounded through the Last Hope like Lucifer himself had gotten on board for an early Halloween ball. Eyes flashed in a show of brazen orange and yellow shades that almost resembled flames as they flared in the darkness.

“Haris,” Dean spat out the name, wanting, needing to kill the thing before him, no matter who it looked like. The demon was toying with him, getting inside his head in an attempt to throw him.

Dean wasn’t going to allow that.

The stakes were just too high.

“I bet you thought you’d never see your baby brother again, did you, Dean? Not outside of the County Morgue, at any rate…” Haris smiled, and it was almost more than Dean could bear. The demon knew just how to hurt. How to dig in the mental knife it wielded just that little bit deeper. “I sense you want to kill me, Dean…but then, wouldn’t that mean you’d killed poor little Sammy twice in one day?”

“My Sammy’s not going anywhere.” Dean struggled to keep his voice low – in control. Haris was baiting him, and he’d learned the hard way not to rise to it. “Unlike you,” he added with a small sneer. “I have something real special planned for you.”

“I’d been wondering about that, big brother.” Haris moved closer until he was standing across from Dean, the hatch on the floor the only thing between them. “You do realize that a sidekick like you really shouldn’t be rising above your station? Summoning demons of my power? You’re really nothing special, just because your brother is.” Haris pushed up his sleeve, mockingly checking the time on an exact replica of Sam’s watch. “Or maybe I should say, just because your brother was special. Past tense, and all that jazz…”

“It’s not sunrise yet, you bastard. Sam still has time.” Dean didn’t try to check his own watch. He had to trust in his instincts. Sam couldn’t be dead, not yet, or all this was for nothing.

The demon stared at his quarry. Being summoned aboard the rotting carcass of a ship had been somewhat surprising, but he had thought he knew the reason. Why else would Dean summon him here if not to make a deal for Sam’s life? And yet, so far the hunter had made no such plea.

In fact, Dean’s icy hazel orbs just seemed to stare into the demon, boring through his non-corporeal presence like a lighthouse drilling through a thick ocean fog.

Something was off.

“So, do you want to deal now, Winchester?” Haris pushed, trying to sense the hunter’s intentions from his body language if not his actions. “Sammy made a deal for your worthless life and now you want to do the same.” The demon sighed, mimicking Sam so well it made Dean flinch. “This whole ball game is fun I’ll give you that, but playing tennis with your souls back and forth over and over? Really, Dean, it’s quite tiresome.”

“And I thought you liked sports. Oops, my bad –”

Haris shrugged Sam’s huge shoulders, eyes morphing from hazel to gold and then back again as he blinked. “Oh, I do like sports. Blood sports.” Haris flexed his fingers, threatening silently that he could crush Dean with one flick of his hand, just like he had back in Missouri. “You see, my problem is I don’t want to deal, Dean. I want Sam dead. He’s just getting too powerful for his own good. For me to risk his continued existence on this pitiful planet, I would need something substantial in return –”

Dean watched the demon’s hands, reliving a night his scarred body could never forget. It would be so easy for Haris to pin him against a compartment wall and tear his insides out, so easy for the demon to just take the Seal if he didn’t use it correctly. And the problem was Dean wasn’t even sure he did know how to use the damn thing.

If Haris sensed that, it was all over.

Dean’s eyes marked every movement Haris made in the false image of his brother, and when the thing that truly had no substance began to pace around the open hatchway, he still refused to acknowledge its ramblings.

“Maybe I’ll let Sammy live. I can take away those abilities of his – take away the thing that makes him such a pain in the ass – but there’s a price, Dean. A price you may not want to pay.” Haris paused, eyeing the hatchway as if it was simply an annoyance that he had to walk around in his current form. “I can’t allow both Winchesters to live. Your soul and the Seal for Sammy, that’s the best I can offer. Do you really want that, Dean? Little Sammy, alone, vulnerable? Do you think you’d really be saving him?”

