Contains dialogue from the episode On The Head Of A Pin, it belongs to Eric Kripke and Ben Edlund.
Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)
They're back from Pamela's funeral for about thirty seconds before something else goes wrong, and Sam should be used to that by now but he still isn't. Castiel and Uriel are in their room, with dark eyes and stoic faces, telling Dean he needs to go with them. Dean doesn't take a second of their crap, and it makes Sam smile to himself just a little. Sometimes he likes how stubborn Dean is, that he doesn't let even angels push him around. But this time they're more than persuasive.
"So you need our help hunting a demon?" Dean asks incredulously, like he's enjoying having a leg up on the creatures who've been turning their lives upside down lately.
"Not quite. We have Alistair," Castiel says.
"Great. He should be able to name your trigger-man."
"But he won't talk," Cas continues, in that solemn way of his. "Alistair's will is very strong. We've arrived at an impasse."
"Yeah, well, he's like a black-belt in torture. You guys are outta your league."
Dean says it with his usual smirk and cockiness, but Sam's chest clenches as he's reminded that Dean, better than anyone, knows exactly how good that particular demon is as inflicting pain. He still can't put too much thought into what his brother went through in Hell. It makes him feel like puking, and then finding Alistair and tearing him limb from limb.
"That's why we've come to his student. You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we've got," Uriel says, and Sam's heart stops beating for a second, because they can't, can't, be asking what it sounds like they're asking.
Dean doesn't answer, but his head tilts forward and he glares at the table in front of him.
"Dean, you're our best hope," Cas says softly, but Dean simply answers, "No. No way. You can't ask me to do this, Cas. Not this."
Uriel smiles cruel and leans forward, resting in hands on the table and mirroring Dean's aggressive posture. "Who said anything about asking?"
Dean glances at Sam, and Sam glances back, and then in half a second of flapping wings and blurred colors, all three of them are gone.
"Damn it!" Sam shouts to the empty room.
He looks around frantically, heart racing, as his mind ping-pongs around what to do next. Dean can't do this. The way he was the night he told Sam about what happened in Hell, the way he's been every day since then – there's no way he can do this. Sam can't let it happen. Dean probably won't ever forgive himself for what he did in Hell; Sam can feel the self-loathing that radiates from him, can see how quickly his brother is crumbling. The way Dean never looks in the mirror anymore hasn't gone unnoticed either, and Sam knows exactly why that is. And if Dean feels that strongly about something he did in the hugely exigent circumstances of being in Hell? There's no way he'd ever let himself off the hook for torturing someone ever again. Especially not the person who tortured him, and then taught Dean how to do it after he got off the rack. This will be the thing that breaks Dean once and for all, and Sam can't let it happen.
He calls Ruby, because it's the only thing he can think of that might work. He has no way of finding out where those assholes took his brother on his own, and if there's a chance she can he needs to take it, even if she's the last person he wants to see right now. The other problem, besides being scared to death about what this will do to Dean's already fragile psyche, is that Sam isn't sure Dean actually can do this. He doesn't think he can get the information out of Alistair. Being with him again, standing there with whatever instruments of torture the angels could find in his hands; Sam's pretty sure it'll bring back too many memories. Dean will crack long before Alistair will, and then Dean will end up even more broken for no reason. Sam's the one who should do this. If he juices up he knows he can do it, and he doesn't have a history with Alistair like Dean does. It won't affect Sam like it will Dean.
She shows up in maybe twenty minutes, and even still it's way too long. God only knows what they've made Dean do in the time Sam's been sitting here twiddling his thumbs.
Ruby wrinkles her nose as soon as she walks into the room. "I can still smell them. Seriously, Sam, I'm not exactly dying to tangle with angels again."
"I need you to find out where they took Dean," Sam tells her.
"Not sure I see the problem." She drops her bag onto the table. "You know they have Alistair strung up six ways from Sunday. Dean cuts himself a slice, Al's reduced to a quivering heap, and the good-guys get the goods. What's wrong with that?"
"He can't do it," Sam says softly.
She rolls her eyes. "Look, I get it, you don't want him going all torture-master again – "
"No, I mean he can't do it," Sam interrupts. "He can't get the job done. Somethin' happened to him downstairs, Ruby. He's not what he used to be, he's not strong enough." He doesn't give her the details. She doesn't need them, and Dean wouldn't want her knowing. And he doesn't tell her how right she is about how much Sam doesn't want Dean torturing again. She'd just mock him; them.
"And you are?"
"I will be."
He doesn't want to do this. He promised Dean he'd stop, and he wants to more than anything. If it were up to Sam, he'd leave Ruby and the blood and everything behind him and never look back. But he can't. He needs it to help Dean.
