Smoke

Sam watched Bela, but the demon didn’t seem to be doing anything other than staring at the sigils on the chamber walls. She had her arms crossed and her head tipped back, her hair falling neatly and elegantly in a way that made her seem like she’d risen from the rack fully composed, without any of the struggle Dean had with the demonic influences in his life. She wasn’t plotting an ambush for Dean, as far as Sam could tell, or plotting a way to trap them for when Dean came back. He didn’t really know what she was doing.

“She isn’t going to betray us,” Hannah said from beside him.

Sam grimaced and refolded his arms. He hadn’t known Hannah was right next to him.

“Yeah, I get that,” he said.

“No, you don’t,” Hannah said. “You believe she probably won’t betray me. From what Castiel said when we were on the road together, I expected you and your brother to have some issues with trusting Bela, and me. But haven’t we already shown we’re on the same side in this?”

“What exactly did Cas say?” Sam asked.

Images of times he’d done or said anything that might push Cas away, or put the angel’s objectives behind their own, trickled into his mind. It wasn’t a case of not trusting Cas. Hadn’t been for years, and even then Sam had seen that Cas’ heart was in the right place. It wasn’t even thinking Cas’ goals were insignificant. It was just… It was just their mission always seemed so urgent, and the tasks Cas set himself so often seemed distant. Other. But it wasn’t a lack of trust.

“You see yourselves as being against the world,” Hannah said. “And Dean especially has a great deal of trouble with anyone who doesn’t support the plan he currently thinks is right. It’s…angelic, almost. In a way.”

“Angelic?” Sam asked. The idea of Dean being angelic was alien, but he could remember a time when it hadn’t been, when Sam had spent uncomfortable hours comparing his own demon-infected self with his brother’s link to angels. An angel, anyway. “Dean? He’s literally a demon heir-apparent right now.”

Hannah shrugged.

“Lucifer was heir-apparent to Heaven,” she said, “up until he wasn’t.”

A bell rang through the chamber, deep and sonorous, and Bela span to face them, her eyes wide.

“He’s on his way back,” she said. “You need to decide which plan to go with. We don’t have a lot of time here, and if we choose the wrong approach-”

“Trust me,” Sam said. “This will work.”

And he moved to stand in the middle of the chamber, back straight and head up. He saw Hannah cast a look at Castiel before moving to stand by Bela, half a step behind and with no sign of her blade. Sam just had time for a last flash of doubt he certainly wasn’t going to admit to before movement at the entrance resolved itself into a cluster of demons, Dean in their midst.

His brother looked…at ease. Confident. There was no sign of the worry or weariness that could afflict Dean, and his stride was loose, relaxed. He looked every inch at home. Time for a second burst of worry, then. This plan might work whether Dean was in this thing fully or not, but Sam wasn’t keen on a real showdown.

He waited in silence, waited as Dean turned his head, eyes narrowing, and met Sam’s gaze. The smirk returned after a moment, but Sam saw it falter.

“Sammy,” Dean called, turning his steps in Sam’s direction and covering the ground less quickly than he normally would. Probably not wanting the demons to think there was any panic there. “You drop by for a family dinner I forget about? Or did you just come down here to congratulate me on my new gig?”

Sam kept his mouth shut, but he adjusted his stance.

“What? Nothing to say? Did someone tear out your tongue while you were waiting?” Dean swung around, and he must see Hannah, but he showed no sign of it. “Bela? You cut out my brother’s tongue?”

“No,” Bela said. “I’ve been babysitting your angel.”

“And picking up your own,” Dean said, winking. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re the boss, hey? Everyone wants what you have. Angels - the cool new fashion accessory of the season. Now, don’t all of the rest of you go thinking you’re getting one for Christmas.”

The snickering around Dean should have been enough to send the guy running for that stone lamp and humanity, but instead he seemed to be basking in it.

“You want to know why I’m really here?” Sam asked.

Dean turned back, his eyebrows raised.

“Well, sure,” he said. “Is it fun?”

“I’m here for my throne,” Sam said. He threw out his arms and let himself stand to his full height, eyes fixed on his brother. “Lucifer picked me. You were just Alastair’s pet project.”

Dean froze for a second, then smiled, his lip curling up at one side in a way that had nothing to do with humor, nodding as though Sam had just brought up some interesting detail in a casual conversation.

“Point, there, Sammy. Gotta tell you, though, not seeing how being picked by Lucifer makes this gig any more yours than mine. Being a pet project for the Master of the Pit is a step or two above being a prom dress, you want my view on it.”

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean pointed at him, or rather he pointed the blade in his hand at Sam, and it was all too obviously coated in blood. Sam shut his mouth again, and waited.

“Matter of fact,” Dean said, taking a step closer as the demons around him watched with a hungry glee, I seem to recall I was picked by Alastair and by Cain. Hell, by Crowley, too. So I got all kinds of votes. And what have you got? Bela’s pet angel and a sense of righteous self-importance gonna get you the win, little brother? That what you think? Because Lucifer only ever wanted to use you. He was fattening you up to be the Christmas goose. And you ain’t got it in you to beat me. No demon blood in your veins now. And what are you without it? Just a little boy who lost every woman he ever loved.”

Black flashed across Dean’s eyes, and Sam only just caught himself before he flinched. He stood his ground as Dean took another step, his stance closer to stalking than before. Hell, it was close to the slink of a hunter on the prowl, secure in the knowledge his prey had no chance of escape. Sam lifted his chin and refused to move.

“You lost the people you loved, too, Dean,” Sam said. “We both lost Mom. And we both lost Jo, and Ellen.” He paused, swallowing. “We both lost Dad. We both lost Bobby. You’re the one can’t stand the thought of anyone walking away from him. That why you’ve got Cas strapped to that chair? You think he’d leave you if you didn’t?”

“Cas ain’t going anywhere,” Dean said. Snapped. “And we both lost people. So what? You think the power of loss is going to let you beat me?”

“I think it’s going to make sure you don’t take Cas from me, too,” Sam said. “If the only way to do that is to fight you, to take the throne from you, then that’s what I’ll do.”

And that looked a lot like jealousy on Dean’s face. It was just a flash, there and gone, but it was strong.

“Cas ain’t yours,” he said, and struck.