-Author's Note- While watching this scene I always thought that Sam was literally about to fall to his knees and beg. As heartbreaking as that is, I felt compelled to write the scene and explore his thoughts because he had nearly become a different person after Dean's death. As always, feel free to review--all thoughts are welcome and very appreciated!
He's My Brother
Bobby. Bobby had once meant everything to the Winchester brothers. After John's death, he was their anchor—a place to go when there was nowhere else to turn. Bobby meant everything to Sam; or at least he had, before Sam had forced himself to forget how to feel. Sam nearly smirked as he recollected the last several months, but it didn't take more than a few seconds because the time had been a blur. He'd been many places and killed many things, yet he didn't feel anything towards the time since he had watched Dean slip away outside the motel. To Sam it was lost time—time that didn't really matter. He fought because it was his job, but he no longer bothered to live. Living was for civilians.
Sam felt a pang of annoyance. Bobby's mere presence was prickling something within himself he hadn't felt since before Dean's death—a strange flicker in his chest. He had completely shut himself off from everything that had meant something to him and the sensation seemed new, although it was a normal human feeling—one that he'd felt often and more deeply than some people would ever know—love. Sam inwardly scowled at himself for being weak. He wasn't that person anymore. His only objective for the last several months was to avenge Dean's death and fight all things evil, but now a new option had presented itself. Bobby had offered a way to bring Dean back, something that Sam would have believed to be impossible, which planted the first seed of doubt in Sam's mind.
As Bobby held up an intimidating knife, suggesting that Sam use it to drain him of blood, Sam glanced at it, almost fearfully; he'd have shown fear if he'd have remembered how to experience it. Sam understood that he had become a machine—completely lifeless—and had just revealed to Bobby that he was not opposed to taking an innocent life if it were a means to his end. Bobby was wise, skilled, intuitive, and had every right to strike Sam down for what he had become, though after a moment it became obvious that Bobby did not, in any way, intend to attack Sam.
Sam was aware that they were having a conversation. Bobby was asking Sam to take his life in order to restore Dean's. The tickle in his chest came back irritatingly. Sam felt the urge to leave—to turn away Bobby and run back to the car, distancing himself from the man who had been like a father for them in the absence of his own father—distancing himself from emotion. He was coming dangerously close to feeling and clenched his jaw as he spoke, "I'm not killing you." Sam's entire face was set in a perplexing and controlled gaze. With the new rise of emotion, he was having trouble concentrating because he had become unfamiliar with even the most basic feelings.
Bobby continued to convince Sam, insisting it was the most logical thing to do to bring Dean back. But Sam's mind still resisted the idea of it. Thinking of Dean or doing anything that had to do with him threatened to cloud Sam's sharpness—his robotic ability to be more effective than any other hunter in the trade. He had become feared within the hunting community and on the few occasions he had met another hunter by chance, he'd seen the apprehensive fear in their eyes and even something close to awe. Sam Winchester had become something of a legend within the last few months—not that he gave a damn.
Something flashed in Bobby's eyes that raised the hackles on Sam's neck. It wasn't fear, dread, or love. It had seemed—just for the slightest fraction of a second—as if he were enjoying himself. Sam was careful not to change his demeanor in the slightest as he finally allowed himself to barely nod, agreeing to do what Bobby was asking.
Bobby showed no hesitance and offered no words as he turned away from Sam—another clue. Sam cocked his head to the side, assessing the demeanor of the hunter before him. Something was amiss.
Bobby strolled back to the center of the room and laboriously lowered himself to his knees, accepting the fate that would supposedly bring Dean back, "Just make it quick."
Sam approached Bobby from behind, sliding the knife into his waistband as he reached into his jacket, fingering the wooden stake he had brought. He continued his motion forward, though he hesitated to pull the stake yet. He wasn't entirely sure that his next action was justified, but his thirst for revenge was the only thing that had kept him going for the past several months. Now that drive was the only thing he knew how to listen to within himself and in the moment that he surveyed a defenseless kneeling Bobby, he felt a part of himself break inside. It was the part of him that would never have taken the chance with a loved one's life, but Sam let it break, fully aware of what it would allow him to do.
