I got this idea for a tag after Metamorphosis. I also got another idea, which will have to wait a few days until I get another project out of the way.
Thanks, as always to geminigrl11 for her fast and exemplary beta-ing skills. She usually knows what I'm trying to say even when I don't write it right.
I own nothing. Reviews craved. Like, rugaru craved….
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Done with Everything
After Sam's announcement that he wasn't going to use his powers anymore, the drive was quiet. Dean got antsy after about ten minutes, and put the radio on low. It was just as well, since the headache from being knocked out by Jack earlier was still pounding behind Sam's eyes, and he wasn't sure he could take any loud music thrumming in time with the pain.
Sam watched the dark scenery go by, not really seeing it. His eyes kept being drawn to his reflection in the window. God, he wanted to shatter the window to make the image go away, but he restrained himself. It wasn't his car.
He wasn't sure how much time passed, but the next thing he was aware of was a town and a garishly lit motel on the right side of the road. Dean pulled in and parked near the office. Sam looked at it curiously, his brain taking an unusually long while to deduce a reason for them to stop at a motel. He glanced at the time. Oh, it's after midnight.
Before his sluggish mind was done processing, Dean was sliding into the driver's seat again, hesitantly holding a key out to him. The hesitance didn't surprise Sam. After all, he'd been sneaking out of their room for almost a month. Dean would have had every right to keep the key to himself.
Sam reached out and took it, abandoning his first instinct, which was to refuse it. That would only open the door for Dean to bring up things that he didn't want to talk about. They'd done enough of that for one day. Sam loved his brother, more than anything on Earth, but trying to get through to him on this demon blood and psychic powers thing was just too hard.
Dean didn't understand and despite what he'd said about wanting to, Sam suspected that he didn't really mean it. He'd already made up his mind that Sam had been wrong, and nothing was going to move him off of that position. It was a lot like arguing with his Dad, and getting that damning attitude from Dean was--
Sam pushed that hurt aside. He deserved Dean's disappointed looks. He'd been lying for months to the person he owed his life to twice over, at least. Opening the door, he reached over the seat and grabbed his bag, exiting the car quickly so as to preempt any discussion of his momentary pause in taking the key.
He looked down in disgust at the improvised flame thrower next to his duffel. Jack Montgomery had been a good man, until Travis pushed him into a corner. Travis meant well, too, but in the end, there'd been no room for shades of gray. As far as their dad's old friend was concerned, Jack was evil before he'd even done anything wrong. Maybe that was why so many hunters stayed away from others in this line of work; too many uncompromising opinions conflicting.
Dean's boot heels were dragging on the pavement behind him, snapping Sam's thoughts back to the present. Speaking of uncompromising opinions….
Sam unlocked the door, holding it open for a few seconds to allow his brother to enter, then moved inside, setting his duffle down by the second bed. He stood there for a moment, suddenly now knowing what to do next. Frowning, he stared down at the bag, wondering if something would jump out at him and remind him of...whatever he was supposed to do.
The almost overwhelming silence of the room finally registered, and he twisted around, hoping that seeing Dean might get his brain moving again. But he was alone. Sam blinked, baffled. Hadn't Dean been right behind him? The door had already clicked shut.
His thoughts, so listless the past few minutes, began to speed through his brain. Had Dean gone back to the car? Had he gotten separate rooms? He wasn't happy with Sam, so that was possible. Had he--
If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you.
The thoughts swirled in his brain relentlessly. Sam looked around the room. He was alone. It was a big room, and he was completely alone. He was used to that, after those four months. Things became a little clearer after accepting that. The throbbing in his head finally caught up with his attention, and he lifted a hand to press gingerly at the lump on his left temple.
With a frown, Sam dug the first aid kit out of his bag and stepped into the bathroom. In the harsh light, the knot on his head looked ugly. Blood had dried under his hairline, but he really didn't feel like showering. The pain extended down into his sinus cavity, but despite some blood earlier, Sam was fairly certain his nose was not broken. A little swollen, maybe, but he'd had worse.
