Spoiler Alert : S10 from Ep21 with brief references to events in prior seasons.
Disclaimer : I'm prepared to play "Killer Snap" with Mr Kripke for ownership! ;p

Warning! This Sam is the one portrayed by the writers in the spoiler eps
(You know, the dumb one that don't listen, gets folk killed & still carries on - clearly not the "real" Sam - Must be a shape shifter)

Let me clarify right here that although I'm a Dean girl,
I love Sam too, but I don't like this version of him!

SAVING SAMMY

(Tag to Season 10 Episode 21)
While Sam sleeps, Dean tries to deal with his current feelings towards his brother and the results of Sam's latest well intentioned actions.
He finds himself considering the years since their dad diedand wondering: Has he actually managed to "save" his little brother yet?

ONE
-o-

Wanting to ensure they separated themselves from the scene of the crime, Dean drove on, until he felt he had put a safe distance between that place and themselves. He refused to go back to the bunker, wanting some privacy, not wanting to encourage any type of distraction diverting them away from the soul wrenching duty that he needed, (wanted), to fulfil. Eventually, he found the kind of place he was looking for, booking them into a small and off the beaten track, motel where he hoped they and their precious cargo would be safe.

Throughout the drive, restrained words were passed back and forth regarding Dean's immediate plan; the short conversations were stilted, uncomfortable. Dean booked accommodation with two bedrooms, a twin and a single. Opening the door, he inspected the single. The room, like the rest of the place, was clean and had no offensive odour, making it already high ranking when compared to most of the motels they stayed in. The furnishings were pleasantly simple, toning in well with the clean, neutral colour scheme. Happy with what he saw, Dean vaguely wished he had something that could add just a flash of colour. Walking back out of the room, he spotted what he was looking for sitting at the centre of a small circular dining table. Sam hung back and watched as Dean picked up the plain glass vase of deep blue silk cornflowers and returned to the single room with it, setting the vase down carefully on top of the bedside cabinet, then turning and shuffling it around a little, until he seemed happy with it's position.

Heading back outside to where he had parked the Impala in front of the room, Sam made to follow. Dean stopped long enough to briefly glance back at his brother.

"No need. I'll manage."

Dean returned with a tartan blanket grabbed from out of the car and proceeded to spread it neatly over the top of the queen sized bed. That done, he again went out to the Impala, having turned down Sam's offer of help a second time.

This time he returned baring a body, carried bridal style. Stood by the bedroom door, Sam turned his head away as Dean passed him. Going to the queen sized bed, he gently laid the silent occupant of the single room down on top of it.

"Bring a sheet off my bed."

Sam quietly did as instructed.

Using the sheet to cover the body, Dean finally stepped back. At the opposite side of the bed, Sam looked as though he were about to be physically sick, as the clean white sheet slowly began to pepper with small blood stains where it touched against any areas on the body where the blood was not quite completely dried. Dean didn't offer his brother any sympathy, primarily because right then, he couldn't feel any. Instead, he had walked out of the room and into the bathroom to shower.

Afterwards, he volunteered to fetch food for them both, then swallowed down a couple of oddly tasteless beers in an attempt to wash down his equally tasteless food. The two of them had spent a couple of hours sat side by side on Dean's bed, Dean making no comment as Sam worked his way down a half bottle of Bourbon. Instead he had pretended to lose himself in whatever crappy movie had been playing. If Sam had asked, Dean wouldn't have been able to recall a damn thing about it. Yes, he'd been looking in the right direction, but he hadn't actually given the TV screen even the occasional fleeting second of his attention. Everything had felt like it was carrying on around him, whilst he unconsciously flew alongside on automatic pilot, accompanied by a background tune that was little more than indistinct and muffled sounds. And throughout, Sammy had been unnervingly cautious around him. Whenever Sam did speak his words, (whatever they had been; it was a trial to remember), were spoken so softly they were almost a whisper. He had noticed that when he was in range, Sam's hand had lifted frequently, but Sam always stopped short of making physical contact. Sam had made no comment either when Dean had presented him with a supper consisting of an unappetizing, tepid and slick with grease, burger. (Or was it a rubbery cheesed, greasy-assed pizza? Whatever. It didn't matter). Dean did recall being aware of the warmth of his brother's body alongside his own when they sat close together during the movie. His brother's warmth had acted as something real and comforting. So much so that at some point Dean had found himself tempted to take refuge in it, to snuggle. (Holy Hell!). He had been feeling a kind of external numbness, and a desolate type of chill on the inside. Drawn to the heat, Dean had already unconsciously leaned further into Sammy's side, and that's when it had happened. He had suddenly found himself in a battle to resist the unwanted and unfamiliar, (an' friggin' unmanly), urge to, (Dammit! What's wrong with me?) Snuggle, (An' if I ever hear myself say that word out loud, I swear I'll cut out my own tongue!), into his brother. His brother! Sam! The same Sam who, more and more often of late, appeared either unable or unwilling to stop, listen and learn from the chaos he seemed determined to cause. He was stubbornly on a crusade of his own making, refusing to pause for long enough to recognise that his repeated behaviour, actions and oh so many genius ideas, were getting people hurt or, as was the case on this occasion, dead.

Only this time, the victim of Sam's near obsession, was sweet Charlie...

Charlie hadn't deserved to die like she did, didn't deserve what Sam had dragged her into. But she had cared about them both and so, kind hearted as she was, Charlie had agreed to try to help. Whilst Sam had looked shocked when he saw her body, afterwards he'd had next to nothing to say, and Dean sensed that even being responsible for Charlie's death wasn't about to stop his brother looking for the next "big idea", no matter how loud and how often Dean said No! It was almost as if Sam didn't care who else got hurt, like he was viewing anyone who got caught up in things as collateral damage. Dean wondered if Sam had even considered the fact that Charlie's death was on him?

Lying in his bed, sleep refusing to give him any respite, Dean prayed Sam never had the misfortune to find himself confronted by anything like the internal volcano of rage that had instantly blazed into life within Dean on seeing what was left of Charlie. His fury (although less heated now, it was still felt, still there), had danced eagerly, desperate to be set free, to be let loose to sizzle and burn into it's target...Into Sam.

It had taken a supreme effort on Dean's behalf, but he hadn't dared let his emotions fly. It was a rage born out of instinct; it's nature activated, inspired and driven by Dean's own hunger and need for family. And to him, Charlie was family. Irrespective that she hadn't been born a Winchester. Dean had very quickly come to love the young woman just as much as he would have if she had been his little sister. And now she was dead. Killed by a savage monster after Sam had yet again ignored Dean's expressed wishes, and roped Charlie into helping him try to rid Dean of the Mark. Having left her unsupported and without any nearby backup, Sam might as well have killed her himself!

Almost forgotten words formed unbidden in Dean's mind.

"You've gotta save Sammy, if not, you might have to kill him."

-oOo-