Hi! This is a tag-type piece to 4.22, hope you all enjoy! The POV stuff is a little experimental for me. Let me know if it confuses...Feedback is very helpful! Special thanks to PsychicWonderKitty for the super-fast beta, who catches such mistakes as "Booby Singer" and so on...LOL. FACEPALM. Anyway, happy reading!
Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural or the song or the band.
The more the light shines through me
I pretend to close my eyes
The more the dark consumes me
I pretend I'm burning, burning bright
- Shinedown, 'Burning Bright'
The seizures started in the car.
At first, Dean thought he was crying. The shaking was minimal and the sounds Sam was making weren't far from sobs. Dean kept his eyes on the road though, afraid of what he might see when he looked to his right.
Sam hadn't said a word since his broken apology and awed muttering of "He's coming…" back at St. Mary's. Dean had tightened his grip on Sam so hard he must have left a mark and hauled ass outta there, dragging his stunned brother behind him. The car – the not-fast-enough car currently pointed in the direction of Bobby's house – was sitting outside the crumbling convent when Dean had finally gotten them out. Upon seeing it, Sam's expression turned even darker and defeated, something Dean hadn't thought possible. Putting that, along with everything else that had happened that night, in the little box at the back of his mind marked "Later," Dean proceeded to unceremoniously shove his newly mute brother into the passenger seat, run around to the driver's side, hotwire the car in record time, and make use of his lead foot heading west without looking back. That was about ten hours ago.
A strangled cry from the passenger seat snapped Dean out of his reverie and he finally pried his tired eyes from the endless blacktop. It was hard to see in the dark, the white dots still lingering in his line of vision courtesy of Lucifer's little light show, but Sam appeared to be trying to push his way through the car door. He was curled in on himself and every few seconds a spasm would shoot through his body, his head thumping –mercifully not that hard – against the window, rattling it softly.
"Sam?"
He didn't answer, which didn't surprise Dean. That didn't make him worry any less though.
"Sammy, can you hear me? Hey, Sam –" Dean reached out with his right hand, softly gripping Sam's shoulder. Or, at least that was the intention. Sam flinched back so hard and so suddenly that the door squeaked in protest against his weight. If he wasn't careful, he would fall right out.
"Easy, Sam." Dean tried to keep his voice calm and even, but he was pretty sure anyone with ears could hear the waver in his tone. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand. "You're okay, kiddo. We'll be there soon."
He wasn't entirely sure where 'there' was at this point; Bobby's was the ultimate goal, but he was barely halfway there and hadn't slept in close to 24 hours. Unless you counted the time he spent unconscious on that damn motel floor, while his brother went out and – Dean stopped that line of thought immediately. No, it didn't count. It fact, for the time being, it never even happened as far as Dean was concerned. He glanced back at his sibling, whose shaking was becoming visibly worse. And audibly. Either Sam's head or the window was gonna crack if he didn't stop soon. For a wild moment, Dean thought of wrapping Sammy in cotton wool and bubble wrap and making him sit in a room lined with pillows until this whole Apocalypse thing blew over. Then he sighed.
Either Sam was in shock – which was entirely possible – or he was sinking fast back into withdrawal. Or it was a combination of both. Dean sighed again. They'd passed a couple of motels already, and there were bound to be more up ahead, but Dean was reluctant to stop. They had no supplies, no weapons but the knife, which probably wouldn't work on Lucifer if he decided to come calling and wouldn't be much use if Dean was passed out in a bed anyway. There was no way to keep the bad guys out. Or to keep Sammy in. He glanced back at his brother. Dean was pretty sure Sam wouldn't try to run – where would he go? But even so, he'd feel a whole lot better if there was another pair of eyes watching him.
Sighing for a third time, Dean pushed down harder on the accelerator.
ooOoo
Sam wanted to throw up.
He wanted the car to stop moving. He wanted to get out and expel all of his innards right there on the side of the road. He wanted to lie down and just cease to be.
The End. That's what he'd done. He ended the world.
