Invisible Ink

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All rights to the show belong to the CW and Eric Kripke, my personal god after Joss Whedon. *smiles*

Summary: Sam and Dean both reflect on the hurt and revelation brought on by the apocalypse. Spoilers for 5.03.

One Week after the end of "Free to Be You and Me"

Sam entered Hoyt's, glancing around for Lindsey before he could stop himself. It had been a week since the attack, and she still hadn't spoken to him. There had been a brief thank you as he uncuffed her, and then she'd fled from the bar. He'd worried that she'd report him to the police, but after a sleepless night and still no cops, he'd relaxed. Until the next day, that was.

She refused to look at him, speak to him, or come closer than 3 feet unless absolutely necessary. When he'd tried to talk with her about what happened, come up with some sort of excuse, she'd just looked at him and walked away. That had hurt. It had also reminded him that hunting, while in his blood, had its price. And that his current predicament was his own fault.

Then he'd gotten his last visit from Jessica.

At least, he'd thought it was Jessica.

Ignoring the utter revulsion trying to crawl out of his skin and cover the bar floor, he headed for the back of the bar and got to work. Check glasses, they're clean. Cut fresh lemon and lime slices. Make sure the kegs are full. They have a fresh supply of Bud, Miller, Coors, and Sam Adams. Simple tasks that had become habit over the week or so he'd been here.

Sam refused to acknowledge that he knew where each patron was in the bar, and how fast he could get to the flask of holy water he kept under the counter from any point in the room (5 seconds maximum). Hunting, demon blood, and all that went with it were part of his old life. He was Keith, a normal guy with a boring job who lived a normal life.

You're his vessel.

The thought floated through his mind for the millionth time since he'd woken up and Sam flinched, nearly dropping the glass he was cleaning. He felt like he should be wearing a sign, something written into his skin that let him and everyone else know who he was, what he was, and what he'd done.

You're his vessel.

It was there, hidden under his skin in all the choices he'd made. In what he'd told Lindsey, at least the highly edited version. In what he'd told the three hunters.

It's in your blood.

And he refused to believe it, couldn't believe it. Because that would mean there was no forgiveness, no chance for him to change, no recovery for Dean and him.

Dean.

That was another thing. He'd done some research on Michael when they'd found out Dean was his vessel. According to the lexicon, Michael and Lucifer were brothers in Heaven. Now wasn't that just dandy.

I won't fight my brother. Not again. Sam tightened his hand on the bar top, strengthening his resolve at the statement. He wouldn't betray his brother like that again. He wouldn't lose himself like that again.

But it's always been you, the voice inside his head whispered. It's something no one but Lucifer and you can see, and now Dean. It's under your skin. It's a part of you.

Sam ignored the voice, throwing himself into work with a determination born of desperation.

I will not let him in. I can change. I have to.

*****************************************

These days it seemed all Dean did was drive. He drove to the next case, to the next motel, to the next hideout where Raphael and his Ninja Turtle buddies couldn't find him. Driving, constantly driving.

Always alone.

That was the other thing, the silence. Besides his brief rendezvous with Castiel, Dean was alone. He surrounded himself with noise, though. Music in the car, the t.v. constantly blaring, even running water or crinkling paper while he was in a diner.

The silence still drove him insane.

He had become so used to Sam, so used to having someone who knew his every thought, action, and word before he even spoke it, that without that it was worse than being naked. He felt like he was missing a limb.

A limb you can't trust.

He'd told Castiel the truth, partially, during their car ride together. He couldn't trust Sam, and he didn't know if Sam working out his issues on his own would help. They'd had a knockdown, drag out brawl before Dean was whisked away and Sam went to find Lilith. Dean had even tried to reconcile with him, and Sam still trusted a demon over his own brother. Time apart was like putting a band aid on a burn wound, a very temporary fix.

But you're still not happy.

And Dean wasn't happy. He felt it inside, and felt like that marked him. Like he carried that unhappiness, that mild insanity, carved underneath his skin.

You still worry about him.

Yes, he worried about Sam on the hunt. He worried about Sam even now, whether he cared to admit it out loud or not. No matter the damage, they were still brothers and knew each other better than most twins. Distancing himself from Sam had allowed him to focus skills on the hunt that he'd previously used to worry about his brother. But he'd lost a vital asset at the same time. He'd lost an extra pair of eyes; ears; a gut instinct that knew his moves.

He'd lost his companionship. He'd lost his brother.

Shrugging off the feelings of nostalgia and depression that threatened to swarm him, Dean focused on the road ahead. He was still outrunning an archangel hell bent on giving him to Michael, and Dean didn't feel like becoming vegetable soup anytime soon. He had Castiel, an angel with more knowledge about the apocalypse than he and Sam combined. And Cas wasn't half bad for a member of the heavenly host. Dean would be fine without his brother.

You're not fine. Under your skin, you're screaming.

AN: So tell me what you think. I just had this piece floating around in my head after I heard Sam and Dean talking in 5.03. There's obviously angst with Sam after learning he's Lucifer's real vessel, and I felt Dean's confession to Castiel in the Impala had truth, but some denial in it as well. I tried to stick to character, and if I'm off in some respect, constructive criticism is welcome.

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