“You know, since I'm not actually dead.”
180 Days
Don't think, drive.
Don't think about how he was a reanimated corpse, just drive.
The gas pedal touched the floor and the speedometer climbed up past ninety while the Impala weaved in and out of traffic, getting honks and middle fingers that went ignored.
Don't think about Dean trading his soul for Sam's life, just drive.
"You died in my arms!!"
There was a Honda in the way and the Impala easily took the shoulder, tore around it. The speedometer kept climbing, one-ten was going to be the max.
Don't think about the demon blood in his veins, the heart that shouldn't be beating in his chest… don't think about how Sam wasn't even human anymore - not a wizard, not a hunter, but a freak - or how Dean only had six months left to live.
Demon blood. Reanimated corpse.
Sam's life for Dean's soul.
Dean was going to die in six months… he was going to die for Sam who wasn't even a freaking human.
Sam couldn't think about that, he couldn't think about any of it. All he could do was press harder on the gas pedal and drive.
It was hard to think and drive, but Sam couldn't outrun the way his skin felt wrong on his body or how every breath he took was wrong.
Sam had died.
That wasn't a thing he could outrun.
Sam drove for hours, only stopping for gas when he had to. When he crossed the New York state line, it felt like he had been in a daze. Sam didn't remember the drive, he didn't remember stopping for gas. If his phone didn't ring with an unknown number, Sam wasn't sure he would have shaken off the dissociative fog that settled on him.
It was a South Dakota number that called him and Sam almost cowardly didn't answer.
"Hello?" Sam slowed down, made sure he was on the right route to get to MACUSA.
"Sam? It's Harry. Where are you?"
Sam swallowed his shame, the apology that wanted to bubble up. He swallowed down the accusations he wanted to spit too, the accusation of why Harry would ever let Dean sell his soul for Sam.
For Harry? Sam could understand that. Harry was a wizard, he was something magical and natural. Sam had demon blood in his veins, Dean's soul powering his heart beats.
"New York," Sam said. He sounded flat, distant. It wasn't his skin or his blood, it wasn't his heart or his voice.
Sam was a monster, one that killed Dean. Not yet, but in six months. Sam was going to take the best person in Harry's life, the best person in Sam's life.
"Can you - will you buy a portkey and meet us in Vegas?" Harry asked, stumbling over his request childishly. God, he was a kid, Harry needed Dean.
Sam screwed up, Sam was an abomination. It shouldn't have cost Harry their brother.
"Vegas?" Sam asked, not really all that curious. That would be Dean - Sam wanted to out drive himself, Dean would want to bury what happened beneath booze and forced laughter.
"We just…" Harry started whispering and if Sam focused, he could hear the sounds of what was probably a diner in the background. "Dean wants to do something fun, with both of us. Please, Sam, once you get your job back will you meet us here? Bobby's picking up Jo and Ellen, he said he can swing by and get the car. Please, Sam? Please?"
Sam really didn't want to. Sam didn't want to deal with Dean's way of ‘dealing' - denial. Sam didn't want to look Harry in the eyes, he didn't want to look at his brother who wasn't even twenty-seven yet.
But Harry was begging and Sam was so wrapped up in his shit - he died - that he forgot Harry didn't exactly have an easy day either. Harry sounded bad, fragile, Sam didn't want to tell him ‘no' even if he didn't want to go to Vegas.
"I - I could tell you about the dragon, if you want to hear about it still…"
Yeah, of course Sam wanted to hear about the dragon. Sam wanted to hear about the dragon and how Harry had let Dean summon a demon and how - if… Sam wanted to know that Harry was okay.
"Give me the address for the motel when you get there," Sam told him tiredly. God, Sam felt old - ancient, expired, exhausted.
A reanimated corpse with demon blood inside of him.
Harry promised he would give the address when he had it and Sam promised that he would get a portkey to meet up with them.
