Set in early Season 5. Consumed by guilt and anger, the brothers struggle with bridging the gap between them when Sam faces death after a hunt gone wrong.
Letting Go is Hard to Do
PRESENT:
He can feel the venom coursing through his body, burning. It burns every nerve ending, every cell and every muscle, which feel tight enough to snap. His organs feel like they are melting slowly inside of him, because that is what's starting to happen. His head is pounding and blood is rushing in his ears. His eyes blur, but at this point he can't tell if it's from the venom or tears as he squeezes his eyes shut against the pain. He curls his right arm around the parallel gashes that run diagonally from his chest down to the base of his ribs, feeling the warm sticky wetness of his blood leaving his body. The other arm reaches out to grasp the edge of the car's back seat, where he lays writhing.
He can dimly hear and see his brother talking urgently in the passenger's seat and muddily thinks how odd it is he isn't driving, but he can't seem to remember why. The pain is getting worse, and he knows he doesn't have much longer.
EARLIER:
"You boys know a hunter by the name of Joe Kirkley?" Bobby asked over the phone.
"Know of him," Dean responded. "He worked a case with Dad way back in the day, right?"
"Yup, a black dog in Wisconsin back in '91," Bobby confirmed. "Anyway he called earlier. He's got somethin' in Warren County, a few hours from ya."
"Yeah?"
"Four bodies, major organs gone, blood drained. Chest cavities look like everything's been burned from the inside. Coroner reports say they found traces of some kind of venom, but they can't identify it."
"Bobby, don't you think we have bigger problems at the moment? Can't you put another hunter on it?"
"Dean," Bobby warned with his dad-like annoyed and 'just shut up and do it' tone, "We're at a wall for right now on the Lucifer front. Now Kirkley's actually got somethin'. So why don't you stop pouting, suck it up and go hunt something that needs hunting."
He wouldn't win this argument. Besides, something that needed killing sounded pretty appealing right then.
"Alright, Bobby. Don't get your Depends in a twist."
"Watch it, boy," Bobby half-heartedly threatened.
"How are you boys?" he asked after a moment. Dean looked over at Sam through the window of the convenient store where he was checking out at the counter.
"We're fine," Dean told him. It was hard and unconvincing even to himself and he could feel Bobby's scrutiny over the phone. It made him want to crawl out of his skin.
"That bad, huh?"
Dean sighed. "Bobby, what he did... I can't just let it go, you know?"
Bobby knew it wasn't just Sam starting Armageddon he couldn't let go.
"He was sick, Dean, not in control of himself and he thought he was doin' the right thing. He's not the only one to ever make a mistake."
Dean can't help but feel that's mostly bullshit. There may be some truth in it, but Sam made those choices on his own accord. Honestly it kind of pissed him off that Bobby was so quick to still be there for Sam, to defend him especially.
When Bobby had been possessed and told Sam he never wanted to hear from him again, Dean couldn't help but feel like Sam had that coming. He saw the raw hurt in his brother's eyes and still the thought formed in the back of his mind, 'Serves you right.' After the demon was gone, Bobby had told Sam that was only the demon talking and he didn't mean it. Dean saw Sam's relief and gratefulness and in a coinciding thought, didn't think Sam deserved it.
Needless to say, Dean was still angry at the kid, and he didn't know if things would ever get better again. Sam had lied countless times. Sam had walked out on him. Dean had given him the option, and still Sam had walked, leaving him bloody and more than physically hurt on that floor amongst the shattered glass. Then when he thought of what they faced- Lucifer himself- and that he was here on Earth because of his little brother, he didn't think there was much hope for anything being okay again.
"Yeah but this isn't just forgetting to get the pie, Bobby. This is big."
"And when is not for us?" Bobby implored.
Dean heard the ding of the convenient store's bell as the door opened and Sam exited. He looked up at Dean then looked away.
"All right. Text me the info and we'll head out," Dean said into the phone dismissively.
Bobby sighed, knowing that was the end of the conversation for Dean.
"Sure. Let me know what you find. And Dean..." Bobby paused. Dean wasn't going to wait to hear him finish. If he finished.
"Later, Bobby." Dean hung up, annoyed, and turned to meet Sam who was looking at him, waiting.
"Bobby's got something for us. Get in. I'll fill you in," he said not really looking at Sam and getting into the car.
Sam let out a resigned breath and obeyed. Maybe a hunt would be a good distraction.
PRESENT:
The speeding car hits a bump and a startled groan escapes him. He clenches his teeth against it. The fire pumping through his body threatens to tear it apart. The hand gripping the seat's edge is bloodless from the strength of its grip.
He tries to focus, tries to think past the pain but, God, it's hard. He knows he probably deserves this. He had betrayed and hurt the one person in the world that would do anything for him, who has done everything for him. And he unleashed the biggest evil ever known upon the world. It doesn't matter if he thought he was doing it for the right reasons. He blinded himself to his brother's warnings instead of heeding to them, too pissed and power high to give a damn.
When Dean was dead, he had let the demon blood control his life. It was easier than dealing with it. It gave him purpose. Did it make him feel a little justified by saving the people the exorcised demons were possessing? Yes, but mostly he thought about Lilith, striving to become strong enough to make her choke on her own fluids for taking Dean from him. He'd even let himself believe he was doing it for Dean for a while.
