Here's something I wrote a while ago. I haven't been on here in a while or updated (I think it's been a month :S) and I know some people are waiting for the next chapter of Sam I Will Be and other fics, but I'm back now and I'll do my best to update. Anyway, this is an AU for 10x03 because I don't think I've ever written demon!Dean.
This is gory and depressing, plenty of horror. You've been warned.
He isn't fast enough. It was a stupid mistake, but isn't Sam the master of stupid mistakes? He was looking behind when he should have been looking forward. The moment he does, the hammer flies out of nowhere.
He doesn't feel it at first. For a small second he doesn't feel anything, then he feels something hot and wet gush down the side of his face. There's ringing so loud that he can't hear what his brother, or the thing that used to be his brother, is saying.
Sam goes down like stones over the edge of a cliff. The hard floor of the bunker smacks his ribs hard enough to suck the air out of him. Sam's breath is gone, he can't see or hear, he can only feel the smashed part of his head.
"… a champ," sound is coming back and he can hear Dean laughing, "Taking it like a champ, Sammy!"
Sam lifts an uncoordinated hand. He reaches forward, feels for anything, he finds the ground and begins to drag himself along.
"I'll give you a head start, what do you say?" Dean says, "I'll give you ten minutes then I'll come find you. Just like when we were kids, Sammy, don't you love the nostalgia?"
Sam grunts with the effort it takes to crawl. He can't lift his belly off the ground. He can't see straight. Everything has split into countless pieces, the corridor splits in five directions. He has to scramble his hands out and feel his way along. If Dean is giving him ten minutes, Sam will never make it, he won't even make three steps in ten minutes.
Sam prays, or he tries to, he has trouble putting words together, even in his head. Help please Cas now need you please… lost, I'm lost.
"Slow and steady wins the race, am I right, Sammy?" Dean yells, laughing, "If you keep it up, you might make it to the end of the hallway in an hour!"
Sam grits his teeth together, feels his brain screaming at him from inside his cracked skull. He forces himself up and ends up falling back to his knees a few times. On shaking limbs, he manages to make it onto his feet and he staggers around to corner.
He doesn't know where he's going. For some reason he's having trouble navigating the bunker. With a skull that's not leaking, he knows every hidden crack and crevice. He needs to get to… what's that room called again? The… book room? Why does he need to go there?
Sam can't think so he walks, and stumbles and stutters. He ends up in the… kitchen, yeah, and he… isn't sure where to go now. He wants to give up, let his brains leak out, it would be so much simpler. But Dean would never forgive him, not the real Dean, the one he's supposed to save. If Sam is gone then who will save Dean?
"Oh, Sammy!" he hears his brother call. Sam can't tell where the sound is coming from or how far away it is. He keeps going, staggers out of the kitchen and into the hall, a few, long steps and into the library. Library, that's the right word. He forces himself up the stairs and over to the first bookcase on the left.
Sam's lucky this bit of information didn't slip out of his skull yet. He finds the right book, slips his hand behind it and tugs a small lever. There's a click and the bookcase nudges backwards. Sam slips himself inside and pushes it closed.
He'd never told Dean about this discovery, he's not sure why, but he's glad he didn't. He feels along the wall and lets himself sink down onto the ground. The room is small but it's big enough to hide at least five people. There are some boxes and jars lining a shelf at the back. Sam never had a chance to examine them, he crawls over and feels at them. Staring at the labels, he realises he can't read the words, the letters jumble and slide off the paper.
Sam gives up, lays down on the dusty floor and lets his head bleed.
He tried, at least he tried. He'd rather die knowing that.
By some miracle, Cas could fix this. If anyone can fix this mess then it's Cas.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Dean bellows. Sam closes his eyes, he hopes he can drift off before Dean finds him and pulls bits of him off at his own sweet pace. But of course, Sam's hope has never counted for anything. His prayers have always gone unanswered, why would someone be listening now?
There's shuffling on the other side of the bookcase, then heavy thuds, then the wood cracks.
"There you are!" Dean exclaims, he peers through the gap, "I actually thought I might not find you. This is a good hiding spot, Sammy."
"Don'," Sam mumbles into the floor, "Not… y-yooou."
"W-w-what was that, Sammy?" Dean mimics, the grin stretched across his face is unnatural. "Cat got your tongue?"
Sam closes his eyes, prays to anyone listening, he receives no answer. When he opens his eyes, Dean is nose-to-nose. He drags Sam out into the library by his busted arm. Sam screams once the pain registers and Dean laughs, hauls him up onto the table like a rag-doll.
"Hmmm, your arm does not look good," Dean says, frowning. He taps the blood-slicked hammer against his palm in a way that's almost gentle. "We should do something about that."
Sam watches him turn away, sees Dean move towards one of the swords sitting on display on one of the shelves. Sam can't move his legs, they twitch like they aren't attacked. And his good arm flails out, frantic, grasping at nothing.