Sam didn't know how Harry knew that Sam was going to MACUSA, but he appreciated the wish of luck from him all the same. Sam wasn't planning on asking about his job, it hadn't even really registered that he probably was fired the same instant that his life insurance was cashed out… but, yeah, he probably should try and get that back.
Especially if… if… if Sam and Harry were going to be on their own in six months.
It was late - early - by the time Sam made it to MACUSA Headquarters. Sam's badge still got him in the doors, then he hesitated on where to go.
Where did Sam report that his death wasn't actually permanent and that he'd like his job back, please? Harry texted him before Sam arrived with the address of the motel in Vegas they had, Sam thought he might as well buy the portkey before he went to find White to ask about his job.
Then even if Sam was really removed from the premises he would already have a quick way to get back to his brothers.
The building was pretty quiet and empty while Sam made his way toward the portkey authorization department. There weren't a lot of people there before six am, which was fine for Sam. He didn't know how Dean always sought out noise and crowds when he was ‘dealing', Sam hated it.
There was only one person in the portkey department, a man in a suit bent over and talking quietly to the witch working the counter. Sam stood behind him, fine with waiting, and started to nod in an absent and uncaring greeting when the man turned around.
Sam wasn't sure who was more surprised to see the other - himself or President Quahog.
"Mister Winchester?" The President had a cherry wand in his hand and it swished at his side. Sam shivered with whatever he cast, his own form of ‘salt, silver, holy water' probably.
"President Quahog," Sam said politely. He wondered if the President had somehow been told about—
"But you're dead!"
Ah. Yeah. So he knew.
"I mean…" Sam gestured toward himself. "I guess not."
"Well, this is quite a story," Quahog said. "Come, let's have coffee. Do you drink coffee?" he checked, nodding after Sam slowly did. "Stanford," he said, a one-worded explanation apparently.
Like that somehow connected the President of the Magical Congress of the United States and Sam Winchester, the hunter with demon blood who died the night before.
Despite Sam's misgivings, President Quahog wasn't nearly as intimidating as Sam thought a president should be when it was only the two of them. Maybe it was Sam - maybe it was Sam who had met Gods and fought demons, killed legends and researched mythical monsters for years. That had to have given him some edge, and if that edge meant that he could talk to the President about dying and Dean's deal and demons… so be it.
"I will give it to you, Sam Winchester." They had gone through two pots of coffee and Quahog seemed politely stunned by the time Sam's shoulders slumped and the whole sorry story had spilled from him. "You Winchesters do seem to be unique."
That was one word for it.
"A boy who survived the Killing Curse, his cambion brother who rose from the dead, and the brother who traded his borrowed soul to give life… Good Lord, what a family."
"Cambion?" Sam had heard the term before, somewhere, but he didn't recall the exact definition.
"The child of a demon and human." Quahog waved his hand negligently with his shining loafers propped on his desktop. "It might not be the precise term here, but I am unsure if there is a term for what you are. Not that I mind, of course," he said smoothly, reminding Sam that he was actually a politician. "MACUSA employs all varieties."
‘What you are' started bouncing around Sam's skull, leaving bruises every place it touched.
Sam was a freak, that was what he was. Sam was a freak who didn't deserve to live with Dean's soul pumping the blood that flowed through his body.
"Do you know any way to break a demon deal?" Sam asked, crossing his fingers under the desk. Sam knew if he killed the demon that held the deal, it would break it, but it was tricky to do if the demon holding the deal refused to show at his summons.
Sam had to find a way to break it though, he had to. Dean could not die, Sam - Sam couldn't even think about that. Dean, who was the best person Sam knew, spending an eternity in Hell? Dean being tortured because he cared about Sam more than he should?
God, there was just no freaking way that could be Dean's future.
"You have to kill the demon that holds the contract," Quahog said, confirming Sam's belief that it was the only way. He hummed and held up his coffee mug, staring off in the distance thoughtfully while the steam curled up in his face. "It might be simpler, since I've had reports of increased demonic activity."