Sam started closely into the mirror, checking his pupil reactions. No concussion, he concluded. The effects probably would have become apparent by this late hour, anyway. No, he was just sore, bloody…and alone.
He kept coming back to that. With a weary sigh, Sam started grabbed the small peroxide bottle and started cleaning the wounds on his forehead. This, he knew. Cleaning up blood and bandaging cuts was something he could do in his sleep. Those four months alone had taught him well, as had the six months before it, when he was trapped in the Trickster's cycle of hell. Ruby had never helped with the first aid when she was staying with him. Sam wouldn't allow it. She was useful, even sympathetic, much to his surprise. But, she was a demon, and Sam had never truly let his guard down around her.
Trying explaining that to Dean. I'm just an idiot little kid, being led around by a lying demon bitch.
Sam closed his eyes and let his head hang for a moment. He was so tired. Of everything. And so goddamned lonely. He was tired of that, too. Dean's return should have been a joyous moment. Triumphant. Euphoric, even. But he'd been forced into his pattern of lies and secrets almost immediately when Dean had seen Ruby's new host and that had isolated Sam even more than he'd been already. It was exhausting, keeping Dean in the dark, and the crushing guilt he felt about it didn't help.
Opening his eyes, he found himself staring unseeingly into the sink. His lip twisted, half in disgust, half in boredom. Disgust at his life. Boredom at thinking about it for the thousandth time. Just a few more dabs and a butterfly stitch or two then he could go to bed and forget all of it, at least for a little while.
The outside door opened and closed, shattering the stillness of the room. Sam blinked, considered sticking his head out to see who it was, but rejected the idea. It was probably Dean. Who else would it be, after all? Sam wondered what he'd done now, but decided that really didn't matter either.
Dean appeared in the bathroom doorway, eyes taking in the scene. Their eyes made contact briefly, but Sam found himself averting his eyes almost immediately. He didn't want to look into his brother's eyes and see the same disappointment and rebuke he'd been seeing all day, so he turned his attention back to cleaning his hairline. Surely, he couldn't screw that up.
Or maybe he could. Dean grabbed his hand gently and pulled it away, taking a look for himself. In the past, he might have said something about Dean being a nursemaid, but Sam didn't have the energy for sarcasm. Something cold was pressed into his hand and Sam looked down to see a bag of ice.
His questioning look must have drawn attention. Dean spoke up while inspecting the lump on Sam's head. "Ice machine, down the hall. Thought you might need it."
How far from the reservation have you gone? How far from normal? How far from human?
Did freaks need ice?
He winced when Dean's hand brushed the lump. The hand that had punched him in the mouth twice. He backed off with a whisper. "I can do it."
Dean ignored him, stepping closer and dabbing a peroxide soaked cotton ball against one of the cuts.
"Sure, you can," Dean replied quietly. His brother's voice was rarely ever quiet. Loud, angry, accusatory, but only rarely quiet. "But you don't have to."
The experience of spending four months alone wasn't something so casually discarded, though. Sam dared to look up, forcing himself to appear more confident than he felt, and looked at Dean's face. The bruised, bloody patch by his brother's right eye was just as ugly in the light as Sam's forehead. Jack--the rugaru, he corrected himself--had done a number on them.
He lifted the bag of ice and pressed it gently against Dean's face. "Your eye's starting to swell. Here, hold this for a second."
Before Dean could react, Sam took the peroxide bottle from his hand and grabbed a cotton ball off the counter. Dean's wound wasn't as bad. A few dabs and small bandage later, and he was done. Sam slid around him and exited before the weight of silence between them became any worse.
The air in the main room wasn't any better. Sam noticed Dean's bag had appeared on the bed closest to the door. Apparently, his brother had not exiled him in his own room, as Sam had wondered earlier. He wasn't sure what to feel about that. On the one hand, it meant Dean hadn't left him, but on the other, it just made facing his brother that much harder.
