Gotta Have Faith

They’re holding him down, and Sam is digging his hands into his intestines. It’s not the Sam he left topside, but it’s still the Sam that he sold his soul for. This Sam is four years old, soft brown hair curling past his ears and shining hazel eyes that watch Dean’s every move. The little boy laughs and shows Dean what he’s found, and green eyes run over the slick ropes of his guts. Sam looks so proud, and Dean just smiles at him. He’s lying on his rack, but there’s nothing holding him here. He could move if he wanted to. He could pick up the little boy with Sam’s face and throw him across the room, bash his skull in, but what’s the point? It’s not Sam, and he knows that, but he still can’t hurt him. Can’t hurt the boy with his brother’s eyes and smile. Could never hurt Sammy.

When they take Sam away, chains made from rusty nails wrap around his body and hold him to the table. The little boy screaming in the demon’s arms isn’t his Sam, but Dean can’t look away from the kid’s waving red hands and too long hair. The little boy screams like Sam did with his worst nightmares as the demons tear him apart, and Dean fights to get free. He manages to rip one of his arms off in his struggle as demons violate his little brother in ways that he never wanted to see (but it’s not Sam). Then Sam, his Sam, is standing in the little boy’s place. Sam is screaming for him, begging to be saved, but Dean can’t save him. He’ll never be able to save Sammy again.

Betty woke up with a soundless scream and the image of sick perversions painted across her eyelids. She managed to stumble to the toilet just in time to puke up last night’s dinner, and she tried to use the flushing toilet to drown out the sound of Dean Winchester’s desperate screams. It didn’t work, it never did, but she can at least say she tried. Once all of the spaghetti was flushed away, she slumped against the tub and stared across the open space to her bedroom. She doesn’t like being closed in; she likes all of the openness in her home. She likes being able to see everything.

Fucking fuck! This wasn’t supposed to keep happening. For six years, she kept the visions out. When she laid down to sleep, she didn’t dream. Now, ever since that vision about the upcoming Apocalypse, she’s been having visions every night. It’s only been three nights since she kidnapped a young redhead and left her for the Winchesters to find (her name is Charlie), but that’s still three visions too many. The worst part? She’s had these visions before. She dreamed of the Righteous Man being tortured in Hell when she was thirteen, and she’s never been able to forget the manic glint in the man’s eyes as they tortured him into insanity. She knows what no one else knows; she knows just how they got Dean Winchester to break in only thirty years, and those thoughts are enough to drive her nearly insane.

She’s not going to think about Dean Winchester right now. He got out of the Pit, was rescued by an angel, and stopped the last Apocalypse. Betty has better things to do today than pity a man who is far too strong for something like pity. (Dean Winchester has her undying respect, because he survived.) She’s going to shower, fix some breakfast, and enjoy her day off. Maybe she’ll take Laz out for a long walk and go lay in the field outback. That always mellows her out. Laz needs a good walk too. He’s getting pretty hefty, and she wants him to stay healthy.

Thirty minutes later, Betty walked down the stairs that led up to her bedroom loft in her bare feet and a pretty mint green sundress. Lazarus’s big furry head butted against her thigh as she stood in front of the stove, and she absently reached down to scratch behind an ear as she scrambled her eggs. Lazarus is a good dog, even if he is huge. He’s a giant teddy bear and loves her, and that’s all she really needs. Laz’s head rested on her thigh as she ate at the kitchen table, and he dutifully trotted by her side when she slipped out the back door. No shoes got between her toes and the short grass, and she felt the first bit of relief for the first time in three days. She really needed this day off.

“Did I ever tell you why I picked this place, Laz?”

“Rrrr-wuff!” She’ll take that as a no. They walked farther into the backyard, past the barn, and out into the field beyond. They broke through the small tree line, and Betty eased herself down into the grass next to the lake. There’s a deck leading out over the water, with a small boat on it if she wants to go out into the water, but she prefers sitting on the grass. Makes her feel closer to nature or some shit like that.

“It’s the lake. The house was perfect, but it was the lake that really did it for me. Do you know why lakes are so important?” Her rough voice was quiet as she looked out over the water, and she let her eyes trace the way that the sun lit up the dark water.

“Grr…ruff.” Lazarus doesn’t know much today. That’s okay, she doesn’t mind answering for him.

“Sometimes I need to escape. When I was little, I couldn’t control all the visions. Josie used to bring me out to rivers, ponds, and lakes when I’d refuse to sleep. There was something about the water that calmed me, centered me, and kept me from going completely batshit. The house was perfect and everything I’ve ever wanted, but the lake was what I needed. It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Lazarus ran straight into the lake to chase the small fish in place of an answer, and Betty leaned back on her hands to watch to watch him wobble through the water. He’s too big and furry to swim properly, but he looks so happy that Betty can’t call him back. Laz can take care of himself. Betty spread her legs and wiggled her toes, and she tipped her head back so she could feel the hot sun on her face. She just needs to relax and build her wall back up. Kidnapping an innocent girl, forcing a vision on that innocent girl, and using witchcraft took too much out of her. She has to rebuild her strength and put a stop to these visions. She’s done with seeing the past, seeing the present, and seeing the future. She’s retired.