Then Dean came back and it wasn't so simple anymore. He was grateful to have his brother back, of course- His death had nearly killed him too, and he had certainly tested those bounds. But the new little world he had enveloped himself in since was at risk of coming down. He knew how his brother would feel about it, but by then, he'd gone too far. He lied to hide it. Besides, even if he had wanted help, he was pretty sure there were no Demon Blood Anonymous meetings he could attend. Bobby had been right: He had been arrogant. He'd accused Dean of being weak, of dragging him down. He had resented his brother. He had beaten the shit out of him and walked out.
Then he succeeded in killing Lilith, what he told himself- and Dean- was the reason for tapping into his demon-tainted abilities, only to find he'd been bested by Ruby and released the Devil. THE Devil. Dean had tried to warn him the whole time that nothing good would come of it. He had hurt Dean and lied to him- and Bobby- without much of a care.
'I just don't know if I can trust you.'
How could there be any fixing that?
Yeah, to say the least, he deserved this.
EARLIER:
They'd met up with Kirkley at the local bar. Kirkley marveled at the sight of the two boys all grown up. He was about 6', bordering on burly with a shaved head. He had a gruff look that would warn most away, but another that said he was cool if you knew him and were on his good side. They exchanged the "How you been's" and inquired about their latest hunt. Talk about wanting to crawl out of your skin.
"Rumor has it you boys may have been in the vicinity when the devil popped up," he said looking from brother to brother. His tone was curious and edgy, inquisition-like. Sam's eyes shifted from the older man to his brother. Dean answered.
"We were workin' a demon case nearby."
Better to give a half-truth than a lie, and better to lie than tell the whole truth.
"Related?"
"Maybe."
"So what'd ya see?"
"Nothin' but a light show," Dean shrugged, "But believe me, we'll do whatever it takes to put that son of a bitch back in the hole he came from," Dean said solidly.
Sam subconsciously wanted to shift but looked at Kirkley, willing his expression to be steady as Joe regarded them a moment, Dean particularly. Dean didn't flinch. A smirk made its way on Kirkley's face and he leaned back, seemingly resigned.
"Good to hear," he said.
"So what have you got for us, Joe?" Dean inquired, changing subjects and because killing something definitely sounded good right now. Joe pulled several folders out of his bag next to the table and handed them to the brothers. They were police reports on the victims. Sam and Dean started looking at the grisly crime scene photos as Joe extrapolated.
"Well, so far four bodies with similar wounds: Chests ripped open, hearts, livers, kidneys gone, along with the blood. Some cows and sheep were found the same way. What could still found in the bodies is charred jelly, but no evidence of fire. It's like it just eats away the tissues."
Sam and Dean raised their eyebrows in union. Missing organs they'd dealt with, as well as bloodless victims, but both and a venom that melts people from the inside? Yep, that was a new one.
"Right, like a rattlesnake's venom will kill the living tissue around the site of the bite," Sam piped.
"Yeah," Joe said. "Except this makes a rattlesnake bite look like a mosquito bite. So obviously this venom the M.E.'s have been finding is what really threw me, so I started doin' some digging." He pulled a paper from his jacket pocket, unfolded it, and placed it in front of the brothers. "Near as I can tell, I'm thinking it might be a gaueko. According to Basque lore, they feed off of shepherds and their herds."
"That would explain the mutilated livestock," Sam said. Joe nodded in agreement. Sam and Dean leaned in to study the printed website page. The photo on the top showed an upright wolf/baboon-like creature with a short snout, jagged teeth, bent over ears and a forked tongue. It had fiercely long curved claws.
"What the hell is one of these things doing in our neck of the woods?" Dean asked.
"Don't know. A lot of things may be topsy-turvy with the Devil comin' to dinner."
Sam's mouth pulled tight. Though it wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone else, Dean's eyes shifted towards him just for a second. They were blameful.
"Any idea how they inject their victims?" Sam asked, not finding any more details on the paper and wanting to redirect.
"Nothin' on that. My guess is with a bite," Joe said, fairly confident.
Sam looked back to the picture and the creature's snake-like tongue and curved fangs. That would make sense considering animals inject venom via a bite. With the supernatural however, nothing was certain.
"Makes sense," Dean said. "We know how to kill it?"
"I'm working on that," Joe responded.
...
They stepped out into the parking lot.
"Oh I remember her," Joe said as the brothers headed to the Impala. "Tried my damnedest but I couldn't get your daddy let me drive her," he told them good humoredly, "Glad to see you kept her up."
"Thanks," Dean said, automatically beaming a little. Sam was amused by this at first with all of the old sentimental familiarity, then it turned into something regretful. Dean was proud of a few things in his life, but Sam supposed he wasn't among those things anymore. Nothing was the same now.
Joe went to the driver's side door of a rusty, dented and mismatched Civic that looked like it was held together with wire and duct tape. Dean quirked an eyebrow.
"Hey, she's a loner," Kirkley defended, "Smashed my truck."
"How'd you do that?"
"Chupacabra hopped in front of it," Joe shrugged.
"That's one way to get the job done," Dean smirked.
"What matters is that she runs… Most of the time." Dean and even Sam were smiling some as Joe got in. The engine sputtered to life with some protest and a thick black cloud of exhaust.
They went back to Joe's motel room to look over the leads thus far and do some further research. Dean and Joe were focusing on the locations of the attacks on the local map to try to determine the thing's hunting ground. Dean had purposefully kept himself away from Sam, not speaking with him unless necessary. Everything he said came out curt anyway. Being around him wasn't easy and just made all that hurt and anger want to bubble to the surface. Still, he couldn't bring himself to try to care. Sam had made his bed.