Sam kept his poker face up, didn't react to that. From what he heard, it sounded like Azazel opened the Gates to Hell just before Tonks managed to gank him. Sam left that part out of his recount of the recent events though, he wasn't sure if Tonks would somehow be blamed for that.
"Or more difficult because there's twice as many demons walking around," Sam pointed out instead. It was going to be difficult, but Sam knew he was going to do it.
For Dean? Sam would question every damn demon on the planet. The problem was—
"And you have a mere six months to find the demon," Quahog mused. "My, Sam - I'll presume that I may call you Sam by this point - I don't envy your situation."
"Thanks," Sam said wryly, grimacing in his own cup of coffee. It was only when he remembered the real reason he was in New York that he glanced up hopefully. "My situation might be a little easier with my job back," he said, flashing a smile when Quahog raised a brow at him. "You know, since I'm not actually dead."
"That does seem to be factually correct." Quahog laughed lightly when he tapped his desk with the wand and brought out a stack of paperwork. "Perhaps I'll advise our Employee Resources Department to begin validating your death - in case of future—" Quahog cut himself off and blinked at one of the documents in what looked like surprise. Sam really hoped there wasn't going to be something that kept him from getting his job back…
"Sam…" Quahog slid the paper he had been examining across the desk so Sam could take it. It looked like an insurance packet, Sam didn't immediately see what was causing the previously friendly atmosphere to become kind of tense.
"Oh, shit." Sam scanned to the bottom of the page and swore quietly when he saw a copy of a check made out to Dean and the receipt marking it as cashed beside it.
Dean would go and cash Sam's freaking life insurance check for a ‘six months left to live' trip to Vegas. Jesus.
"Technically," Sam spoke up quickly before anyone was in any trouble, "life insurance is paid out at the end of life, there weren't any stipulations in the contract that stated anything about returning to life."
MACUSA probably didn't expect to need it, Sam wouldn't have either. Either way, legally there was nothing to be done about it.
And Quahog admitted as much when he gave Sam back his job with a new insurance packet requiring forty-eight hours between death and settlement.
Sam picked up a portkey to the motel Harry gave him the information on and the very first thing he smelled was beer. It wasn't even noon and Sam could see beer bottles and half a fifth of jack laying around a freaking swanky hotel.
The next thing he saw was Dean passed out on a sofa bed, sprawled out with drool pouring from a corner of his mouth. Sam dropped his bag quietly to the floor and stepped up beside him with guilt twisting inside of him.
When he was asleep, or blacked out more likely, Dean looked younger, like he did when Sam had been a kid who needed a hero. Dean had always been there, always. Every time Sam needed someone… Dean was there.
It shouldn't have even surprised Sam to find out that Dean sold his soul for Sam, Sam didn't know anything Dean wouldn't do for him.
Sam had wondered since the moment Dean admitted what he did if Dean would have done the same thing if he knew Sam had demon blood inside of him and - yeah, Sam was pretty sure he would. It didn't mean Sam didn't need to fess up though, tell Dean everything, but Sam thought his brother would have made the same decision twice.
"He's going to be happy you're here."
Sam startled, feeling like he got caught doing something wrong, and turned slowly to see Harry was curled in a sitting position on one of the beds. It was becoming a habit for them - Harry in the bed furthest from the door, Sam in the bed by the door, Dean on the couch.
Sam tried to not think about how at some point… they wouldn't need a couch in their motel rooms.
"Harry, hey." Sam tried, failed, to smile at Harry. Harry looked tired, his hair was all ruffled up in kind of an adorable way. When Sam took a couple of steps toward him, he raised an eyebrow at the beer bottle in the bed with him.
"Er… celebration," Harry said sheepishly, grinning when he saw what Sam looked at. "That's what Dean called it."
"He would." Sam rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of Harry's bed. Sam felt like a dick, he had sort of forgotten about Harry in his thoughts of Dean's deal, his own death… but Harry was just the kid being dragged into all of their craziness.
A glint of silver caught Sam's eye and he blinked at a gleaming sword propped in the corner by Harry's bed. It looked ancient, way too expensive to be being used as a bedside protection tool.