He pulled the stake from his jacket and knelt behind Bobby, "Okay Bobby. But you wanna know why?" Sam hurried into the execution, determined not to let what was left of the weak, compassionate Sam stop him—because that Sam cared about Bobby. Instead he focused all of his control and strength into thrusting the stake forward, sickly satisfied with the grotesque sound it made, as the wood slid into Bobby's body easier than Sam would have thought possible. He sneered mercilessly, maniacally pleased, yet strangely detached from a goal fulfilled, "Because you're not Bobby."
Bobby gasped and choked, then fell forward as Sam released him. Sam's mind seemed to stutter in a slight hesitation—aware that something was askew—as he watched Bobby's lifeless body fall. He nearly looked down at himself in the briefest of moments, to make certain that he was unaffected by the potentially poisonous humanity and emotion of what he had just done. His mind was forced back to the present as Bobby's body thudded onto the rigid, awaiting floorboards and lay completely still.
Sam was still scowling with a disquieting eagerness, waiting for the Trickster to show his true form. He thirsted for his revenge and in the briefest of moments, he had believed he'd finally achieved it. However, as the seconds drew on, Sam's mind flew through months of suppression as he longed for Bobby's form to reveal the jest that had been meant for Sam all along. The moment became heavy—thicker than the air that surrounded them, but nothing changed. Sam's physical frame shifted from offensive to defensive in less than a second as he felt something he hadn't felt since Dean's death: fear. He was afraid that he had killed the last connection he had to this life. He had thrived to rid himself of all human emotion—tried to become a lifeless, unstoppable machine. Yet deep down, somewhere within himself, a part of him wanted to feel, to love, to be saved. Bobby was his only hope for such a thing; and now he was terrified that he had just shattered the last hope for that link.
"Bobby?" Sam felt the urge to move forward and kneel next to Bobby, but he was forcibly reminded of rushing towards Dean's dying body and kneeling as Dean died in his arms, "Bobby!" His whole body was shaking now as everything he had not allowed himself to feel flooded his being in the span of a moment. He felt an unfamiliar sting on his face and realized it was in his eyes. He blinked pointedly to rid the feeling before realizing what was happening: tears—actual tears were threatening to make his emotions something visible and material. He felt apt to collapse, but unable to move, "Bobby!"
Sam dropped his eyes for a moment as the entire spectrum of emotion washed through him; months worth of humanity he hadn't allowed himself to experience rose within his chest with an intensity he wouldn't have imagined possible. He could feel the love, hate, scorn, passion, rage and fear that he had been denying himself for months.
As Sam looked dreadfully back to Bobby's body, it suddenly vanished, leaving the stake suspended in air for a fraction of a second before it clattered to the wooden floor. Sam blinked and was surprised to feel a rush of pure relief—for a moment he felt something his heart hadn't known for months. He was nearly overjoyed by the confirmation that he had not murdered the only living being that actually cared whether Sam lived or died. But this feeling was immediately followed by and intense fear. The Trickster was here; and he could kill Sam ten different ways without lifting a finger because Sam had allowed himself to feel, which resulted in being caught off guard. Before tonight, Sam wouldn't have felt the slightest alarm at the prospect of death, but in the moment that he had thought he had killed Bobby, he had regained a sense of self-preservation that did not entirely have to do with revenge. For the first time since Dean's death, he cared about his own life—he wanted to live. And he wanted to see Bobby again.
As Sam stood, nearly paralyzed with this reborn feeling of terror, the stake flew through the air towards him. He watched it sail by his head and into the waiting hand of the Trickster.
