Random Little Ficlet- Sam finds out about Demon!Dean
Sam sat still, tears dripping steadily. He stared at the wall uncomprehendingly. Crowley hadn't come when he'd summoned him. Sam didn't think he would've taken a deal anyway. He couldn't bring himself to care. If only he could say he felt numb. He would've given anything. It reminded him of what Dean had once said about Hell, "I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing." Sam understood far too well. He was falling, spiraling into nothingness. His heart had been ripped into shreds. He couldn't…How could Dean be gone? His breath left him as the sobs wracked his body.
He unscrewed the top on another bottle of whiskey.
Sam jumped, his hands flying to his knife. He heard footsteps. If Crowley had shown up, Sam was prepared to kill him. What he wouldn't give to see the light leave his body. To twist the knife until he no longer existed. It was his fault. He knew, he had to have known that the Mark would give Dean bloodlust. If it hadn't he might never of gone to see Metatron, he might never of….
That traitorous bastard deserved to die.
Sam sat tensed, insides coiled tight, like a panther waiting for its prey. A fight would be a nice distraction, he thought absently. Anything to forget, if only for a few seconds.
Out of the hallway walked…No. It wasn't possible. The liquor must've…It wasn't poss-…Was it really…?How?
Oh God, he didn't care how… His brother. Alive. A small noise left his throat. Crowley brought him back! It was the only possible way. Silently, he swore on his own grave to never threaten Hell's king again. Shakily, he whispered, "Dean?"
Dean swallowed thickly, and shoved his hands deep into his shirt pockets. He nodded. The movement was jerky, like he wasn't comfortable in his own skin. Something was off about him. Sam didn't care.
He practically leaped out of his seat, a jovial, albeit watery small spreading across his face. He was amazed at how quickly he had gone from Saddest Man Alive, to Happiest Guy on the Planet. He threw his arms out to hug his big brother.
Dean stepped out of the way. He tried to smile at Sam, but it was wrong, sad and broken. "Don't-don't come any closer, Sammy." It was a hoarse whisper.
Sam looked at him, confused. "Dean, don't be ridiculous," and then, somewhat accusingly, "I-I thought you were dead."
"I don't wanna hurt you." Dean said in the smallest, most pitiful voice Sam has ever heard from him. He looked helplessly into his baby brother's eyes.
"I know you wouldn't." Sam couldn't ignore it any longer. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Dean's mouth twisted into a grimace. He shut his eyes tightly. "Sam, I didn't want this. Please. You have to know that I never wanted this."
What? He didn't want to be alive again? He didn't want to be with Sam? Why—
Dean slowly opened his eyes. They were pure, empty black.
No. No. For the second time that night, Sam found himself choking for air.