“He’d be alive.” Dean ran the back of his hand across his mouth.

This was the moment he’d been waiting for. He could feel sweat drenching his t-shirt from the sudden heat in the metal compartment. He could feel his nerves tingling as if the chamber was somehow filled with a bizarre electric charge.

“And you’d really call that alive?” Haris taunted, cocking his head into a sneer. “I can see him now, all broken up and in bleeding heart mode about your sacrifice. Sobbing at your graveside right alongside those of poor Mom and Jess. Do you think he’ll burn your remains, Dean?” The demon laughed. “Oh, the poetic justice of it all…”

“Dude, I so don’t do poetry.”

“You should,” Haris flexed his fingers again, this time stretching them at eye level as if the motion was somehow transfixing to him. “I think little Sammy would appreciate you reading something more substantial than those top shelf magazines you’re so fond of.”

The demon let its gaze fall on the hunter.

“So, what’s it going to be, Dean? Your soul and the Seal for poor little Sammy? I really am running out of patience…and, heck, it’s not like I don’t have other interesting deals to make elsewhere. You’re not the only one cornering the soul trading market.”

“Just the handsomest,” Dean retorted, some inner-calm keeping his voice steady even though he feared the daylight he knew was threatening to steal away the night outside the confines of the ship.

Haris snorted so hard a thin shower of spittle showered the air around him. “So, what’s it to be, Dean? Are you ready to deal, or do we wait a few more precious seconds and let Sammy boy die a somewhat agonizing death? Trust me, I know Ferinacci’s poisons well. It won’t be pretty…”

St. James Hospital
Newark, NJ

It was still there.

The Reaper. The presence. Something in Sam’s room that felt horribly familiar but he just couldn’t get his eyes to see.

He was convulsing again, a crushing weight squeezing out what little air he had left in his lungs, pushing his chest against the bed as his back arched in another painful spasm.

A nurse was gently stroking his forehead, making soothing noises because that was all she was able to do for him. She was here to see him through to the end. Somewhere in Sam’s pain-wracked mind he knew that, but wasn’t able to acknowledge it.

He wasn’t going out like this. He wasn’t.

He just needed to give Dean more time…

“It’s alright, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes slid to the nurse, but she had turned away, gone to fetch Dr. Hoffe, and it took him a second to realize the voice had come from someone else; someone else who was standing where the nurse had been, a gentle hand still brushing back his hair even as the door closed behind the only other person who had been in the room with him.

He blinked, eyes refusing to focus on the ghostly ethereal presence at his bedside, able only to discern long, golden locks of hair and sparkling blue eyes amidst a blur of bright white light.

And for a second, Sam could think only of angels.

Angels and his mother.

“Mom?”

She was smiling, but he knew it wasn’t her. Someone else. Another face he recognized.

“It’s time, Sam,” she said, reaching again to touch his forehead. “It’s time to go.”

Compartment inside the Last Hope

“What’s it going to be, Dean?” Haris waited, poised to take the Seal and yet another soul for his vast collection. Dealing like this always gave him a buzz, even if he did have better things on the agenda right now.

Dean didn’t answer, but instead slipped a hand inside his jacket pocket. The thing he’d placed there felt cool to his fingertips – not quite inviting – but reassuring nonetheless.

The hunter jiggled the signet ring over his finger and sensed it slide into place as if it had been made for him. As the brass touched his skin, he felt a short static charge like the day he’d first been given the amulet, and his hand jerked with the abrupt sensation of electricity dispersing through his flesh.

Haris’ eyes narrowed. He had expected the hunter to be pleading with him, but instead the elder brother simply stared at him. The demon opened his mouth, about to remind his quarry that time was running out, but something stopped him.

Something was wrong.

“I think it’s time you took a little trip…” Dean pointed to the open hatch, leaving the hand that bore the Seal out of view in his pocket. He pointed downwards with the flashlight in his other hand, illuminating the cavernous space below. “Down the ladder,” he ordered, smirking slightly.

