'Dean, come on, the witch isn't gonna kill itself.'
Sam put the bed side lamp on, invading Dean's blissful darkness behind his eye lids, and started to pack up. The kid was already dressed. Oh how Dean longed for those short hours of sleep. His body ached, his muscles worn and torn. Even though Sam objected to it, Dean was making more and more of an effort in taking the most stressful parts of the job; being the first in, the last out, the killings. He knew it wouldn't change anything, but doing so helped Dean to cope, even if it was only a little bit. Ever since that day, Sam has been regressing further and further into his memories of the pit.
With the memories being too much of a burden to bare, Sam quit sleeping, when they were most likely to pop up.
Yeah, Dean could relate.
Sam used to mutter in his sleep, Dean noticed. The cries, the names; Dean, Bobby, Dad, Jess, even Ruby popped up sometimes, then Sam would use those names to cry for help, help against the names that were called out, as Dean recognised, with outright fear; Lucifer, Michael, Azazel , and although Sam never mentioned it, Dean knew he feared the one that caused this unnecessary suffering.
He could tell by the way Sam whispered his name before jolting awake.
...
'Sam, would ya slow down, you're acting like a little kid hyped up on candy.'
Well, it was true. Sam was literally hopping to the Impala. Actually, Sam said hopping. Dean went more along the lines of skipping which Sam totally objected to. Still didn't quit doing it though.
Dean ruggedly trotted behind Sam who was eager to get out and hunt. Sam missed this, the only time when he can get out his frustrations without Dean looking so worried. This hunt seemed easy enough; a wannabe legendary witch reaching out of its league, using black magic to reach its goal.
The Winchesters have other ideas.
'Well, just hurry up, or are your old legs holding you back, Dean?' Sam teased, hearing a whispered 'bitch' behind him.
Dean was holding the bag with the witch killing equipment, plus a few snacks, because of course, Sam was travelling with Dean and Dean wasn't about to get into his baby without the security of knowing food wasn't all that far away. Opening the Impala door, Sam shuffled himself into his designated seat, trying to remember the last case they went on without this constant weight in his mind, when a low chuckle seeped behind him.
'It's never going to change Sam. It's always going to be me and you, all alone up in there.'
He could feel a slight tapping on his head. He jerked away, hoping to rid himself of the vile feeling but there was still the lingering burn that he always felt in Lucifer's presence.
'Hey Sammy, you alright?'
Sam glanced over at his older brother, silently surprised by the forgotten presence. Typically, the only emotion residing on his face was worry.
Not the same Dean.
Not the same Dean.
Not the same Dean who watched gleefully as his pet angel and Lucifer tore at his throat and mind, urging them on.
'Hey Sammy, we can always get Bobby to call some friends to check up on this if you're not up for it'.
He looked at Sam with that warm and strong smile.
Not the same Dean.
...
They ended up not taking the case. After half a dozen flip outs from Sam violently whispering 'Shut up' to the back seat and nearly getting out of the car while still speeding at 60 mph, Dean had enough and was determined to put his brother first before anything else. It was the least he deserved after the crap Dean had put him through. So he pulled the steering wheel and headed back to their very temporary home. The heavy weight in Dean's chest only grew heavier as he glanced over at his younger brother but the sudden disappointment in Sam's eyes was not enough to sway Dean from his decision. Sam was going to rest, whether he liked it or not.
As the door unlocked and annoyingly creaked open, the brothers wordlessly split into separate rooms. Sam sulked into the bedroom and Dean marched himself into the kitchen. Neither brother went to flick on any lights, the atmosphere matching their moods and possibly their life. Gloomy and shit. Dean thought the cheap motel room looked like crap in the light, with stains on the walls and crap still left in the freezer but they were low on money so they couldn't exactly get up and leave. In the dark, the streetlights highlighted the fact that there was garbage everywhere from bins to an abandoned and rusty truck.
Dean sat on the plastic chair, the leg cracked and looking like to was about to break. Unstable. Just like the Winchesters. From where Dean was slouching in the kitchen, he could see Sam collapsed on the bed out of exhaustion through the crack of the door. It wouldn't be long though.
After a few beers and a few episodes of Dr. Sexy, Dean clumsily attempted to get into bed. Instead, he fell onto it on his side, legs drooping from the side. It was almost guaranteed that the snort-like snoring could be heard from down the street.
...
It was the same dream.
Lucifer on one side, Michael on the other. Both smiling gleefully at their meat bag, a way of entertainment. Red, red, red all around him. Sometimes Sam liked to think he was just closing his eyes from a bright light. That made it easier for the trapped Winchester, except for when the black clouds came. Sam could just make out the clouds of sins, that's what Michael called them, banging themselves against the sides of the Cage, desperate to free their unmerciful master. But Sam knew that they were never getting in. Just like Sam knew he was never getting out.
