Oh I loved this episode! The angst was brilliant! I'm having fun writing these one-shots though, so I thought I'd do one for this episode as well. Limp Sam one-shot number four :0) My version of the last couple of scenes.
warning: spoilers for 4x04
disclaimer: I'm just borrowing.
Sam woke with a start.
He was in a closet. His forehead was stinging, his vision wavering. He lifted shaky fingers to his hairline. When he lowered them they glistened with crimson.
"Dean?" His voice broke from his lips. He tried to stand up, but the ground bucked and he pitched forward. He grabbed the closet door handle.
It was locked.
"Dean!"
"Dean can't come to the phone right now." The voice was a drawl. It floated under the door and swam into Sam's ears.
Sam felt bile burn his throat.
Jack was in the room beyond the door. Jack had hit Dean. Sam had tried to help Dean but Jack had knocked him out, and must have dragged him into the closet while he was unconscious.
"If you've hurt my brother, so help me God-!" Sam rattled the door handle. It wouldn't budge.
Dean had been right. Dean had been right all along. They should have just killed Jack. If Dean died tonight because of Sam's stupidity, Sam knew that he'd never forgive himself.
He already had too many things he couldn't forgive himself for.
"Don't worry," Jack called. "He's alive." His tone held no comfort. "He'll stay that way so long as you keep calm."
Sam fell back against one of the closet walls. He couldn't breathe. There was no air. He was too big for this small space. Frantically, he searched his pockets for something to use as a lock pick.
"Okay," he called through the door, praying that Jack couldn't hear his voice trembling.
The man seemed like a reasonable human being. Sam could reason with him. Dean had always teased Sam for being too 'reasonable'. "How about you open this door and we can have a conversation. We can talk."
Jack didn't reply.
Sam's anxiety grew. His pockets held nothing of use. Sirens filled his head. He doubled over, engulfed by dizziness. Desperately he forced his breathing under control and pressed his hands against the walls.
Silence continued to swell around him.
Sam felt his stomach roll and twist. Who was he kidding? Jack wasn't reasonable. Jack had passed the point of reason. He was a psychopath, and he was out there, beyond the closet, with Dean.
"Jack, please!" Sam threw his gaze around the space he was in. There were coat hangers on a rail. He snatched one, and set about untwisting it.
"I don't think talking would be a good idea." Jack's tone had shifted. He was frustrated, even more angry.
Sam's fumbling fingers faltered. His throat was parched. Blood dribbled down the side of his face.
Jack continued. "Not after what you tried to do to my wife."
Sam slipped the end of the coat hanger into the lock. "What are you talking about?" He couldn't hold it steady. He could barely see what he was doing.
"You send your friend here-" Jack's voice cracked. "He tried to burn my wife alive!"
Sam struggled to concentrate on the lock and what Jack was saying. He didn't know what the crazy man was talking about. But he heard Jack's broken desperation loud and clear. He wished like hell that Dean would say something. For all he knew, Jack could have already killed his brother.
"Listen," he begged. "You've got to believe me. My brother and I, we would never hurt your wife."
Jack said nothing.
Sam waited, with his stomach in his throat and heart in his ears. There was nothing but silence from the room beyond. He grew more frantic. He jabbed the lock with the coat hanger end.
"God, I'm so hungry…" Jack's voice was quieter. He was talking to himself.
Sam's blood froze at the rawness lining the man's words. Sweat mixed with blood upon his brow. His airway constricted. "Jack, don't do this."
"I can never see my family again!" Jack's voice was crumbling and shattering. "You two, and your friend, you made me into this!"
Sam wanted to lean his forehead against the door. He wanted to close his eyes. He could barely hold himself upright. "No one's making you kill us," he wheezed.
He readjusted his grip on the coat hanger, and continued to wrestle the lock. "Listen to me. You've got this dark pit inside of you, believe me, I know." His stomach clenched. "But that doesn't mean you have to fall into it."
He thought about his own plight. "That doesn't mean you have to be a monster." The honesty of his words burned as he spoke them aloud. He was saying what he wanted so badly to believe, about himself, even if the odds were against him. Just like Jack.
Jack laughed. It was maddened. High-pitched.
Sam wanted to pound the door until it flew open.
"Have you seen me lately?" It was an accusation.
Sam felt incredibly sick. "It doesn't matter what you look like," he argued. He was so tired. "It only matters what you do. It's our choices that make us who we are."
He thought about his own choices. He'd picked a path to walk down, and now Dean was in trouble because of him.
Jack didn't reply.
These pockets of silence were driving Sam insane. He felt urgency surge within him. He rattled the lock.
Dean.
His own brother would die, again, because of his fucking choices. Dean was always paying the price for Sam's mistakes; his foolish choices.
The lock came loose.
For a moment Sam was surprised. He hesistated, and then clumsily pulled himself together. He gathered his energy and threw open the door.
He stumbled, fighting the movement of the floor. Frantically he fixed his gaze upon Jack, who was bent over Dean.
Dean was sprawled upon a table, unmoving.