Sam sits beside Dean's hospital bed, watching the I.V. drip slowly and hating the cuts and bruises all over his brother's face. There's an ache in his stomach like someone shoved a knife into his abdomen and twisted. This isn't supposed to be happening again. Sam doesn't know how many more times he can handle watching Dean lie there dying before he'll snap. It's been too many times already. Sam lost Dean, for real. He lost him for four months – he thought he'd lost him forever. And then Dean was back but nothing was right. Getting Dean back was supposed to make everything okay again, but it didn't. Sam's still lost, he's still confused and angry and devastated, and Dean's different too and Sam can't fix him. He's tried, but Dean just pushes him away. It hurts, but Sam can't blame him. It's never been like this between them before. Sam's never felt like he knows his brother less than he does right now. And in a way, it's almost worse than it was when Dean was gone.
He blinks back tears, reaching out and brushing his fingers over Dean's forehead. His skin is warm but clammy, and his breath comes in slow, even puffs and his heartbeat makes the machine beep but he might as well be dead for what Sam feels like right now. He knows he's being too hard on himself, but Sam still feels like he's responsible for everything that went down today. The seals, the angels, everything. It doesn't make sense, but Sam still blames himself for it. He wonders whether this is what Dean feels like all the time, because Dean blames himself for everything. Even things that aren't even remotely his fault. Sam's heart hurts, like it's cracking as he sits there and watches Dean's motionless body. There's even a small part of Sam that wonders if it's worth it – loving Dean this much. All it ever seems to do is cause them both pain.
"I'm so sorry," he whispers, his voice breaking on emotion he can't quite keep reigned in. "This shouldn't have happened to you. I should have been able to protect you."
Sam watches Dean's face for another minute, praying to a God who probably isn't listening for any signs of life from his brother, but nothing happens. The doctors said Dean would be okay, that he's just got a bad concussion and he'll wake up in an hour or two, but Sam knows it's worse than that. There are wounds even time can't heal.
Then Cas appears in the doorway, and Sam's temper flares. The blood and adrenaline still coursing through his veins from earlier surges at the sight of the angel. He suddenly wants nothing more than to kick Castiel's ass into next week, and he has half a mind to go through with it since, in reality, everything that happened today isn't Sam's fault. It's Cas's. He gets up and follows Cas into the hallway.
"Sam," Cas begins gently, but Sam isn't interested in anything he has to say right now.
"Get in there and heal him," Sam demands. "Miracle, now."
"I can't."
"You and Uriel put him in there!" Sam fumes.
"No –"
"Because you can't keep a simple devil's trap together!" Sam doesn't care if Cas is an angel. All he wants to do is wring his freaking neck.
"I don't know what happened," Cas insists. "That trap, it shouldn't have broken. I am sorry."
He sounds sincere, but Sam isn't interested in apologies.
"This whole thing was pointless, do you understand that?" Sam says, in his most dangerous voice. "The demons aren't doing the hits. Something else is killing your soldiers."
"Perhaps Alistair was lying."
"No. He wasn't."
Sam almost wants Cas to say something else so Sam has a good excuse to hit him, but the fury in Sam's voice seems to be enough to keep Cas from arguing. He just looks at Sam with those intense blue eyes, but offers no other explanation for why Dean being in a hospital right now is worth it. Because he knows, like Sam does, that it wasn't worth it. Not by a long shot. So Sam whips around and stalks back toward his brother's room.
Sam sits in the too-small, uncomfortable chair and watches Dean breathe for close to an hour. Every rise and fall of his chest, every soft beep of the heart rate monitor, is comforting, because it means Dean's still alive. But he doesn't wake up, and it leaves Sam time and quiet to think about everything that's gone wrong, all the mistakes they've both made, until his head spins. Eventually he lets himself admit he needs a break, and he walks in a trance to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. His expression in the mirror is pale, sallow and hollow and haunted. He barely recognizes himself these days, and it isn't just because of the blood and his powers. Sam is changing, and he knows it but he can't figure out how to stop it. When Dean went to Hell he took the most important parts of Sam with him, but they didn't come back when Dean did. It might already be too late.
He's still upset and furious with himself on his way back to Dean's room, but a little more composed. Just outside the door, he hears voices. One of them is Dean's, and Sam's just about to burst into the room, happy beyond words that his brother is okay, but then he thinks he recognizes the second voice. And it isn't the doctor, it's Cas.
"He was working against us," Cas is saying.
Sam frowns in confusion. There's a pause in the conversation, and Sam strains to hear better. He knows it isn't fair of him to be eavesdropping, but he also knows that for some reason, Dean finds it easy to talk to Castiel, and Sam is more than desperate to know what's going on in his brother's head lately. Dean's never been all that talkative when it comes to difficult things he's dealing with, but since Hell he's been even more closed off than usual.
"Is it true? Did I break the first seal? Did I start all this?" Dean's voice is thick and low and devastated.
Sam isn't completely sure what they're talking about, but even still he hears himself gasp. That will kill Dean if it's true.