"P-pleeease," Sam moans, "M'begging youuu."
Dean turns around and his eye are black, he swings the sword by his side, slow and careful, and saunters back over. "I'm only trying to help, kiddo," he says, everything about the way he speaks rings false. It's all so wrong. Dean strokes a hand over Sam's cheek, then up to his temple. Sam cries out when Dean pokes at the wound.
"That doesn't look good either," he muses, "Should fix that too, huh? It's only best to cut away the bad bits."
Sam grunts and tries to jerk away but Dean grabs him by the neck and holds him still. "Nuh-uh, Sammy," he growls, "Remember, brother knows best."
Dean cuts into his shoulder and starts grinding away at the flesh. Sam screams until his throat is raw and everything is beginning to disappear into a flood of black. Right before he closes his eyes, he sees bright, blue light.
Nothing hurts when Sam comes back to himself. He feels softness all around him, something cool on his brow, someone talking with soft words. The talking stops for a moment and Sam feels the bed dip.
"Sam, are you with me?" It's Cas, his voice is breathless and worried. Sam frowns and peels his eyes open. His vision clears and he sees Cas smile down at him. "I would thank God," he says, "But I don't think he was any help here."
Sam rolls his head on the pillow, he's in his bed in his room in the bunker. It takes a long while to remember. "Dean!" he croaks, jerking upwards.
Cas pushes him back onto the bed. "He's cured. He's not here right now, I thought that would be for the best."
"Where is he? Is he okay?" Sam asks.
Cas closes his eyes for a long moment and shakes his head, muttering, "Winchesters."
"Please, Cas."
"He's fine... he's human," Cas relents. "But I think it would be better if he doesn't see you until you're better, for both of you."
Sam nods. He doesn't want to see Dean, not right now. He doesn't think he would be capable of looking his brother in the eyes, even if they're not black anymore. He glances around the room and startles when he notices a woman standing by the door.
"That's Hannah," Cas tells him. "She did most of the healing where I wasn't able, she got you to safety while I locked Dean down."
Sam nods, turns to Hannah and smiles as much as he can. "Thank you."
She nods but stays quiet. Sam turns back to Cas. "How bad is it?" he asks.
Cas lets out a deep sigh and pulls the cold cloth away from Sam's forehead. "When we got here, Dean was in the middle of… performing an amputation, we stopped him before it was too late. Your arm was salvageable but I'm not sure you'll ever be able to use it like you once could, we'll see. As for your head wound, you were bleeding on your brain and would have died if we hadn't arrived when we did. We healed that but it left a scar. I'm sorry, we aren't capable of what we used to be, not since the fall."
Sam places his good hand over Cas'. "It's okay, don't worry. Thank you for everything."
Cas returns the gesture and clasps Sam's hand between both of his. It's much like their first meeting, they've come a long way since then. "I'll let you rest, Sam."
"I don't know if I can," Sam admits. Cas cracks a gentle smile and places two fingers to Sam's temple and –
Sam wakes up in the dark, his door is open a little and a sliver of light falls through from the hallway. A shadow flickers and Sam gasps, struggling to sit up right. The light flicks on and Dean steps in, his movements a slow, tight, hesitant.
"Sorry," he says, staring at the floor, "I didn't mean to wake you… I'll go."
"Wait," Sam blurts, Dean pauses and turns around, "It wasn't you."
Dean shakes his head. "Look at you, Sam, I almost killed you. I was going to kill you."
"It wasn't you," Sam insists, "It was a demon, not my brother."
"Maybe you believe that but…" Dean drops his gaze, rubs at his inner arm. "This mark… it's making me into something... I'm dangerous, Sam, I can't…"
A tear escapes and makes its slow way down Dean's cheek, he rubs it away.
"I'm going to cure you," Sam says.
"You can try."
"I will."
"Sammy…"
"No," Sam snaps, "You don't get to give up. Not after everything. You don't get to give up when you're all I have left, got it?"
"Sam…"
"No!" Sam yells with more strength than he thought he had. "You don't get to leave me alone in this shit-storm of a world. You don't get to give up, not after everything that's happened. I almost died at your hands."
Dean flinches.
"It wasn't you but you would have carried that guilt, just like I do with Kevin. If you care for me even a little, then you will believe in me the same way I believe in you."
"I do believe in you," Dean says, his voice is soft.
"Then let me help you," Sam pleads, "Let me save you."
Dean takes a few tentative steps forward, then sits on the end of the bed. He stays there for a moment, silent, then hunches forward and weeps. Sam kicks the bed covers away and shuffles to the end of the bed. His arm is stiff and lame at his side, but he uses his other arm to rub Dean's back.
"I'm so sorry, Sammy," Dean cries. Sam just shushes him.
"I'll fix you," Sam promises, and he believes it.
A/N Take a moment to leave a review if you can :)