Sam couldn't find anything on the gaueko's venom or how to kill one. Sources were thin now, but he kept looking anyway. He spared only a couple of side glances over at Dean and Joe. Dean's cold-shoulder treatment was becoming his new norm. He hated it, but it's not like he was in a position to say or do otherwise. He knew what he had done. Instead he'd focus on the job at hand, keep himself occupied and try to do something useful, even if it was simply staying out of his brother's way, but he didn't know how long he could continue like this. He'd never felt so at a loss and alone. Every time it hurt he'd try to remind himself that he had brought it on himself. After a while, he called Bobby and explained what they had learned about the case.
"How are ya doing, Sam?" Bobby had asked, to which Sam replied, "fine." Bobby knew better but left it at that for the time being. He told Sam he'd do some more digging himself and call back. Half an hour later, he followed through.
"Hey, Sam." Sam put Bobby on speaker.
"Hey, Bobby. So what do we got?"
"It sounds like Joe's right: It is a gaueko. It's sometimes known as the "Lord of Black Magic" and the name in Basque mythology literally means, "In the night." They're wolf-like creatures that can walk upright and seem to disappear in the darkness, hence the nicknames. They like to feed on the organs of farmers and their animals and lick the skin off so they can drink their blood."
"That's not gross at all," Dean quipped.
"How do we kill it?" Sam asked.
"That's a little unclear. One source says a silver stake through the heart, another says decapitation."
"Awesome," Dean responds facetiously, "So we'll try both," he opts.
"Yeah well, whatever you do, don't let this thing get a hold of you. Its venom will turn your insides to Jell-O, and it 'aint quick. They wait until you're almost dead then start feeding. Sort of like a human Soup On The Go. I've got another book, but it's in Euskara, so translation's going slow. You have its hunting grounds narrowed down yet?"
"Yeah. Looks like its centered around a forested area about 10 miles outside of town," Joe informed, "We're staking it out tonight."
"Yeah well, just be careful. These things are nasty and we've never dealt with this before."
"All right. Thanks, Bobby," Sam said and hung up.
...
Later that night Sam and Dean met Joe off a dirt road 10 miles outside of town. Dean parked the Impala next to Joe's excuse for a car. Joe got his weapons from his trunk as Sam and Dean threw theirs stakes into a duffle along with a sawed off and some extra lights and flares and basic survival gear: Hunts in the woods far enough from town can turn a bad situation into a worse one, and it never hurts to be prepared. They hand carried machetes for the chance of decapitating their new foe. Even if decapitation didn't kill the thing, it should certainly stop it long enough for them to do so.
"You boys ready for this?" Kirkley asked.
"Born ready," Dean replied, clicking on his flashlight. He spared Sam an unconfident glance before walking ahead, leaving him to take up the rear alone.
Sam didn't know his heart could sink any lower these days. Yet every time Dean looked at him like that and every time he didn't look at him, it did. He dropped his chin, sighed and steeled himself, following the other men into the woods.
PRESENT:
He can hear his brother's ragged breathing and grunts of pain. He wishes he couldn't. He knows Sam is trying to maintain composure but he can't quite do it, so he knows it's bad. Hell, he knows it's worse than bad. His brother is bleeding in the backseat and a monster's venom is pumping through his body, starting to melt his insides. They have to stop both for any hope to save him, but no doctor can help with a supernatural venom.
Bobby's is almost 2 hours away. He's sure they could make it in an hour, but he wonders if his brother has that long. He calls Bobby on the way. He'll know something or he'll find something. He has to. His words are concise but his tone- for anyone that knows him- is hiding panic that's threatening to rise.
"Hang in there, Sam," he calls to the backseat waiting for the other end of the line.
Pick up, pick up, pick up. Finally Bobby does. Dean wastes no time because there isn't any to waste.
"Bobby! We're on our way to you. We need to know how to stop the gaueko's venom!"
"Wha... Shit, Dean," Bobby exclaims understanding the situation's urgency instantly. "I haven't figured all that out yet! I don't even know if you can."
"Well look! We don't have much time!" Dean shouts, uncaring of how rude he sounds. He can hear the older man quickly shuffling books and papers around and can picture his frantic search at his desk in the study. Dean closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as Sam lets out a scream behind him.
"I think it's a blood ritual... A verse in... Biscayan... Damn it," he mutters, "I have to go through my books downstairs. I gotta call you back. Hold on, Dean," Bobby orders and the line drops. Dean does hold on. He's been holding on, if only by his fingertips. He wills Bobby to hurry. He doesn't know what else to do. Sam cries out again. Dean shuts his eyes as it reverberates through him. Angry at him as he may be, over twenty years of instincts and the things that make up every fiber of one's being don't just go away.
EARLIER:
An hour and a half of nothing. They'd split up in a grid, careful not to put too much distance between each other. Though Sam was slightly grateful for the physical distance there was between himself and Dean, so he didn't have to feel the resentment rolling off of him in waves. He was sure Dean was grateful for it too. They came to a clearing and regrouped.
"Maybe we should've brought some sheep. We could dress Sam here up as Bo Peep," Dean ribbed, a hint of real meanness in his voice.
"Funny," Sam said unamused.
"Let's head east and circle back," Joe suggested.