Dean was driving too fast on some too-dark highway going somewhere too far away and it didn't matter because it would all probably burn in a little while anyway because Sam had friggin' started the friggin' Apocalypse. All by himself. 'Trust me, Dean. I'm being practical, Dean. I can handle it, Dean. I'm not evil, Dean.' Yeah, right. Way to go, Sam. He guessed he'd been lying all the time, even when he thought he was telling the truth. And now look what it got him…
So yeah, Sam wanted to throw up. And then he wanted Dean to do one last favor for him. He knew he didn't deserve it, he knew he didn't deserve anything from Dean. But still, Sam found himself wanting this one last thing. It must have been the years of conditioning; he was used to his big brother cleaning up his messes. Just one more thing. Just one more mess to clean up. Just one bullet and it would all be over. Dean wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. Sam could go to Hell like he should have done two years ago. The world…well, Dean was right. The angels were right. Dad was right. Sam was no help to it, so the world would surely benefit from his absence. He'd done enough damage.
A tremor worked its way through his body as he idly wondered whether his tainted blood would poison the earth as it left his body, or if the smoke from his ashes would contribute to global warming in some ludicrous but not unexpected last chance for him to screw up.
Everything around him was a blur. Dean was going too fast. Always too fast. Sam couldn't catch up. Sometimes he wasn't even on the same road as him…Thoughts and memories jumbled together in his tortured mind as the miles flew past. He thought he mumbled "Stop." at some point, but the car continued on as if nothing happened. Dean almost touched him once, but his body had recoiled as if burned. He didn't deserve Dean's touch. And he wanted a bullet, not the strong hands closing around his neck. Not the way he'd almost killed Dean. Though, he supposed, that would be fair. Sam decided if Dean tried again, he wouldn't resist. Dean could kill him however he wanted. However he needed to. Sam was selfish for wanting it to be quick.
The fire was intensifying in his veins, just like last time. Ruby was probably right about him not needing the blood for his powers, but God, he needed it now to stop the pain… Sam wondered when the hallucinations would start. It was what, a couple of hours last time? How long had they been in the car? Where were they going? Bobby's panic room, probably. So Sam could suffer through the withdrawal and then Dean would kill him. No need to put him out of his misery a moment too soon.
That was okay. Sam knew he deserved every second of it. A thousand hours of the fire within him and a thousand long drawn out deaths at Dean's hands wouldn't be enough punishment to meet what Sam deserved. He wondered if even Hell would be able to square this.
Probably not. If Sam didn't feel guilty anymore…The thought was lost as the car slowed to a stop amongst the rusty skeletons and twisted metal that made up the Singer Salvage Yard. A dull confusion mixed with that recognition in Sam's mind; it was still night. Or, dusk at least. But how was that possible? Muddled and abused as Sam's brain may have been, its calculating nature refused to let this anomaly go by. Maryland to South Dakota in one night? No way, not unless Dean had put them on a plane. Faded memories from what seemed like a lifetime ago – it was a lifetime ago, for Dean – of a doomed flight and panicked exorcisms flashed before his eyes. It was so much simpler then, just find Dad and find that damn demon… Sam was vaguely aware of the wetness working its way down his face as a familiar form appeared in front of the windshield.
oOo
Dean was exhausted, hungry, pissed off, and extremely worried by the time he finally pulled into Bobby's yard. It was a twenty-three hour trip he'd done in seventeen; that in itself was a miracle. Now if only God or whoever would send a few more their way. Dean considered honking the horn to get Bobby out, but he'd called about two hours ago to let him know they were coming. Instead, he got to work trying to get to Sam.
Sam, who had finally found his voice, but spent it muttering nonsensical fragments of words interspersed with small gasps of what Dean could only assume with a heavy heart were pain. The kid looked terrible. Worse than last time, definitely.
"Sammy? Hey, man, we're here." Dean tried for physical contact again, wondering if it would garner the same reaction as before. But Sam just sat there, slumped against the door. Dead to the world. "Not yet." Dean said out loud, maybe to Sam, maybe to the dicks with wings upstairs. It didn't matter.
Dean shook his brother again, a little more forcefully this time, and was immensely relieved when two glassy eyes became visible through barely open lids.
