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Qayin and Havel by Ophium

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Story notes:

My thanks to Jackfan2 for the awesome beta work!

A particular part of this story might be seen as non-con. It isabsolutely not graphic, but the idea is certainly there, so be warned. Also, as most apoca-fics, it has spoilers for season 4.

Chapter notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Qayin and Havel


It ends with one killing the other. Or maybe that’s how it all begins.

Qayin and Havel were the first sons of Adam and Eve. They were the first brothers.

They were also the first victims of fate.

Qayin, whom the English language now calls Cain, was the oldest and he lived for the land, for his Lord and for his own goals.

Havel, whom the English language calls Abel, was the second born, the shepherd, the keeper. He was also the one who died at his brother’s hands.

It didn’t really matter who was born first. It was not a question of years. Moreover, for the two of them, it was a question of who would be first in becoming what he was destined to be.

Sam’s path to where he now stood had started six months after his birth. It had started with blood and fire and death. It had ended in the same manner.

Dean’s path had started in that very same night, dragged in to a fate that was not his own by the same fire that consumed his house and promise of a bright life.

No. Not really.

Maybe his path had started in that cold night when he held the bleeding body of his dying brother. Maybe it started with mud and tears and deals with the devil. It had certainly ended with them. Mud and tears, that is. The devil hated him too much to make any deal with him again.

They weren’t Qayin and Havel then. That came later.

The clues had always been there, but each for his own reasons, refused to acknowledge and accept them.

When Sam was ten and all of his friends went to Sunday school, Sam asked his father if he could go too.

John Winchester said no.

Sam started praying every night just to spite him. It was the wrong reason to do it. The day his brother died in his arms, he stopped praying.

Dean had been secretly named after the man that he would not become until thirty years in the future, a guardian angel that his mother did not realize to be her own son until long after she was dead.

To John Winchester, his first-born had been named after a mother-in-law that had died by the hands of his, also dead, father-in-law.

That should’ve been their first clue right there.

Still, when a second child was born, they still named him Samuel.

The first time Dean died, a stranger gave his life for him. Dean blamed himself for that because the alternative was to blame Sam and he couldn’t bring himself to that.

The second time Dean died, his father gave his life for him. Dean had no alternative but to blame himself and hope his brother could forgive him for robbing them both of their only living parent.

The third time, as the saying goes, is the charm.

The third time Dean died he remained dead and went to Hell. This time there was no blame to be had, no guilt or burden of a stolen life on his shoulders. This time there was only fire and blood and pain and they were all welcomed, for a time. Because he had brought it all upon himself and no one else would pay for his sins.

According to ancient texts, after smashing Abel’s head with a rock and burying his body where their parents could not find him, God asked Cain about the whereabouts of his brother. His answer, born of sarcasm and guilt to come, became famous. "Am I my brother's keeper?"

He wasn’t. He was just his killer.

Sam knew exactly where his brother was. On some nights, before Ruby came to him, he would swear that he could hear Dean screaming his name in despair, begging him for salvation. The first night that happened, Sam banged his head against the bathroom wall until the white tiles were red and he had knocked himself out to escaped the sound of his brother’ suffering.

But then Ruby came and the screams went away.

Sam used to pray every night before Dean went to Hell, but he could see now that he was praying for the wrong reasons. So he stopped.

That’s when God answered his prays and Dean came knocking on his door, fresh faced and looking like nothing had happen.

Acting like nothing had happened.

Throwing everything that Sam had sacrificed out the window. Sam had hated his brother right there and then, almost with the same intensity he had hated God later when he found out who had pulled Dean from Hell.

His brother, the sinner, the one with no faith. The favorite. Always the favorite.

And Sam, who had risked everything, who had swallowed his pride and sense of self-preservation, who had risked the condition of his soul in a random chance… Sam was the pariah, the tainted one, the boy-king of all the demons who offered him a crown.
If he had stopped when Dean asked him to, maybe they could’ve been saved. But then again, maybe he would’ve ended up killing his brother just the same even without his powers. Because that was their fate. That was what they were meant to do. That was why a God that, to Sam, was selfish and cruel, had pulled Dean out of Hell.

Because He needed a lamb.

Now, with his brother’s blood soaking his hands and the ground beneath them, Sam realizes that, for all his suffering and torture, his brother had been safer in Hell.

Father Gil, the priest possessed by a demon with a good sense of irony, had said that he was his brother’s keeper. At the time, Sam’s blood had turned to ice in his veins and he hadn’t even realized why. It was perfectly harmless statement.

That was their second clue.

When he started to enjoy having demons groveling at his feet, Sam should’ve realized that he was in trouble.

But by then he was too focused on finding Lilith and getting his revenge that he didn’t even pay attention to it.

When he started feeling that it was a terrible waste to be sending all those demons back to Hell and started offering them the choice of serve him or die, Sam should’ve realized that there was no coming back.

If his brother hadn’t been so distracted playing with his angels and protecting the seals, Sam figured Dean would’ve notice when Sam’s eyes went from greenish with a touch of yellowed brown to just plain yellow.

It wasn’t really supposed to happen like this, but then again, of all the possibilities that Sam had foreseen, it didn’t matter how it happen, just how it ended.

And that part never really changed, because no matter what they did, Sam was Qayin and his brother was Havel and the blood of one should warm the hands of the other.

It was actually Lilith’s fault. She was the one who had led Dean down his path; she was the one who had forced the armies of Heaven to take action. She was the one that had made Dean in to what he was now.

Sam just reacted, really.

They had traveled their separate ways after Dean had walked in on Sam and Ruby and some other poor soul that was anything but willingly between the sweaty bodies of the boy-king and his consort.

Dean had grabbed the sobbing, naked girl, stabbed Ruby with her own knife and walked away with tears in his eyes without so much as a word to his brother.

Sam forgave him for that.

Lilith thought he was a nuisance. Nothing but Azazel’s pet project.

Sam knew he was a menace. He had worked hard to be one. His army was bigger than hers and half the demons on her side were dying to cross over to his. When they faced one another, it was a short battle.

And then Dean and his angels showed up.

Fuelled by adrenaline and the rush of having defeated the one being that he hated the most for as long as he could remember, Sam didn’t see his brother until it was too late.

The blade was supposed to kill only demons. It was still however, a blade. And, despite all the outer-worldly things that he had been doing lately, Dean was still only a man.

The fourth time Dean died was by his brother’s hands and if there was anyone to blame, it was fate.

As his blood warmed the cold mud beneath him, Dean looked in to his killer’s eyes. In to his brother’s yellow eyes. And he finally knew what his purpose had been all along.

Dean finally knew why his life seemed so much more important than the lives of so many others, his father included.

It had never been about his life. It had always been about his death.

There were no words between the two of them, a lifetime of silent communication doing the talking for them. While the battle between good and evil still raged around them, the last of the Winchesters reached an understanding and surrendered to their fates.

The light was already fading from Dean’s green eyes, but he could still see the yellow in his brother’s tear filled ones slowly receding, chased away by regret and guilt. “Come with me” he whispered with a gentle smile to his brother.

And with a broken sob of absolution, Sam took the bloody blade in his hands and went.

The end

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