Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. No money being made.
Story takes place after 4.08 but before 4.09. Sleep deprivation and frustration lead to some angry words.
A special acknowledgement to Insane Troll Logic for editing and suggestions, the fic is better for it.
Answer By and By
The road was dark, illuminated only by the high beams of the Impala's headlights. The emotions inside the car were darker.
Their most recent hunt for a vengeful spirit had taken an hour too long, resulting in another corpse. Another victim they hadn't saved. This left both brothers angry at themselves for their perceived failure and frustrated that the hunt was successful but they had still botched the job. This combined with too many fears about the coming apocalypse and too little sleep was not a good combination.
Having nothing better to do on the drive back to the motel and not wanting to think about the cost of the last hunt, Sam decided that he would re-visit his efforts to get his brother to talk to him about his time in Hell. Talking about the memories might not help but not talking wasn't doing Dean any good either.
"I don't want to think about it," Dean said. "I certainly don't want to talk about it, so just let it go, Sam. What happened, happened; words aren't able to explain it and trying to describe it won't change a damn thing about it, so quit asking."
"All I'm saying is that if you tried to talk about what it was like, then maybe the memory wouldn't have so much power and you could get some sleep without using whiskey as a sleeping pill. You're not resting, Dean. You go until you collapse and then just drop on the bed. You hardly sleep more than a few hours at a time because of nightmares. If you don't want to talk about Hell, then tell me about your nightmares."
"You want to know what I'm dreaming about?"
"I'm not sure I really want to know but I think talking about them might help."
"OK." Dean shuddered violently. "I'm dreaming about---sugarplums and candy canes."
"I'm serious."
"So the hell am I, Sam! When you were having nightmares after Stanford, that's what you said they were about."
"That was a long time ago, Dean."
"Yeah and this is now and I've already said I don't want to talk about it."
"Stubborn jerk, I'm just trying to help."
"Well, maybe I don't want your help, Sam, just like you don't want mine."
"What are you talking about?"
Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter and pursed his lips in a thin, tight line. "Nothing, forget I said anything."
"No. I won't. What do you mean by that?"
"Listen, Sam, I'm tired and I don't want to get into this right now."
"Well, maybe I do, Dean. What do you mean I don't want your help? When did I ever say something like that?"
"You really think now is that time to get into this?" Seeing his brother's sharp nod, he continued angrily, "OK, fine. You never actually said it in so many words, but what the hell was I suppose to think you meant when you told me that you and Ruby had sent more demons back to Hell in the four months that I was gone than you and I had the whole prior year? Sounded pretty much to me like you were saying I was holding you back.
"And you certainly didn't need me while I was infected with that ghost sickness. Oh, and when you took on Samhain all by your lonesome, didn't seem to want my help then either.
"In fact, I'm surprised you even needed me to help with that vengeful spirit. If I hadn't screwed up the research…I should have just let you do it, hell, I probably should just give up and let you do all of it. You seemed to do a pretty damn good job all by yourself."
"What the hell, Dean. You're gonna bring up all that stuff, now? Again! You're unbelievable. Well, you know what? I'm done apologizing for helping people and sending demons back to Hell and I'm certainly not gonna apologize for keeping it together and saving your sorry ass when a ghost decided you were a dick and you were so afraid of your own shadow that you couldn't cover my back. Get over it, man! And while you're at it get over yourself!"
"Get out, Sam!" Dean shouted as the Impala rolled to a stop.
"What?"
"Get out of the car! We're at the motel and I'm feeling the need for some alone time. I'm going to a bar where I can have a drink without someone counting my shots."
"Dean!"
"Sam!"
"Fine!" Sam slammed the car door—hard. "The hell with this," he muttered, opening the door to a disco themed room that would have been tacky even when disco was king. "Just don't expect me to come bail you out if you get picked up for a drunk and disorderly, you stubborn, stupid, insecure, sleep deprived jerk!"
There was a man standing in the dark with his back to the door, looking out the window onto the parking lot. Sam had his gun out and pointed before he flipped the light on. He recognized the slightly rumpled trench coat. He put his gun away and quietly shut the door before taking a few steps into the room. He glanced around to make sure that there were no other angels present.