“You mock me, Winchester? Not a very smart idea, considering your brother’s current predicament.” Haris’ head flew back and he cackled, suddenly looking nothing like Sam even though he still held the young hunter’s form. “You have the nerve to summon me, and now you think I should obey you?”

“In there. NOW!” Dean moved until he was at the edge of the hatch, fearless, and yet terrified inside at what he was doing. He was following Sam’s instructions, keeping his promise, but at what price?

“You –” Haris faltered, his raucous laughter unexpectedly muted as he realized his mistake. “You can’t make me do anything…I own you…”

“Nobody owns me.” Dean pulled out his hand, holding it outstretched in front of the demon. Tiny shafts of light seeping in through unfilled rivet holes reflected off its surface, making it appear to almost glow and pulsate at Haris’ presence. To Dean, the effect reminded him of the way Kryptonite glowed near a certain Clark Kent.

Not that Haris was any kind of hero.

“Into the garbage chute, demon boy.”

Haris groaned, but Dean had no way of knowing if his resistance was causing actual physical pain, or if the creature was simply voicing its mental anguish. “You can’t do this to me. You’re nothing.” The thing that wore Sam’s face seemed to shimmer as it fought the urge to climb into the hatchway and onto the ladder below.

“Yeah, well, then I’m the nothing that’s gonna can me some demon ass.” Dean held his hand higher, allowing the light that emanated from the Seal to wash over Haris’ strained features.

The motion agitated the demon more and his face contorted until it seemed he might revert to his more gaseous form. Even that choice, however, seemed to have been taken away from him.

Haris was trapped in the form he had taken, trapped like those he usually possessed.

“Do you really think you can hurt me with that thing? Do you think it will end here?” Haris slipped Sam’s tall frame onto the ladder rungs, defiant, even though his body was no longer controlled by his will. “I’ll make sure Sammy dies in agony. His screams will be heard two corridors away, and no one will be able to help him.”

Dean hunkered forward over the open hatch, still unnerved by the fact he was speaking to Haris in his brother’s mortal form. It was too much of a reminder of the time John had been possessed by the thing – even though this time a Winchester was on the winning side.

“Sam’s not gonna die. But you know what? He told me it would be worth it just to get rid of you, you sonofabitch. Just remember, none of your little black-eyed kids are gonna be able to come near you. You’re screwed big time, dude.”

Haris snarled an inhuman growl, his façade morphing from human to something akin to a gargoyle and back again. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was a master, not some pathetic human.

Still, the demon was compelled by some strange force to climb, climb until his boots hit the metal floor below. He looked around, realizing that the hatch led into a sealed storage area. There was only one way in, and one way out. “I see you’re familiar with the legends.” His eyes sparked with a new intensity, a new respect for his enemy.

“Hey, what can I say, I watched Sinbad way too much as a kid.” Dean’s face almost cracked into a smile, but somehow humor didn’t seem quite so appropriate when the sun may already be up outside.

Sam may already be…

Dean placed a hand on the hatch, pulling at the heavy metal door until its rusted hinges screamed in protest. He paused midway, using the threat of enclosure to draw Haris into conversation.

“Feel like talking yet?” Dean raised a brow questioningly, keeping the hand that sported the Seal in the demon’s view. “C’mon, don’t you just want to spill your guts before I lock you in there with no one to talk to for say, oh, all eternity.”

“I’m not much of a talker, Winchester. I prefer the thrill of the kill. Something your mother felt first hand –”

Dean clenched a fist at the mention of Mary, wishing he could climb down and punch out Haris like he was human. In all probability, though, his hand would simply pass through the creature and give Haris the opportunity of grabbing the Seal.

No, it was better to stay topside.

Better to stay focused, for Sam’s sake.