The hunter’s name is Emmaline Grace Motley. Emma, Ems, Gracie…sugar bear. She’s roasting on the rack and can’t remember her little sister’s name, the little sister that she sold her soul for. She knows the names of the demons that torture her. Eligos, Marius, Penelope, Henry, Amelia, Josiah, Meg…Asmodeus tortures her with the way that he pretends to care; Crowley tortures her by watching as she’s torn apart and being a constant reminder of why she’s here. Like she could ever forget? They come at her with claws and hooks, and the little hunter is so tired. She just wants it to end, but it can’t. She can’t get off the rack. She needs to stay on the rack. (But for how long?)

The archangel’s name is Gabriel. The Trickster, Loki, god…soulmate. He’s locked so deep inside of a human soul that no one can hear his screams. He calls out for his big brother, Michael, who he knows will never forgive him. He ran from Heaven, hid from his brothers and sisters, and became a god of his own. Michael won’t save him; he’ll leave Gabriel in the Pit to be tortured for the rest of eternity. He calls out to the human that he’s become a part of, and sometimes he retreats from the never ending pain and into the tangled mess of the hunter’s memories. He sees her childhood home and finds comfort in it as his bones are removed one by one; he sees her brown eyes shining with laughter as she sits between two siblings and barely feels it this time when they pull his spine out through his throat; he sees the open desert sky with his back pressed against the top of a van and feels peace as another demon hangs him from the ceiling and watches his blood coat the room.

They are scared of Hell. Neither will admit it, but they are. They are scared of losing limbs and tasting organs, they are scared of empty eyes and greedy hands, and they are scared of being left open and exposed. Hell is their greatest fear, but not for themselves. Emma is terrified of Gabriel being locked inside of her as demons tear her apart and not being able to hear him; Gabriel is terrified of being forced to watch Emma get torn apart and not having the strength to do anything. Their fear is for one another, which makes them both stronger and weaker. They will risk this fear, this overwhelming and choking fear, to save Sam. Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood, does not belong in Hell. To Emma, he’s the big brother she always wanted. Sam holds her when she cries and lets her braid his hair even though Dean embarrasses him for it. (It’s the little things that mean so much.) To Gabriel, he’s the first human in centuries to surprise him. Sam fought against his destiny because it was the right thing to do and talks to him like they’re equals. (They’re not equals because the human is so much better.)

They will go to Hell. They will breathe in the thick scent of sulfur and blood, and they will endure the deafening sound of screams and their pounding heart. Together, they will fight against the demons that ripped them apart and broke them down into nothing. For Sam.

“No! Stop!” Betty’s knees cracked as she rolled off the bed, and her fingers scrambled against the hardwood floor. Her head is pounding with the weight of a decision that she doesn’t have to make. (They don’t have to make one either, because the answer is obvious.) Her heart is racing with a fear that isn’t hers, and she claps one hand over the other so that she can feel the rough pull of bones under her skin. Her forehead pressed against the floor as a shiver rolled through her, and she was pulled back under.



It’s the only thing he can hear. Just his brother’s name roaring through his ears, over and over again. He can barely hear the others over the tidal wave of his brother. Has to strain to hear Emma’s soft voice, tries to use Cas’s rougher voice to cancel out the screams in his own mind, and focuses on all the new voices in an attempt to make it stop. It doesn’t. He remembers Hell. How could he ever forget? Most of the torture was physical, where they ripped him apart and broke him in ways that he never thought he’d heal from. It wasn’t always physical. They forced baby heart’s down his throat and showed him all of his many fuckups. All of the jobs he messed up, the ones that ended with innocent people dead and him still walking around. Brought Dad in, sometimes just to remind him of how much of a disappointment he was and sometimes to help carve him up. He could handle those…but they knew Sam was his biggest weakness. He sold his soul for his little brother, didn’t he?

He can’t let Sam go through what the demons showed him. He knows it wasn’t really Sam, he knows that. But it was Sam’s voice that screamed and begged, Sam’s eyes that pleaded with him before going dead, and Sam’s body that was ripped apart. He can’t leave Sam in Hell. Just a few days is bad enough. Cas and Bobby tell him to be patient, but how can he be patient when it’s Sam that’s being tortured? Emma tells him that they’ll get him out and everything will be okay, but Sam will never be the same. So what if it’s only a few days? Sam is so good, has always been the good kid, and he doesn’t belong in Hell.