"What do you what?"
Castiel didn't turn around to reply. "To serve…to understand, much the same as you, Sam."
Sam shook his head. He could see the reflection of Castiel's face in the window. "That's not what I…why are you here? Dean's out."
"You have questions, Sam."
Sam stood up straighter. "Well, yes, why…" He was interrupted before he finished.
"Man's greatest gift and hardest burden."
"What? I didn't…that's…"
"It's the answer to the question that you really want to know."
Sam looked down and shook his head slowly, trying to put Castiel's cryptic remark into some kind of context. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Free will, Samuel. That is the answer to most of your questions. Why there is so much evil in the world. Why bad things happen, even to the innocent. It is the answer to this burden you carry and the burden your brother bears."
"I never asked to be one of Azazel's special kids. I was six months old, it was never my choice!"
"Seven times seven generations might still pay for the choice made by their fathers…or their mothers."
"How can I be held responsible for the choices made by others? By my mother? By Dean?"
"You aren't. You must only live with those choices as best you are able."
"That's what I'm doing, the best I can."
"Your brother remembers the time he was in Hell. He is also doing the best he can."
"He isn't doing a very good job of it, is he? Drinking too much, sleeping too little, nightmares. He can't go on like this. Can you…can you take the memories away?"
"I can but I won't."
"Why not? Why does he have to keep suffering?"
"There are many reasons, Sam, but the simplest is that Dean's choices will be hard and he needs to remember so he'll know what's at stake if he fails in his tasks. What he suffered will be the fate of all if the Great Adversary walks from his prison."
"Then there's nothing that you'll do to help him?"
"His road is dark and treacherous but it need not be traveled alone."
"Yeah, well, as soon as Dean gets back from the bar, I'll be sure to tell him."
"Dean isn't at a bar, Sam. He's sitting in the Impala, in the farthest, darkest corner of this lot. He is watching this room, making certain that you are safe. His eyes just closed and already he battles demons only he can see."
Sam turned and headed for the door. He turned back to ask one more question but the room was empty.
Sam slipped quietly into the passenger seat. Dean cracked his eyes open briefly and then sighed. "I'm not sleeping too good, Sam."
"Yeah, man, I know."
"Nightmares."
"I know."
"I'm a real dick, Sammy."
Sam huffed a little chuckle, "Yeah man, I know."
"Tired, frustrated about the hunt, not thinking straight…"
"I know."
"I didn't mean any of that stuff. None of it. Sorry."
"None of it?"
"Almost not a single word."
"So…"
"You don't need me anymore, Sam. You can do this by yourself."
"Maybe," he sighed, "I can do the job alone. But I don't want to, Dean. I need you, maybe now more than ever. While you were gone, I was becoming someone that I didn't recognize and I'm not sure I liked. I need you and I want you here with me. I've seen you die more times than I want to remember and I don't want to watch you kill yourself because you can't deal with …what happened."
"Hey, man, I'm dealing with it, just not too good right now."
"I just want to help."
"I know, but you can't help with this Sam. Not yet."
"I'm not going anywhere so I can wait. In the mean while, you have to stop trying to drink yourself into a stupor so you can sleep. It's not working."
"I know."
"We're gonna work this out, Dean."
"I know."
"You need to come into the room. Even if you can't sleep, the bed is more comfortable than the front seat," Sam patted the upholstery, "but not by much."
"I know."
"I'm the better looking brother."
Dean opened his eyes to tiny slits and glared, "Don't push it."
"I'm done pushing, Dean. When you're ready, you can tell me. I won't bring it up again."
"Hell was a prison of blood and bone, Sam."
"Hell was being alive, alone and knowing that you were suffering because of me, Dean."
"I was tortured without mercy."
"I…ah…I sorta sleep with Ruby."
"You win, Sam. Your hell was worse than mine. I'm surprised you aren't having nightmares."
"Who's to say that I'm not?"
"You tell me yours, I tell you mine. You first…"
Sam smiled, opened the car door and got out. Dean soon followed. They stared at each other over the roof of the Impala.
"Things are gonna be OK, Dean, eventually."
"How can you know that Sammy?"
"Because Mom was right. Angels really are watching over you."
--end--