“Are you friggin’ kidding me? Dude, you got more talk than George Bush on Election Day. Maybe all those monologues are what pissed Ferinacci off enough for him come after your ass. I mean, he was after you with those special bullets, right?” Dean didn’t expect an answer, but Haris moved to the bottom of the ladder again, placing one hand on a chest-high rung in an act of rebelliousness, even in the presence of the Seal.

“Me?” Haris chortled. “Oh, Luciano was after me, yes. But, he was after you too. You really have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you? Why do you think he let you escape with the Seal, even after he knew who you were? Why do you think you’re still alive?” He shook his head in disdain. “He’s using you, Dean. Using you to do his dirty work – you see, he knew you’d come after me. He knew you’d have to avenge poor little Sammy. And here you are…”

“Sam’s not dead.” Dean’s teeth ground as he spat out the sentence with an air of finality he dared the demon to defy.

Haris didn’t disappoint.

Twisting his wrist, the demon flicked off his watch strap and flaunted the timepiece up at Dean, his yellow eyes awash with pleasure.

“Can you hear it ticking, Dean? Can you hear the last seconds of Sam’s life ebbing away while you waste time here? Any time now, Dean…any time…”

St. James Hospital
Newark, NJ

Sam blinked at her. Seeing her. Knowing her.

“Please,” he gasped, struggling now for every breath as the sun rose slowly beyond the window, illuminating the unearthly figure beside him. “Please. I just need a little more time…”

“Shh, Sam,” she said, continuing to stroke his hair, fingertips like electricity on his forehead, voice a mixture of regret and hope. “You don’t need to fight it anymore. Come with me. It’s over. It’s over, Sam. Just come with me.”

“No. There are things – I need – I need to do. Things I need to say. My brother needs me. I can’t leave him. He’ll die without me, I just know it!”

She paused for a moment, staring into his eyes with a gaze like starlight. “You can rest now, Sam. You’ve earned that. Maybe Dean’s earned that too.”

Sam sucked in another labored breath. She knew him. She knew Dean. “I can’t leave him…”

“Come with me Sam. It’s over…”

Compartment inside the Last Hope

Dean turned his back to the hatch, letting the metal doorway slam down as he moved away. Through the thick metal frame he could hear the demon screaming in fury, its screeching voice sending a chill through him. It was like fingernails down a chalkboard, high pitched and grating, but worse still, the thing’s words reminded him of Sammy.

Even though Haris was trapped, his muted but scathing taunts brought back the truth that Dean had probably – no, definitely – just condemned his brother to death. It was what Sammy had begged for, but it didn’t make the burden any less painful to bear.

“You can’t leave me here, Winchester! Your brother will scream as his lungs burn. He’ll beg for it to be over…”

Dean pushed away the words, trying to focus on the duffel bag he had discarded while he released the hatch. Opening the bag once again, he delved inside and pulled out a small portable blow torch and a hunk of lead.

Twisting the gas to the “on” position he used his faithful Zippo to fire up the torch, turning the nozzle until the orange glow faded into a much hotter, almost cobalt flame.

Securing the lever on the hatch until it was in the fully locked position, Dean placed the bar of lead he’d brought between the handle and the door’s base, using the blow torch to melt the bar until hatch and compartment floor melded into a blur of metal.

Before the lead could completely set, Dean quickly pulled off the Seal and pressed the upper part of the ring into the soft ore, leaving the imprint of a pentagram behind as a permanent “Devil’s Trap.”

“Sleep tight, you freaky sonofabitch!”

Dean began to clamber up from where he’d squatted. Haris was entombed forever, just like Solomon had entrapped demons all those years ago in a bottle. Maybe this wasn’t exactly a copper vessel, but it was a vessel – at least, figuratively speaking.

What was even more poetic was the fact that the Last Hope was about to be scuttled, sinking forever like the bottle Solomon had tossed into the lake.

Finally.

It was over.

Dean should have been happy. He should have been relieved, but somehow banishing the brothers’ nemesis didn’t seem important anymore. Not without Sammy.