"Sam."
But Sam wasn't looking at Dean; his eyes moved slowly over their increasingly darkening surroundings. He looked slightly confused, which both puzzled Dean and gave him yet another thing to worry about. This kind of disorientation wasn't a side effect of Hell-blood withdrawal last time, was it? It seemed to Dean that Sam knew exactly where he was the whole time. And wouldn't let anyone forget it. But Sam's expression changed yet again in a matter of seconds—now the deep sadness that had colored it for hours before returned, and his eyes slowly closed again.
"No you don't, Sam. I can't carry you all way the inside. You gotta help, just a little."
The creaking of a door behind Dean shattered the silence and nearly had Dean reaching for his gun.
"About time you boys showed up."
"Damn it, Bobby. Warn a guy, will ya?" Dean was too tired to even try to pretend the old man hadn't startled the crap out of him. He was just thankful to see him, to tell the truth.
"He alright?" Bobby nodded at Sam, who clearly wasn't alright in any sense of the word.
"Withdrawal again, I think. I don't know if the hallucinations…he mumbles things, but I can't understand him. He was seizing though. I pulled over twice, but they weren't as bad as last time, thank God. I don't…I don't know what to do."
"Let's get him inside." Bobby looked concerned, but determined. Dean drew from that.
"Yeah, okay. He was awake for a second or two, sort of. I don't think he's walking anywhere."
Bobby and Dean somehow managed to maneuver Sam out of the cramped passenger seat and up the porch steps into the house. In the short exchange they'd had on the phone two hours before, it had been decided that Sam should go back to the panic room, but the door would stay open and a cot for Dean was to be placed inside right next to Sam's, waiting for them. Dean was thankful for this plan, especially since the prospect of lugging Sam up Bobby's stairs seemed an impossible feat at the moment.
With Sam finally situated on the cot, handcuffs ready but not yet employed, Dean sat down on his own makeshift bed and put his head in his hands. This was killing him, seeing his brother like this. Again. If neither of them ever set foot in this room again, it would be too soon.
Of course, that would require Sam to stand up and walk out of here. Which didn't seem like it would be happening anytime soon. He was sleeping now, thankfully, looking almost peaceful. But Dean knew it was too much to ask that Sam get through this without waking up, hallucinating, seizing, or being in any kind of pain. Life just didn't work that way, especially if you were a Winchester. And, despite what he may have said in anger over the past few days, Dean knew Sam was a Winchester through and through. No doubt about it. He was an idiot for ever saying any different – for even thinking it. Sammy was his brother. It didn't matter what he did, that wasn't going to change. Now all Dean had to do was convince Sam.
Dean sighed for the umpteenth time that night. Two nights? It didn't matter. All that mattered was lying on the too-small cot in front of him. Dean was so tired, his eyes drooping shut even as he fought to hold on to consciousness, determined to be there for his brother, but ultimately succumbing to the darkness.
oOo
Bobby let the boys sleep. He figured Dean hadn't gotten a wink in for at least thirty-six hours, maybe more and Sam…well, he wasn't sure the last time Sam had done much of anything. Besides introducing the butt of a shotgun to his temple.
But Bobby wasn't one to hold grudges, and Sam'd had…well, not reason, but motive enough. The poor boy was strung out and desperate. Besides, he had Dean to lay into him as soon as the kid got better. That is, if Sam didn't do it himself.
Winchesters. They practically invented the phrase 'guilt trip' and frequently spent time berating themselves into oblivion. Now, Bobby'd done some regrettable things in his life – some of them awful, some he couldn't even bear to think about consciously – but he knew when to accept the blame and when to let it go. It was a necessary evil, especially for a hunter. Especially now. He knew he'd have to have another talk with those boys about it, but he doubted anything would sink into their thick skulls. Stubborn asses, the both of 'em. Just like their Daddy.
Bobby smiled fondly and slowly started to work his way up the stairs out of his basement. He had some calls to make.
oOo
Dean woke to the sound of the heavy iron door clanging shut.