That's when they heard a low guttural growl. All three hunters pulled their blades up and trained their flashlights. They tightened themselves together, putting their backs towards one another to cover all sides. They heard the growl again, but closer. Then they heard a deep agitated breath that came from the other side.
"Damn thing's circling us," Joe whispered.
Their bodies tensed, muscles coiling and reflexes ready to react. It grew unnaturally silent. The moment was coming.
A fierce growl rang out as the creature lunged off its hind legs at the three hunters, not singling the men out but instead going for right between Dean and Joe, trying to break their circle apart. It was fast, but Sam could make out the gaueko's dark skin covered in sparse coarse and long black hairs. There was a flash of curved teeth jutting out from its open mouth and yellow eyes as the flashlights caught them.
The hunters tried to dodge the attack while staying together but the gaueko was nearly twice the size of any of of them. It opened the gap between them too easily. They went sprawling in different directions. Dean landed hard on his left arm, feeling a too familiar jolt of pain in the vicinity of old injuries. He rolled and jumped up quickly. Now closest to the beast, he swung his machete with his good arm at the top of its neck but it turned sharply, the blade sinking into its shoulder blades, hitting bone not far under the skin.
The gaueko shrieked, but it was as though in anger, not pain. It turned the rest of the way, knocking Joe and Sam back to the ground with its body and stood on its back legs. It narrowed its eyes at Dean, back hunching as it stalked a couple steps forward towards him. Dean drew his blade back, ready to swing. His eyes grew wide at the full sight of this powerful and grotesque creature, then hardened- He was no stranger to this, and the soldier in him could keep his head.
'Come on' his eyes willed it dangerously. The gaueko's arms drew back from its body then its forearms reared towards Dean. Long yellowing claws spread from long black human-like fingers. It snarled, nasty jutting teeth glistening in the patches of moonlight and the beams of dropped flashlights and coiled, preparing to lunge again. This time at Dean.
There was a piercing sound, squishy and thick. The gaueko faltered and turned around with a surprised huff. Joe stood behind it, hands on the handle to the silver stake, the other end buried deep into the side of its back. It almost had a look of surprise on its hideous features, then the snarl returned and it whipped around toward Joe, ripping the stake free with a wet tearing sound, flinging it to the ground. Joe's eyes widen as the silver stake doesn't appear to work and now it's even more pissed off.
But then the gaueko stumbled and dropped down on all fours. Its snarl dissipated and it looked confused. It let out heavy wet breaths as it swayed. It looked up at the hunters, lips curling over teeth in one last defiant snarl and fell to the side. Its heavy body landed with a thud on the forest floor and it went still and silent.
The three hunters watched on, bodies relaxing and breaths releasing after a moment. The gaueko was dead.
"Shit," Joe breathed.
"Yeah," Dean said. He was holding his left arm to his side with his right.
Sam looked at his brother, wanting to ask if he's alright, a small flicker of hope that Dean would notice the sincerity, the normality of the simple gesture. Then he thought better of it, sure it wouldn't matter. Instead he settled for the visual confirmation that his brother's was alright and walked over by Joe, standing next to the body.
"Dislocated?" Joe nodded towards the older Winchester's arm.
"Nah, just jarred it." Dean actually looks appreciative at Joe, eyes side-sweeping Sam with that look again. Sam inwardly winces. Damned if he does and damned if he doesn't. How true that saying has become for the younger Winchester, and probably in a very literal way.
"You good?" Joe asked Sam.
Sam nods a yes, but he's not really all that good. Not really at all.
"I thought you were a goner there, son," Kirkley said to Dean who replied, "It was you he wanted for dessert!"
Joe huffed a laugh and was suddenly swept to the ground. Sam looked down at the not-so-dead gaueko then at the machete knocked from his hand on the ground behind it- No go. It started pulling itself up as Joe tried to do the same before it could. Kirkley stumbled to his feet just as the gaueko went for him. With no other options and the need to do something, Sam threw himself into the older hunter, knocking him out of the way.
There wasn't enough time; There wasn't enough space between them; He wasn't really thinking (or maybe he was...) However you try to reason it, it doesn't matter. What matters is that long razor sharp claws raked across Sam's chest and down his side as his body's momentum was lost by the interception. Instantly he felt a searing heat and something wet bloom on his shirt beneath his jacket. Both he and Joe hit the ground with audibly similar thuds. The landing expelled the air out of Sam's lungs.
Dean rushed forward, swinging the blade of the machete down with all of his might between the vertebrae in the monster's neck, but its neck was too thick and the blow didn't sever it completely. Its body flailed, jaws still snapping as Dean stepped on its head to yank the blade free. He swung it down again and one more time, blade freeing completely as the gaueko's head separated and its body went still. A back leg twitched and then it was done. For good this time. Eyes wide, Dean looked to Sam.
Sam was on his back, breathing heavily. His jacket was open, revealing red soaking slashes across his gray t-shirt. He raised his head to look down at them, hands tentatively touching the wounds and groaned. Dean dropped to his knees beside him.
Joe got his bearings and stepped over.
"Sam?" Dean asked. Suddenly Sam was gritting his teeth, cords standing out in his neck.
"Gah!"
"Sam, what is it!?"
Sam grabbed a fistful of the bottom of Dean's shirt. "Burns," he grit out.
Dean and Joe looked at one another. "The venom," Joe stated.
"I thought it was from a bite!"