There was blood everywhere.
Sam didn't waste a moment. He bent and scooped up the home-made flame thrower he'd dropped when Jack had hit him. He juggled it into position, his grip slippery with sweat.
Jack stepped away from Dean. His eyes were wild. He lunged towards the younger brother, arms outstretched.
Sam couldn't breathe.
Dean wasn't moving, and Jack had blood around his mouth. The room was red.
Sam squeezed the trigger of the flame thrower, and fire shot forwards. It singed the hairs on his shaking arms. He tried to hold it steady, but the flame missed its target.
Jack ducked and hit the floor. He slid forwards and grabbed Sam around the ankles.
Sam went down; hard and fast.
Another mistake.
His back jarred as he hit the floor. He twisted.
He tried to reach the flame thrower, but it was too far away.
Jack was upon him in a heartbeat.
The angry man snatched Sam's outstretched arm, twisting it towards his mouth. Viciously, he sank his teeth into Sam's flesh.
And Sam screamed.
Dean's ears began to ring before he'd worked out how to open his eyes.
He was lying on his stomach. His head hurt like a bitch, and there was blood on his tongue. He was confused and disoriented.
Sam cried out in pain.
Dean's confusion shattered and he was upright, swaying, blinking through bloody lashes at the scene around him.
Sam was on the ground, and that crazy fool Jack was pinning him with an iron-grip.
Jack had blood on his mouth, and judging from the blood on Sam's arm, the sick bastard had just bitten him.
Dean rolled off the table. The room danced about him.
Sam's eyes were rolling. He was trying to push Jack off, but Jack wasn't moving.
"Hey!" Dean felt anger explode within him. He lurched towards Jack, desperate to get him off Sam.
Jack's head snapped up. He released Sam and scrambled backwards.
Dean's gaze caught on the flame thrower Sam had dropped. He snatched it and staggered, aiming it at Jack.
Jack's eyes swung to him. They were bulging. His hand went to his throat. Blood bubbled out of his mouth. He was choking.
Sam writhed around in agony upon the floor.
Dean was confused for a moment. Then suddenly he felt sick.
Jack had taken a bite of Sam, and now he was choking. The crazed man staggered and bent in the middle, falling to his knees.
Dean didn't want to think about what he was seeing. He caught Sam's eyes for a moment, and saw Sam's horror at what was happening.
This needed to end. Dean decided to end it; fast. He squeezed his finger on the flame thrower's trigger, and Jack was devoured by flames.
The burning man went down, still choking on Sam's blood.
Dean tore his gaze away.
His heart hammered.
He staggered back. His boots hit the leg of the table he'd been sprawled upon.
The smell of burning flesh assaulted his senses. He found himself gagging, doubling over. His eyes stung.
Sam was still on the floor. He was on his side now, clutching his bleeding arm, shaking.
Dean blinked at Jack's smouldering body, and then at his brother.
God, Sam looked so small. He looked just like he'd looked when he was a child, when something had frightened him.
Dean took a shaky step forwards.
He'd accused Sam of being less than human this morning. Somewhere along the way, Sam had been led to believe that Dean thought he was a freak.
Perhaps Sam had screwed up, but Dean was equally to blame. His little brother had stopped trusting him at some point. That wasn't Sam's fault.
It was Dean's.
Dean's pace quickened. He dropped to the floor beside his sibling. He felt sick with guilt. He'd said so many things that he shouldn't have said. He'd punched Sam, twice. But he'd done it because he was scared, and so shell-shocked at finding out that Sam had lied to him.
He'd exploded. He'd lashed out.
He'd got angry, like he always did.
His throat worked soundlessly. He pulled off his outer shirt and folded it longways. Sam's arm was bleeding badly, and the bleeding needed to be stopped. They needed to get out of here. Gently, he wrapped the shirt around Sam's wound.
Sam stiffened. He tried to roll away. His eyes weren't focusing. There was a deep gash in his forehead.
If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you. And so would other hunters…
Dean felt his jaw lock. His shoulders became rigid. Sam wasn't a monster. There was only one monster in this room, and that was Jack.
Sam might have a few drops of demon blood in him, but the rest of him was definitely human. Dean couldn't turn his back on that. He couldn't turn his back on his own brother.
Snaking an arm behind Sam's shoulders, he sat him up.
Sam wavered and tried to push away.
But Dean held him firm. "Come on, Sammy."
He wobbled both of them to their feet. His own legs were unsteady, and he struggled as Sam's threatened to fold.
They had to get away from here. There was too much blood, too much mess. Dean would put in an anonymous tip to the cops once he and Sam were safely on their way.
Sam's head lolled and came to rest upon Dean's shoulder. He wasn't taking any of the weight anymore.
Dean shot him a look and realized that Sam was unconscious. He readjusted his grip. "I've got you," he whispered, though he knew that Sam couldn't hear.
He picked a path through the carnage.
Then, very awkwardly, he shuffled them as quickly as he could towards the front door.
Sam opened his eyes. He wasn't sure where they were. He blinked through the darkness.