Suddenly alert and very much awake, the adrenaline that had kept him driving coursed once again through his veins. Dean took one glance at the empty cot next to him and started to panic. Where's Sam?
That was always the question, wasn't it? Dean quickly scanned the room, stopping on the still open door. If that wasn't the door shutting, then what—? He didn't have to wait long for that answer though, as the sound of labored breathing and flesh against metal drew his gaze upward.
Sam was on the ceiling.
Sam was on the friggin' ceiling.
More terrified than he'd been in a long time, Dean's voice cracked as he yelled for Bobby, not taking his eyes off his little brother. Sammy, up there. Right were Mom was. Right there. Dean couldn't reach him.
Dad hadn't been able to reach Mom. Sam hadn't been able to reach Jess. Dean had to reach Sam. He had to.
Bobby came running in, saying something, probably cursing, but Dean didn't hear him, not really. All he heard was the roar of a fire, the cries of an infant and "Take your brother outside, as fast as you can. Now, Dean. Go!"
"Dean!"
The slap nearly toppled him over, but it did the trick. Bobby had his attention. "He's..."
"Being thrown around by the demon blood again. Come on, Dean. Either we get up on the cots and try to pry him off, or you wait here while I get the ladder."
"Cots." Was all Dean could get out, already stepping up onto Sam's.
Bobby got on Dean's and, thankfully, the added height was just enough for Dean to reach his brother's somewhat extended arms. Bobby still couldn't reach, but was able to help cradle Sam on the way down. It took a while, and Sam's thrashing definitely didn't help, but the two men finally were able to get Sam back on solid ground.
"We'll have to strap him down again. Sorry, Dean. It's for his own good."
Dean was still holding Sam's arms, the spasms having abated somewhat. Dean could feel the pain it was causing Sam, every wince and gasp cutting into him like a knife. He almost wished that bitch Ruby were still alive, just so he could kill her again.
"Yeah, okay." Dean said again. What else could they do? Dean looked up at the ceiling — beyond the spot Sam had been moments before, beyond the grate and slowly revolving fan. He wondered for the first time since Maryland how Castiel was doing, whether he could spare a few minutes to come help his brother.
Dean sighed. Probably not.
oOo
Sam made it a point not to talk to them.
The hallucinations – Dad, Jess, Dean again – all said what he already knew. The accusations were true. He deserved it. He was an idiot. He was weak. He was evil and what's worse, he couldn't even get up on his own to go off himself. He was selfish and useless and just…alive. Still. For some reason.
Dean – or not Dean, it didn't matter, they would both undoubtedly agree – had said his days were numbered. That he was going to kill him soon, rid the world of the stain. Sam only wondered when, but dared not ask. Because deep down, Sam was still thankful to the God who had most definitely forsaken him, thankful with everything he had, his whole damned soul. Thankful that Dean was here, alive. Whole and walking around and talking and breathing and just Dean.
He couldn't believe he'd tried to hurt him. That he had nearly strangled him, like so many monsters had done to Sam before. Even if he was a monster too, Sam still clung to the joy he'd experienced upon seeing Dean back from Hell. The utter relief, knowing that his brother was okay. It didn't matter that Dean hated him. It didn't matter that he would kill him. Sam knew Dean was safe, that he would keep fighting. It was enough.
Selfish of him, to still find reason to be happy. But that was Sam, wasn't it? And he knew it. So he didn't answer them when they yelled, when they attacked, when they whispered everything he'd always feared. He kept silent until exhaustion overtook him, or the seizures stole his consciousness. It was all he could do.
oOo
Dean stood in the doorway, watching Sam almost unblinkingly. Just watching, doing what he'd done since he couldn't remember when. Watching out for his little brother.
Yeah, bang up job on that, Dean.
Sighing, Dean walked up the steps and into the living room. Bobby was at his desk, pretending to read.
"Bobby, I don't think he can…it's worse than last time. I mean – the seizures or whatever – they're more frequent. More violent. He's not even lucid in between…it's ripping him apart from the inside out."
Bobby put the book down and scrubbed a hand over his face. "There's no doubt about that…"
"Well then what do we do, Bobby? I was wrong, I can't –" Let him die. Let him go. Leave him like this. "He's dying, Bobby."