If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you.
What would he do when knowing Dean was no longer enough? Sam had a disease, a demonic, inescapable disease. Sooner or later, even Dean wouldn't accept him. Hell, that time may have already arrived….
Sam stopped at the dresser and fidgeted with his duffel, trying to clear his head. That proved impossible. The day's events and Dean's words tumbled around, and Sam just stood there, feeling foolish and helpless and not knowing what else he could ever do.
Cold against his hand drew his attention downward, and he saw the ice pack, Dean pressing it into his palm. "You need this more than I do, man."
They looked at each other for a few long, uncomfortable moments before Dean broke the silence again. "Look, I uh…I'm kinda thirsty. Thought I might hit a bar or something."
Sam nodded slowly. "Okay."
Dean looked uncertain, almost directionless. "Um…you wanna…come with? You know I can always use a good wingman."
That was a total lie. Sam had never been a good wingman when Dean was picking up girls. In any event, he didn't even remotely feel up to that tonight. "No, uh…I'm pretty tired…and my head still hurts. I think I'll--"
He broke off, gesturing toward the bed. Sam couldn't bring himself to look his brother in the face, and started fidgeting with his bag again, not really needing anything out of it.
"Okay," Dean muttered. If Sam hadn't known better, he would have said Dean sounded disappointed. That couldn't be right, though.
Sam moved toward the bed, stopping when Dean turned back. "Sam, I--"
He glanced up at Dean, who was biting his lip. His brother motioned with his hand as though he wanted to speak, but nothing came. Instead, Dean just pushed his hands into his pockets. "I thought, maybe, we'd head to Bobby's tomorrow. See if he has anything we might be interested in."
Forcing down the urge to cringe, Sam just nodded stiffly. That was the last place he wanted to go. Dean was sure to tell Bobby about what Sam had been doing, and that would just be another set of eyes staring at him like some sort of frightening circus freak who could snap at any moment. He said none of that. "Sure."
Dean nodded. He was still chewing his lip, though, not moving. "We'll sort this mess out, Sam. We can-- We can work through all this."
He didn't look up again when he heard the door click shut. It was a while before he heard the Impala rumble to life outside. Sam slowly sat on the edge of the bed, frowning in honest confusion.
"We can work through all this" was an odd thing to say to someone who was alone.
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Dean never made it to a bar. Instead, he decided to just drive around for a while.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
The look he'd seen on Sam's face tonight bothered him. A lot. It was that same resigned, hopeless look that had adorned Sam's teenage face in the months before he left for school. Sammy and Dad had been going at on a daily basis back then, and his little brother's depression had gotten pretty bad before the end. Dean had hoped to never see that look again.
Seeing that same expression tonight was more than a little discouraging. Sam had just shut down after killing the rugaru. Dean's attempts to help had been rebuffed, and even his olive branch in the car earlier had been brushed aside. Surely Sam hadn't been that invested in saving this Jack guy, had he?
No, it was more than that. Dean was starting to think that maybe he'd dropped the hammer on Sam a little too hard about this psychic thing. He'd been freaked when Castiel threatened Sam, and enraged to find Sam using his powers when he'd promised not to. At that moment, all he'd been thinking was that Sam had been lying to him, that he'd broken Dean's "dying wish" and that he was in cahoots with Ruby. Dean had been frankly surprised to find out how deep Sam's emotions ran on this whole psychic issue.
I've got demon blood inside me, Dean! This disease pumping through my veins and I can never rip it out or scrub it clean! I've a whole new level of freak!
Sam's admission that he already knew about the blood-thing had angered Dean further. It was just one more secret. One more lie. Something else Sam hadn't trusted him enough to share.
