A brief "hello" to whoever is reading this! :P I started writing again yesterday, and now I just can't seem to stop - maybe because its Winter Break, and I have no life. But yeah, this addition contains quite a bit of content (including transcript with added thoughts and actions) from Supernatural Season 6, episode 11: "Appointment in Samarra," (which I do not own!) and is NOT part of the owleyes333 vs. Tankspridd feud (I really do think I'm making this into a war with all of my pushing and comments, sorry - sort of). While I was re-watching "Appointment in Samarra," I began to wonder what Dean was thinking, and what could have possibly happened during the 'down times', and how Dean just conveniently popped in as Sam was about to hack Bobby to bits. (Not that I'm complaining.) Anyway, this story is mostly just insight into what Dean was thinking during moments in episode 11, so there is a lot of "Appointment in Samarra" repeat information and dialogue, with a bit of more angsty Dean and sprinkled bits of Castiel tossed in for good measure. Oh my Hades, I'm going too far with this. I need to go outside after this, I don't care that its raining. Now, I'm done speaking. Thank you.

EXTRA! Untelevised Thought: "Appointment in Samarra."
Character(s): Dean/Castiel (Only minimally implied), Sam, Bobby.
Rating: T (Only for Language)
Genre: Drama, Angst
Setting: In Season 6, Episode 11: "Appointment in Samarra," after Dean stops being Death and before Dean meets Death at Bobby's. (SEASON 6 EP. 10 & 11 SPOILERS!)

Untelevised Thoughts: Dealing With Defeat

Dean slipped off Death's ring, defeated. Why? Why would he just hand over his only means of getting Sam's soul back? He hit the table before him hard, but the slight sting he felt in his wrist after doing it was not enough to distract him. He wasn't even fit to say "Sorry, Sammy, I tried."

Not like Sam would care. The last thing that...that thing inside Sam wanted was to get some soul shoved back into him. Dean knew the idea of getting a possibly torn-and-tattered-from-this-way-to-Hell soul shoved back into your body must not be one's idea of a picnic, but it's what he is supposed to do, isn't it? Watch over Sammy? He's been watching over Sammy his whole life, and deep down, he knew it would never end.

"I didn't expect Sam to come back," Lisa had said, "And I'm glad he's okay. I am. But the minute he walked through that door, I knew it was over." Her voice rose, and Dean could hear that familiar, soft and shaking anger bubble inside her. "You two have the most unhealthy, tangled up, crazy thing I have ever seen and as long as he's in your life, you're never going to be happy."

For a while, Dean agreed with her. He and Sam have always been at war with each other, even before this whole apocalypse business, and with Sammy being psychic. They were like this as kids - always at ends. Maybe it was the way they were raised, or maybe it was just something inside of each of them, but they were really, truly, toxic. Every time Sam ran, Dean followed. Sam may not have always noticed, but Dean was there.

He couldn't leave his brother, not after all they had been through. It wasn't Sam that ruined Dean's life, and it wasn't Sam that made it impossible for Dean to be happy. Lisa was wrong - Dean wouldn't be happy without Sam. The only times he felt happy - truly happy - was when his little brother was right there, by his side. Even if he was a soulless douche at the moment, Sam would come back. Dean would get him back, no matter the cost.

Only a short while had passed before his thoughts were interrupted, and this time it was by yet another one of his problems. "What do you want now?" Dean said, a little bitter. "Tell me you didn't just come for porn."

"You need to check on Sam, now." said the angel, and disappeared.

Dean looked around the room, noticing now that Sam and Bobby were nowhere to be seen or heard. He pulled out his gun. Sure, he may not be on good terms with Castiel at the moment, but he would never take what the angel said lightly. Never.

Dean searched the house thoroughly, calling out a soft "Bobby" every now and then. His head turned quickly to his right, having heard noise from the shed outside. There. He rushed outside, toward the shed, making sure not to make much noise. He didn't know what was going on behind those doors, but he didn't want to make it mad.

"Listen to me," he heard Bobby's staggering voice say, just as Dean entered through the back. "You don't wanna do this."

Dean got closer, saw Sam in the distance, and put his gun away. "Sam? " Bobby asked, and as Dean got closer he saw a mixed look of shock, confusion, and fear on his face. He also saw Bobby strapped down to a chair, over a trap, with Sam not far away, readying a knife. "I've been like a father to you, boy."

Dean got closer. He shouldn't be surprised that Sam would pull something like this, but to Bobby?

"Somewhere inside, you've got to know that," Bobby said, a bit forceful.