He was in the Impala, and Dean was driving. They were on an unlit stretch of road. He turned to his brother. His vision swam, and then refocused.
Dean's face was pale. His eyes were locked on the road ahead. He didn't seem to notice that Sam was watching him. He appeared to be deep in thought.
Sam held his breath.
He thought about all that had happened today.
The most recent events at Jack's house were still a blur, but he remembered this morning, as clear as day. He remembered the confrontation he'd had with his brother. He remembered the look of disappointment in Dean's eyes, and the feeling of Dean's fist against his jaw.
He began to shake.
He'd really messed things up this time.
He'd lied to his brother, and now Dean had lost faith in him.
God…
God had lost faith in him.
Sam had picked a door, the wrong door, and now his mistakes had led him astray.
He was alone.
He thought he'd been doing something right, but he'd been wrong.
It was the same story. Again.
It was just like Dean had said; he was a fool for having started out on such a journey in the first place. He should never have thought that he could use his powers for good, when they'd been born from such evil.
He'd made a big mistake, and he'd screwed things up.
He closed his eyes. He wanted to fade out entirely.
He hated who he'd become.
Jack had called himself a monster, and Sam had argued. But in truth they were both the same. They were both monsters. And everyone had been right all along; Meg, Gordon, Dean, his own father. They'd been right to label Sam as 'inhuman'. They'd seen something in him that he'd always been too scared to see in himself.
There was a cavern within him. It had swollen to bursting point. It was threatening to swallow everything that had ever made him whole.
His thoughts whirled. His arm throbbed where Jack had bitten him.
Jack...
Jack had bitten him, and then had choked on Sam's blood. It was as if he'd been poisoned. Sam had seen it, and Dean had seen it too.
Sam's blood was poisoned.
Sam's eyes filled.
He bit his lip, determined not to break apart.
He made a small sound in his throat.
Dean turned suddenly.
Sam twisted away, hiding his face.
The car began to slow.
Sam's heart rate increased. He shot a brief look at his brother. His teeth were chattering. His vision swam.
Dean steered them off the road. He brought the car to a complete halt.
Sam was rigid. He wasn't sure what Dean was doing. He wasn't ready for another lecture. He had nothing more to say to his brother.
Dean pushed his door open and stepped out of the car. He appeared a moment later at Sam's door.
Sam's mind was spinning; splitting. He was hot and cold all over. He flinched as Dean opened his door and squatted upon the gravel.
They regarded one another.
Sam waited for Dean to yell. He waited for the explosion.
It didn't come.
Dean's face wasn't angry. He hung his head for a moment, and then he lifted it.
Sam was confused.
Dean's eyes were sad. He inspected Sam's wounded forehead, and then sighed. "I'm so sorry, Sam."
Sam's thoughts stumbled. Dean's words caught him off guard. He was shocked by his brother's demeanour. He hadn't been prepared for this.
"I've been really hard on you," Dean continued. His lip twitched. "I've been a jerk. I know."
Sam didn't know what to say.
"It's just…" Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. He lifted his eyes, as if searching for words. "This whole psychic thing, it scares the crap out of me."
Sam felt his teeth chatter more violently.
"I can't control it." Dean's gaze returned to Sam. "I hate things I can't control. And with everything that's happened… It's just... God, I'm just worried about you."
Sam opened his mouth. Dean shouldn't be apologizing. Sam was the one at fault. This was his mess. "Dean, I…"
But Dean shook his head firmly. "Don't say it's okay." His words shook. "It's not okay, Sam."
Sam swallowed roughly. He wanted to look away.
Dean chased his gaze. "I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did." His eyes were glassy. "What I said this morning…" He inhaled jaggedly. "It was wrong." He looked so tired. "You're not in this alone, Sam. You need to know that."
Sam shifted in his seat. He broke eye contact.
Yes he was.
"Sam-" Dean's hand twisted Sam's face forwards again. "Look at me."
Sam's eyes swam. He regarded his brother. He wrenched his voice from the pit of his stomach. "This thing that's in me, Dean…" His words barely made it over his lips. "It's not in you."
Dean narrowed his eyes.
"My blood-" Sam continued.
But Dean cut him off. "-Is the same as my blood, Sam."
A tear leaked down Sam's cheek. "No it's not, Dean. It's different." His chest hitched. "You don't understand."
"Yes I do."
Sam felt his stomach drop. "No, you don't, Dean. You-"
But his words were lost. He was jerked forwards, and his voice caught in his throat.
Dean's arms were around him.
Sam's chin rested upon his brother's shoulder. The sudden motion sent his mind spinning even faster.
"Yes I do," Dean said again. His words were strong and definite. There was no anger behind them, only reassurance. He hugged Sam tighter. "You're my brother."
Sam's tears began to flow more freely. He felt dizzy. His throat stung. He couldn't speak.
Dean's shoulders shook. His breath was uneven. Eventually he cleared his throat. Without letting go of Sam, he whispered, "That's all I need to know." His voice was quiet and confident. "That's all that's ever mattered, Sam."
end