That brought Dean up short. Was Sam right? Was he was reason Sam had kept those secrets to himself? Dean had been spooked by this psychic thing from the start, not so much because of what it meant for Sam--after all, there were other psychics around, like Missouri, Pamela Barnes--but because of the rest: the spoon-bending and the apparent connection to the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Other hunters wouldn't be as understanding, Dean knew that for certain. Gordon Walker proved it.
Dean also knew, sadly, that he was the one who had let the word "freak" slip a few times, especially after Dad's death and the secret that had landed in Dean's lap about Sam's possible destiny. He had never intended Sam to adopt it, though. The last thing his guilt-tripping, self-doubting brother needed was to embrace the notion that he was a freak of any sort. Sam would believe it.
He does believe it.
Now, it seemed that Dean's reaction here had pushed Sam away. Isolated him at a time when his kid brother needed help the most. Sam had almost scoffed at his insistence that Sam wasn't alone in this mess. Clearly, Sam believed he was. Dean hadn't intended that, either.
He blinked, not realizing where he was driving until he found himself back in the motel parking lot. Dean parked the Impala in front of their room and just sat for a few minutes, wondering what to do next.
Sam was angry with him, he was fairly sure. Worse, Sam was hurt, and distancing himself, much the same way he had with their Dad. Dean grimaced at that thought. He'd always been there for Sam, even during the nightly arguments and thrown books and slammed doors. It was upsetting to be on the other side of that slammed door this time, no matter how figurative in this case. For the first time, he found himself unclear on how to deal with his baby brother. Sam could hold a grudge like no one else…if he cut Dean out--
Dean wasn't sure what clued him in to the presence, but he turned and found Castiel in the passenger seat which had been empty an instant before. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to that. The angel sat there, staring ahead in that eerily blank way he had. Dean glared at him, letting his building resentment vent out at the newcomer.
"Are you happy, now? Sam won't even talk to me."
"Did your brother know anything about what Azazel wanted?"
The bland, disinterested reply made Dean's blood boil. "What? Your all-seeing boss doesn't already know?"
Castiel looked at him, face blank, but with eyes that signaled that Dean was in dangerous waters. He pressed on anyway.
"All he knows is that he was cursed with this demon crap. That's all I'll probably get from him, now. Did you want me to help him not? Seems to me all your little game has accomplished so far is to make him give up."
"Better for him to stay safe…and alive," the angel replied coldly.
Dean snorted. "Yeah, if he ever listens to another word I say, I'll be sure to share that insight with him."
Castiel released what might have been a small sigh, and turned back to stare at the building again. "Your brother loves you, Dean. He prayed for your return for months after your death. He's in pain right now, but in the end, you did the right thing. We don't know where his powers might have taken him. Better that he stop using them altogether."
"Yeah? Why didn't you just go to him straight out when he started with Ruby? Why wait so long?"
"He listens to you, Dean. We needed you to get through to him."
Dean glanced at the motel room window, shaking his head angrily. "And now that I've ground up what's left of my brother's self-respect, what kind of work do you have for me?"
He turned, finding the passenger seat empty. Figures. Bastard. Sighing wearily, Dean headed inside.
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Sam stared at the floor for a few moments after Dean left, that strange lack of direction falling over him again. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. He kept replaying what happened to Jack Montgomery and Dean's accusations over and over in his mind like a broken record.
He kicked his shoes off by the nightstand and went to set the alarm for the morning. Dean would be in no shape to remember by the time he got back.
As his hand touched the clock, it hit him like the proverbial ton of equally proverbial bricks. It was hopeless. He'd been bought and sold before he was even born, sacrificed by his own mother, condemned to be a hunter by his grieving father, who had also sold him out, telling Dean to be ready to kill him…and finally sold out by Dean himself, who thought he was a freak of nature that had to be stopped, all on the word of an angel they hardly knew.
How screwed up was that?