"Yes," Cas says heavily, and Sam's heart jumps into his throat. "When we discovered Lilith's plan for you, we laid siege to Hell and we fought our way to get to you, before you – "
"Jump-started the Apocalypse?" Dean supplies bitterly.
Sam presses the back of his hand to his mouth to hold in the noise that threatens to escape. His jaw hurts from clenching it and he blinks back tears as his heart races. This can't be happening.
Cas sighs. "We were too late."
"Why didn't you just leave me there then?" Dean demands resentfully.
"It is not blame that falls on you, Dean. It's fate. The righteous man who begins it is the only one who can finish it. You have to stop it."
"Lucifer?" Dean whispers. "The Apocalypse? What does that mean?"
Suddenly Sam's knees give out and he sinks down against the wall. Dean asks more questions and Cas answers in his gravely voice but Sam's ears can't hear the words over the blood rushing through his brain. It's too much, all of it. And it isn't fair. Dean's a good person; he's the best person Sam knows. He busts his ass every day of his life to save people, strangers he's never met and never sees again. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people alive in this country because of Dean. He doesn't deserve this. He'll never forgive himself for this, never. As if he needed more reasons to hate himself, as if that list isn't long enough already. Sam wants to scream and cry and punch something all at the same time. White hot anger at Heaven and Hell and everything courses through his body. The sting of tears burns behind his eyes at the injustice; at yet another blow when they'd both already been knocked down too many times.
Dean's low, emotion-shaky voice mumbles, "I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It's not me," and Sam can't take it anymore. The pain in his brother's voice is too much.
He pushes himself up off the floor and forces the door open with so much strength he's almost surprised it doesn't snap off its hinges. It flies open and bounces roughly off the stopper, banging loudly and making both Dean and Cas jump a little and look up at him.
"Sammy?" Dean asks in surprise, quickly wiping at the tears on his face like he doesn't want Sam to see them.
That hurts too, that Dean was in here crying in front of the angel but then felt the need to hide it as soon as Sam came in. But Sam's more focused Cas. "Get. Out," he commands through gritted teeth.
Cas frowns and stands. "Sam, I'm – "
"No!" Sam yells. "No, don't tell me you're sorry! It doesn't mean a damn thing coming from you right now, you unbelievably selfish asshole! If you care about Dean at all, you'll leave him alone. Do you hear me? Right now."
"We were betrayed," Cas says, trying to explain, but Sam barely hears him.
He takes a few menacing steps toward Castiel and holds up his right hand. "Did you see what I did to Alistair?"
"I'm not a demon, Sam. You can't –"
"You sure about that? Sure enough to take the chance?" Sam challenges, narrowing his eyes. "Give me a fuckin' reason, and I swear I'll do it."
"Sam!" Dean growls, but Cas shakes his head.
"It's alright," Cas says stoically, his eyes still locked with Sam's. "I'll go. Sam, I understand you're angry. But please, believe me. I never wanted this for Dean. Uriel tricked me into thinking it was the only way. But he's gone now, he can't hurt either of you anymore. And neither will I."
"Cas, wait – " Dean starts, but Cas is already gone. "Fuck, Sam, what the hell was that?"
Sam flicks his gaze over to meet Dean's, most of his anger slipping away at the sight of tear-tracks still lingering on his brother's face.
"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, and Dean rolls his eyes.
"I'm fine. Answer the question."
"Dean, he is screwing with us just as much as everyone else is. I don't know why you can't you see that."
"We're not the only ones being screwed with! Someone is puppet-mastering this whole thing, okay? And it isn't Cas, so maybe until we figure out who it is, we shouldn't go around burning the few bridges we've got left!"
Sam sighs and looks away. Dean's probably right, but even still. Sam really, really doesn't like angels. "M'sorry. I hated hearing you sound so …"
"What?" Dean snaps. "Weak? Pathetic? Disgusted with myself? 'Cause that's all still here, Sam. Threatening Cas doesn't make anything any better! He's one of the few people who's actually on our side in this!"
The knife in Sam's stomach twists again. He gets it, he really does – Dean's pissed off and hurt and he's lashing out. But the fact that his brother's taking the angel's side right now isn't helping things. The truth is, Sam's terrified that this latest hit will be one time too many. It's one thing to fight monsters. It's another thing entirely for Dean to be trying to stop something this big, knowing he was the one who started it. If anything has ever had the potential to be the moment Dean finally breaks for good, it's this, and Sam can't let that happen. He closes the door, wishing it had a lock, and then makes his way over to his brother. Tears start streaming down Dean's face again as Sam pushes the hard hospital chair away and sits tentatively on the side of Dean's bed.
"Sammy," Dean pleads in a broken whisper, closing his eyes and turning his face away from Sam. Sam can feel how much Dean hates himself, pouring off of him like waves of heat. It makes his heart hurt again.