"Maybe…" Bobby cleared his throat, eyes shifting uncomfortably from the stairs to the floor to the half empty bottle of whiskey on his desk. Anywhere but Dean.
"Maybe what? You have any suggestions here, I'm all ears." Dean could hear the pleading in his own voice. He hated it, but he couldn't care less at the moment.
Clearing his throat again, Bobby started slowly. "Well…Like I said before, this cold turkey thing don't seem to be doing the trick. Now, I don't like it – Hell, I hate it – but if the blood is what his body needs…then, maybe we should give it to him."
"Bobby –"
"In small doses I mean." He added quickly, "Just enough to take the edge off. Wean him off the stuff, nice and slow."
Dean thought for a moment. Giving Sam the blood, and that was assuming they even got their hands on any, wasn't really an option he'd wanted to pursue. Cas said Sam would change, turn into something else… But Sam had been so sure… Dean shook his head. This whole thing was so jacked up it was ridiculous. How the hell should Dean know what to do now? The angels were liars and Sammy – Sammy got all his info from a friggin' demon. Then again, if he was strong enough to kill Lilith, wouldn't he have already consumed enough blood to make the change? That's what Cas had said…
"I don't know, Bobby."
"It's just a suggestion, Dean. Your call."
"No…it isn't."
Bobby was taken aback by that. "What, Sam? Dean, you know what his answer will be, if he even understands the question that is."
Dean took a deep breath. He'd been replaying the past few days' events in his head over and over again for hours now. "Maybe. Maybe not. I just – I want…Sam, he uh," Dean was stumbling over the words, shame creeping into his voice. "He said I don't trust him."
"Dean—"
"No, he's right. I haven't trusted him. I mean, he's lied to me enough times, I have every right not to, but…he's my brother. And I…I owe him this. If he thinks he can handle it, I won't – I'll give it to him."
Bobby shook his head now, staring at Dean incredulously. "Dean, it's great that you're trying to patch things up with the kid, it really is, but don't you think he should – oh, I don't know – be able to understand what you're even doing? You said it yourself, he don't even know what's going on around him. Letting Sam decide is like asking an alcoholic with amnesia if he'd like a sip of your whiskey. It ain't smart and it ain't safe."
"Hey, this was your idea. Okay, I know how dangerous it is. Believe me, I do. But if we do it – I'm just tired of…Bobby, I can't…" Dean's anger melted, as well as his ability to form a coherent sentence. Since when did he not know how to deal with Sam? It was killing him almost as much as watching the kid suffer. "Look, Bobby. What I think is best for him hasn't really been cutting it lately. Sam…he's locked up down there. We locked him up down there. He deserves some say, doesn't he?"
Bobby sighed. He looked about as bad as Dean felt. "Okay, Dean. We'll ask him. Talk to him about it. But just…don't be surprised if his need for a fix outweighs his need for control. If he can't think straight enough to work it out…"
Bobby didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to; Dean already knew.
Taking a deep breath, Dean walked back down the steps to the basement.
oOo
It was quiet now.
That alone was enough to alarm Sam. Also, it didn't hurt. Not really. He still felt something, yes, but it was more like a memory of the pain than anything else. Like a phantom. He was vaguely aware that his limbs were immobilized, but the unexplained paralysis didn't really bother him much.
That was weird too, but Sam didn't dwell on it.
Am I dead? Sam wondered. He couldn't remember the last time he'd died. Only that it had hurt a lot and then…nothing. Well, he had been in pain and now… But something wasn't right. If Sam was dead, shouldn't he be feeling the fires of Hell right now? Reason seemed to show that God wouldn't want the antichrist roaming around Heaven.
But then why was it so bright?
"Samuel."
oOo
Dean walked slowly over to Sam, still lying chained to the cot. Bobby was right; there wasn't much hope that Sam would even hear Dean, let alone be able to make a decision. Still though, he had to try.
"Sammy? You with me, kiddo?" Dean placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, and Sam's head rolled slightly toward the touch. That was a good sign, right? At least he knew someone was there.