The cards had been stacked against him for decades. He'd longed for a normal life, only to have the Yellow-Eyed Demon rip that out from under him, costing poor Jess her life in the process. He'd reunited with his brother, only to lose him all too soon because Sam was stupid enough to turn his back on Jake. He'd sworn his life to prevent Dean from going to Hell, only to fail miserably. He'd even been denied saving Dean after the fact, by demons who thought it was funny to see their "Boy King" grieving and refused to make any deals with him. He'd finally accepted his bizarre powers, and tried to use his curse to accomplish something productive, to win a few for the good guys, only to have angels show up and threaten to kill him for it.
What the hell was the point of any of it? Why try at all?
He looked at the clock under his hand, and shoved it against the wall. Fuck it. He rolled back and crawled into his bed, back to the door, not even bothering to change clothes. Everything that had ever meant a damn to him had ended up a colossal failure. Jess was dead. Dad was dead. Dean was back…and had summarily judged him guilty for something he couldn't control and was just trying to make the best of.
You think he can stop himself because he's nice?
That guy was a monster, there was no going back.
Sleep wouldn't come. Sam kept hearing his brother and Travis, over and over. Were they right?
He's got something evil inside him…in his blood…maybe you can relate.
God doesn't want you doing this…
It was like an instant replay in his head. He couldn't sleep, and didn't even try. He was a freak, some monster waiting to happen, just like he'd feared all along. Dean's angel had all but said so.
How far from human?
If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you.
That was the real issue. Dean didn't even think he was human. He was tainted, diseased. And that wasn't even the worst part…he'd prayed for months, begging God to bring Dean back to him, show him something he'd missed, anything, and he'd finally had those prayers answered. Only to tell him that everything he'd ever done was wrong.
And he was more alone now than ever.
Sleep never came. Sam lay, curled on top of his bed, staring at the white top sheet. It came to his attention several times that he was cold, but he couldn't bring himself to get under the covers. What difference did it make, anyway?
Maybe he'd get lucky for once, and Dean's angel would smite him or smother him in his sleep. It would be better that way, for everyone. Who could miss a walking curse?
He was shivering by the time he heard the door open and close. He tried to keep quiet so Dean would think he was asleep, but despite himself, he couldn't still his body. Sam closed his eyes, ignoring the nearly silent scuff of boots on the carpet.
Someone had written once that there was nothing worse than being alone in a crowded room. Sam couldn't remember the exact quote, but he knew now that wasn't true. There was something worse. Being alone with a brother that didn't trust you anymore. A brother you owed an impossible debt, and who looked at you like a stranger.
Sam almost wished Dean would take his knife and cut his throat right there, settle his debts to the family and be done with it.
Instead of a knife blade, though, a blanket drifted down over Sam. It might have startled him if anything mattered anymore. Dean. His brother had seen him shivering.
Sam crumbled, that simple act of kindness cutting him deeper than any knife. All the grief that he'd bottled up since May broke through, drowning him. He'd begged and prayed for Dean to come back. Tried everything, offered up everything, would have done anything.
For what?
For Dean to stand in front of him and tell him he wasn't human anymore? That he was something worth hunting? To find out that his mother had traded his soul thirty-four years before that in her own selfish deal?
He'd never had a chance.
Something dripped off of his nose, but he didn't care what it was. Maybe his nose was bleeding. Maybe if he left it alone, he'd bleed out right there and save Dean the trouble whenever the time came. Who gave a fuck anyway?
Sam just blinked his blurred eyes and focused on the sheets, his mind's eye tracing strange patterns in the darkened folds.
He had no idea how much time went by like that, but the next thing he recognized was something landing on his shoulder.
"Sam?"
He tried to surface out of the ocean of grief that had flooded over him, but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything. What did it matter if he did? He'd just fail. Like he'd failed Dad and Jess and Dean.
"Sam? The alarm didn't go off. It's almost time to check out."
The hand on his shoulder--he thought it was a hand--shook him a little. Sam couldn't answer. He wouldn't know how, anyway. The folds in the sheet did kind of look like a tide rolling in. He remembered going to the beach with Jess, a few months before he'd gotten her killed.
