**This was originally posted as five different stories but it just didn't make sense that way. So if you've read this before, you aren't caught in the "Mystery Spot." :-) After watching "Playthings", I was touched by Dean's emotions when poor, drunk Sam begged him to kill him if he went over to the darkside. It was the beginning of this dangerous road we see Sam and Dean traveling in Season 4. One thing led to another and Dean, Sam, and even John had something to say.

The title of the story, "Damage Done", refers to the way pain can wind through your life from one experience to another, from one miscommunication to another, and stay with you and change how we relate to each other. We can't undo what we say and what we do to those we love. Sometimes, we can't even clear up misunderstandings. Sam and Dean (and John) have to suffer with that truth.

Hope you enjoy!

Damage Done

Chapter 1 - Hotel Booze

By: Suz

Sam is drunk. Not just the stupid, laughin' college boy version of drunk he usually gets. Stone cold blind drunk. Jesus Christ. I left him alone for a couple of hours and in the time it took to watch a stiff get hauled down the stairs and talk to that tasty hotel MILF he sucked up all the booze in the room. Way to go, Sam. Working a fucking job and you have to go get wasted.

I guess it is my fault. Should have kept my big mouth shut about Dad's deathbed revelations. Sam does that to me, though. He keeps after me and after me. Relentless. This never-ending finger jamming into my chest. Talk. Talk. Talk. Until I'll say anything to shut him up. Then I've told him things and I'm pissed and he's usually not happy with what I've said. Damn it. Sam should definitely be a professional interrogator.

Not sure what I was thinking telling him that shit. What was Dad thinking telling it to me? I've never been sure how his screwed up mind worked. In the fucked up world of General John Winchester you aren't allowed to know the why, just shut up and do. Period. I'm still pissed. My bet is that Dad made a deal to save my life. I understand that. If it was my kid, I'd do the same. That part of him was my dad. But, if he knows he's about to leave me, us, permanently and he's spilling his guts about being proud of me, why did he whisper this particular sweet nothing in my ear and walk away. "You held this family together, son. You did that. I'm proud of you. By the way, if you can't save your brother from becoming an evil bastard, you'll have to kill him. Later."

That's truly messed up. Of course, I suppose I'm a special kind of bastard for passing it on to Sam. But, maybe he deserved to know so he could fight it, right? That's the story I'm going to stick with. How can you fight something if you don't know the facts? Never going to get the look on his face when he heard me say I might have to kill him out of my head. Let your brother tell you he might have to bust a cap in your head and see how you handle it. Let's just say, I shouldn't be shocked he tied one on tonight.

God, Sam was sloppy, emo drunk. At first, it was kind of funny. Telling me I'm bossy. No shit, Sherlock. What else is new? Then telling me I'm short. That was the clue. Either he had developed a sudden need to have his ass kicked or he was drunk. Sammy's usually a fun drunk. A singing, babbling, no fucking clue what he's saying drunk. Maybe now those days are gone. Someone tells you there may be some evil time bomb ticking in your brain, it's a buzz kill. He's carrying Mom and Jess's bodies on his back and it's getting too heavy. So he killed a few brain cells. I don't blame him. If I wasn't having to be the man in charge tonight, I'd sling back a few shots myself.

He did it again, though. Even drunk as shit he's one relentless boy. "Promise you'll do it," he said. Over and over while I'm trying to haul his lanky ass into bed and shut him up. He's begging me like he's going to freak out if I don't say yes. He's got this terrified look in his wobbly, drunk eyes like I've never seen. He's never hurt a thing in his life that didn't have it coming and even those, he struggled with. Sam's not mean, not vicious like I can be. He sees things different. All concerned with being fair and compassionate with every freaking thing we deal with. God, it makes me crazy sometimes because his over thinking may get his ass killed. The thought that he could become one of the monsters we hunt is more than he can take.

So my little brother asked me tonight if I would please kill him if it came to that. Not, bro, don't let me go home with butt ugly girls at closing time. Not, don't let me dress like a gay boy. Not, don't let me mix whiskey and beer. But, kill me. "Promise you'll kill me, Dean." He wouldn't shut up. I just wanted him to shut up before he fell apart and had to be embarrassed in the morning for acting like a girl. So I said I would. I lied like a dog and said I would. He passed out the minute I said it. What a relief.

I said I would but I'm a liar. Ask that trail of women who got to ride the Dean Winchester Party Train. I lie. So, I'm not going to sweat this one. No way I'm shooting Sammy. I don't care what he says or what Dad said. Sammy always asked why I followed Dad's orders like a freaking robot all these years. Well, congratulations, Sam, I see it your way now. My choice, my brother, and he's not dying by my hand or anyone else's.