"We uh…Bobby thinks the cold turkey thing isn't working. I can't say I…" Dean sighed again. Why is this so hard? "I mean, we don't really know much about this type of…thing, but maybe…There might be another way to do it. If you wanted. Sam?"
Sam didn't answer, but the little crease between his eyes told Dean he was confused. Well…that was something.
"Look, what I'm trying to say is that if you think you can handle it, if you think it would help…we could get you the blood." Dean hated how his voice broke yet again on the word, hell, he hated the whole friggin' situation, but…"Not a lot, just enough to keep the worst of it at bay. What do you think, Sammy? Sam?"
The confused look was still there, maybe even deepened. Bobby was probably right. This was stupid.
"Sam? Can you even hear me?" Dean grasped Sam's other shoulder, lightly shaking now.
oOo
Sam felt his eyes snap open but the scene in front of him – the pale landscape of nothingness, that is – didn't change. Bizarre.
"You've done well, my child. You should be proud."
No. No, this wasn't right at all. What was…who was…What?
oOo
Finally, Sam's eyes snapped open but what Dean saw there did nothing to comfort him. Instead of the hazel, instead of the glassy whites and bloodshot rims from too little sleep and too much stress – there was pitch black. Dark and fathomless and black.
Dean took a step back, releasing Sam as if he'd been burned, a look of horror on his face.
"Bobby!"
oOo
"Who are you?"
The voice made a small sound of amusement, or at least that's what Sam guessed it meant. It was unlike anything he'd ever heard before.
"You don't recognize me? Sammy, you really should pay more attention. Carelessness could get you into trouble."
Sam gasped, horrified as it finally dawned on him. He wasn't dead. He was dreaming. And this…this was Lucifer.
"You…"
"Me." He replied simply. His voice so soft, it was almost a whisper.
It scared the crap out of him.
"But…how…the…."
"Now Sammy, use that brain of yours. I'm not a demon. Devil's traps can't hide you from me."
"What do you want from me?" Sam knew his voice was shaking. He could feel his whole body shaking. Definitely not dead. And he didn't know how to feel about that just now.
"Want from you? Oh Sam, but you've already given so much. More than the First. More than any creature. It is I who is in debt to you."
oOo
Dean called for Bobby again, frantic now. None of this made sense. They were in the panic room, how could… But his eyes…
"Bobby –"
"What? Is Sam –" Glancing down at the man on the cot, Bobby's breath caught in his throat.
"Bobby, how did it get in here? You said you fixed all the traps. Bobby –"
"I did…" Bobby was still staring in disbelief, this couldn't be happening…it wasn't possible.
Dean was yelling now, the panic naked and raw in his voice. "Then how the hell is that thing in my brother?"
Bobby swallowed, thinking something over. Dean could practically see the light bulb go off in his head. But he didn't look happy.
"Dean…I don't think he's possessed."
oOo
"No. No, I don't –" Sam's breathing was accelerating, his heart rate climbing. Panic and disbelief were setting in and his body was not taking it well. None of Sam was taking this well.
"Perhaps another time then." It – he sighed. Sam could almost feel the air as it was pushed against his face. "Do not worry, Sam. You will get your due."
Suddenly, as if someone had switched off the lights, Sam was in complete darkness. He didn't know if his eyes were open anymore, if he could feel his limbs or not. He forgot to breathe.
oOo
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean wrenched his eyes away from his brother's – not his brother's – and looked at Bobby. No. It couldn't be. Sammy was fine. Okay, he was messed up, but…
"Dean, that angel of yours said this would happen. Sam drank enough to break the last seal. And there ain't no way any damn demon is getting in this room."
"But...Bobby…he's…" Dean was so far past freaking out, it wasn't funny. None of this was. He didn't even know how to finish that sentence. He didn't know how to do anything at this point.
Bobby was still looking at Sam. Detecting movement out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam tense suddenly. Like he wasn't breathing.
"Dean –"
But Bobby didn't have to tell him. Dean was back at his brother's side in a flash of movement. Sam wasn't breathing. He'd gone completely rigid and the sight and feel of it brought Dean back two years, to Cold Oak, with Sammy on another cot in another room, not moving. Too stiff and too still.