So it wasn't like Harry didn't come with his own set of insanity, actually.
"Did you pull that from a hat?" Sam asked, thinking of the plan that Dumbledore told him he had for Harry when he needed to face the dragon. Jesus, was that really just fourty-eight hours ago? It felt like a lifetime ago… and for Sam it had been, hadn't it?
"Yeah, the dragon loved it," Harry said. He scooted over and tossed the beer bottle on his nightstand to make space for Sam. Sam went ahead and kicked his shoes off, shuffled around so he could sit beside Harry.
Harry didn't wait at all to plaster himself to Sam's side, pushing them together until Sam thought he was trying to practically climb in Sam's lap. Sam almost cracked a joke about it, then wondered how hard the last two days had been on his little brother.
Sam should have asked him how he was feeling - and he would, later. But he didn't think that Dean Junior was going to be up for a feels fest just then, so he asked about something else.
"Tell me about the dragon?" Sam asked. He had told Harry bits and pieces about Oregon before - before he knew the truth of how it ended, but he didn't get a chance to hear about Harry facing off against a dragon.
"It's not really important," Harry said slowly, tipping his head over on Sam's shoulder and pulling the blanket to cover both sets of their legs.
Sam recognized that tone too - that was ‘I don't want to brag' and Sam heard it from Dean every time Sam got knocked out on a case and missed the finale.
"Dude." Sam aimed a friendly punch toward Harry's leg and the grin felt almost real. "Tell me everything."
That was all the encouragement that Harry seemed to need before he launched into his story of the first task. Sam made himself be an active listener, giving Harry the audience he deserved to have.
Harry started at the beginning, when he was taken in a tent with the other champions. It took Sam all of thirty seconds into the story to make Harry pause for a question—
"Wait - you…?" Sam tried to find a kind way to phrase ‘you don't sound brain damaged anymore', but Harry beat him to the punch.
"I'll explain after," Harry said, patting Sam's knee, just a little condescendingly. "So Dumbledore pulled the dragons and Hermione thinks he cheated, but I don't think so, anyway, I got the first one…"
By the time Harry told Sam how he got the golden egg from the dragon, Sam had to actually applaud him.
"He's a real Winchester, huh?"
Sam and Harry both looked over and saw that Dean had woken up. Dean was grinning with bloodshot eyes and Sam had fifty things he needed to tell Dean, to probably scream about and cry over because Sam was always too emotional, but he could see Dean didn't want that yet.
And since Dean had traded his soul for Sam's life, Sam could give him some patience to have the talk they needed to have.
"Yeah," Sam said. "He's a real Winchester."
Dean's smile widened and Harry relaxed, both of them were probably expecting Sam to immediately push the issue. Sam might have… but Sam wasn't exactly psyched to tell his brothers ‘Oh, hey, remember how we've been thinking that maybe I'm a little magical? Well, it turns out, I've actually got demon blood in me.'
Yeah, that conversation could wait.
"Good to have you here, Sammy." Dean hopped up and slapped Sam's shoulder on his way to the bathroom and Sam sighed in exasperation when he could hear Dean trying to carry on a conversation while taking a leak. "What do you guys say we hit up the buffet and then play some blackjack?"
"I say Harry's not old enough to be in a casino," Sam said.
"Unless…" Harry smiled and it was Dean's smile with a shadow that hadn't been there before, a shadow of grief - either grief he already felt or grief that they all knew was coming. "Harry uses his cloak."
Sam couldn't help it - he snorted. Harry was so serious and when Dean finished in the bathroom and added his own stamp of approval to the plan, how was Sam supposed to say no?
It wasn't like Dean would be there when Harry turned twenty-one to take him to casinos… not if Sam didn't get a move on finding the demon that held his deal.
Which meant that Sam needed the Colt, which meant he needed Bobby… then Sam was going to start tearing apart every demon on earth piece by piece until his brother's soul was safe.
And he had exactly one hundred and seventy-nine days left to do it in.