"That's just it," Sam said calmly, sternly. "Sorry."

As Sam raised the knife over Bobby and prepared to strike, Dean stepped in and grabbed his forearm. "Hi Sam, I'm back."

Before Sam could respond, Dean hit him once in the face, and hard. Sam fell to the ground, stunned. It may have been difficult in the past to raise a fist to his brother, or to at least apologize after having done so in a fit of anger, but it was times like these that he looked down at his brother - or, rather, the thing pretending to be his brother - and thought he deserved more than just one hit. Damn, am I going to be happy to get rid of your soulless ass, Dean thought, already trying to think of other ways to get at Sam's soul now that he'd fucked things over with Death.

"A little help here would be great," Bobby said flatly, just as Dean looked away from Sam's momentarily unconscious body.

"Right," Dean said as he walked over to help untie him.

Moments later, he and Bobby were in Sam's old isolation chamber, tying the moose down. Unluckily for them, Sam woke up in the middle of it and began struggling and shouting. Dean ignored most of what he was saying, still bothered at his recent loss against Death.

Once Sam was fastened securely, Dean brushed passed Bobby and headed upstairs without a word. He needed a beer, and fast. On his way to the kitchen, he silently thanked Cas for the head's up, despite the fact that he doubted the angel could hear him, but he swore he could just see the sharp, brief nod.

"I know what you did, Dean." Castiel's eyes starred straight at him, unblinking.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be off fighting some war, not watching horror movies and quoting verses?"

"I had a moment to spare."

"So you decided to visit me?" Dean asked incredulously as he walked more quickly to the refrigerator, fully aware of the angel walking behind him. "What luck."

"I don't have very long, Dean, and it would benefit you to put your feelings aside." Castiel said, his voice a bit off as his head tilted to the side slightly, his eyes clouded.

Dean stopped with his hand on the refrigerator door, and turned to look at him. "My feelings on what, exactly?"

Castiel seemed almost to fidget under Dean's gaze, but stopped before it showed. "I'm speaking of the incident with Crowley...and with Meg."

Dean's jaw tightened as he turned back around, tossed open the refrigerator door and grabbed the first bottle he saw. He tore off the cap, and downed half of it right then. "Why would you ever think..." he began just as he slammed the refrigerator door shut, "that I would ever have 'feelings' concerning you...and Meg. You're busy, off getting your jollies with that scum while I sit back and just take it."

"Dean, I -"

"Save it," Dean spat, already having said too much. "What do you want, anyway?"

Castiel paused for a moment, hesitant. A part of him wanted to continue the conversation, but he knew he did not have much time. "Death won't be able to help you, not like you think. Sam will not be the same, not as you knew him. As I said, there is no guarantee-"

"That what? He'll be the same bitch face Sammy? Yeah, you're too late. I fucked up." Dean said angrily, taking another swig.

"You...failed?" The angel seemed perplexed, as if this concept was improbable.

"Didn't you watch the end of the movie, Sherlock? I couldn't do it."

"But Dean - "

"Did you have anything new to say to me, today, Cas? Or did you just come for another argument?" Dean said, his eyes expectant.

Castiel's mouth opened to say something, and Dean hoped it was for an apology or an explanation - or both - but neither came. Instead, he just disappeared. Dean sighed loudly, cursed under his breath, and tossed the bottle into the sink. It wouldn't help him, anyway.

Dean headed back down to the panic room, having noticed Sam's screams had seized. He passed Bobby on his way to the door, who just shrugged when he saw Dean's look of confusion at the lack of noise. Dean peered in through the peep hole, saw Sam just lying there, and then turned around to face Bobby. "We can't keep doing this, Bobby," Dean said, shaking his head and turning away. "What - am I going to tie him up every time he tries to kill someone? I mean, that's not gonna hold him, he's -"

"Capable of anything," Bobby finished, just as Dean turned to look back at him. Bobby nodded, and Dean looked down.

He fiddled with Death's ring in his hands. If only I had just done what I was told, this would be solved. But then, I wouldn't have been here in time to stop Sam from killing Bobby, and... "What am I supposed to do here?"

"I don't know."

Dean walked over and looked back at Sam through the peep hole, just as Sam's eyes fluttered open and stared at Dean through the peephole. Sam's eyes narrowed. Those aren't his eyes, Dean thought, not anymore. And although he wanted more than anything to have those eyes back, a part of him feared what they would be like now, seeing what they had seen. Quietly, he wondered if it was worth it.