"Sam!" This wasn't happening. Not again. Dean didn't care what color his stupid eyes were, what was in his stupid veins. He didn't care. If Sammy was breathing, it was enough. It had to be enough.
"Sammy, breathe!"
Dean was about one second and three inches from CPR when his little brother gasped.
oOo
Sam's eyes snapped open again, but this time Bobby's dimly lit panic room and the very worried face of Dean was all he saw. Dean's very worried, very close face.
"Dean?"
"Sammy." Dean closed his eyes. It looked like he'd just dropped about thirty tons of weight from his shoulders. He said the old nickname like a prayer.
But…no, that couldn't be right either. Dean wouldn't want to see him. Dean hated him.
Didn't he?
"What's…I don't understand."
"Heh, me neither kiddo. But that's okay. You're okay. We're…okay."
"We're…?" Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. None of this made sense. In fact, Lucifer's little visit was starting to look pretty damn sane right about now.
"Yeah, Sam. We're okay. How're you feeling?" Dean was smiling. Smiling.
"I…" Actually, Sam wasn't feeling much of anything besides confusion, and fear. The pain had completely gone. He wasn't shaking and the fire in his veins was nearly nonexistent. The only thing wrong was the uncomfortable sense of having cotton wool in his mouth. But Dean wouldn't care about that. Still…Sam pushed his luck.
"Thirsty?" he said it like a question, waiting for the onslaught.
"Here." It was Bobby, his gruff voice somewhere over him and to the left. A cup with a straw appeared a few seconds later, Dean putting it near his chin.
"Can you sit up?"
Sam did, slowly, the creaks in his back audible. Was this some kind of cruel punishment? Make Sam think Dean wasn't mad, then at the last second, strike him down? That must be it. Sam tried to extinguish the flame of hope in his chest. It was no use. Only the Devil himself wanted to help Sam.
"Small sips, dude. Don't overdo it." Dean was still speaking so calmly. Being so nice to him. Sam almost preferred the yelling; at least then he knew what to expect.
The water was…heaven. If there was such a thing for him anymore. When he'd had his fill, Dean removed the cup and sat on the cot facing him.
There were two cots? Had Dean been… Keeping guard. Making sure he didn't hurt anyone else. Like Bobby. Or the nurse in the trunk of that car…Sam wondered if Dean had found her. He wasn't sure what telling him would do, if it would end this charade or…
"So, you gonna tell me what just happened?"
"What?" Sam asked slowly. He'd expected the questioning. The angels would want every bit of information Dean could get out of him. Sam also expected anger, but Dean looked more worried than anything else. The smile was gone now.
Dean glanced at Bobby, then back to Sam. Both their faces unreadable.
"You were quiet, then you kinda started shaking. You opened your eyes and…" Dean stopped; he seemed to be mulling something over, deciding what to say. "You stopped breathing. Freaked us the hell out."
Bobby made a noise from his throat, and Dean shot him a warning glare. What was going on?
"I…was dreaming." Sam said even slower.
"Dreaming? About what?"
Sam hesitated. If he told the truth, wouldn't Dean just think he was even more of a freak? More evil? Talking to Satan wasn't exactly saintly, was it? But, then again, Dean already knew what he was. Nothing he could say now would change that.
"Lucifer."
"Lucifer?" Dean sounded alarmed. Bobby straightened up and Sam could see the tension in both hunters' bodies. Here it came…
"Did he do that to you?"
Sam blinked. Do what?
"Do what?"
Dean cleared his throat and glanced at Bobby again. The silent conversations were killing Sam, but he didn't dare speak up. The little flame of hope was growing.
oOo
Lucifer was talking to Sam? This…was not good. Dean debated silently both with himself and Bobby whether or not to tell Sam about his eyes. He had the feeling now wasn't the time, but lies and half truths had gotten them nowhere good in the past year. Compromising, Dean decided he'd tell Sam about it when he got better. He would. Sam just needed to focus on getting the demon blood out of his system.