"We were wrong," Joe replied grimly.
Dean looked back to Sam, hands hovering above him, habitually wanting to assess, to comfort, but they made no move. He did desperately rack his mind for something useful. "Bobby," his mouth blurted out, "Let's get him to Bobby's."
"There's no cure for this," Joe said lowly, just for Dean to hear.
"You don't know that," Dean spat back. They watched as Sam began to writhe and gasp, fingers digging in to the fabric of Dean's shirt and in the dirt, trying to find purchase against the venom.
"God, kid, I don't want to say it, but maybe we should..." Joe whispered by Dean's ear.
Dean went cold and still, eyes wide.
Save Sam or kill him.
Kill him.
Sam dead in his arms in Cold Oak.
He couldn't do it then. He still couldn't fathom doing it now, despite everything. Sam was still Sam. Whether he gave any thought as to whether it was "can't" or "won't," the simple fact was that Sam would not be dying by his or anyone else's hand if he could do something about it.
"No."
"Son..."
Dean lurched forward, grabbing a handful of Joe's shirt, yanking him close. "I'm not your son!" Dean snarled, "He just saved your ass! We're getting him to Bobby's." Dean pushed him away.
Joe merely nodded. He picked up the weapons and stuffed them in the duffel bag as Dean sat Sam up and pulled his arm around his shoulder, hauling him upright and ignoring the pain in his own shoulder. Dean put his other arm around Sam's back. Joe moved in to help and Dean didn't protest. As fast as the two men were capable of going, they worked on making their way back to the cars, practically carrying Sam between them.
The cars finally came into view. Joe slid Sam's arm from around his shoulders, ran to the back door and opened it for Dean. Then strode to the driver's side.
"Keys!" he yelled at Dean. Dean looked at him, brows furrowing fiercely among the whole scenario. "Your arm," Kirkley pointed out.
There was a slight desire for rebuttal but Dean ignored it in favor of Joe's practicality for a faster and less hindered passage. So he reached into his pocket and tossed the keys to Kirkley.
Dean eased Sam's tense body into the seat as Joe started the engine. Sam uncurled himself and slowly descended down across the seat, arms around his middle. Dean spared a second's glance and got into the passenger's seat. In a spray of dirt and gravel, the Impala took off.
PRESENT
Another wave of pain shoots throughout his body. It's excruciating, torturous, and if he were to try, couldn't think of worse that he's had. It's getting near impossible to focus beyond it. The agony wants to take him and it feels as though giving in might be easier. Still he fights it. He grits his teeth, sucks in hard uneven breaths and tries to keep from screaming. He has to focus. He can't give in. It's not who he is. It's not who they are. He's screwed up enough already.
Try as he may, involuntary grunts of effort and moans of torment escape him. He can feel what strength he has waning. He knows he is dying and he is actually scared, but not of death. His strained mind goes back through the years on its own, remembering times of pain and fear, remembering the one thing- the one person- that always willingly gave him the comfort and protection he needed.
Something is broken now and they both know it. But in this moment which is seemingly quickly coming to his last, he needs that. He needs it because he still remembers who had always stepped in front of him and held him as a kid when people would come to the door, threatening to take him away, when he'd have nightmares or when monsters threatened his life. He remembers who was always right there.
And he's not driving the Impala. Dean wouldn't not drive his car. Unless he was totally physically unable to, or more worried about something else. Sam remembers that person that he let down and how deeply he regrets it. It might be beyond fixing but right now, that doesn't matter, because the only thing that does matter is-
"Dean."
...
He hears it. Amidst his racing mind, thudding heart, roar of the Impala's engine as she's pushed to her limits and the agonizing sounds of his brother's struggle to live behind him, he hears it. His name. It's quiet, pain-laden and desperate. He can remember hearing that small voice saying it a thousand times, seeking safety and hope and holding in it complete trust that he could make everything better. It's been a long time since he's heard it like that, and for just a split second, he resents that too. It's become his habit. Resent. Ignore. Blame. But new habits can't overcome a lifetime of instinct.
He's not the only one to ever make a mistake.
His brother has made mistakes, but so has he. He can't make another, not when it still counts, maybe now more than ever. There is something broken here, but the plea in Sam's voice is a familiar pull on his heart that makes him who he is.
That one word is all it takes.
He turns and looks at Sam. His brother is completely spent, but his eyes are bright with pain and desperation. Anger is utterly forgotten in this moment and Dean climbs over the center console to get to Sam. He lifts Sam's shoulders and sits beneath, resettling Sam against him with one arm around his back, phone still clasped in hand like their lifeline, the other across Sam's chest. Sam's features relax a little into relief, but his body is too tense. He's helpless against the waves of spasms that wrack it. Dean can feel the heat radiating from him.
They look at each other for a long moment, Sam's eyes a mixture of pain and thankfulness. Dean's expression is hard and his eyes firm, but there is readable worry behind them.
Then Sam does something that catches Dean off guard, something they haven't done since they were little because there were no chick flick moments allowed. Sam reaches up and grasps Dean's free hand, squeezing it firmly.
For the first time since watching the gaueko attack Sam, fear slams home for Dean. The panic he's been denying, that's been making his heart thrum rapidly, starts to seep out of the pit inside he's been keeping it in. He squeezes Sam's hand back.
Sam forces his eyes to open and look at his brother.
"Dean..."