Dean will let Michael in. He’d let the archangel ride his ass and torch the entire planet if it got Sam out of the Pit. He knows it’s wrong, but he doesn’t care. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his little brother, and that includes doing the one thing he swore to himself he’d never do. Losing control of himself is one of his greatest fears, but it’s not at the top. Sam is his greatest fear.

“No more. Just, stop it already. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want this anymore.”

One day. Eighty-five days. Ten years. Forty-nine years. Seventy-six years. One hundred and twelve years.

“Do you know how long it’s been topside, Sam?” Abaddon is wearing Jess again today, and the sight makes him sick. If he still had an esophagus, he’d been be choking on bile.

“No.” His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, but Abaddon could hear him. She could always hear him.

“It’s been three days topside. Each day is fifty years. Most demons can’t swing that kind of time stretching, but I’m not most demons. I’m a little special.” The demon smiled with Jess’s lips; it was the smile that he fell in love with, and he wants to kill her. Wants to tear the smile from her face.

“Still coming.” The walls all around them are shaking and beginning to crumble, but it’s been so long now. So much time has passed. As Abaddon used Jess’s soft hands to pull him apart, he went over his life again. It’s something he does every day, so he won’t forget like Emma did.

His name is Samuel Winchester, Sam, and he hates being called Sammy. His father’s name was John and his mother’s name was Mary. They’re both dead; Mary by a demon and John by making a deal for Dean’s life. Dean is his big brother…Dean is everything. Dean will save him. The big brother who spent forty years in the Pit, knows too many pop culture references, and fell in love with a dude angel. Dean will save him. Jess was the first woman he ever really loved, but she never really knew him. She was killed by the demon Azazel, and Dean killed Azazel. He is Lucifer’s vessel and was given demon blood as a baby, but he’s clean now and he’ll never say yes to Lucifer again. Bobby Singer is a hunter and was more of a father to him than John ever was; Bobby is blunt and rude, but he loves him. Emma is a little hunter that they adopted after she was freed from Hell; Sam thinks of her as a little sister. Emma is his to comfort and protect, even though she can take care of herself. Gabriel was in her soul while she was in Hell. Gabriel, the archangel who masqueraded as a pagan god, is an asshole and knows just how to get under his skin. Gabriel’s eyes are as bright as the sun and he tastes like chocolate.

Sam’s favorite color is blue. He doesn’t like coffee, but he does like hot chocolate. He likes eating healthy but has a secret love for ice cream. The more chocolate the better. He likes Dean’s music but gives him shit for it, because that’s what little brothers do. He has cried without shame and watched his brother die. He has laughed over nothing and felt peace as he stood in his own home. One time, he saved the world and beat the devil.

When Gabriel/Emma came for him, he’d been in the Pit for two hundred and seventeen years. He still knew every scar on his brother’s body, could smell the dusty books and whiskey scent of Bobby’s house, could hear the sound of Emma’s voice as she whispered to him in sleep, and could see the exact shade of Gabriel’s eyes. It’s been two hundred years, but he still remembers everything. The others will never know how long it has been. Two hundred years means four days topside. Four days topside means eight days in the Pit, without Abaddon’s influence. He can’t let them know it’s been two hundred years. They’ll never forgive themselves, and he’ll be fine.

He still remembers everything.

Betty came to slumped on her bedroom floor, fresh tears tickling across the bridge of her nose and shakes knocking her legs together. She remembers Dean’s torture, saw it ages ago, but everything else is new. It’s her first time seeing Emma Motley. She’s seen Gabriel in so many different situations, but she’s never seen him in Hell. Never felt his fear quite so strongly. She’s seen Sam as well, but not like that. So strong and so broken. Two hundred years in the Pit without breaking, it’s impressive.

They are supposed to the heroes of this story, but they’re all so broken inside. How can they save anyone when they can’t even save themselves? Betty knows the answer, of course she does. Separated, they’re all useless. Together, they just might be able to pull another win out of their asses. Hopefully, she’ll stop seeing it though. She hates waking up on her bedroom floor and choking on tears as she lives through moments that don’t belong to her. She just wants to be left alone. Is that really too much to ask?

“Wuff…grr…wuff…ruff!”

“I’m fine, Laz. Go back to sleep.” The sun is peaking through the windows, and she has to be at work in a few hours. She’s going to forget about everything she just saw. None of it matters to her. It doesn’t.


“Betty, sweetie, are you feeling okay?” Hazy brown eyes were covered in a slow blink, and Betty smiled down at Mrs. Richardson. The woman was eighty-two and still tended to her own garden, and Betty normally talked to her for at least twenty minutes after ringing her up.

“Didn’t sleep well.”