Something moved in his peripheral vision, but he couldn't drag his eyes off the sheet, lost in the memories they provoked in his imagination.
"Hey, Sam, what's--?"
A hand entered his vision, touching his cheek. It went away wet.
"Sammy, are you-- Hey, what is it? Sammy, talk to me, man, you're scaring me."
That snapped Sam back to the present. Dean. Oh, God. He jackknifed out of the bed, brushing his brother's arm as he sat up. Sam blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings, swiping a hand across his face to wipe the wetness away. His mouth hurt when his palm pressed against it. There were probably bruises there from where Dean had punched him.
Jesus, had he seriously been curled up, crying into his pillow? Dean. Dean had seen him. Humiliation crept onto his face.
Sam Winchester, badass hunter. Crying in his sleep. God, he just wanted to die.
He ran a shaking hand though his hair, vaguely aware of a pair of eyes boring into him. Sam had to move. "Sorry-- I'm sorry…I didn't set the alarm."
"Sam--" Dean sounded worried again. Freaked out, even. Well, that's what freaks were good for, right? Sam rose unsteadily and circled the bed, yanking his shoes on, hoping to change the subject as soon as possible before Dean started asking him anything he'd have to lie about. God knows, I can't tell him the truth to save my life….
"Uh-- I, um…" Sam stuttered, searching out the time. "We can still make checkout if we hurry. I'm sorry. I didn't set the alarm."
"Sam!"
Dean's voice brought his frenzied attempt to leave the room to a sudden stop. Sam halted in mid-stride, head turning to face his brother of its own accord. The concern etched into that face made him feel two inches tall.
"Sam…are you okay?"
"I-- I'm fine," Sam lied. Lying came so easy. Dean was right about him. "I'm fine. We should go."
He turned toward his bag, ready to flee the room, but his brother wasn't so easy to shake off.
"Hey…we don't have to."
Sam stopped again, hand gripping his duffle. A silent minute went by before he trusted his voice to speak. "I thought-- I thought we were going to Bobby's?"
Please. I just want to leave. Please….
"Bobby can wait. We don't have to go anywhere, yet."
Naturally.
"Sammy, talk to me. Please."
Sam bit his lip, studiously keeping his eyes on the dresser. He couldn't. If he started talking, it would all come out; it would never stop. He'd disappointed his brother enough for one lifetime; he wasn't about to add any more to the pile. He wouldn't.
He sniffled, trying to cover it with a cough. Sam was sure it came out sounding just as pathetic to Dean as it did to him. He forced his voice to stay steady. "I, uh, if it's all right with you, I'm gonna take a shower. I'm still pretty beat up from yesterday."
Moving toward the bathroom, he stopped at the door, turning back just enough to see Dean out of the corner of his eye. He could feel Dean's gaze, like a weight on his shoulders. "I'm really sorry I forgot the alarm."
"Don't worry about that," came the quiet reply. He be damned if Dean didn't sound dejected. Sam strikes again. He fled into the bathroom without another word.
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Dean was sitting on his bed when Sam came out. He opened his mouth to say something, but the miserable, resigned look on his brother's face stopped him. Sam looked terrible. He obviously hadn't slept, and whatever was going on in that freakish head of his was really wearing him down.
Dean winced at the "freakish" part. He really needed to watch what he said and thought. Besides, Sam wasn't a freak; he had simply been screwed by fate from Day One. Speaking without thinking was what had got them to this point. Who the hell knew Sam took everything I said as gospel?
Sam came out half-dressed, fidgeted a little until he found a shirt, then looked around like he didn't know what to do. He didn't say a word. Once he finished and had his shoes on, he sat on the bed, hands clasped in front of him. Dean frowned. What was Sam doing?
