We Forget A Little Sometimes
"You know I'll get out of here, sooner or later, Sammy," Dean hisses as a crude sneer twists his mouth hatefully, and the sweet childhood nickname that should have been affectionate and teasing and comforting and gentle and worried only seemed full of mockery and loathe and rage and disgust this time. It leaves a heavy ache embedded deep into Sam's tightening chest, of despair, loss and sorrow for the brother he had pushed away so far that he had no choice but to fall down this deep, dark hole. "I'm stronger now. Smarter. Faster."
He finds those words are a little too familiar for him, and he hates those words. He hates them because they remind him of his own mistakes, hates them because he remembers how he said the same thing to Dean once about five years back and hates himself for it even to this very day, and now he hates them even more hearing those words come from his big brother.
"What, did those words hit a little too close for comfort, huh, little brother?" Dean taunts him with a smirk from his place in the chair, where his arms and legs are completely binded with strong heavy chains, and also coiled around his brother's entire torso. Its silver metal glints, almost mockingly, in the moonlight streaming in through the window, providing the only source of luminance in the darkness of the cold church, "Does it remind you too much of what you said? Does it remind you too much of your choices?"
Sam flinches slightly, but doesn't say anything in return.
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.
.
"You did this to me, you know that?" Dean snarls repulsively, his pitch-black eyes so deep and dark that Sam almost felt like he'll fall into those depths if he stared too long into them. Those depths that used to be emerald green and filled with all kinds of human emotions; guilt, remorse, mirth, anger, joy, fear, sorrow, excitement, awe, grief, fury, longing, loss, hurt, misery.
Protectiveness. Compassion. Gentleness.
Love.
But he ignores them, because he doesn't know what else to do and because he knows that he'll break if he looks at them one more time and doesn't see the beautiful green eyes that he has been yearning to see ever since he had first caught sight of these demonic black eyes on his brother's face, and continues injecting his own blood into Dean's veins.
"I know," he whispers softly, his small voice speaking volumes with the myriad of emotions in it.
"You pushed me away, right when I needed you the most. You pushed me away. You and your fucking grudges against me, and for what? Saving your worthless life? Oh, the fucking horror," he sneers tauntingly, which then turns into a vicious smirk, full of somber mirth and amusement. "No worries, Sammy. You wanna die so bad, just let me out, and I can finally end your miserable existence for you. Huh, how does that sound? I'll be doing us both a favor."
Sam swallows hard, blinking furiously against the tears as the injection plunged into Dean's vein shakes slightly with his hand despite how hard he tries to keep it steady and firm.
"Oh, what? You gonna cry now?"
The last of the blood finally vanishes into Dean's system, and Sam withdraws the syringe gently. Because even if his big brother's a demon right now, he refuses to hurt him. He can't let himself hurt him anymore than he already has.
"You pushed me away," Dean repeats again, snarling angrily.
"I know," Sam whispers softly.
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.
Three hours down, five more to go.
Sam sighs softly, sitting just a few feet away from his brother. Castiel was still off finding a suitable place to hide the Blade, since it was no longer needed now that Abaddon was dead. Crowley was back to his position as the King of Hell, and was now taking care of the demons who decided to betray him.
And he was here, trying to keep his big brother human.
"It's not gonna work, so just give it up," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "I'm the goddamn successor of fucking Cain, not some regular, friggin' run-of-the-mill demon."
"It's worth a try," was all Sam replies with. If the devil's trap could work on him, there's no reason why curing him is completely impossible. Not to mention, it seemed to have worked just fine with the King of Hell. So maybe, just maybe... it's not any different with the successor of Cain.
"You're just wasting about eight precious hours of your life," Dean says, and then smiles maliciously. "Ah, right. But you don't really care all that much about your life, do you? Well, then, suit yourself."
Sam snorts. "It almost sounds like you care."
"Hear it however you want. But I really don't," Dean answers, his face taking on that same cold, soulless expression.
Sam's hazel eyes soften with sadness and love, exhaling a small breath through his mouth, and he bites his lip, staring at him, almost as if examining him. "I know you're in there, somewhere, Dean. And I'm not giving up on you until I find you," he promises quietly. "I will save you."
"You sure you don't want me dead?" Dean asks sarcastically.
Sam smiles, ignoring the sharp pang in his chest. "Yeah, I'm sure."
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.
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It's in the fourth hour that Dean shows the first signs of breaking.
"You and Dad - you both have always taken me for granted," he growls lowly, his voice shaking just a little. It's barely noticeable, but Sam hears it none the less. He hears the small tinge of hurt and anger in the tremble, hiding behind the thick layers of cold impassiveness and burning abhorrence and rage. "Always made me feel like I was worthless. Dad only saw me as a tool for his war against Azazel, a fucking soldier trained and readied for battle. Not to mention, a goddamn babysitter for his sweet, little Sammy, the apple of his eye. His favorite son." He chuckles mirthlessly, his black eyes crinkling. "Didn't matter how much you both fought, how much of a piss poor son you were. He still cared about you far more than he did about me."
Sam closes his eyes, hoping these weren't the beliefs that Dean still held somewhere deep inside, even now, but hid from the world. "That's... that's not true, Dean."
"And you," he continues on, as if he didn't even hear a word from Sam. "You never appreciated the fact that I gave up my entire fucking life to raise you, to take care of you. Did you ever think that maybe, I had dreams too? That maybe, I wanted to spend my weekends going out with my friends instead of watching out for your sorry ass? That maybe, I actually just didn't want to have to care about something getting you? That maybe I wanted you to just die already?"