Sam thought that if he ever saw him again, he would feel nothing but rage and know of nothing to do but go for broke and attack him, even though it would be nearly impossible to kill him without having a well developed plan. Yet he was utterly surprised to feel another emotion that seemed new: hope. By turning off any emotion that threatened to hurt Sam after Dean's death, he had disabled his most important qualities: mercy and compassion. Sam's robotic mind did not register solutions and options to a problem—only revenge for Dean's wrongful death. During the time he had spent searching for the Trickster and longing only to annihilate him, Sam had overlooked the fact that stared him straight in the face now. Believing that he had murdered Bobby had flipped that switch back on, enabling him to truly feel and consider other options beyond "search and destroy". Although Sam wanted nothing more than to avenge Dean's death and slaughter him, the Trickster was the only one who could bring Dean back.
The Trickster was talking, mocking him. Sam barely heard him, but waited for him to pause before saying, "Bring him back." Sam nearly cringed at the way the words had slid out of his mouth. He was nearly begging; something that he'd never have considered if it wasn't for Dean.
A look of amused surprise was now plastered on the Trickster's face, "Who? Dean? He's dead; doin' the hellfire mamba as we speak."
The thought struck even deeper fear and anger into Sam's heart. It was awful that Dean was dead, but the most devastating thing about the whole situation was that he had gone to hell because of his deal. Until now, Sam had withheld some small hope that despite Dean's deal, he had somehow avoided such a horrible fate due to the fact that he was taken early. Sam had held onto the hope that it would qualify as a breach of contract, seeing as Dean had been promised a year and had not received the full year. But if the Trickster said it, it was certainly true. There was no reason to lie.
Sam began strategizing and attempted to speak logically to the Trickster. He asked him to take them back to Dean's last Wednesday, even promising not to come after the Trickster. He felt himself grimace as the word 'promise' escaped his lips, being fully aware that he was making the exact same promise the Trickster had made when Sam had a stake to his neck in an alley. The thought that haunted Sam as he spoke was the fact that he had said 'No' to the very suggestion he had just offered to his enemy. When Sam was finished, the Trickster generally ignored most of what he had said and seemed to mock what he'd actually listened to.
The Trickster had fallen into a monologue and Sam barely heard the words. The Trickster spoke of a 'lesson', to which Sam openly gaped. He was filled with so much emotion that he found it nearly impossible to keep his feet. The Trickster spoke of Sam's obsession to save Dean as he approached Sam, who glanced down at the stake, fearing that the Trickster would use it to murder Sam the same way Sam had intended to end the Trickster—it even had a ring of 'just deserts', which would suit the Trickster's M.O. But Sam's mind was also working in overdrive to think of a way to get the stake back, even though it was in Sam's best interest not to kill the Trickster now. If he hadn't killed Sam yet, there was a chance a deal could be made to restore Dean's life. Sam heard the end of the speech, as it was the most important thing the Trickster had said so far, "Dean's you're weakness. The bad guys know it too. Its gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes, you just gotta let people go."
Sam spoke without thinking, saying the only words that made sense to him, "He's my brother." The sentence was so simple, but it meant a hundred things to Sam, although he imagined it seemed like an inadequate reason to raise someone from the dead. But Dean wasn't just someone.
"Yep," the Trickster continued to stare at Sam, not with hate or anger, but with intensity, "And like it or not; this is what life's gonna be like without him."
"Please," Sam heard himself mumble, all of his heart wrapped in six letters, "Just," Sam's mind flew through a thousand things to say, but in the end, all he had the strength to do besides stand was simply beg, "Please."
The Trickster rolled his eyes and sighed, "I swear, it's like talkin' to a brick wall. Okay, look. This all quit bein' fun months ago. You're like Travis Bickle in a skirt, pal. I'm over it."
Sam looked into the Trickster's eyes, fearfully. Surely that meant that he was going to kill Sam and be done with the Winchester's altogether, "Meaning what?"
The Trickster smirked as he answered, "That's for me to know, and you to find out."
Sam started to lunge at the Trickster in a last ditch effort to save himself and maybe even Dean, but the Trickster snapped his fingers and the world spun away like a fiery carousal in a long forgotten nightmare.
Author's Note Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to leave reviews, comments, suggestions or opinions. I would love to hear any thoughts! Thanks again for reading!