"No," says Dean, shaking his head, "I don't want to hear it, Sam." Dean can feel the tremors going through his brother in his arms. He looks at Sam and he looks so disappointed that Dean's heart sinks. He realizes how it sounded and feels an inkling of anger towards himself. Your brother is dying and he's trying to make it right. For God sakes, he's dying. Without noticing, his hold tightens around Sam.
"Please," Sam's strained voice pleads, "I didn't mean..."
"I know, Sam, okay," Dean admits, "I know." If this was it, he could give his brother that much. He did know how sorry Sam was. He really did. He just didn't know what to do with it.
"I just... I don't know how..." How to deal with this? Get past it? Fix it? Forgive you? "I just don't know how to do this," he settles for earnestly.
Sam keeps his eyes locked on his brother. His expression is understanding through his pain-lined face. "Me either," he breathes. Dean sighs, closing his eyes. They were both lost in this same thing, but at different ends. Too close and too far from one another.
"I wish we could go back," Sam almost whispers, body relaxing. Dean looks down at him. Sam isn't looking at him anymore. His head leans into Dean's chest and his eyes are closed. Ice grips Dean's heart.
"Sam?" Suddenly Sam's body jerks in his grip. He once again goes rigid as more waves of tremors rip through him. This time they're worse, and Dean knows his brother's body is succumbing to its death.
"Hey!" Dean says loudly, shaking Sam. His eyes don't reopen.
"C'mon, Sam. You don't get to get off that easy." His tone sounds cross, but it's laced with fear. "Sam, c'mon." Nothing but the violent trembling wracking his brother's frame. He looks up at Kirkley. "Go faster," he orders through clenched teeth. Kirkley looks back, sees the anxious and stone hard look in Dean's eyes and mashes his foot down on the accelerator.
"Sam," Dean calls, shaking him once more. Sam's breaths are becoming more erratic, fighting to pull in air he can't seem to get enough of. Dean readjusts his arms more around him. He lowers his head, stubbled cheek brushing the top of Sam's hair.
"Don't let go, Sam."
Not like this. Not with all of this between us.
His phone rings, startling him and pulling him back. Bobby. He answers.
"Dean?" Bobby says, questioning the situation.
At first Dean doesn't hear him. The only thing he can see is Sam's pale face, etched with agony. Then Bobby shouts his name and sounds so much like his father barking an order. It works.
"There's no time," Dean says with sorrowful realization, "He's not gonna make it." His voice breaks with the words.
The older man swears disbelievingly on the other end.
"Don't you dare give up, boy!" The older hunter commands. "Dean, now you listen to me. Stop. Stop now. You need to combine Sam's blood with the gaueko's and yarrow. I have the Biscayan spell. When I'm done, your blood goes in, then light it up. He needs to ingest the ashes. You do this Dean. Sam's still got a chance."
Bobby's authoritative tone brought his mind back where it needed to be thanks to years of his father's training. Dean thought frantically. How the hell was he supposed to get the gaueko's blood? Its body was miles behind. How could he do this?
"Pull over!" he shouts to Kirkley. The tires screech along the asphalt, protesting the abrupt halt.
Dean pulls himself out from underneath his brother and is opening the door before the car stops and runs to the trunk. He rummages, finds the bowl, dried yarrow for summoning spells, matches and drops them on the ground next to the car. Joe is getting out, "What the hell are you doing?"
"He's not going to make it to Bobby's. But I think we have everything we need right here. Help me."
Dean hurries over to the back seat and starts pulling Sam out by his shoulders. Joe grabs under one of his arms and helps Dean lower him to the cold ground next to the road. He isn't moving now, not even a shiver.
Dean ignores this and the fear with it that will be his and his brother's downfall. He has a job to do and he's going to get it done.
He brings the matches, spell bowl and yarrow and sets it next to Sam. He sets his phone down on speaker and hurriedly crushes up the dried yarrow he pulled from the trunk with his hand in the bowl then takes out his knife. Not letting himself be distracted by emotion, Dean runs the blade of his pocket knife across Sam's palm. He slides the bowl underneath and turns Sam's hand over, squeezing it until blood trickles in. Then he does the same to his own.
"Dean?" he hears Bobby question anxiously over the speaker.
Dean ignores him and instead tells Joe, "Get me the blade with the gaueko's blood." Joe returns from the car a few seconds later. Dean scrapes the drying blood from the gaueko off of the blade and into the bowl with the back edge of his knife.
"Dean!" Bobby yells impatiently.
"Go, Bobby," Dean pulls a match out of the box and poises the head over the striking paper as Bobby reads the Biscayan verse. Dean has no idea what the words mean and he doesn't care so long as they work.
Suddenly Bobby finishes and is saying, "Now, Dean." Automatic and obeying, Dean strikes the match and drops it into the bowl. The dried yarrow takes up fast despite the blood and defying the normal laws of fire, there is a burst of green flame and it goes out, leaving only bits of charred yarrow behind floating in the hot blood.
"Get it down him, Dean," Bobby tells him. Dean pushes Sam's upper half up against him, Sam's back against his chest. He tips Sam's head back with a hand under his chin and carefully pours the contents of the spell into his mouth. He puts his palm over Sam's throat and works the ashes down.
When the bowl is empty, Dean sets it aside and waits, looking into Sam's slack features with his hands on his arms. Nothing is happening.
"What's going on, Dean?" he hears Bobby ask him. Dean places the tips of his fingers against Sam's neck. There's nothing there.