"Don't, please," Sam answers softly, picking up one of Dean's hands and squeezing it. "Don't put up the tough-guy wall right now. I don't have the energy to go through the motions of knocking it down anymore. Can we please, for once, just be honest with each other, without all the games? Please?"
"How much did you hear?" Dean asks thickly, opening his eyes but still not looking at Sam.
"Enough."
"So then you know that this is all my fault."
"That's not true." Sam reaches out and lets his hand settle in the center of Dean's chest, stroking his thumb in an arc over the soft material of his t-shirt. To Sam's surprise, Dean lifts his free hand up and puts it on top of Sam's.
"Yeah, it is," he mumbles, the shame in his voice so obvious it has Sam's throat tightening. "I did this. Lilith is running around breaking seals like it's goin' outta style because I set her free. Everything that happens now, everyone who gets hurt because of Lilith and her damn plan, that's on me."
"Dean, you didn't know."
"I should have been stronger."
"You were as strong as anyone could be!" Sam insists.
"Not Dad."
Sam frowns. "What?"
Finally, Dean looks at him, but then Sam wishes he hadn't. Dean's eyes are red and shiny and his lower lips trembles as he admits, "Alistair told me that I was Lilith's consolation prize. Her first choice was Dad. And before they started working on me? They worked on Dad, for a hundred years. For a hundred years he said no. And I …"
Sam blinks against the burn of tears in his own eyes again, and again he can't take it anymore. He takes Dean's arm and pulls him gently to a sitting position. Dean hisses a little at the pain of sudden movement, but Sam ignores it. He pulls Dean in close and wraps his arms around Dean's back. Dean stiffens and resists at first, but after a moment it's like he loses the will to fight it. Maybe he's just as tired of holding back as Sam is, or maybe he just weighs the shame he'll feel from needing Sam against the comfort he's offering, and decides his pride isn't worth the effort. He relaxes into Sam, burying his face into Sam's neck, and then Sam finally feels whole again in a way he hasn't for a long, long time.
"I hate you sometimes," Dean mutters. There's no weight behind it at all.
"I know," Sam whispers, and then he feels the moment when Dean crumbles, melting even further into Sam's chest and dissolving into soft, desperate sobs that shake his battered body.
Burning-hot tears slip down Sam's cheeks too, and he bites his lower lip to keep them under control – to be strong for the brother that's always trying so hard to be strong for him. He holds Dean a little tighter, squeezing a hand around the back of Dean's neck and murmuring, "Shh. It's okay."
"All I ever wanted was to be exactly like him," Dean chokes out. "To make him proud."
"He was," Sam says. "Dean, he was prouder of you than of anything."
"Yeah. And what would he say about me now?"
Sam doesn't have an answer for that. He kisses Dean's hair, under his cheekbone, and then nudges Dean with his nose until Dean lifts his head up enough for Sam to slide their lips together in a kiss that tastes like salt. Dean kisses him back just for a moment, and then he heaves a giant, shuddery sigh and pulls back, rests his forehead against Sam's and shaking his head.
"Don't," he breathes, inhaling on a shaky sob. "You can't make this better, Sammy. Not this time."
It's on the tip of Sam's tongue to argue – to tell Dean how much he loves him regardless of what he's done, to make Dean see that the only thing that can make things like this better is them giving into the comfort they've always found in each other – but then there's a quiet knock at the door and it opens a second later, and Dean springs away from him like he's white hot and wipes hastily at his face with the heels of his palms. Sam closes his eyes, sighing regretfully.
"Sorry, should I come back?" a raspy male voice asks, and Sam looks at Dean, hoping his brother will send the man away so they can finish their conversation, but not surprised when Dean shakes his head.
"No, it's fine," he says thickly.
Sam stands up, pushing his hair off his forehead and taking a few steps away from his brother, taking a deep breath and giving himself a little shake.
"Could you give us a minute?" the man asks, and it takes Sam a moment to realize the guy is talking to him.
He turns around, looking over at the man's white lab-coat and the stethoscope hanging around his neck, and deducing that he's the doctor. "I – sorry, what?"
"I need to talk to Mr. Thorton about his injuries," the doctor says, motioning to Dean with the clip-board in his hands.
Again, Sam looks to Dean, wanting his brother to say it's okay if Sam stays. But Dean looks away from him and doesn't say anything, so Sam nods, sighs again, and then leaves the room. Sam tries not to let it bother him too much that Dean didn't want him in the room anymore, but it doesn't really work. Every day the rift between them gets bigger; Sam feels like Dean is slipping away through his fingers, and he feels like no matter what he does, he can't stop it from happening any more than he could stop any of the other things that have happened to them in the last few months. It's getting worse, and Sam's starting to give up hope that what he and Dean have between them will ever go back to the way it was before everything spun so far out of their control.