But even as he thought the words, he realized he'd seen this before. After the bad arguments with Dad. John Winchester had had a way of beating Sam down like few others could, and now, Sam was sitting on his bed, waiting for orders. If he was thinking about anything at all, it wasn't showing on his face. It was one of the many self-defensive behaviors Sam had employed against their dad. Sit and wait for orders, like the good little soldier he thought John wanted him to be.
Dean had never wanted things to be like this between them. They were brothers, and they'd always been closer than this. Sam and Dean were never supposed to have the same relationship as Sam and John. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure how to get out of it. Sam was notoriously hard to predict when angry. Talking to him could be like walking through a minefield.
Rising off his bed, Dean stepped over and sat on Sam's, behind his brother's tense, unmoving back, closing the distance between them. He tried to choose his words carefully. "Hey, Sammy…I was thinking last night. We both know stuff about the Demon and what went down with Mom. Maybe…we should compare notes? See if we can nail down what he was after?"
It was an old ploy, but usually a successful one. The nice thing about have a Super Geek for a brother was that waving research opportunities in his face was a good way to break the ice. Dean held still and watched, hoping his effort would jumpstart a conversation.
Sam blinked twice, those little wheels in his head obviously turning over the proposition. After a long moment, he rose off the bed and stepped over to his bag, digging to the bottom. He returned with a small notebook, but didn't sit back down. He also avoided eye contact like a pro. Dean frowned a little and took the offered book.
"Everything I know's in there," Sam stated quietly, flatly. "Maybe you can fill in the blanks."
With that, he folded his arms and moved aimlessly toward the front window. Dean watched him, flipping through the book with little interest. Doubtlessly, it would be useful to try and put all this demon stuff together, but he didn't want to do it by himself. Besides, that wasn't really the point of his asking.
As he watched the back of his brother's head, Dean noticed a shift. Sam straightened, his arms slowly falling to his sides. Before he could say anything, Sam moved for the door. "I'll be back later, Dean."
Dean blinked. What the hell?
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Sam had missed this place when they arrived the night before. A small Catholic church sat across the street, nestled in between some trees and a thrift shop along an adjoining road.
Traffic was fortunately light, since he barely checked before crossing the street. The next thing he knew, he was inside and kneeling in a pew in the back row. He clasped his hands together and said a quick prayer that Pastor Jim had taught him when he was six.
Finishing, he just stared up at the altar and crucifix for a long while. His emotions roiled inside him. He'd spent so much time praying for Dean in the months while he was gone, did everything he could do--
"I don't understand," he hissed softly. "I was cursed with this…blood, why is it wrong to use it against them? I'm saving people!"
There was no answer. Sam halfway hoped Dean's angel would show up, even if it was only to kill him. At least he'd have a chance to ask why to his face.
"I prayed to you for months," Sam went on, eyes welling up. "I begged you to bring Dean back…and you finally do, only to have him look at me like a freak. Like he doesn't even know me. Condemn me for even trying to do the right thing. I know I failed him. I tried my best and he still died for me. Why let that happen? Why bring him back if he's just going to hate me?"
Nothing. Just like all of his visits to churches over the years. Sam dropped his head onto his forearms and just sat, defeated.
The voice from just behind him made him jump. "I never said I hated you."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn't even heard Dean enter. He felt rather than saw Dean come closer and kneel beside him in the pew. Sam didn't lift his head, smiling bitterly. "Think I slipped out with Ruby again?"
Dean didn't answer, just inched a little closer, his shoulder just barely bumping Sam's. "I had a feeling you'd come over here"
Sam's grim smile turned to a sneer. "Yeah. They let anybody in these places, even the tainted demonic freaks."
"You're no freak, Sam," Dean said, a defensive edge in his voice. Something about it didn't ring true, though. Sam opened his eyes, watching his brother through the corner of his eye.
"Who's lying now?"
Dean seemed to consider that for a moment. "Okay, but you're not demonic."