"No," Dean breathes in disbelief, "No." He had done everything the spell required. Grant it it was a litte improvised, but it was all there. It had to work.
"Sam," he calls as sternly as he can and shakes his brother. Still nothing. He places his palm over Sam's chest and feels the same.
"Sam!" More anxious. He starts to breath heavily.
"This isn't happening. I'm not gonna let it." Dean speaks aloud, not even aware he is doing so. He lowers Sam back on the ground and kneels next to him. He laces his fingers together and begins chest compressions.
"You know why? Because you don't get to quit. You screwed up royally. Maybe we both did, but it's on us to make it right. You don't get to quit us. You hear me, Sam?"
He speaks absently and angrily, but tears are streaming down his face. He is unaware of it all. He can only focus on pushing with everything he has down on Sam's chest- He would wake up.
Joe watches on in grim amazement. On the other end of Dean's phone, Bobby is silently listening to the scene unfolding that he can't see. Every ounce of him wanting to be there with the boys but unable to be.
Dean pauses and looks at Sam. It isn't working. He is exhausted and helpless. He is losing Sam all over again.
"Sam!" Anger becomes desperation and he resumes compressions, unmercifully pumping his fists against his brother's heart above his already damaged chest.
"Dean," Joe says softly and pulls at Dean's arm to get him to stop.
"Back off!" Dean growls. At the bright and wildly dangerous look in Dean's eye, Joe does. Dean turns his attention back to Sam.
Then suddenly Sam is taking in a breath and doing so makes him cough uncontrollably, but right now it's the best sound Dean's ever heard because Sam is alive. Dean pulls him up towards him. He puts a hand on the top of his head.
"Told ya you don't get to quit that easy, Sammy," he says quietly, unable to stop the old endearing nickname from coming out. He sits there content for a moment, feeling Sam's chest expand against him. Sam's breathing is harsh, but he's not straining or writhing. The venom is gone, but that still leaves... Dean looks down at the gashes. They're still bleeding but seem to have slowed. Thank God for big favors.
"Boys?" Bobby questions, voice breaking.
"It's okay, Bobby. He's okay. He's okay." Dean repeated it as if to reassure himself as well. He was vaguely aware he was shaking.
Bobby sighs audibly with relief. "Thank god."
"Bobby... Thanks."
"It's what I'm here for," he replies, voice regaining a more steady tone.
"I'll call you later."
"You'd better. Take care of your brother." Dean hangs up.
Always do, he thought. Even now. It wasn't the first time he'd been told that and it probably wouldn't be the last. But he never needed to be told, except for maybe when he did, and Bobby knew that. Dean just held on, feeling Sam's back expand against his chest, still heavy, but not labored, not hinged with terrible pain.
"We need to get those taken care of," Joe says gesturing to the claw wounds on Sam's chest. Dean had forgotten the other hunter was there.
...
They took Sam to the hospital for the wounds and told the doctors the old bear attack story, which they bought easily. Somewhat to Dean's surprise, Joe sat and waited with Dean.
"Just want to make sure he's good," he'd said, "He saved my life." Something in Joe's tone called for Dean's attention, as if he were reminding Dean about that fact instead of the other way around earlier. He looked at him.
"I know." He had said it low, but there was a hint of pride. That was Sam. That was HIS Sam. Dean began to think now that there wasn't another Sam. The good and bad had both been wrapped up in his brother. Maybe Dean had been too busy worrying about the lies, what Sam was doing and comparing him to the "other" or "old" Sam, that he wasn't really seeing his brother. He had given everything for Sam, and Sam had hurt him more than anything else could, and set the Devil loose on the world as a topper. And the kid had been moping around and walking on eggshells ever since.
"Maybe you should cut the kid some slack," Joe says. Caught off guard, Dean's look of confusion transitions into a warning glare that says 'keep out of it.'
"You suggested we put him out of his misery," spat Dean distastefully, eyes flickering.
"And I was wrong." Joe admitted with sincere humility. The fierceness in the younger man's eyes died down, but the glare was still there.
"Hey," the older man says throwing up his hands, "I don't mean to overstep my bounds here, kid. Your brother's a good man, and I'm guessing he has you to mostly thank for that. I can see it in the way he looks at you: He looks up to you. And I've seen somethin' else in you when you look at him. Now I know that I don't know exactly what happened," Though his tone held a suspicion, "But after watching you back there, I would think it's worth trying to work out."
Dean looked down, at a loss to any reaction as Kirkley's words echo in his head. A doctor calls for Sam Raimi's family. Dean stands and meets him.
"He's out of surgery and getting ready to be transferred to a recovery room. Luckily there was no damage to any of his organs. We repaired the abdominal muscle and he should bounce back just fine in time." Dean sighed. He'd been worried about not stopping the venom in time and it causing permanent damage. Thank God for Bobby.
"When can I see him?"
"I'll let you know when we have everything situated. Should be about an hour. It will probably be a while before he wakes up from the anesthetic."
"Thanks," Dean said.
"Sure." The doctor left. Dean ran a hand down his face.
"Good to hear," Joe says.
"Yeah," Dean says, "In the meantime, I have some business to take care of."
"We do," Joe corrected.
Sam was okay and he was glad, but Dean needed to get away right now, to focus on something else. Otherwise everything he was feeling was going to overwhelm him and drive him mad.
…
"You don't have to come, you know," Dean tells Joe as they walk through the woods back to the creature's remains.