He seems to have reverted back to the Dean that was more demon than his big brother again, a crude smirk curling a corner of his mouth as he tilts his head, almost mockingly, and stares at him, because he knows how much power he still has over him despite everything. Because he knows how much he's hurting him with his words alone, and knows that he doesn't need to be free to break him into pieces, to use his fists or boots or his knives and guns and his Blade to hurt him in the worst way possible.
That human side of him that he had witnessed, it was fleeting. It was gone again.
And he wonders if maybe Dean's right. What if this really isn't working at all?
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.
.
"You know, maybe... maybe the reason we took you for granted was..." Sam begins from where he's sitting on the ground in front of Dean, cross-legged, as he turned the syringe over and over, unable to look at his brother's now green-colored eyes, because he knows they don't really belong to the Dean tied up in the chair before his eyes (And here he was, thinking that it just might make things a bit better. It didn't.) He cleared his throat, swallowing, and lightly shrugged. "...was because we loved you too much."
Us humans... it's what we do," he says, smiling softly as if in awe, almost like Cas when he's marvelling about humanity or the Earth. The smile fades slowly as he bites his lip.
And then he looks up at Dean, slowly, forces himself to stare right into his eyes no matter how much it hurts. The gaze is returned, a face vacant and hollow as death, but his eyes still filled with all the abhorrence and rage of a lifetime, buried deep within those depths. Sam looks away, down at the syringe in his hands with a sigh, unable to hold the gaze. "We forget the importance of the things that mean the most to us. And then we realize its value when it slips away from us," he says softly, his hazel eyes, though averted, were genuine and sincere. "But that doesn't mean we don't appreciate them. It's just that..." He shrugs, one shoulder lifting slightly to his neck, almost casually. "It's just that we forget a little sometimes, you know?"
He looks down, breathing out a soft sigh tinged with remorse and shame. "I did. I still do. I forget what you did for me, how much you've given up for me your entire life, what you've gone through for me." The images of Dean's chest ripped to shreds by the Hellhounds immediately flash through his mind, and he feels himself lose his composure a little like he always does whenever he thinks about that horrible memory. "I'm - I'm not proud of it... I'm not. After everything you've done for me, and then everything I did to you... I'm not proud at all.
But Dean, don't think for one second that I don't appreciate you at all either. I do. I've thought about it, countless times, what life would be like without my big brother. And - and I didn't like it one bit."
For a moment, there's nothing. Dean's staring at him, and somehow he finds the strength to look up at him and gaze back. And he thinks, maybe, that he finally did get through to him. Just a little, at least.
And maybe he did, just a little. And maybe Dean just doesn't want to show it.
He'll never really know.
Dean snorts. "Nice speech, Sammy. But it's really not going to work. The Dean you knew? He's gone," he taunts, that damn typical, demonic, cocky smirk plastered wide on his mouth, stretching dangerously across one corner of his cheek.
Sam recalls back to every instance the world tried to separate them, every time they tried to stay apart from each other, sometimes with the full intention of never returning.
"He's gone."
And how there was always something that brought them back to each other, every damn time.
"But he'll come back."
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.
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"S-Sammy?" Dean asks softly.
Sam smiles, a bit pale and weak from blood loss, but it did nothing to take away the joy and love he was practically glowing with.
As soon as Sam unbinds the chains away from him, he slumps forward, right into his little brother's arms.
He waits for Sam to pull him up from the chair, walk him towards the car. But instead, he just feels his large arms wrap around him tightly, not letting go.
"Welcome back, Dean," he hears his little brother's whisper in his ear while his chin lays on his shoulder.
"Thanks Sammy," he replies, smiling slowly as he returns the hug just as hard.
Author's Note: I'm late again, aren't I? Yup, this was written before, like, 9x17 aired. *bashes head into a wall* And how long has it been since? Not my best work, but no flamers. Constructive advice is welcomed, though.
"I'm proud of us." HOOOOOOOOOMYGOD! SOMEBODY PLEASE KILL ME! THAT WAS... *collapses*
Seriously, I started crying. And when Sam hugged him while crying? *thud* They're both such amazing actors! You could literally see the desperation on Jared's face, and the denial of what was going to happen, but still somehow knowing that it would. And Jensen? That little laugh before he says, "I've gotta say something to you." broke me a little. And the way he delivered that HOLYFREAKINGBEAUTIFULASHELL line was just perfect. And the way the life died away from his eyes was just pure genius acting.
I was rewatching previous episodes, like 9x13, 9x14, 9x15. And suddenly, I just had this urge to cry watching it, seeing all these problems and distance between them, because I knew what would happen in the finale. And I could only think of how Sam might be regretting all those things when Dean died. And it just makes my heart hurt. I already had a feeling Dean was going to die during those episodes the first time I watched them. It just felt like the writers were cluing us in on what would happen, like 9x13 ending, and 9x14, "My mom's taking home a ghost. You two... you're both still here." I don't know, it just did for some reason.
So, Dean's a demon... *sighs* HOLY FREAKING HELL HOW THE HELL DO THE WRITERS THINK WE'LL SURVIVE WAITING FIVE MONTHS AFTER THAT? *thud, thud, thud*
Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed my previous stories! You are all awesome, as always!