Sam could already feel his soul dimming, his hope of ever getting out diminishing. They stripped a piece of skin off Sam's restrained arm, one at a time, piece by piece. From his shoulder to his wrist. Sam tried his best to hold back the forceful screams and pleas but the hell fire burning sensations which spread like wild fire down his arm was too much. It fed into his soul. He could handle the nails wrenched from his fingers and toes. He could handle the broken legs and arms and the constant drowning sensation but all of the above was associated with a burning so fierce it felt like Sam's limbs were going black, were dropping off, numb.
There was another thing.
The movement of tan and leather caught Sam's attention from the burning, the intense aching and the gleeful laughing from Lucifer. And what Sam saw made his stomach churn and if he could still scream he would yell blindly to the parasite standing beside his brother. The angel.
Castiel was standing shoulder to shoulder beside Dean, whispering into his ear words that Sam couldn't make out but Castiel's grin only grew wider when Dean responded with an empty laugh. Two pairs of soulless eyes glanced their way to the weary and defeated Winchester on the rack. One pair a cold blue, the other a stainless black.
Dean looked to Castiel expectantly, waiting for the order. Sam watched as Castiel briefly glanced at him, eyes glistening with excitement, before he gave a curt nod towards Dean, allowing him to make his move.
It was all clear to Sam now. Castiel was parasite, a disease, infecting and persuading Dean into taking the path that Sam not so long ago chose to walk off of. Demon Highway. But it was too late, Sam was in hell and his brother, destroyed. Demon Dean was making his way to Sam with a cruel and knowing grin painted on his face. Castiel not too far away, still whispering to Dean what he should do to his little brother. The two archangels dispersed from their positions, leaving enough space for Dean to do his work.
Dean leant right into Sam's face, gripping his blood matted hair and whispered;
'Y'know, I've learnt from the best down here, Sammy. It took a bit of time and persuasion,' Dean glanced towards the three angels then carefully examined a huge, jagged edged clip point blade, ' but I get it now Sammy. I get it,' Dean's empty eyes latched onto Sam's and growled, 'and I really can't wait to show you.'
Dean raised his knife.
Sam screamed hoarsely.
The angels laughed.
...
'SAM!'
'Sam come on man, snap out of it!'
'Dammit Sam! Please!'
Dean was panicking.
Sam was on the floor, shaking like hell. His eyes were wide with unconscious fear, bloodshot. Dean has never seen someone go through a fit before and he was sure as hell that he never wanted to see it again. This was the one thing Dean hated feeling.
Helpless.
Especially for his brother.
Sam continued to helplessly suffer through the continuous convulsions, small whimpers showing distress. So Dean sat next to Sam, who was lying on the bed thanks to Dean instead of the cold wooden floor of the motel, waiting for the convulsions to settle down. He rested a shaking hand onto his little's brother's sweaty and boiling forehead, shushing him in comfort. He knew all he could do now was this.
That was another thing Dean hated.
Waiting.
He hoped Sammy knew he was right there next to him.
He didn't like the small groans escaping his brother's lips either as he was hopelessly thrown across the bed without any control over himself.
It was because of that damn wall breaking.
It was all because of him.
Dean held back a frustrated growl and groaned, putting his head between his hands, and resting on his knees. It was only yesterday Sam was jumping up and down like a little girl seeing her first pony. And now he was resorted to this. His health was deteriorating so fast that Dean couldn't keep up.
It scared the hell out of him.
...
Sam didn't get up from bed that day. Dean assumed it was because of the mental wall breaking and the seizure, but something didn't seem right.
Sammy was quiet.
There was no usual mumblings of his constant reminders that he's out of the cage, that Lucifer cannot harm him. Instead Sam just stared at the ceiling, blinking so slowly that Dean thought each time Sam had fallen asleep, only to have them open again and the awkwardness return to the room. Dean busied himself with research. He didn't want Sam stressing himself out even more.
He made Sam dinner, well, he bought Sam dinner. He liked Chicken salad, didn't he? This left Dean confused to the fact that Sam just laid on his back without a glance towards his usual healthy food choice. Dean hoped that finally Sammy had developed a craving for the more awesome, meatier choice of a hamburger and fries but knew it was a lost cause.
He was always stubborn.
But he was never like this.
The last though sent a shiver through Dean and left a suffocating weight in his chest.
If he didn't eat his salad, he was going to force it down him. For the past few weeks Sam was hardly eating. It was becoming too noticeable; the sharp ribs, the shallow breaths. He wouldn't explain why but his silence only left Dean feeling uneasy. No, it left Dean feeling downright sick.
Yeah, Dean could fix a deep gash on the arm, broken bones if they're not completely snapped. He could even help fix an addiction or help get through guilt. But he couldn't do this. Anything but this. Sam wasn't only hurting himself, he was torturing Dean. That's why Dean did the sacrificing, yelling at Sam if he tried to take the role as the protective brother. Where Sam was standing, taking in all the crap. That, that's where Dean should be. Not Sammy.
God, Dean needed to kill something.
But for now, all Dean could do was sit tight and make sure neither he nor Sammy won't do anything they'll both regret.