"I like to see a job through."
At last the beams of their flash lights strike the gaueko's form laying on the forest floor.
Joe went to work gathering some kindling. Dean paused and looked at the headless body with detest. Joe saw and waited a few seconds before walking over and throwing a pile of wood down.
Dean had been intentionally quiet with the hope that the older hunter would be too. He must have picked up on it because he was. They worked together silently. Joe doused the gauko's body with lighter fluid. Dean lit a match and tossed it gladly to the monster, feeling a deep satisfaction when the flames caught and the smell of putrid burning flesh began to fill the air. He walked over, picked the head up by one ear and tossed it into the flames.
He tried to keep his mind blank, but it kept coming back to Sam: Seeing him exorcising a demon with his powers; His mouth covered with demon blood; His back as he turned and walked out on him; His face in the chapel when he'd told Dean he was sorry; The stunned look he wore when Dean had told him he didn't think he could trust him; The look on his face in the back seat of the Impala as he lay bleeding with venom burning through his body and called for Dean.
'Nothing bad is going to happen to you while I'm around'
'He said I might have to kill you, Sammy'
'I'm a better hunter than you'
'You do this Dean. Sam's still got a chance'
What a fucking mess.
...
"You headin' out?" Dean asks Kirkley as they exited the woods and he went to his car.
"Yeah. Job's done and you got a brother to get back to." He steps towards Dean.
"I wasn't tryin' to butt in earlier."
"No?" Dean quirks an eyebrow.
"Just calling it as I see it." Joe shrugs. "Seriously though, thanks for your help on this one. I owe you big," he said extending his hand. Dean shook it.
"I'll be in touch when your brother's feelin' better. I'm glad he's gonna be alright."
"Thanks," Dean repeated.
"Well I gotta tell you somethin" Kirkley said in a confession-like tone. Dean looked at him inquisitively.
"I just wanted to drive your car," the older hunter ribbed, smiling.
Dean scoffed and Joe walked back over to the driver's side door of his car as Dean walked to his. Joe paused.
"Hey, kid?"
Dean turned.
"That job I worked with your dad- He mentioned you boys..." He seemed to be recalling it in his mind's eye. "He was proud of you. Both of you," he told Dean with deliberate affirmation. "I can see why."
Dean's mouth tightened and he nodded.
"Just callin' it as I see it," Joe repeated with a light hearted smile. "Take care, Winchester."
"Yeah, you too," Dean replied. He watched as the older hunter got into his car. It backfired with another plume of black. Joe gave a wave as he drove by. Dean gestured back, eyes catching a large patch of duct tape on the side of the rear bumper. He stood there a moment in the dark and breathed a deep breath of the chilled air, closing his eyes. He looked down at the key in his hand and walked over to the Impala. He still had a brother to get back to.
...
He checked the front desk back at the hospital to see what room Sam had been moved into.
"Mr. Raimi."
Dean looked up to see Sam's doctor.
"Your brother's awake now. He asked about you. Room 119, down the hall, make a right," the doctor said before Dean could even ask.
Dean stood in the doorway of Sam's room. Sam lay with his head turned away as though he were sleeping.
"Sam?"
Sam's eyes blink open and he turns his head slowly towards Dean. "Hey," he says as Dean walks in, "You, uh, take care of the gaueko?"
"Yeah. It's a pile of ash now."
"Joe?"
"He's good. He'll be in touch. Says he owes us one."
Sam nods. Even that gesture seems to display guilt. Dean thinks about reassuring him, but he doesn't. Silence stretches.
"You feel okay?" Dean inquires.
Sam sits up straighter with a small grunt. "Yeah. Just a couple of broken ribs."
"Sorry," Dean tells him, lowering his gaze.
"Thanks for what you did for me," Sam says after a moment.
"Yeah," Dean replies. Sam thanking him for saving his life and his response of, "yeah," was as though it was being said between two random people. Were things really this bad? Dean sees Sam's face fall and thinks how he might be getting tired of seeing him wear that defeated expression.
"I might not be able to let it go, Sam, but I'm not letting you go either." Dean isn't able to meet Sam's eyes as he says it. It's the closest thing to reassurance or what they had that he can offer right now.
"I'm not quitting, you know."
Dean looks up, taken aback a bit. Sam had heard him back on that road.
"I know."
Of course he knew. Sam wouldn't keep trying to apologize and make it right and go along with Dean treating him like shit if he was giving up.
"Before... I wanted to. I wanted to give up on it all. I was so obsessed that I didn't care who I hurt."
"Yeah. I got that message."
Sam's hit with another pang of guilt. "I can only say I'm sorry so many times."
Dean sighs. "And I can only say, "I know" so many times Sam, but it doesn't fix everything."
"No, it doesn't," Sam acknowledges, "I'm just trying to start somewhere, but I can't if you won't let me."
Dean considers this. He looks at Sam. His brother's eyes are wanting, hopeful against fear of rejection. He sees his Sam, or maybe he just sees Sam. Once again he hears Sam's plea of his name in his head. He doesn't know how they could be what they were, but Dean nods.
"I don't know if I can, Sam, but maybe it could be a start," he says softly.
Sam's face lightens as he looks at his brother. His eyes are grateful and hopeful. At the sight, Dean feels something in him lighten a little too, but he knows it's a long road ahead, and there's no telling what's waiting down it. But Sam is alive, and for now, that's enough.