"Try to suffocate you. Like I said, you scared me for a minute there"
Sam looked freaked. Like a caged – No, like he did when he thought he was in trouble. He used to have that same look on his face whenever he'd skip training to finish a paper or something, and he knew Dad was coming home to chew him out about it. He never acted that way because of Dean though. Not until now…
"No, I don't think so… He was…I was just…surprised." he finished lamely.
"Surprised?" Dean cocked an eyebrow.
"Yeah. I wasn't really expecting the Devil to give me a call." Sam still sounded hesitant, and he was starting to sweat again. But it didn't look like withdrawal symptoms or a fever breaking. It looked like nerves.
"You think it was just a dream or…" Dean was watching his brother carefully, gauging every response.
"He said…No, I think it's like how the a-angels can talk to you. In your head, even if they can't physically get to you." He was talking very intently to Dean's left knee, not meeting his eyes.
Dean sighed. "That makes sense. It sucks, but it makes sense. Lucifer was an angel, right? What else did he say?"
Sam closed his eyes now, as if it physically hurt him to answer. He looked about as scared as Dean felt staring up at him on the ceiling. "He said he owed me, for letting him out. But I don't want anything from him, Dean. I swear. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry."
Wincing at the break in his brother's voice, the defeat in his eyes, Dean bent down on his knees so he could be eye to eye with the kid. This ended now. Sammy didn't have to be afraid of him. He had to fix this.
"I know, Sammy. I know. You don't have to be sorry."
Sam opened his eyes in disbelief. This was going to be a long night, Dean could tell.
"What? But I –"
"We were played, Sam. Both of us. From the very beginning. Both sides screwed us over, Sammy. We never had a chance." Dean explained about the angels, about Zach and his plans for the both of them. About how they wouldn't let him talk to Sam, about how it was too late from the start. Sam listened but he couldn't tell how much was sinking in, or how much he believed.
"But the message…" Sam shook his head.
"What message?" Now Dean was the confused one. This little dance was getting old.
"You said…you said…You're done trying to save me." Sam's voice was so small, so wounded; Dean again felt the need to invest in bubble wrap and cotton wool for the kid. But the actual words were what stung him.
"I never said that."
oOo
Dean was lying. He had to be lying. This was some kind of ploy, to hurt him even more. Sam couldn't see his angle, but he knew there had to be one. But it was such a stupid lie, the proof was right there on his phone…
"You said I was a m-monster. You said you were doing what Dad told you to. You…" Sam felt the tears prick behind his eyes. If this was a hallucination, he wasn't doing very well at ignoring it. Too weak again, Sam.
"No, I said I owed you a beat down and that I was pissed, but I never said that. We're brothers, Sam. I said I was sorry. I was an idiot for…acting like Dad. Believe me, Sam. I don't think that."
Sam wanted to believe, he really dd. But…Dean…Sam shook his head again. It hurt too much not to believe. Even if it was a lie, Sam would give anything just for Dean not to look at him like he had back in Cold Spring. He nodded. "Okay."
Dean looked surprised. Was the game up, now? Sam braced himself.
"Okay. Sammy, you understand, right? This wasn't your fault."
Dean's lies were more comforting than Sam thought possible. But it didn't matter, not right now. He would go along with him until the end…well, as long as he could. As long as Dean kept up the charade, Sam would pretend he believed him. It was better than the alternative, wasn't it? Sam knew it couldn't last forever, but he was selfish and he was weak and he needed this to be enough for now. So he nodded and attempted a smile.
"I was trying to save the world."
Dean's eyes softened even more. He gave a small smile in return, putting his hand back on Sam's shoulder. The touch instantly relaxed him, like it had so many times before. This was Dean, cleaning up the mess. Fixing things. Fixing him.
"I know, Sammy. And I was just trying to save you."
oOo
Dean knew Sam didn't believe him, not really. He could tell the kid wanted to, but he wasn't quite there yet. That was okay, though. Dean had meant every word. No matter what either of them said or did, they were brothers. No matter what happened, Dean would look out for him. Would save him. That was his job, after all.
The End.
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