Better Than A Glass Slipper

Crimson

NOTE: Please, pay attention to the archive warning. There is self-administered amputation in this chapter, and it's depicted rather graphically. A character also has a feelings that highly resemble an anxiety attack. Feel free to skim over any portions of the chapter that are out of your comfort zone, and keep yourself safe while reading. If you want me to summarize the chapter for you and put it down in the comments in a less possibly triggering way, please let me know and I would be happy to do it. I promise, after this chapter the violence and angst levels will drop significantly.

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Dean looked at the hand that he didn't draw his sword with, the hand still resting on the pale cheek of his fallen brother. "If you can actually save him--,"

"Why would I lie to you?" The blue-eyed man caught Dean's gaze again and held it. "I'm here to help, I promise."

"I've heard that one before," Dean scoffed lightly. "Believing it ended up getting one of my friends killed."

"Well, your brother is already dead," Dean tensed when the man said that, like it was merely a fact. Like it wasn't something that turned the world upside down and tied knots in his heart. "Which means that you don't really have anything to lose."

Dean closed his eyes for a second to escape the blue. It almost felt indecent, to be looked at with this kind of scrutiny, this kind of interest when his brother was lying without breath a few feet away. When he re-opened his eyes he realized his face was wet again. "What do you need to do?", Dean asked, his voice deeper and rougher than normal. He cleared his throat to try to get rid of the building tightness.

"A spell like this requires a lot of power. His soul has just left his body, so it won't take as much energy as it would if he were dead for a day or more. However, it's still a monumental amount of energy. You will need to make a contribution, need to give up something of high value that ties you to him," the man looked up at Dean through dark eyelashes. "What are you willing to sacrifice?"

Dean turned his head away from the man's bright eyes, this entire thing was too much. The next place Dean's gaze immediately went was the broken body of his little brother. A strangled noise climbed its way out of Dean's chest, and his entire rib cage felt compressed. Dean pressed the hand that wasn't still resting on Sam's cheek his mouth and swallowed hard. His breath quickened and his entire body convulsed. Everything felt wrong. It should be him lying there, not Sam. Anyone could be lying there but Sam. It wouldn't fucking matter. Nothing would matter if he left this place without his brother. A tortured noise fell from Dean's mouth, and he heard his heartbeat roaring in his ears. This was wrong. This was worse than dying, this was living when your reason to stay alive had left, this was--a hand gripped Dean's shoulder.

"I need you to focus," the man drew Dean's eyes back to his own; but they seemed softer than before, less like ice and more like the sea. "What are you willing to sacrifice?" he repeated.

Dean could feel himself starting to shake and he couldn't stop it. His breath came in quick bursts, the roaring in his ears growing louder by the second. "Anything. I don't care. Whatever you want. Just take it. I'll give it. I'll go in his place. I'll go in his place and take someone else with me. I'll give you gold. I'll give you gems. I'll give you life-force. I'll give you blood. I'll give you my rib. I'll give you--,"

The man put his other hand on Dean's other shoulder, and Dean's breathless speech came to a halt. "Listen to me, your sword is sharp, correct?"

Dean scoffed softly, the shaking of his body lessening fractionally. "I just gutted a dragon with it, I'd like to think it's at least a little sharp."