“Try some of that chamomile tea. It helps me when my back gets achy,” Mrs. Richardson said and patted her hand. Betty spent the next twenty minutes talking about the woman’s garden, and she slumped across the counter once the door closed behind her. She should have called in and closed the shop, but she took yesterday off. She is not going to let her gift get in the way of her living her life.

“Psychic powers got you down?” Betty didn’t even bother to lift her head at the teasing tone. She knows exactly who it is, because only one person in this town knows just who she is and what she’s capable of.

“You don’t know the half of it, Mimi,” she groaned.

Mimi Ford is a sixteen year old girl that works in a flower shop. She is the only daughter of Tracy and Ken Ford, and Betty first met Mimi when the girl was eleven. She knew right from the start that Mimi wasn’t exactly a normal human. The girl’s brown eyes were too old for her young face, and Betty was able to catch a small flash of something out of the corner of her eye sometimes. Miriam was an angel that ripped out her grace nearly seventeen years ago and found the dying fetus of Tracy Ford. Mimi is human, but she still has all of her memories of being an angel. It could be because of her pretty heart locket, which holds her grace. Apparently Tracy’s father was a hunter that recognized Mimi for what she really was and was able to track down the angel’s grace before anyone else could find it. The necklace has been spelled so that it’s bound to Mimi’s soul and cannot be removed, and Mimi is the closest thing Betty has to a friend.

“Still on an Apocalypse kick? Isn’t that over yet?” Betty raised up onto her elbows, and a perfect brow arched as Mimi swept some of her long blonde hair over a shoulder.

“I think we’ll know when it’s over. Can’t you hear anything?” Mimi can hear angel radio, sometimes. The last Apocalypse nearly drove her crazy because she just wanted everyone to shut up, while Betty’s mind remained blissfully silent.

“Not a thing. I’m thinking of it as cosmic payback.” So now Betty is the one stuck wishing that things would just be quiet. “Seriously, Betty, cut it off. Whatever’s going on out there isn’t good.”

“Thought you couldn’t hear anything?”

“Just a feeling,” she said with a shrug. Betty looked at the fallen angel for a moment longer and then strode off to water her flowers. She’s got a bad feeling about all of this too.


You know what you gotta do, Betty Fay. You gotta do what’s right. You’ve always done what’s right. Even if it wasn’t easy. Gotta do this, Betty Fay. It’s all up to you now. You can kill him or save him. Either way, the world will be better off. Time to go, Betty Fay. You know what you have to do. Kill him. Save him.

The water lapped at her ankles as she stared up at the night sky. The stars were covered by bright streaks of light as the angels fell, because they’re locked out of Heaven. Angels are stuck on Earth, with no wings and limited grace. She can’t worry about them now. It will take him longer, because he’s got farther to travel, but he’ll be here soon. She has to get ready for him. She can’t mess this up. If she does, she won’t be the only one that dies. Everyone will, and she likes the Earth.

“Is this my big test, Father? My last job? My last failure?”

No answer came to her, but she wasn’t really expecting one either. There’s a big part of her that wants to fight, to scream, and to refuse to do anything. She dedicated her entire life to doing whatever the visions told her to; she’s killed and saved in equal measures, and she’s earned her rest. This though…she has to do this. Betty Fay has one last job to do, and it’s going to cost her life. Probably.


The sun was high in the sky when the man appeared in her backyard. His jeans and shirts were rumpled, like he’d been sleeping in them for a week. His blonde hair was sticking up in some places, and Betty noticed that his wide eyes were the same soft blue as the sky stretched above him. He looked confused, awed, and like he was in pain. His body kept twitching, like he didn’t want his back pressed against the ground, but Betty is pretty sure that he doesn’t even realize that he’s moving. He’s just looking up at the sky.

“Hi there, Lucifer.” Those blue eyes moved up her body, and the look made her cold.

“Who?” His voice was a wreck. She always pictured the Devil as a smooth talker, but she’s had visions of Lucifer before. Watched him burn grace into smoke, tempt humans into the worst sins, and saw the look on his face as his brothers betrayed him and locked him away. She’s seen him twist Sam Winchester’s mind, looked on as he killed his own little brother, and felt his anger as he was locked away again. And now he’s got a sore throat.

Her lips were already moving as she knelt down next to him, and she watched the way that he struggled against the magic pushing on his body. At his full strength, she never would have been able to pull this off. Lucifer spent centuries locked in the Cage, was forced into a weakened vessel while topside, and has just had his wings ripped off while being thrown out of the Cage. He’s very weak, for now, which is why she needs to move fast. Once the last syllable fell from her lips, she popped her fingers and smiled down at Satan himself.

“The name’s Betty.” His eyes rolled back as he fell unconscious, and Betty looked across his still body to the lake. Now it’s time for the hard magic.