There’s still a chance. The Seal is supposed to have healing properties. What if I just wish Sammy better? What if it’s as simple as ordering Haris into the hatch was?

But were the Winchesters ever that lucky?

A rumbling shook the Last Hope and Dean felt his body sway with an unnatural motion. He teetered, grabbing the wall beside him to keep his balance.

The deep-seated groaning noise continued, and the hunter realized with a grunt that the ship was moving, and that the sound he could hear was a diesel engine growling as it fought to tug the ship out of port.

Shit!

Leaving the duffel bag, torch and other items behind, Dean took one last glance at the sealed hatchway before heading for the doorway. The port authorities had begun towing the Last Hope into the Atlantic, and if he didn’t hurry, Sam’s vision of his death may well come true.

The container ship rocked, the abrupt swaying of its hull pitching Dean sideways. He stumbled, trying to catch himself before his head cracked into a long-dead instrument panel.

“Sweetheart, I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t like my sorry ass…” Dean missed the corroded controls by an inch and managed to twist his body back just enough to stay on his feet. “C’mon, big gal, what’s not to like about me? Hell, I got a soft spot for classic metal, just ask my wheels…”

Using an inset where the radio used to be for support, Dean managed to reach the swinging door that he entered via. He stopped, peering out beyond the metal portal as the sun hovered over the horizon.

Shafts of orange and yellow light streaked across the open ocean like some maelstrom of vibrant color. Each beam reflected back over the rippling tide until the waves seemed alive with the very presence of the new day.

Alive.

Dean rubbed the back of his hand across his face, but he refused to shed any more tears. Sam wasn’t going to die alone. He wouldn’t allow it. Neither sea, pitching ship, demon, nor mob lord would keep him from his brother, because right now that was all he had to hold on to.

“Hang in there, lil’ brother.”

The Last Hope bobbed again, her stability in the water compromised by lack of maintenance and sheer age.

She was near enough to port for Dean to be able jump and swim back to the harbor, but the propeller shafts from her engines were still dangerously close to the water’s surface – still easily able to kill should Dean miscalculate his dive and hit them as he landed in the ocean.

But then, if he had to jump overboard into the swirling current below, risking his own life on the huge iron screws for Sam, he’d do it.

Better to die trying than to let his brother die alone.

“I’m coming, Sammy. You just hold on…”

St. James Hospital
Newark, NJ

“Doctor, is there nothing we can do for him?”

Sam heard the nurse’s voice as if down a long, dark tunnel, eyes closed tightly shut against each new spasm that took his body, aware of her as a presence in the same way as he was aware of the doctor, the tall orderly, the chaplain… And the Light.

She was brighter. Brighter than anything now. He could see her through his closed eyelids, an imprint on his retinas, and he knew. He knew.

He was losing.

He was losing this fight.

Can’t give up. Not until Dean… Not until… I can’t leave him… He’d never survive it…

“No,” Dr. Hoffe’s low tones mingled with the light swirling around in Sam’s head. “All we can do is wait. It won’t be long now.”

“But his brother –” the orderly’s voice. “He needs to be here… At the end.”

“It’s too late. He doesn’t have much time.”

Sam opened his eyes at the doctor’s words.

But instead of looking up at the medical staff crowding around his bed, all he saw was her.

The Reaper.

He’d never even suspected that was what she was.

If that was what she was.

Hovering above him, long golden hair splayed out all around her, all around him, that same bittersweet sadness in her eyes.

He knew her.

He knew her.

But all he saw when he looked up was a beautiful blonde woman splayed out above him and suddenly he wanted to hold Jess, hold his mom so bad it hurt even more than the poison destroying his body.

“You’ll see them soon, Sam. Just take my hand.”

“No,” Sam whispered. “Dean. Dad. I can’t…”

“Come with me, Sam. Just come with me. It’ll all be over soon. You can rest. You can rest with them.”

“Dean…”

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The Winchester Chronicles