Sam's blood ran cold at that. Suspecting how Dean felt was one thing, but hearing it straight out--
"You're a freak, and maybe even tainted. You're irritating, frustrating, a serious smart ass--"
"This isn't a joke Dean!" Sam exploded. His sibling's eyes widened at the outburst. "I've been nothing but a pawn my whole life! Do you get that? To the demon, to Dad, to Gordon, to Lilith, and now even to Him!" He shouted, gesturing at the altar. His voice echoed in the empty sanctuary.
Dean blinked slowly at him, taking it in mildly. "You're an emotional train-wreck, too."
Sam growled, gripping the wooden pew to push himself up. Dean's hand clamped onto his shoulder, forcing him off balance and back down onto the kneeler. He turned on Dean, body quivering with rage. Dean just glared back.
"But, you're also my brother. And nothing will ever change that…not demons, not angels, nothing."
Something inside Sam broke, and his tear-brimming eyes spilled over. "Everything I've ever done has been wrong, Dean. I don't know what to do anymore…."
Dean released his shoulder, turning to face forward again, arm touching Sam's. "You can let me tell you I'm sorry. That I didn't know what you were going through, and that if I could turn back the last two days, I wouldn't treat you the way I did."
Sam blinked for a moment, self-consciously wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I told you not to worry about it, Dean."
"It's my job to worry about it, Sammy."
He crumpled against the pew, shoulder pressing into Dean's. God, he'd missed his brother so much….
"I was so lonely, Dean," Sam admitted quietly, finally telling Dean what he should have that first night in Pontiac. "I missed you so much, but there was nothing left to do. I went after Lilith…but all I had was Ruby's knife. I couldn't kill all those possessed people. Ruby told me there was a way to do it without hurting them, and it worked! I knew I'd promised you, but you were gone and I didn't have anything else to fight with."
Dean leaned into him a little. "I know. But, Castiel said if I didn't stop you they would. I just panicked. I couldn't lose you a second time, Sam." He looked over, his own eyes wet, and smiled ruefully. "I guess I came on a little too strong."
Sam snorted, feeling something other than dread and failure for the first time since Dean had walked in on him and Ruby. He didn't begrudge Dean his anger. It had been wrong to lie to him for so long. "I guess I was just scared to tell you. I didn't want you to know that I'd failed you again."
He got a nudge in the ribs for that. "You didn't fail the first time."
"How can you say that?" Sam asked, appalled. "You went to Hell…for me."
"I know, and I didn't even get a stupid t-shirt."
"Dean."
Dean sighed, looking at Sam askance. "I went there because that was the price for saving your life. I'd pay it again in a heartbeat."
Sam shook his head sadly. "I never wanted you to do that."
"I know. But, I needed someone to drive and do laundry."
"Dean," Sam sighed, lowering his head to his arms again. "Did that angel of yours bring you back just so you could crack jokes?"
"Yup. How's it going so far?"
"They really suck." An arm draped over Sam's hunched shoulders.
"Eh, you never had a sense of humor. When the hell'd you get so big, anyway?" Dean grumbled, squeezing his right should playfully.
Sam smiled, wiping his eyes again. For the first time in almost five months, the overpowering loneliness receded a little. He sniffled. "I'm sorry I lied to you."
Dean withdrew his arm, sitting back and giving Sam some privacy. Sam tried to rein himself in and regain some control.
"If you're up to it, I really would like to compare notes, see if we can't figure out what Yellow-Eyes was up to."
Sam looked back at him. Dean looked sincere, glancing at him with a faint smile. "Come on, I'll tell you all about Mom and Dad. And Mom's parents. Whew, what a pair they were!"
Dean stood, stepping out of the pew and waiting for Sam to catch up. God I missed him. He followed slowly. "I'd like that."
"Yeah, and you'll never believe it. You were named for our grandmother!"
"What?" Sam frowned, looking at Dean's smirk.
"That's right. Samantha Campbell."
Sam followed Dean out of the church, shaking his head and laughing to himself. He already knew her name was Deanna. But he played along for Dean's sake.
"Really?"
END